yep, a sleek black limovan. But first, a tribute to a most common means of transportation...
Motorcycles are everywhere. Unusual compared to the US, they are pretty quiet and most people seem to be using them just to get from A to B, and not showing off.
Vueling was the airline chosen to get us to Barcelona. We didn't know until afterwards they have a terrible reputation for being late. Our flight was posted as delayed by more than an hour as we got into the airport. We hung out for a while before security because our gate hadn't been announced and there were some amenities in the area (food, toilets, chairs). Eventually Mark and I went through screening, scouting for Mary and Peter and promising an update with what was on the other side. Claiming four available seats and seeing the universal icon for restrooms, I "WhatsAppe'd" the others to come on through. Unfortunately, P&M did not cotton on to the spread of our luggage being a seat holding tactic for them and they wandered off, sitting somewhere else. An older man with a continuous cough seated behind them made them relocate once again. Meanwhile, I'm thinking they've been held up at security. I was getting worried. When I went through security, my purse had to be inspected, not for the two phones, a Kindle, two cameras, and a teeny-tiny little knife blade I carry (Victorinix Swisscard, check it out), but for a cheap little step-counter. They let me keep it.
I finally found our cohorts, explained our battle to keep two seats open for them, and then got chastised by Mary for not noticing the bathroom was unisex. The stall doors all bore a gent or a skirted stick figure (how many women where skirts these days?), but apparently there is a urinals section everyone passes by and guys keep leaving the door to it open. Oh the ick-factor, oh the trauma! It may be days before I'm back in her good graces.
Our plane rolled up right outside the window much earlier than expected. Also, the departure time got updated to be 45 minutes earlier than the prevous delayed time. I guess air traffic control at EAS (San Sebastian airport) also relies on looking out a window. An Iberian Air flight to Madrid had started boarding at the gate next to ours. I mean right next to it. Two doors couldn't be any closer and all those posts with the retractable bands weren't helping. Then there was an announcement for our flight to board. Having sprung for priority seats (first few rows, no extra legroom, but the middle seat kept empty), we entered the frey and "desculpe"-nudged our way to what we hoped was the head of the line for the Barcelona flight. I might add, there were no other passengers in the holding area, just these two flights. And no jetways -- the doors open, people sprint out onto the tarmac, and head for a staircase dove.
It was a smooth, food-less flight, only an hour long. Soon the Mediterranean was in sight and it promised to be as warm and sunny as it was in San Sebastian.
Landing at the furthest most possible gate, we learned just how big the Barcelona (BCN) airport is. Big. And a lovely pale, sea-green glass walled structure. An hour later, no, just kidding.., twenty minutes later we make it past customs (nobody there) to the arrivals greeting area. Uh-oh, lots of sign-holding drivers, but none with Mary's name. Just as Mary is about to speed dial Pablo (the trip planner and prime contact), Mark finds our guy who knew the flight was delayed, but not un-delayed. Whew! We have people again!
Even a higher density of motorcycles are in Barcelona, and quite a diversity. The above two are delivery cycles.
We are dropped off H10 Hotel Mimosa and immediately want a nap. Not sure why, but there is something so tiring about air travel. I think it has to do with always having to continuously be 'on alert' before and after being on the plane. Of course on the plane there can be all sorts of other stress, mostly in the form of people. We try to buy our way into reducing it whenever we can, but confinement is never fun. Movies help. Happy movies.
We had a tapas and walking tour planned for tonight but Peter had a foot injury from climbing up the hill yesterday in San Sebastian, so he opted out. Mary stayed back to help him. A trip to the hospital was necessary, but all turned out ok. See Mary's blog for explanation (and much better photos). Being the good friends that we are, we left them in their time of medical distress and went of a nice, chatty tour with Katia, a twenty-something who took us through the truly old part of Barcelona.
We learned the basics of the age if the city, the historic cycles, and a bit of key landmarks. Along the way, we passed some roadworks. Katia pointed out the Roman ruins discovered under the street opened up for repairs. Construction gets stalled when you discover Roman ruins and no one knows when/if this street will be passible again.
We ended at the harbor, about to have our last tapas until Mark pointed out we hadn't had a dessert yet. Katia surreptitiously made a phone call or three. She asked us what we planned on doing after. We thought she meant "after" like in tomorrow. Being twenty-something, she meant "after" our tour with her was done. She had earlier indicated a few bars and 'happening' places we might enjoy. We just looked at her and said "sleep."
We had wandered around quite a while prior to getting to the harbor and as we sat down to our last but one tapas, I checked Google Maps to see how far from the hotel pillows we were.
Over 3 kilometers. 46 minutes walking. Yes, definitely pillow time. But we rallied on, having some battered and fried sardines, cod on a crepe, and a potato thing. We lobbied for dessert to be on the way back. Another discreet phone call. Luckily it was just a block away. Mark found a new liquor, ratafia. It's a sweet, herby concoction many Spaniards make at home. Hmm, there might be some experimenting when we get back to Anchorage.
By the time we were done, I was so tired I totally forgot she told us how good the underground metro is. We could have ridden from where we were to one block our hotel door. But noooo, we speed-walked all the way back. I think she was impressed with us because she said most of her clients say she walks too fast.
Oh, just so you don't think we're total rotten friends, we had learned that Peter was OK, he did not have a broken foot, and they were still talking to us.
Toodles.
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