WARNING: If harsh language offends, don't read this. I drop way too many f-bombs but no other word conveys my emotions as well. Sincere apologies for this potty mouth post.
I thought bad luck was only suppose to come in threes. But apparently it can come in tens. As a disclaimer, I want you to know this is by no means a whingey poo post. In fact, I would have giggled myself a six pack in the last week if it wasn't for all the treats I've been gorging on.
Europe so far has been loads of fun. Lots of beaches, tapas and sangria. I am loving being a backpacker again and having two of my best friends by my side. Our first Saturday night out in Barcelona was amazing. We rampaged up the main drag of La Rambla, bar hopped, danced with cute boys to Euro Trash music and stayed out till 4.30am despite being in transit from 5am that previous morning.
But we have had an endless string of disasters that it's actually just become a bit of a joke. The myriad of fuck-ups are definitely worth documenting. To say my friend Penny is super organised wouldn't be doing her justice. Penny is amazing. She also does a mean arse spreadsheet, which is always a tell tale sign of a travelling genius. Without her, I would be screwed. She's done a brilliant job of organising this trip and is very clever. But it just goes to show it doesn't matter how organised you are - sometimes the Karma Chameleon has other plans up her sleeve.
Welcome to the Disaster Diaries!
As Penny is peacefully dozing, she is rudely awoken by chunks of vomit raining down on her arm and head. Some twat has ran in the opposite direction of the loo and projectile vomited down the aisle. There is a reason they give you spew bags, fool. Like most people, Penny's not too fond of getting spewed on and is quite repulsed. The poor thing has to wait several more hours before the plane lands and can change her clothes.
Arrive at Heathrow airport, go to pick up bags. Nell, Penny and I all retrieve our bags. Inga's is a no show. Reassure Inga that of course her bag is coming. Still no bag. We promise it will come. We think. Baggage carousel stops spinning. No more bags. Fuck. Go to baggage reclaim counter and fill out lost form. Freaking out bag may be stuck in Dubai. Notice there is a greenish backpack that's a similar colour to Inga's left behind, decide to call their number. Idiot dude has accidentally picked up Inga's bag instead of his, blames the 24 hour flight and the fact they are both green, even though his is a BACKPACK and her's is WHEELIE. Lots of swear words are exchanged, but we are so relieved.
Finally at cosy London hotel for the night. Snuggle up to the warm doona and pass out. Big mistake. Should have slept on floor. Wake up feeling fresh and ready to conquer Spain. Arrive at Malaga airport, notice about 5 bites on my face and neck. Awesome. Bed bugs on my first fucking night and it wasn't even a dingy hostel! Thankfully no more bites appear, and they fade in a few days. Dammit, should not have cuddled doona so passionately.
Arrive in Barcelona with a spring in our step, this city looks awesome and we're ready to explore. Go to hostel to dump backpacks. "Um," the receptionist says nervously, "the thing is, you've made the booking for July, not June". Stomach sinks. Fuckity, fuckity, fuck. We all made this booking together months ago and were probably too excited to notice. Luckily there's still availabilities and she fits us in, it's a bit above our planned budget but we're just happy to have somewhere to stay. Phew. Laugh for the rest of the day at our silly mistake.
Order lunch. Penny picks fish. Turns out to be something called foire. Looks like spew. Tastes like spew. Being the trooper she is, she forces down a few mouthfuls. According to Google it's fattened duck liver. Now poor Penny wants to spew. Inga gets the smallest salad I've ever seen and costs a fortune. I get 'nachos' which consists of 5 measly corn chips and mashed up avocado. Worst meals ever.
Peeing pants with excitement about heading to Santorini today. It's definitely the place we're looking forward to the most. We're flying to Athens then catching a ferry. Arrive at Barcelona airport with lots of time to spare for our flight. Already checked in online so just have to check in our bags. Hop in line. Line becomes unruly with lots of fuck wits pushing in. A family of 15 then sneaks in. Urge to stab family grows. Remain calm.
Decide to change lines into the regular check in as this line is not moving. Swap lines and finally get to counter, beat the online check in line we were previously standing in. Defeats the whole purpose of checking in online, wasn't it suppose to speed things up? Shitty customer service and stupid line sneaks ruined that plan. Flight not leaving for more than half an hour anyway so it's ok, phew.
AIR VUELLING BITCH: I'm sorry but luggage has just closed, we can't check your bags in.
US: Umm.... Pardon?
AIR VUELLING BITCH: Unsympathetically shrugs
US: But the flight doesn't leave for ages, so many people just pushed in front of us it's not our fault! Surely you can just pop our bags through, please?
AIR VUELLING BITCH: Sorry, it's not possible. You'll have to get another flight to Athens.
Run around airport madly trying to find another flight to Athens. Nothing till tomorrow. Devastated. Stand in line to buy new tickets.
ME: This is like a bad dream. This is going to stuff up everything.
LOVELY AMERICAN GIRL: Did you guys miss your flight too?
End up chatting to our gorgeous new friend, Alicia, who has also missed her flight. Contemplate having an airport slumber party to save money but decide we'll all split an airport hotel for the night. Head back to hotel with new friend and assess the damage. We've lost shit loads of money. 85 Euro for new plane ticket (one thing Vuelling did help with was halfling the cost!), accommodation for Santorini still has to be paid for as we didn't give enough cancellation notice, wasted ferry tickets we'd already bought and 30 Euro for the hotel. Ouch.
Call ferry company to see if we can get to Mykonos tomorrow. Of course there is a boat strike so we can't till Thursday. Bugger. Fork out 5 euro (so against the grain of my cheap backpacker attitude but we had no other option) for the internet and quickly find a hostel for the night we'll have to spend in Athens. Book hostel. Can finally relax, everything sorted. Get email from hostel. There's been a 'technical glitch' and they are actually full. Awesome.
Decide to get some vino and drink our sorrows. Wine fixes everything. Have a genuinely fun night with our new friend despite being at a creepy airport hotel, when we should be in a villa in Santorini. Make plans to hopefully meet up with her in Croatia. Sometimes it doesn't matter where you are, it's the company you're with.
Finally in Athens and we have affectionately nicknamed our accommodation the Suicide Inn. It looks like a place where people come to die. But hallelujah, We are heading off to Mykonos tomorrow morning! We are absolutely shattered we missed out on Santorini but now it's just become the Word We Do Not Speak Of. Santa-who? Santa-awful. That's who. Santorini Schmeenie. Santorini is for honey-mooning suckers. We have become so suspicious of our bad luck that I won't believe I'll be in the Greek Islands till I actually arrive in Mykonos. And when I do, I am going to kiss the ground, and hopefully some hot boys.
I'm exhausted, defeated, but strangely smug that we've managed to have fun in such crazy situations.
PS. If anyone has the nerve to correct my spelling/ grammar I'll kill them. You try writing on a Greek keyboard in a shitty hostel, in a rush so you're not a computer hog. It's hard. I've done my best and considering they use an entirely different alphabet I'm happy with it. Apologies for any typos but I'll proof read and edit later. Muchos grazias! Yes that's Spanish, but I'm addicted to saying it.