It is hot in Spain now. The weather channel shows red blinking arrows coming into the country from Africa and it seems the desert air of the Sahara is everywhere. I wake up in sweats during the night, though it's nicer then; during the day it's much worse. It is that quick transition from Spring to Summer that happens every year in Spain and all the world, but somehow it is always a surprise. Somehow we always resist this difficult but inevitable transitions. I certainly remember that year back in Texas where I suffered constant growing pains to put on inches in height. All that followed was an awkward and lengthy stage with far too little muscle, though I am grateful for the height in retrospect. Here too, probably has its gains. I have always preferred a hot run and tan skin to a cold room and pale complexion. The former is to be alive and breathing, and the latter something else.
May is a month of other transitions, for many, and for me. After a weeklong set of exams, every American citizen I have come to know over the past four months is gone, back in their beds full on their mother's cooking or some local fast food joint. Many were normal and fine, some just plain tedious, and then there were those few gems who made moments better. They are all lying awake at night with their window open, as I do now, but the air is different and I suspect they have returned to many people who have not changed while they probably feel quite different. How foreign that must feel, and I felt for them when they said their final goodbyes.
There is not much else to say about that. I am not sure how I feel. People in front of me yesterday are now thousands of miles away. Memories from atop the setas, looking out over the city we came to know together seem like a far off place. Times by the river sitting, wondering as to what it would have looked like 500 years ago when Columbus sailed into its port carrying the most interesting of news are mine to revisit and carry. My mom always said leaving is more difficult on those who stay. While life grows hectic on planes and trains, with goodbyes and greetings, it becomes potently quiet for those in the rear view mirror.
I am sure that before I know it, I will join them back on American soil and sit along the river in Austin with a Shiner Bock and a plate of nachos. It will be all well and good, but I will miss a few things and think to how similar the Guadalquivir and Lady Bird Lake are as they reflect the downtown buildings in their sunset waters. Such is the dilemma of one who travels and the price you pay for seeing wonderful things. Your mind will always drift to some far away place and some precious memory if given the time to do so.
But this all sounds much too solemn, when it is not at all. Good things come and go. My momentum is only increasing, and I sure wouldn't trade any of it. I really could not be paid for a life outside mine, and that is a special thing to say.
This past saturday, I went to the beach in Cádiz for just a day, returning after the sun had gone down that same evening. It was a beautiful sunset and as the bus powered out of the city and back into the Andalusian countryside, I watched the orange glow, illuminating everything from somewhere just beyond the Atlantic. Soon it was night, and with my head against the window, feeling the vibrations of the road, I watched the stars in the sky all the way back to Seville.
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