- www.ryanair.com
March 8-9So, before I start, I would like to cheat and include a link to Charlie's blog for these days. Charlie is a nice, generally mild-mannered man, but my anger over the events I'm about to relate doesn't even begin to compare to his overwhelming rage that burns hotter than the fire of a thousand million suns. Seriously, don't even bring it up to him. He like, turns into the Hulk. It's impressive.
Before we left, the group came up with a seven page complete itinerary for our trip that had a breakdown of activities hour by hour for every day (I know, just let it go, trust me). For the next few days, I'm going to start with what the itinerary lists for that day.
Remember: Men plan, God laughs.
MONDAY
Barcelona
1. depart for Pisa airport at 7am
2. arrive at Pisa airport at 8am, drop car off
3. depart Pisa for Barcelona at 9:55 am
4. arrive Girona at 11:15am
5. bus/train from Girona to Barcelona 25 minutes after plane lands (21 euro)
6. arrive in Barcelona
7. find hostel and check in, drop stuff if possible
8. Casa Milla and Casa Batillo (Gaudi buildings) (go in Casa Milla maybe?)
9. doze on the beach and chill if nice
10. Ramblas Street: markets/shops to look around
11. relax, hang out, walk around, eat some cheap-ass dinner, go to the Dow Jones Bar
12. If not exhausted, go out and have some fun
I was woken from my super comfortable airplane nap (the seats on RyanAir planes actually don't recline) by a flight attendant/infomercial host telling me to sit up and prepare for landing. It was announced that we would be circling Girona for a few minutes due to bad weather. So we waited. And waited.
I guess I should tell you a little bit about RyanAir. I already said the seats don't recline. They also don't have customer service. What they do have is at least 3 costume changes on every flight and the atmosphere of a 5 am Tuesday morning infomercial. The flight attendants try to sell everything from smokeless cigarettes (what?) to RyanAir brand scratch-offs. And that tasty free drink? Forgetaboutit. It’s going to cost you on RyanAir. And it’s probably going to cost a lot.
Anyways, we were circling Barcelona. And then the plane began to climb again? Another announcement was made saying we would have to stop at a nearby airport to refuel and then we would come back to Barcelona and try again. I remember not thinking too much of it. I mean, it was just a little snow. I've seen pilots land in so much worse in Chicago. But of course, those were real pilots on real airplanes with real airlines at real airports. RyanAir is fake.
Out the windows we could see the snow covered beaches of...
MONTPELLIER, FRANCE
If my blog was a movie, this is where the Shutter Island-style intense music would start.
So we hung out on the runway for a while and then, suddenly the flight crew started singing a different tune. They said we had to wait for a while because there wasn't a gate open or enough stairs for us to deplane.
Wait, what? Deplane?
This is when the PTSD flashbacks to Spring Break '08 started.
Suddenly it was like I was back at LaGuardia with Tessa, Sam and Veronica, sunburned and crying, just trying to get home. Don't worry, Lizzie kept me sane by taking funny pics.And then a new voice, one I assumed belonged to the pilot, told us that we would deplane and then get a bus to Girona. By then I was thinking, “Okay, this is lame, but it could be worse. At least you didn't have anything big planned today; you're still going to get there.”
Oh how I miss those sweet days of my childlike belief that RyanAir would fulfill its legal obligations.
I guess they finally found some stairs, so someone else announced that we would be moving soon and then deplane and they would "take care of us." No mention of a bus was made. We were instructed to go inside and speak to the RyanAir representative. So we trudged inside. We should’ve stayed on the plane.
This airport was small. SMALL. There was no customs. There was no border control. My passport was not checked or stamped. More importantly, there was NOT A RYANAIR REP. And there sure as hell wasn't a bus.
So everyone from our flight naturally swamps the information desk at the airport. We decided to be different at get some food. After all, at this point, it was about 12:45 and being herded (and lied to) like cattle makes one pretty hungry.
Drinking is the answer to most travel delays.Once the lined calmed down, Lizzie went to inquire about our status. The answer?
RyanAir isn't here. The plane is gone. We don't know why you're here. You're on your own to get to Barcelona, good luck. Please leave our airport.
So we left. We got on a bus, then a tram to the train station. And again, thank God for Lizzie. She helped us figure it out. And on the way we picked up some strays, three American girls who were on the flight and trying to get to the train station too, but didn't speak any French.
So we get to the train station and after a few minutes of staring at arrival/departure boards and Lizzie asking the information desk we realized that there weren't going to be any more trains leaving the station that day. So we left.
We started walking down the main street through the town, taking our new friends with us and asking at all the hotels and hostels if they had any room. None did.
At this point you probably think we were all cold, wet (it was raining), tired, hungry and grumpy. And we were. But don't forget, we were a team. So we kept our spirits up. We channeled our rage at RyanAir into constructive things like finding a place to stay and making Mary and Joseph jokes (we were looking for an inn, remember?). Our group really was so great. Even when we were under such ridiculous stress, we all managed to stay reasonably happy with each other and as I write this 3 weeks later I can easily say that we are all still friends.
So we eventually found a MickeyD's with free wifi and settled in to figure some stuff out and get some comfort food. At this point I called Papa Gards (that's you, Dad) and let him know what was up. The RyanAir website said that they had landed in Reus and bussed us to Barcelona.
