Sitting on the metro.  I hope I’m on the right one.  I didn’t want to carry my journal and regretting it because now I have to use my iphone as a notetaker.  This would be a perfect time to write.

Tonight is my second night in Madrid and first night alone in Spain.  I’m not nervous.  My Spanish is better than I thought it was; it’s just the different accent and rapid speaking that makes me second guess all of my responses.  That will get easier.

I need to keep my mind here instead of 5000 miles away.  (ETC).  At the very least, I’m aware of it.

I’m in Madrid.  I prefer it to Sao Paulo where everything was all smog and noise; and I definitely prefer it to Rome where no one cares to help anyone and people were always in a hurry.  I like the language on my ears.  It feels comforting to me, even when I don’t understand it.  It reminds me of my grandpa and I feel safe in my misunderstandings.  Madrid feels familiar to me but I don’t know why.  Maybe it is because the city looks like Boston, or maybe because of the books I’ve read.  Regardless, I’m happy to be here.