Chapter 2: Arrival

Flying past the Sierra de Guadarrama mountain range into the City of Madrid, peering through the oval airplane window, one is struck by the vast countryside; this is not your Midwest bright green-and-yellow grid. This quilt is composed of dark green and rusty brick-colored triangles. My bone deep love for this shade of red — based on years of rolling out, playing, and teaching on clay tennis courts in my youth — is tempered in this setting by fears of what it signifies: deforestation and soil erosion. This is something I must look into.

Now, however, I am focused on the plots below punctuated with oak trees, the tops of which, from this aerial view, remind me of the umbrella pines I am more familiar with in Italy. The branches of these trees, however, start further down on the trunk and extend more irregularly at the top. Though they are a deep green, my mind drifts to the suddenly prevalent microscopic images of the orange coronavirus spores reaching outward.

I look out the window again. The oaks are precisely planted and spaced over broad swaths of land. Hatch marks and dots on a giant old-timey comic strip come to mind. Then, Roy Lichtenstein pops into my head — his “Drowning Girl” pop art: “I don’t care! I’d rather sink -- than call Brad for help.” We, however, preferred to land safely and were relieved that our pilot — whatever his name — appeared to be doing just that.

When we exited the gate at Madrid-Barajas Airport, we knew we were in a different world — a very civilized world in which the definition of public good does not include government authorities granting franchises to private companies that then charge exorbitant prices: the baggage carts were FREE!

©2020 Kay Diaz