Craving siestas in typical Spanish fashion, we rolled ourselves down side streets and alley ways, up Gran Via, passing Plaza de Santo Domingo and Puerta de Alcala until finally parking (pun intended) ourselves in Retiro Park. The intensely direct Madrileño heat shocked the Berliner, making him especially anxious to find a shady escape. I read "A Painted House" while Roman wrote postcards and napped.
Feeling refreshed and ready to brave the streets once again, we decided to venture over to Real Madrid's Santiago Bernabéu Stadium. A new site even for me, and Roman the soccer buff that he is, this was the perfect destination. Not surprisingly, we discovered that the ticket counter advertised 16-euro tours as the sole means of access. Upon further pressing, however, the saleslady offered an alternate view of the field from the nearby Cafe Real, but only as sort of an after thought. Much preferring the later option of the two, we turned the corner, walked up the stairs, and stopped dead to this view:
no bigs
SO much better than any expensive tour, we ordered drinks, flashed a series of shots in disbelief, made friends with the waiters, toasted our good fortune, and soaked in another incredible "this is my life" moments.
Saying goodbye to my home in Boadilla was pretty anticlimactic, but maybe it's better this way. The last thing I said to neighbors, Antonio the gardner, extended Mestre family, and the lifeguard was "hasta luego" (see ya later), although I kind of doubt I'll actually see any of them ever again. I ate a late dinner of pisto (like thick, chunky gazpacho) with Alberto and Solete in front of the TV, while the kiddos played outside with neighborhood friends.
As I tried to pack up my life and more into two suitcases, the kids came down one at a time to say goodbye. I gave one letter to the kids (complete with stickers and bat fliers) and one to Solete and Alberto. Solete and I stood in the basement between the laundry room and my bedroom talking for a long time about the summer, before exchanging Spanish kisses, a hug, and heading up to bed. I may have caught one hour of sleep that night.
No doubt spending this summer in Madrid was the hardest thing I've ever had to do for a variety of reasons. I learned so much about myself, parenthood, Spanish culture, and what it means to serve and love selflessly, unconditionally, and without expecting anything in return. I've really only scratched the surface of these hard lessons and I'm sure to struggle with them the rest of my life. Being stripped of all the normal distractions I have at home and school turned out to be a huge blessing in the lonely and discouraging times since I had nowhere to go but to the Lord. This made it all well worth it to me. Recognizing this as the hardest thing I've ever had to do just means I've had a pretty sweet life I guess.
A couple bad movies, some weird airplane food, and an unsatisfactory nap later, I was back home. I couldn't help my stupid ear-to-ear smile at the "Welcome to the United States of America" sign at Customs. Leaving baggage, I was greeted by beaming parents, balloons, and a beautiful bouquet of flowers was waiting for me in my room at home.
Mom made me a fried chicken dinner with my favorite spinach and strawberry salad and black bottom cupcakes for dessert. The US is so easy. I'm not constantly being misunderstood, can walk around the house barefoot, and feel very loved here. I'm ecstatic to be home with all family and friends and without being responsible for anyone but myself. I'll head back to Harrisonburg in one week and start classes in two...I guess real life had to begin sometime.
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