I hopped off the plane and made the long walk through a modern wing of Madrid's Barajas Airport. I slept the entire flight from Newark to Europe and easily had enough energy to reintroduce myself to the city I left almost two years back. Rounding the corner, I skipped down the stairs, and after 10 minutes I was in front of a Spanish customs officer. The man looked up, and without any change to his short, dark, and distinctively Iberian features said, “Your hair looks like you stuck your fingers in an electrical socket. Passport please.” Yup, I’ve made it back to Spain.