Day 25: On to Barcelona
We knew this was going to be a hectic day. We had to check out of our lovely seaside hotel, catch a train (hopefully they were running again) to Sestri Levante and then from there on to Milan (yes the train station of our nightmares). From there we had to get a shuttle bus to the airport where we would fly Easyjet to Barcelona. And from there we had to figure out how to get to the train station from the airport, and then catch a regional train to the apartment. And THEN we had to somehow figure out how to get to the apartment. So far, all emails to the apartment owner, Silvina, as to directions had remained unanswered. She had, in earlier emails, told us how to get from the airport to Vilasser de Mar, about 30 minutes from Barcelona by train where her apartment was.
This was my first time trying to book lodgings from Airbnb the famed rental agency that allows apartment and homeowners to rent out their apartments to vacationers. Previously, I had just booked hotels with Booking.com, the trusted agency, and all had gone very well. The only place we had stayed that I would not come back to was the creepy one in Chur. But I had wanted something special as we wind down our trip so I had decided to try Airbnb for both Barcelona and our final destination Lisbon.
Silvina’s flat had sounded wonderful. Although we would have to take a train into Barcelona each day, I actually thought that was a plus. Her apartment was seaside and in a (supposedly) small town on the ocean. Sounded wonderful! And it had a washing machine which we were badly needing. Ken was sick of washing out his undies every night. I wasn’t minding it so much but had to admit that a good cleaning of all our clothes would not come amiss.
So, it was with great sadness that we packed and left Deiva Marina. We said goodbye to the hotel family who had treated us so well and were promised that they just knew we would come back someday (I hope, hope that is true). We put together all the scraps of lettuce and tomato we had in the room from making sandwiches and carried them to the bridge to toss over to Oscar and Elmer (the names I gave the emus).
We arrived at the Deiva train station to find a small crowd of people waiting. This was a good sign. The trains were running! But our train never showed. It was five minutes late. Then 10. Then 15. I started panicking. If the trains weren’t running, we were cooked gooses. We would not be able to make our flight connections. Finally I asked if anyone there spoke English. “I do,” said a man. I asked if the trains were running. Immediately half the crowd started trying to explain the details--most in completely unintelligible Italian. But we did manage to comprehend that it had been announced that the train would be 10 minutes late--and then announced that it would be 20 minutes late. Now, it was anyone’s guess! However, to my overwhelming relief, the train arrived a few minutes later and we were on our way.
We had expected it to be a very stressful day, but things went pretty well. We arrived in the dreaded Milan and found that the shuttle bus was actually quite easy to find. We paid 20 euros for the shuttle and were off to the airport. Believe me, that was 20 euros well spent. It was a LONG way to the airport.
Once there, we ran into a bit of a snag. It seemed that our suitcases were too large for the free ride--the dimensions were ok length and width (which was what I had been going by), but when our backpacks were zipped to them, the depth was too much. So that cost us 70 euros. That was a bit of an ouch. But we boarded the flight with no further trouble, and off we went with the most gorgeous red sunset off to the right window that I have seen in a very long time.
We arrived in Barcelona and headed to get our bags. Another long walk. Just as we got there, Ken said, “I don’t have my passport.”
Those are about the worst words you can hear on an international trip, My heart just went into the floor, Ken said he must have left it on the plane and for me to remain there while he ran back to see if he could get it. Those of you who have traveled with passports and know how vital they are can just imagine the agony I went through waiting for him to come back. I was absolutely sure he would not find it and that would mean all our time in Barcelona would be lost as we tried to get another passport.
I prayed hard, but I’m ashamed to say I never really believed he would find it. Finally I saw him coming and to my indescribable joy, he gave me a happy thumbs up. HE HAD IT!!! It had, indeed, been left on the plane which by the way was being loaded for a return trip to Milan. But the fight crew had searched and found it. We praised God big time for that!
With that terror out of the way we found our bags, and began what we expected to be a horrific attempt to find our way from the airport to Vilasser de Mar. I won’t bore you with the long details. I’ll just say that compared to some of our other experiences, we actually managed this one quite well (with help from the natives as always).
We arrived at Vilasser on the last train of the night at about 11:30 p.m. It was raining and all I could think was what would happen to us if Silvina didn’t answer her phone. This was a small station and we would have no place to go. The last train of the night had just left.
I tried calling her---was told she was on another line. Tried calling again a few minutes later. No answer. Frantic, I left messages. Just as I was getting ready to call again, my phone rang and it was Silvina. She stayed on the line and gave us step by step directions to her flat which really was only a 5 minute walk. We arrived at the condo building which was opened for us by her charming mother who had been waiting there for a couple hours for us to arrive.
She filled us in on the ins and outs of the apartment and left us to carry on. We carried on by collapsing in bed.
End of Day 25 No photos with this post
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