Granada
Sunday. September 9. I cab it to the Dublin airport. Loved Dublin, but now the real adventure begins. Spain will be different, and I expect that it will be more than language. This will be a different culture. I wasn’t sure what to expect. The flight to Barcelona is delayed for an hour. At least I won’t be sitting on the plane during the delay. I still have an hour and a half to catch the connecting flight to Granada. There is another delay before we board. We’re waiting at a gate and I notice two Spanish guys with baseball hats. One has a Yankees hat on. The other has a Red Sox hat. They don’t know how to wear baseball hats. The hats just don’t fit right and they sit high on their heads. I wondered if they knew what bitter rivals the two teams were. An elderly couple from Belfast are seated in my row. I ask if they’re on their honeymoon. The woman quickly answers, “Oh no. We’ve been married forty seven years.” I’m flying Vueling (pronounced W...