The meeting place for the tour was in front of the Hard Rock Café in Plaza de Catalunya at 8:45 a.m. for a 9 a.m. departure.
After bidding adieu to Sagar earlier in the morning (he was catching a return-flight back to London that afternoon), we also took care of the chores of checking out of the apartment and into a nearby hostel for a place to sleep and store our bags for our last day in Barcelona.
By 8:35 a.m., Nick, who was also accompanying me on the tour, and I arrived to the meeting spot with time to spare.
As a small reward for our punctual arrival, we ducked into a nearby café for coffees (not grande and not iced – see June 19 blog) and breakfast. By 8:45, equipped with caffeine and food, there still wasn’t a sign of anyone for our tour. Putting our problem-solving skills to work, we assessed the situation and as most logical people would do, we approached the line of four charter buses parked one after the other in front of the Hard Rock. After three strikeouts, the driver in the last bus confirmed that indeed, his bus would be going on a tour of Freixenet.
Bueno!
Feeling smug with our minor victory, we hopped on the completely empty bus and settled in. A pastry and an empty cup of coffee later, the time was nearing ten after nine and incidentally, we were still the only people on the bus. Oddly, at this point, I (the girl who has a panic attack if I’m even five minutes late to a dentist appointment) was completely oblivious to even the thought that we might not be on the right bus. Hey, the driver said he was going to Freixenet, an entire hour out of the city! How many other buses could there be going to the same winery, in the same meeting spot? Come on!
Nick, on the other hand, was a little uneasy. “I’m gonna go see if there is anyone over in front of the Hard Rock. This doesn’t feel right.”
“Alrighty,” I said airily. “I’ll stay here.”
A few minutes later, the door to the bus opened and a mad rush of well-dressed Arizona State students began piling onto the bus like hungry cattle.
“Umm, are you guys going to Freixenet?” I asked, now feeling a little unsure.
Your typical jerk-ass frat guy replied to my quandary. “Yeah, WE are, but I think you’re on the wrong bus, sweetie. We passed some dude outside looking for you. Looks like you missed your tour. Sucks for you.”
“Shiiiiit!”
Under normal circumstances, I would have retorted with some kind of snarky reply to put this first-class jerk in his place, but time was of the essence. I jumped off the bus quicker than Carl Lewis himself and ran to find Nick who was pacing in front of the Hard Rock.
I was now in full freak out mode. Not only was I out a hundred bucks if we missed the bus, but so was Nick, and it would be 100% entirely my fault. To make things worse, despite having my folder containing over 50 pages of hotel, tour and travel reservations with me (yeah, I like to plan, layoff!), the confirmation sheet with the phone number for this tour was in my computer case in my backpack back at the hostel.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
Without any phone number, our only real option was to walk around the meeting place (10 minutes past the departure time) and cross our fingers that the tour people find us as opposed to us finding them.
As we scanned the premises and faces of hundreds around us, a man with a killer tan, graying hair and a beautiful British accent approached us. “Excuse me, are you looking for the Montserrat and Cava tour?”
“Oh my gosh! … Yes! … We got on the wrong bus! … We thought you had left!” I shouted in between deep breaths as my heart struggled to return to a normal rhythm. “How did you know we were with the tour?!”
“That’s easy,” he said. “I have in my notes that you are American. I can always spot the Americans. You silly blokes don’t go anywhere without a bloody cup of coffee on your hand.”
“If you only knew,” was all I could think to myself.
oh my gosh, this is hilarious! oh and by the way, guurrl, I do the folder thing too!! You should've seen me in greece with my reservations and maps and whatnot.
ReplyDeleteOur twinkiness shows up again! haha :)