Río did his first road trip yesterday. He rode shotgun/carseat for an airport pick-up in Malaga. My auntie Gwen made the trip all the way from Vernon, Canada, so the least we could do was motor 120 km down the highway to pick her up.
I love airport pick-ups. It’s psuedo travelling without the bad food. Even though I know that collecting luggage and clearing customs is a half hour project minimum, as soon as I see that the plane has landed I start nuerotically scanning the crowd pouring out the door. Heaven forbid I might miss my pick-up-ee.
That level of alert makes for good people watching. The Malaga airport crowd is ususally an interesting mix of Spanish people in boots and coats, and British tourists in sunburns, shorts and tank tops. This early in the season there is more goose flesh then burnt chicken skin, but it’s entertaining, none the less.
I just loved this dapper dude in the funky hat and suit. I was dying to see who he was picking up. A never before seen internet bride? Art forgery accomplice? Kosher sausage export mogul? His mother?
Alas, I got distracted by some fluorescent pink runners and missed the grand finale. Story of my life.
But luckily I was paying attention when Gwen appeared, tired but happy to stretch her legs after a 3 flight, 24 hour trip.
And now she can rest in our peaceful, serene home.
Ha ha ha ha…
About as peaceful as a budget seniors tour stampeding from the airport to the all you can eat buffet.