Never saw my hometown

On summer weekends in Michigan, everyone from downstate drives up north. They leave on Friday afternoon and go back on Sunday night and, regardless of the exact destination, for a large part of the trip there's only one way to get there. I've done it myself, and it's not pretty. The bus ride home from Pamplona last night reminded me of summers in Michigan. The scenery here is nicer, and I didn't spend the whole trip worrying that my car might overheat and blow up like I used to in Michigan, but aside from that it was pretty much the same. The trip was supposed to be five or six hours long; it ended up being almost eight. It could have been a lot worse: The girl sitting next to me stayed in her own space and didn't smell bad. And I got to watch Anna and the King and some Cuba Gooding, Jr. movie, dubbed. They also showed some Arnold Schwarzenegger movie (told you it was a long ride), but the dubbing didn't seem to preserve Arnold's accent and I lost interest.

Coming back to Barcelona really did feel like coming home, yet another piece of evidence that I do in fact live here. After traveling it's always nice to be able to get around without a map.