Day Two

Just got back to the hostal in Barcelona after an evening meal (nine pm start time but not because we’re trendy or properly immersed in the culture, but rather because we’re jet-lagged and late from travelling). Eveything so far has been fantastic…too fantastic and the pessimist in me is somewhat waiting for the other shoe to drop Well anyway, this is how we spent the last 36 hours:

Arrived at the airport with 20 minutes to spare for my international flight, despite leaving the house late and stupidly skipping supper to make up for it. At the counter I somehow flirted my way into the extra-leg room seat for free, and a carry-on bag about 15 lbs too heavy. Said my goodbyes and then through a door and into a queue. A huge queue. There was only a single safety check point open, and the line-up was at least 60 people deep. My wait in line culminated in a successful go-through but upon arriving in the departure lounge, realized every food outlet was closed (they were counting cashes, so I had just missed them). So I cobbled together some nutrients from the terrible assortment offered by the Hudson group: Apple ($2.50, but she offered to wash it at least), 295 mL tomato juice ($3.00), bag of mixed nuts which I later found out were covered in spicy crap and too much msg ($5.50), 595 mL flavoured water ($3.89 + deposit) and finally a pack of gum ($2.00). Fifteen dollars and I had enough snacks to last me eight hours, but enough sodium to last me eight days.
Plane ride was quiet and lengthy, I was able to sleep maybe 2-3 hours during the five hour trip. Got all sortsa kinked up, and realized afterward that the “extra leg room” seat had immovable arm rests so I couldn’t put them up and sprawl over the empty seats like everyone else behind me could. Of course, this sprawl-out and sleep method only works for empty flights with no turbulence, but that is exactly the type of flight we had. A quick glance around proved no more empty three-seaters, otherwise I would have moved over. So I did the best I could, rewarded with a cramped neck and cold hands.
Arriving in Glasgow main airport at 8 am local time, I took my only luggage (carry-on bag on wheels plus my poster tube) and strutted out to the domestic arrivals like I knew what I was doing. My travelling friend (TF) was scheduled to arrive in three/four hours from London. We were to meet at the car rental area. I planned on catching a few more hours of sleep in the interim, and found a single three-seat bench next to the meeting spot. It was also next to the employee exit/entrance, so sleeping had to be facilitated with earplugs - Scottish airport workers are a rowdy crowd, all carrying cackling walkie-talkies. The airport was also extremely warm, so sleeping was a tad uncomfortable. I was also acutely aware of being the only sleeping person in the whole place, a situation made worse by my less-than-glamorous sleeping position (alternately cramped up in a ball or splayed out with gaping open mouth). Anyway, I was able to get a few more disjointed hours in before she arrived.
We ended up staying at the airport a long time as a mutual friend of ours happened to be on his way from Budapest back to Canada via Scotland. So we spent two hours chatting over an overpriced airport lunch (I ordered a chicken bacon salad, which sounded healthy but had one pound of fried ham for every six leaves of lettuce). He went to his gate to sleep, and we tried to scam a free shuttle bus to our hotel. When that didn’t work, we paid a few pounds to get the city centre bus, which dropped us off two blocks from the hotel we stayed in. Best Western Glasgow City Centre was a beautiful old building with so much character. Think 12 foot ceilings with thick crown molding and modern, clean décor. We went out for supper at four in the afternoon (Veggie burgers at Buddha Bar), then took a walk around town. We went through Kelingrove Park, and ended up in the West End of Glasgow, but around 6 pm the shops were closing for the day so we headed back. The evening was spent in the room, alternately sleeping/watching TV as TF and I battled jet lag (oddly, we were on different schedules…I would fall asleep for two hours & she would be up watching David Attenborough….she would go to sleep and I would wake up and watch a program on refurbishing an abandoned castle…). At 7:30 am, our wake-up call woke her up after she had just gone to sleep (but I, of course, had been up 30 minutes). Best Western provided a lovely continental breakfast, which we plundered for our meal AND for future snacks. We came back to the room and I had a relaxing bath in the spotless bathroom, then took my time getting ready . At 9:30 we headed back out to explore more of the West End, and revisited Kelingrove Park. The weather, as on the day before, was perfect walking weather; the rain clouds were alternatively threatening and nearly extinct on a 15-minute rotation. We were torn on vising the cultural museum near the park, as they had a photography exhibit with free admission but decided against it for lack of time. Glad we did- by the time we ambled back to the hotel to recover our bags, and headed to Central Station to catch a train to Prestwick airport, it was 11:30. We did not have a working cell phone (or laptop, or hairdryer) because TF’s Spain-specific adaptor didn’t work in Scotland, and were relying on strangers plus our wit to keep on schedule. As such, we were amazed that the ticket agent at the train station sold us Prestwick tickets for noon, as our check-in counter at the airport closed at 1:15 sharp and the train ride is around 45 minutes. But as we walked towards the platform, we eyed the gigantic clock: 11:55. As if on cue, the overhead speaker announces our train is on its last boarding call. If we don’t make it on this train, we will need to find a faster and more expensive way to the airport because the trains run every half hour and we were already cutting it close. So we ran. And we caught it. And everything was fine. The train was a fantastic way to get to the airport, very easy to navigate the stops and since the train station and airport are connected, we just had to take a ramp to the check-in counter.
Flying Ryanair: I was worried because I was about 4 lbs overlimit for carry-on, and was toting my poster tube too (which I suppose could count as a prohibited second piece of carry-on). Luckily, no one weighed the damn thing at all nor pointed out the second piece, and the only close-call was the grey-haired guard at the Ryanair safety counter who insisted I verify my luggage dimensions by squeezing it into the metal cages they have everywhere. My first attempt failed (ahhh.heart racing), but with a little reorganizing (less than 30 seconds of rooting around and rearranging, mercifully) the thing slid in like a breeze. Past security, and onto the flight. I had heard terrible things about Ryanair because it is a discount airline that doesn’t even pretend to care about customer service, but the flight was on time and I was pleasantly surprised. The hard part is over: if I’m required to check in my poster on the way home (with the accompanying risk of lost luggage) then it won’t matter as much-the conference will be over.
Arriving in Girona airport, about an hour away from Barcelona, we purchased bus shuttle tickets to the city centre. Neither the booth selling the tickets, nor the tickets themselves gave any indication in which bus terminal we were headed. We had to inquire at the information booth not once but twice in order to get out of the bus station (and then again two strangers on the street) and into the metro station. One transfer and two short metro rides later, we were on La Ramba street, the busiest and most crowded street in Barcelona, two Canadian gals lugging huge suitcases and one travel book. Our hostal is right off the main drag of Las Rambla, very near the metro station. It was a fifty-fifty chance coming out of the underground station, but of course we initially headed in the wrong direction and had to double back after about ten minutes. Did I mention it was raining? Yeah, explain that to me. How the fuck did we spend two days in Scotland and not get rained on, but arrive in Barcelona and boom : we are in need of an umbrella?!? I had one with me but I wasn’t about to unpack my friggin suitcase on La Rambla. Anyway, we finally found the lovely 1star Hostal Opera finally, and checked into our sparse but very clean (and relatively quiet) twinned room. Our priorities: getting a meal, and writing our families to say we had arrived safely. The blackberry was dead, but we were able to charge it enough to take it with us, emailing la familia while we were waiting for our food. And now she’s asleep and I’m writing. Tomorrow, we sleep in, explore the city on foot, hope it doesn’t rain, and see if we can eat on 5 Euros a day (I’ve been here one day, and already I’ve blown my budget on a nice meal out). One day and a half until the conference starts.

I’m in Europe. Hawesome.