No Mazzy blog post would be complete without a tale of woe concerning my travel arrangements and although this one was nothing like as dramatic as the others, it definitely had it's ups and downs.
My first flight from Barcelona was leaving at 15.30 and as I'm a "get to the airport hours before I need to", kind of person, the only train that gave me the sort of safety margin I feel comfortable with, was leaving Vinaros at 6.50. This meant dragging my lovely friend Roz (who had kindly agreed to take care of the doglets while I was away) out of bed at 5.30 so she could give me a lift to the station. I on the other hand, never made it to bed that night. I was suffering from an overdose of excitement about the actual trip but was also full of stomach churning anxiety about the actual travelling bit, so sleeping was out of the question. Given how much detailed planning goes into all my trips and the ridiculous amount of time I allow for each transition, you would have thought I'd be able to relax a bit, but unfortunately my insides and brain have a will of their own.
We got to the train station a good 30 mins before it was due to leave, but as it starts from there, I was able to hop aboard, secure a seat that had space for all my luggage and calm down enough to sleep most of the way.
Arriving in Barcelona, I still had over 5 hours before my flight, which meant plenty of time to have a cigarette outside in the sunshine, grab a coffee, buy a return ticket to the airport using my Tarjeta Dorada (Gold card for the old and wrinkly) which only cost me €5 and wander slowly down to the platform. On arrival I soon realised this was the wrong platform so had to meander back up all the stairs ( not easy with a suitcase and 2 backpacks) and then down again to the right one.
The train arrived very quickly, I found a seat ( bonus - because it was pretty packed) and was thoroughly entertained for the short journey by the 2 buskers that spend the whole day riding the train, putting a smile on people's faces and by the amount of money going into their hat - making a bit of a killing.
It's a long old walk from the station to the airport terminals, but I had bags of time, so waited until the rush of people alighting from the train had died down a bit. This very long walkway has improved a bit since the first time I used it - but not by much. There are still sections with a rubber floor that has raised bits, guaranteed to cause havoc to any luggage with wheels and there are still no trollies. Barcelona airport has millions of trollies - they are everywhere and you don't need a coin to take one, so why on earth they don't have some at the station for people like me (who have never mastered the art of packing light) is totally beyond me.
When I finally made it into the terminal ( and it took a while) I had one dodgy moment when I found myself heading straight into security instead of check in, but was rescued by a friendly helpful chap who asked which airline I needed and gave me directions to the bus that would take me to terminal 1.
I find international airports fascinating, because you can usually guess people's nationality buy their approach to queues. It seems to me that the further south you go the less likely it is that people will wait in line in a nice orderly fashion. We Brits are brilliant at queueing, the Italians however, think it's stupid.
So although there was a queue of sorts for the bus, the minute it arrived, it became a free for all. I was at the back of the line conveniently situated for the rear doors, but so was a poor woman with a lot of luggage, a baby in a pushchair, a toddler and his bike!!!
While she was desperately trying to get that lot on board, people were pushing past her, so I helped a bit by hanging on to her toddler lest he get trampled underfoot and using my suitcase to block some of the people, while she lifted the pushchair. It was a short but entertaining journey. I was sat next to an Italian bloke yelling into his phone at the top of his voice and had a nice little chat with an Iraqi chap and his son, who were heading home to Sweden.
Arriving at terminal 1, the pushing and shoving started again, so I and the lady with the children wisely waited until everyone else had gone, then we worked in tandem to get her little family and all that went with it, safely from the bus to the forecourt. At that point I decided to leave her to it, after all, it was unlikely she was going to Kilimanjaro via Dubai , so she was going to have to manage on her own for most of her journey. I felt the danger of flattened children had passed, so I didn't feel too bad abandoning her. She thanked me profusely and we went our separate ways.
So far, everything with this journey, was going relatively smoothly and I was beginning to hope that my previous dodgy travel experiences might be a thing of the past.
I found a trolley immediately, only had to wait for a few minutes to get my case wrapped ( I've watched far too many videos of baggage handlers rifling through suitcases to bypass this important step) found my check in desk easily - with no queues, got boarding passes for both legs of my journey and waved goodbye to my now beautiful wrapped in Green clingfilm suitcase.
