First impressions of Spain

My journey from Quito, Ecuador to Barcelona, Spain was quite a story.

It all started with going to the bus terminal in Quito to buy my ticket to Guayaquil. In English, the words “thirteen” and “thirty” sound vaguely similar. In Spanish, they are even more so. (Trese “tray-say” and Trente “tren-tay“) So when the man told me the fare was $13.25 (trese venti cinco), through the thick window I thought he had said $30.25 (trente venti cinco).

Since I did not have a $10 bill, I gave the man $40.25. What I got back in change was $6.75. I knew that was wrong and said so. Luckily, I was with an Ecuadoran friend who jumped to my defense and began vigorously arguing with the man in Spanish. In the end, he returned the extra $20 bill. I still got cheated out of $0.75 but I wasn’t too worried about it.

The overnight bus ride to Guayaquil was uneventful. I slept most of the way. That was made even more comfortable by a very nice new neck pillow I had bought of the day of my departure. (That pillow would end up helping me in other ways too, but that comes later in the story.)

I already told a little about my 11 hour wait in the airport and finding electricity to keep my phone and computer charged. I also shared a video of the live band inside the airport. (For that complete story, go here.)

The flight across the Atlantic Ocean was a red-eye so I slept through most of that as well. Again making good use of the neck pillow.

In the morning, as the flight attendants served breakfast, the monitors showed our location and flight path. We were far north of Spain. In fact, we were north of France too. We were roughly even with the English Channel and headed straight east. Only when we were directly above the center part of Spain did we turn and head straight south to Madrid.

I have no idea why we took such a course. Perhaps it was to avid a storm, or to take advantage of the jet stream. I simply don’t know.

At any rate, we arrived in Madrid more than two hours behind schedule. So what had been anticipated to be a 2½ hour layover had now been cut to just minutes.

Here’s where the neck pillow brought me a whole different kind of comfort. It’s kind of a showpiece. Having no place better to put it, I was wearing it around my neck when I walked up to the immigration window. The immigration officer smiled and commented on it. I took the pillow from around my neck and showed it to her. I told her (in Spanish) that I had bought it in Ecuador. She even showed it to the immigration officer in the next booth over. Handing me back my pillow, she stamped my passport and waved me through.

Thankfully, Iberia Airlines gives phenomenal service. (A real shout-out to them!) They had already rebooked all the passengers who were likely to miss their connecting flights because of the delay. When we hit the ground, new boarding passes were already printed and waiting.

A concierge distributed the new boarding passes. In a subtle, but very important, nod to efficiency, he even did it based on how soon the new connecting flights were set to depart. So those with the tightest timeframes got their boarding passes first. (In another not-to-be-overlooked bit of operating efficiency, Iberia boards passengers starting from the back of the plane and working toward the front. This prevents the long series of delays from passengers standing in the aisles putting away their luggage while others wait to get past.)

Safely booked on a new connecting flight to Barcelona, I made my way toward the gates. What I had failed to notice on the airport’s departure boards was that there was more than one flight to Barcelona for Iberia Airlines. I got in line for the 15:00 departure and made it all the way to the front of the line only to find that I was booked on the 15:30 departure two gates over. That flight hadn’t started boarding yet so it was really only a small waste of my time.

After landing in Barcelona, I discovered that neither Uber nor Lyft operates here. To take a taxi to my AirBNB in the suburbs would have cost €53 ($65.19).

Thankfully, I speak enough Spanish to make my way around. I found a government-run tourist information stand (they are everywhere in Barcelona) and got information for getting there by train. It would require taking a bus to the train station, then taking three different trains on two different train systems.

On hearing where I wanted to go, more than one ticket agent looked at me like I wanted to go to a different planet. I was starting to worry. I even had one ticket agent tell me that it wasn’t possible to get to Ripollete by train. (Twenty minutes later, that same ticket agent sold me a ticket which got me to within 2 miles of my destination.)

At one point, I mistakenly got off the train two stations too soon.

By this time, I was hungry, tired and frustrated. I just wanted to catch a cab the rest of the way.

There were no taxis at the train station. I walked to the nearest intersection. After about five minutes, a taxi went by. Despite my yelling and waving, the driver didn’t even notice me. Maybe ten minutes later, another taxi came by but also did not notice me yelling and waving from the other side of the street.

I would have to cross the street if I wanted to be noticed.

So I crossed the street and waited. And waited. And waited.

Twenty minutes went by with no more taxis in sight. Finally I picked up my two large and very heavy backpacks and began walking. My cell phone was down to less than 20% battery and fading fast. I asked an old man walking his dog where I might find a taxi.

“You’re not likely to find a taxi in this neighborhood.”

Not promising news.

A half block further on, I asked a couple sitting on a stoop. Same answer. “Taxis almost never come around in this neighborhood.”

I had no choice. So I backtracked to the train station and got back on the train. Two more stations and I finally got to where I should have gone in the first place. But I still had two large and very heavy backpacks to lug another two miles. I really just wanted a taxi at this point, no matter what the cost.

Trying to flag one down, the driver indicated that he already had passengers.

I stood on the sidewalk and waited. Watching every car that came by, after ten minutes I finally spotted a taxi. He was going the wrong way but I didn’t care. I waved him down and he gestured to indicate he would turn around and come back. Two minutes later, I was finally in the taxi and a few minutes after that, on the doorstep of my AirBNB.

The train cost me €6.40 and the taxi another €5.50. (Cabs are very expensive in Europe!) The whole journey from touch-down to doorstep took a little over FIVE HOURS!

When I plugged in my phone, the battery was at just 1% remaining.