Alright, here we go. I am writing from my terminal waiting to board my flight to Moscow. Thus far, it’s been pretty smooth and I’m currently preparing my senses to reach their maximum capacity intake once I reach my destination. Hopefully, this Russian airline – Aeroflot – will have some complimentary vodka to quell my anxiety. But for now, I’m currently surrounded by an intimidating amount of bald Adidas wearing Russians who are all simultaneously blathering away on their phones (probs talking to their mafia brethren). Statistically speaking, I wonder if the Russians or Italians wear more Adidas track suits! Someone really needs to calculate those numbers. So far, the Russians are winning at LAX.
So, my first leg of the trip goes directly to Moscow. I’ve never been to Russia and I really wish I could just roam around the city and attempt to free pussy riot, become a part of their band, wear balaclavas and take them to Spain with me. A girl can dream. In the meantime, the butterflies in my stomach keep fluttering away and finding the words to write what I’m feeling is becoming an annoying struggle. Recently I’ve been trying to become more aware of my surroundings since its really easy to travel and just think about getting to your next destination in one piece. That was the norm for me when I was romping around Asia. I’m really hoping and trying to make this trip very different than the last. To start, I don’t have my best friend with me. I know virtually nobody in Spain (save the family I will live with) and I can barely speak Spanish. I don’t even have a surefire way of knowing I’m not secretly being sold into a prostitution ring when I arrive there. I talked to the family I’ll be living with on Skype and apparently some bespectacled bearded man will be picking me up from the airport… and I’m just supposed to get into a fuckin car with him? … I guess so. Thank god I have mace and my dad would Liam Neeson any fools ass who tried to pull something (I hope). A large part of me thought I would be having a mini anxiety attack right now. But thinking about the possibility of getting deep vein thrombosis (rip Heavy D) whilst on my 17 hours journey is actually making me more worried.
As far as becoming a honorary Spaniard, I already have the basic understanding of living in a different country at this point: walk with purpose, establish a maximum amount of time when looking at maps so you don’t look too much like a ‘deer in the headlights’ tourist (your time is abated if you are wearing a camera around your neck or a fanny pack), make sure to give direct eye contact to people who look threatening (don’t look away under any circumstances. This shows your foreign weakness. Don’t. show. weakness), when handling money just pretend to understand the color differences between each bill. Pretty much traveling is one big drama class. You gotta fake it till you make it. If you’re an actor, I am sure you’ll do well as a wanderlusting free spirit. On that note, until next time.