TELLER OF UNTRUTHS, YOUR TROUSERS HAVE COMBUSTED.
Just a blatant lie on their website. Ridiculous. This was when I started to get pretty angry. RyanAir stranded us in the WRONG country, didn't fulfill their obligation to get us to the final destination, lied to us about it and then lied on their website about it. What if there had been an emergency? What if there had been an earthquake? What if there had been a volcano? What if there had been an asteroid headed straight for Earth and they needed us to go blow it up with Bruce Willis while listening to Aerosmith? There would be no way for anyone to find us. What was the point in providing my parents with the flight number if they were just going to lie about everything?
It could have been us.So Papa Gards called back and told me he found a hostel nearby that had good reviews. So we called them up and they had room (WIN!) and we walked the 2 or so blocks over there and checked in. I had no idea what was going on because I don't speak any French, but Lizzie told us the front desk guy was super nice and friendly, so that was pleasant change from our experience in France so far.
We settled in, our group in one room and the girls we found in a room on the floor above us. A couple people napped and I went to the drugstore. Peter offered to go with me, which was super nice, but I thought was strange at the time. I mean, it was 2:30 on a Monday afternoon and I was only going a street over, so I would've been fine, right?
WRONG. MontP revealed its sketchiness to me at the store. First of all, it was packed with weird looking people. Why weren't they at work? I spent most of the trip looking at my shoes, standing next to Peter, trying to not make eye contact. I didn't really notice, but he said everyone looked drunk. There definitely were a lot of people buying alcohol. I was so glad he went with me. Thanks again, Peter.
So we all nap/shower and then regroup and head over to, you guessed it, McDonald's. It was probably the place we felt safest in the entire city. I always thought McD’s with wifi were stupid. I mean, who is going to bring their computer to a McD’s? Stranded travelers, apparently. I appreciate the free McD’s wifi now.
So after a solid meal of Chicken McNuggets, we went to met up with some Italians we had met earlier that were on our flight. Because organized, multilingual outrage is much more effective than regular outrage. First, we contacted the airport to find out what was going on. The lady cursed and yelled at Lizzie (professional, right?), but calmed down once she realized we weren't with RyanAir; we hated them too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend? She told us that the airport had filed a complaint with whoever they complain to about the situation. Everyone hates RyanAir. After that we also came up with a timeline of events to use when we wrote our angry letters.
We went by McD's on the way home for more grease and then called a group meeting for the ND kids. We discussed our situation and options and agreed that if we couldn't get out tomorrow morning, we were going to cut out our Barcelona leg of the trip and just head to Paris (check out how grown up we are!). None of us felt comfortable in MontP and didn't want to stay another night. We were lucky in that our travel plans were flexible and we could just elect to go somewhere else. The other girls weren't so lucky. They had classes to get to and friends to meet and had to get there somehow.
So you must think that by NOW we were grumpy and starting to get annoyed with each other and wanting some time apart. And maybe we were. But instead, we had a giant pillow fight and then pushed all the beds together and had a big slumber party. That's what the pic from the beginning is from. Because we weren't about to let a little thing like being stuck in the hate crime capital of France get us down.
TUESDAY
Barcelona
1. sleep in
2. Park Guell
3. Plaza de Toros
4. castle/fortress thing on top of the hill: figure it out
5. night life: absinthe at Bar Marsella
We were up and waiting at the train station bright and early the next morning.
Still no trains to Barcelona. So, we threw down 85€ each, wished the other girls and the Italians good luck and hopped a train to Paris. I guess protecting the women in the sketchiest part of France was really hard work because both the guys passed out almost immediately on the train.We got to Paris and met Peter's girlfriend, Claire, at the station. She had been awesome enough to book a hostel for us while we were on the train, so we hopped on the metro and headed over there to check in.
First impression of Paris? The metro smells like urine. I wasn't impressed.
We got to Paris two days early. So we had some free time. What to do? Climb the Eiffel Tower, DUH! That thing has A LOT of stairs. Just saying.
We didn’t get to go all the way to the top because we had an EPIC ND REUNION on the first
level. I guess Lizzie was walking around when, suddenly, who should wander out of the gift shop but Nicolle, one of her roommates. Screaming and jumping ensued, naturally. I was on the other side of the tower, so I just heard the screaming, but I guess it was fairly epic. All that screaming and jumping took time though, so we made it to the second level but missed the last elevator to the top. The view was still awesome though.We watched the sunset and took a million pics and I think we even sang the fight song? It was pretty cold though. Okay, it was REALLY cold. But we stayed and watched the lights come on. It was amazing. And I even talked to Dad on the phone. It’s not every day I can answer the phone, “Hey Dad, I’m on the Eiffel Tower watching the sunset. What’s up?”
After we climbed back down the 6 billion stairs we went over to a restaurant that Peter had been to before. We all got two courses and dessert and wine, so it was a solid meal. And I mean, say what you will about France, but we had some delicious food while we were there. The waiter was really friendly, but there were like 14 of us, so maybe that’s why. We went to bed that night much happier than the previous night, because even though we weren’t having a pillow fight/slumber party, we were NOT in MontP. And that’s a win.
Mom, I didn’t even make eye contact with strangers in MontP, don’t worry.
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