well, here I go. 28 years after the first the I left my home country. I don't count those trips south-of-the-border with my dad just to fill 5-gallon jerrycans with cheaper Mexican gasoline in the 1970s fuel crisis. I'm not counting the trips with Spanish classes to Tijuana or the two trips to Cabo San Lucas. You know why? Mexico never felt like a foreign country. Sure they spoke a foreign language I didn't understand as a kid but did more and more as I studied. But more I think was that it was just so close. When something is that close it doesn't hold the same mysticism as other locales like Europe, Asia, and Utah.
In the summer of 1988, my parents worked on getting me into an exchange program where we hosted a Spanish guy, Cristián, for a month and then, in turn, they hosted me for a month. So, dear reader, I was able to experience the joys of long haul flights, lack of sleep in coach, and jet lag for the first time. Why the hell am I so tired at noon? Whatever, I'm 16 let's go swimming! Oh, and then let's have an unplanned, hardcore nap! No more jet lag! So Spain, France, and Andorra were amaze balls and I'm so thankful I got to do that. Now I'm in the United Club East in the Denver airport about to head back to Europe. This time for work. This time only for six days instead of a month. This time on work's dime. Let's do if I can blog/ Instagram this trip...
Boarding in 3 minutes. Gotta go.
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