I once read to Ana María Matute that kisses given at airports are more real than those given at weddings, and that the same is true of prayers, that hospitalizations are more honest than those of churches. And I'm here, at Noáin Airport, on a Saturday morning. Making sociology of the airport, there are two kinds of people waiting for the plane coming from Madrid: Those who wait for relatives who come from latinomics and the children who wait for their father – yes, I say father – usually with their mother. I have the keys and the parking ticket in my hands to get it out as soon as possible. While waiting, there is always a hand-made sign that welcomes you. I have thought that I have never done that, but I have been ashamed when they have been waiting for me with the afix Embassy of Spain, when I have told those who were in the seat next to me that the Basque language is my language, that I am Basque… Because, like kisses, are the posters of airports more real?