Highways and byways
March 21, 2009Whoever coined the term traveling should be hung by their underwear.
The part of the process that is tedious and timeconsuming and encourages hair pulling (both of ones self and others) is the getting there. Once at said location, that is the nirvana, the part we write about in postcards. So why in Sam hell do we call it the part we hate!
At the moment I am trying the best I can to solve some transportation puzzles of sorts. Literally I´m in some dodgy call center because it´s the only place around that has internet. Funny, I thought I was in Barcelona, the home of the 92 Olympics. But I guess world sporting event does not equate to world wide web. I need internet to book a Ryanair flight to Rome. Have I lost you yet!
Originally my plan was to head to each destination by rail in search of a Before Sunrise type of glamorous, life altering experience. Then I went online and read the prices to do that. Whoah, mama, I´m not Donald Trump. That brings me to my current dilemna of getting to Rome. I was all set to go to the airport early and take the first thing available. Then I discovered that Barcelona´s airport is 60 km away and it means having to take a bus. Flash forward to me running to make a 730 bus and missing it. You get the picture. So I´m stranded until 3 am with a huge backpack. Sounds like a bad sitcom, I suppose.
This, by the way, is not the first travel snafu in my journey. Heading from Valencia to here I missed my train and was screaming at a security guard to let me in because I had paid for my ticket but had to watch the other passengers board while they prohibited me from entering. Oh, good times.
My guess is that the process is a test. I have to be resourceful and adjust. All I have is me, my backpack and my Spanish skills. Wish me buena suerte so that I can have lunch in Italia tomorrow.
