This is part 2 of my trip to Spain. (Part 1 in the series is here: The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly…)
Advance apologies for the length and rantiness of this post. I promise the next will just be about my adventures and impressions of Spain.
When we left off…
Panic has now set in. (Please note the sub-title of this blog: I’m FINE: Frustrated, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. The Adventures, Travels and Tribulations of a Bonkers Blogging Blond. ‘Bonkers’ may be an understatement. Pretty sure it is, but my alter-ego thought ‘bonkers’ rhymed better with ‘blogging’ and ‘blond’.)
Iberia Airlines, with their teams of luggage and policy-making asshats, had conspired to leave me stranded: I’m stuck in a foreign country, alone, speaking only enough espanol to order beer and tacos. As much as I needed one at that moment, I don’t drink beer. Anymore. That leaves me with just tacos.
And I’d been on two planes for the last 22 hours: I needed a shower, a Starbucks, to be done with airports, and to have MY FEET ON THE FUCKING GROUND in Alicante.
As my regular readers know, I can be quite persuasive when panicked. (If you’re new here, Welcome! Please see When Lost In The Crenshaw District of L.A. Sacrifice The Blond for an example.)
Imagine me trying to tell the gals at the ticket counter that being stranded in a foreign country, after 22 hours in the air, WITHOUT my luggage, a toothbrush, or an international phone with which to contact my boyfriend, was not a good idea.
Reasoning didn’t seem to work. Perhaps it was my food-ordering-level of Spanish. However, after unleashing my “loud American” they quickly relented and let me on the next plane to Alicante.
‘My, what good sense you have’ said Little Red Riding Hood.
‘All the better to avoid an international incident, my dear’ said The Wolf.
When I land I find need to visit a special area of baggage claim to see if the luggage asshats may or may not be be holding my luggage hostage because heaven forbid it should fly WITHOUT ME again.
On my way, I see Lugnut waiting for me. I motion to him I’m on a hunt for my luggage, that may or may not be in Spain. Lugnut understands, but Lugnut isn’t concerned about waiting some more. He’s quite fine waiting, actually.
You see, Lugnut is not alone. He has brought a woman.
We’ll call her Wedge.
More black tar is winding it’s way through my first overseas vacation.
I should explain both Wedge and another friend of my boyfriend’s, a guy we’ll call Bobby because he’s a London cop, were both sharing the condo with Lugnut and I. Bobby and Wedge were not a couple, but they were sharing the other room in the condo. While Wedge’s appearance at the airport was a total shock, her presence in Spain was not.
Finally, after making my way to the area where luggage that was allowed to fly – apparently illegally – without it’s intended passenger is held hostage, I get my luggage. I find Lugnut, and have the pleasure of meeting Wedge.
No hug or kiss ‘hello’ from Lugnut. ??? My boyfriend is suddenly less than interested in greeting me in our customary manner.
Lugnut informs me we will be waiting another TWO HOURS just to see if on the off chance Wedge’s fucking lost luggage might arrive on the next flight. Very bad idea.
*evil squinty blink blink*
WTF?! Wedge has been there two days, showered, eaten, slept, shopped, and most apparently made a sucker out of my asshat of a boyfriend.
Me: ‘I’ve been on planes and in airports for 24 hours. I got bumped from my flight in Madrid, I’m sleep-deprived, I need a shower, and most of all I need to be away from airports. I can’t spend another two hours in one. We talked about this before – you asked if I would want to sleep when I landed and I told you I will want a shower and food. Nothing has changed.’
Lugnut continued to be more concerned about WEDGE and the remote possibility of getting her fucking luggage. Luggage that hadn’t been on EIGHT previous flights, luggage NO ONE said would be on the next flight.
Me: ‘Fine. Tell me the address and I’ll get a fucking taxi. Or take me to the condo, and while I shower you and Wedge can come back to the airport.’
I’m only his girlfriend fercryinoutloud.
Or one of his girlfriends. Obviously.
I sincerely wish he had opted for one of those two choices. Instead, after much debating, Lugnut decides to take me to the condo.
Forty minutes later we are five minutes from the condo when Wedge wants to go shopping at the corner store. WTF?!
Well, Lugnut is so whipped by Wedge at this point that he pulls over and parks at the store! I ask what we’re doing and he said, ‘We’re waiting for Wedge to get some clothes and shoes since she didn’t get her luggage.’ (Said in a tone implying it was MY fault because we didn’t wait around just to see if her luggage might have been on plane number eleventy hundred.) ‘She’ll only be five minutes.’
Black sticky tar has now engulfed half of Spain. It is sticking to everything.
A chick who shops in five minutes? My ass.
He doesn’t want to drop her off and come back for her after dropping me off. The condo is less than five minutes away. And Lugnut is a huge fucking asshat.
I’m now ready to walk the few blocks to the condo just to get away from them. But then I thought that wouldn’t be far enough.
I hadn’t been in Spain for 2 hours and I wanted so bad to go back to the airport and fly standby. I kid you not. I didn’t care how long I would have to wait. I was ready to cry. After I’d had my shower I asked him to take me back to the airport.
He managed to convince me to stay. My bad for staying. Looking back now, it never had the chance to be the romantic trip I imagined. Not to mention his one attempt at sex was lousier than usual. (Poor as it usually was, it was worse as he had trouble keeping it up since his other GF was in the next room. I told him to ‘get off me’.)
And black tar has now fully engulfed my trip to Spain. The Costa Blanco (White Coast, probably named for all the British expats) is now the Costa Negro of my trip, so named for the black tar that permeated my first, and only Mediterranean vacation. A sexless one, at that.)
I got to see Spain, but the company absolutely sucked. Except for the London Bobby… he was an absolute gentleman, and a wonderful host. Needless to say, Lugnut and I broke up when we got back to the states.
Ok, so I apologize again to those of you who made it this far for the lengthy rant these last two posts turned out to be. This post is just about my impressions of Spain, and pictures.