An Unwelcome Homecoming

Travelers don't typically fly from our small airport in Pocatello, Idaho. Sure, in recent years there has been an effort to pique interest by adding flights to nearby attractions such as Las Vegas or Jackson Hole, but most people will drive to Salt Lake City two and a half hours away to catch their flight in order to save a few hundred bucks.

When I was 16, I had just finished my Junior year of High School. That year, I met Mar Ordi, and exchange student from Malgrat de Mar. A town in the Costa Brava area of Spain. We were wild together. There was some connection with her that allowed me to be the girl I felt most natural being. Light and carefree, unconcerned about how anyone might be perceiving me.

Her father had come to the States to visit before Mar had to go back home. Jaume. He was a polite man, almost delicate. At least that is what I thought. 20 years later, I know that is not the case. Polite, yes. Delicate, no. He just had a very reserved way of presenting himself and I think he wanted to impress my parents. He had brought with him a beautiful figurine of a woman as a gift for my mother, that she displays to this day in her china hutch.

I'm not sure if it was because he liked me, or if it was a request of my friend, but Jaume invited me to come to Spain that Summer and he was to pay my fare. Definitely not an offer I would turn down. And, not being familiar with the amount of money saved by flying from the nearest big city, he booked my flight out of Pocatello.

That jet lag hit me like a ton of bricks and I remember having to sleep in the middle of the day. Spain is 8 hours ahead of us in Idaho. Plus, I took a little hit of some smoke that was offered to me, not knowing they mix hash with tobacco. It was just too much for my sensitive body.

For the next 5 weeks, I ran around with my friend's circle of people. One of my favorite things was going into Barcelona with the mother of my friend's boyfriend. She took me to the Olympic stadium and to the museums Joan Miró and Pablo Picasso. Later in my trip, I also got to go to Girona with Mar and Jaume to tour the museum of Salvador Dalí. It is impossible to describe the impact that had on my senses.

We ate pizza and paella and Spanish tortillas, which are made of eggs. We drank wine from the porrón and watched fútbol amongst cheering patrons. We swam in the ocean nearly every day. I met her mother with her odd theatre friends who explained to me why it was good luck to say 'break a leg' to an actor going on stage. We partied in the discos and lounged in the bar gardens. There is no drinking age there, and like I said, we were wild. We shopped. I would visit her at the stores she worked at. Her father owned perfume shops in three of the coastal towns. They were all fairly close and it was easy enough to catch the trains.

One night we met a group of guys who invited us to a private estate up in the mountains the next day. Mar wasn't able to go, but I went anyway, because I had no fear. We had drank a lot the night before, and I was not well in the morning. But, when they showed up to get me, I went anyway. The drive was excruciating with tight turns winding up the mountains, trying not to throw up in the car. The host of the property greeted us with smiles, hugs and a huge plate of sausage that turned my stomach at the sight of it.

Fortunately and gratefully, they led me to a quiet room and a bed all in white to let me sleep it off. I woke up to a European paradise. We went water skiing in a lake and swimming in a large pool overlooking a cliff. There was no end to the food and drink being passed around and I felt like I was in a dream.

It was warm every day and every hour while I was in Spain, and I felt loved and accepted by everyone I met. All of those hugs and kisses flowing like the wine, people of all ages walking around half naked. Most people spoke English, even if just a little bit. So, it wasn't hard for me to get around on my own. I knew some Spanish, but not Catalán, so it was hard for me to understand. But, during my time there, I knew that I was absorbing the language as I began answering questions asked to me before I realized they were not asked in English.

Finally, the day came for me to leave. I boarded the plane in a loose fitting, gauze like shirt and very short terry cloth shorts. My last night in Spain was spent at the disco dancing til the early hours of the morning. No sleep. So, out of the 24 hr flight, I was awake for maybe 3 or 4 of them. I remember how harsh the English language sounded to my ears when the flight attendant made her announcements.

My birthday is August 4, and I had turned 17 in Malgrat de Mar. In Idaho, we have our hottest days in August, typically close to 95 degrees. So, even though it was dark when my flight landed a week later, it never occurred to me to even put on a light jacket.

But, to my absolute amazement and almost disbelief, it was snowing when I exited the tiny aircraft down the built in stairway, and I was cold. It made me hate coming home.