Yes, they actually allowed me to come back into the country after a wonderful little American vacation. I only wish I had more time to see more people while I was Stateside. I wasn’t very worried at all about coming back until everyone kept asking me if I was worried. I have to admit, I did fret a little on the plane ride back. But the nice customs agent in Barcelona took my passport and added another stamp without even bothering to look at the ones before. *whew* So everything’s good now, right? I’m in the clear? Well, I go to get my bags to complete my little Spanish invasion and after about 15 minutes of waiting for my suitcase I realize that everyone has picked up their bags and I was waiting by the carousel all alone and I knew that that broken down cardboard box wrapped in twine that kept passing me wasn’t mine. I saw a woman with a clipboard standing a few meters away so I figured (woman) + (clipboard) = (airport employee) and I approached her with my dilemma. She asked me my name and when I told her, she pointed to my bag that was right beside her. I know I hadn’t seen it circle with the others, but I wasn’t about to ask any questions. I thanked her kindly, picked up my bag, and made a dash for the door. Home free.