This was wonderful - no hassle, no stress and everything working just as it should in an ideal world.I had a few more cigarettes before I remembered that Barcelona airport has an outside courtyard where you can smoke ( or so I thought) after you go through security.
I joined the end of an extremely long line of people waiting to go through security, but it moved quickly and I was at the front in no time.
I loaded my 2 backpacks ( I need one just for all my camera stuff), laptop, bum bag and belt into 3 trays and slid them round to go through the machine. This is always a trying time for me - you only have to read my very first blog post covering the New Zealand trip to find out why, but everything just sailed through the x ray machine without any worrying stops or concerned looks from the guys behind the counter. I didn't even set off the alarm on the walk through machine, which must be a first - probably because I'd resisted the urge to wear chunky jewellery. It was only when I was popping my Mac back in it's special pocket and replacing my belt that I realised that no one had given me the third degree over my liquids. They hadn't noticed I was using a Blue freezer plastic bag instead of the regulation, far to small ziplock bag, provided at some airports, they hadn't thrown a hissy fit because there was too much in the bag and they definitely hadn't yelled at me because it was hidden away in one of my backpacks instead of in the tray where it could be examined properly. I just don't understand this stupid regulation especially as it only seems to apply in certain airports. A friend of mine visiting for a few days in the summer decided not to check in a bag ( and with the extortionate prices that Ryainair charge I don't blame her). She takes some medication, has a few specialised cosmetics for health reasons and wears contacts that require solutions. Even though nothing in there was more than 100ml, it wouldn't all fit in one diddly little plastic bag, so she used two. Well you would have thought she was trying to smuggle in several kilos of cocaine by the fuss the security staff made and despite explaining why it was all needed and pleading with them to let her through, they made her cram as much as she could into one and throw the rest away. Ridiculous!!
Anyway, Barcelona airport clearly agrees, so I sailed through security without so much as a pat down.
If only all my travel journeys would be this simple and straightforward, I might never need another sleepless night again.
I still had plenty of time to kill ( about 2 hours) so made my way to the smoking friendly courtyard, got myself a nice little bottle of vino ( it was lunchtime and when I'm on holiday I tend to relax my no alcohol before 6.00pm rule) and found a table in the shade. Just as I was retrieving my cigarettes and lighter from the depths of my backpack masquerading as a handbag, I noticed all the no smoking signs everywhere.
This was not good. I would never have come through security this early if I hadn't been convinced I could grab a few more fags before my 6 hour flight. I'm not very good at breaking rules ( unless it's by accident ) so filled with disappointment I returned my cigarettes and lighter to my backpack. Sipping on my drink, I looked around at all the other lovely people enjoying the sunshine and realised...... they were all smoking. I then spotted a bin with a sand tray in the top, full of cigarette buts, despite there being a huge no smoking sign actually on the bin itself. Even more hilarious was the multitude of airport staff, identifiable by their security badges and lanyards, all having a good old smoke. Well if they could do it, so could I. Out came the cigarettes again and my day just got even better.
Things continued to go well. I didn't have to stand around, staring at the screen waiting to be told which gate, because It was printed on my boarding pass. I didn't have to do a 5 mile jog to the gate as it was relatively close, (by airport standards). I found the gate easily and was told, by a helpful young man, that I could join the short priority boarding queue because apparently I have silver membership of something (no idea what).
Being one of the first to board and having a chosen a aisle seat near the front of economy, I had my luggage stowed in the plenty big enough overhead locker, had my kindle, neck cushion and eye mask handy and got settled into my larger than average seat in no time. Now it was time to have a fiddle with the entertainment system. The headphones worked, were surprisingly comfy and as an added bonus the plug didn't keep dropping out of it's socket. But the best bit was that the screen was lovely - bigger than most and it actually worked. The choice of films was brilliant and I actually managed to fall asleep during 3 of them. We took off on time, got a very nice meal washed down with a few glasses of ice cold white wine and so with all the dozing, the time passed quickly and overall, I gave Emirates a big thumbs up.
As I had booked both legs of my journey through Emirates I was quite looking forward to leg number 2. At this rate, I might actually arrive in Tanzania not feeling like a bloated wrung out dishrag.
As you may have gathered - things started to go rapidly downhill from that moment on.