No Regrets!

Heading to the airport, I got a text from an anxious Dave boarding his flight, including a photo of himself wearing a winter hat on a trip from Florida to Ibiza. Also came news that Tony was dealing with a series of delayed and canceled flights from the West Coast and might not be getting to Barcelona anytime soon.

But I had my own mission: to get to Barcelona in time for a 7:30pm dinner with Dave and Jerry at Disfrutar, the #1 rated restaurant in the world. A reservation we were lucky to get, and an experience bougie Dave had been looking forward to for months.

I checked in, made my way to the Swiss International Air Lines gate, and promptly boarded. Facial recognition at boarding, no ID or boarding pass needed. So cool.

My seat was 48F, right in the middle of the middle bank of seats, squeezed between two average-sized people: an older Polish woman to my left and a bearded American to my right. I tried to get comfortable and then realized I’d forgotten my neck pillow. Not ideal for a long-haul overnight flight, especially when wedged into an uncomfortable economy seat.

We pushed back from the gate, and then came the announcement that we’d be parked on the tarmac for roughly an hour. Again, not ideal, but the captain reassured us that we could make up the time in the air. No worries, since I had a long layover in Frankfurt.

As we sat on the tarmac, the Polish woman tried to make conversation. She was sweet, but her English wasn’t great. She laughed at everything I said, even the stuff that wasn’t funny. She found me very charming. The bearded American closed his eyes and checked out.

We finally took off just in time to catch the sunset through a window on the left side of the plane.

Hoping to get some work done in the air, I was struck by the counterproductive triple whammy of no power outlets, unusable Wi-Fi, and an uncomfortably narrow seat preventing my arms from assuming a natural typing position. Resigned, I put the laptop away and watched Marty Supreme on the crappy seatback display with equally crappy airplane headphones. Decent movie.

Then came the desperate attempt to sleep. I usually have a hard time sleeping on planes, and this was no exception. I remained about 25% conscious for the duration of the flight.

We didn’t make up the time in the air, and we landed in Frankfurt with little time to spare.

To say that Frankfurt Airport was a cluster is an understatement.

First, a complicated, circuitous bus ride from the plane to the terminal. Then, signs directed us to border control, where we waited in line for an automated fingerprint scan. What that’s for, I have no idea, because we then followed more signs and lines on the floor to actual border control, where agents waited to look at our passports.

A long, coiling line of travelers trying to make connections. A limited number of agents working, most of them moving in slow motion. An outrageous situation, and I was starting to worry about making my connecting flight.

I was finally waved through, only to discover that I had to go through security again. And of course, there was another line. I had a bottle of water with me, and the agent told me to put it through the machine. Seconds counted, so I complied and tried to rush through. But the bottle of water meant I had to be pulled aside for a manual check on the other side.

The security agent, moving in slow motion, took my bottle and placed it into some sort of laser-scanning device to confirm that it was water. Spoiler alert: it was water.

Then a sprint through an unbelievably long stretch of terminal and up some stairs to my gate. Huffing and puffing, I arrived to find the doors closed, the gate empty, and a stone-faced agent waiting to deliver the bad news: my flight had just departed.

The agent sent me to the service center for partner airline Lufthansa, where, naturally, there was another line. At the front of the line, they handed me a number. More waiting. The good news? Only 26 people ahead of me.

I finally spoke to an agent, who said she’d put me on the next available flight to Barcelona. What about my bag? Had it been sent on my original flight? No, the bag was being held at the airport, and she reassured me that it would travel with me to Barcelona.

Three hours to kill in the airport. Good time to get some work done, right? Nope. Airport Wi-Fi wasn’t working.

All this to say that Frankfurt Airport fucking sucks. The Germans are known for their efficiency, but they must round up all the slow and inefficient ones to work at Frankfurt Airport.

Finally, I landed in Barcelona at 4:30pm. Very pretty airport. And I still had enough time to head to the hotel and get changed. Or so I thought. I got a notification that my bag had been delayed. Apparently, three hours in Frankfurt wasn’t enough time to move one suitcase from one plane to another. I clicked the notification for more information, but of course the link didn’t work. So I tried a manual search for my bag, entering my name and ticket number, but of course those weren’t recognized either.

After explaining my situation to a baggage agent, he somehow figured out that my bag would be arriving on the next flight from Frankfurt, arriving at 6:05pm. So I waited.

After a transatlantic flight and a coating of airport sweat, I was looking and smelling like a piece of shit. Certainly in no condition to show up at the #1 restaurant in the world. I had no choice but to wait for my bag so I could change into some fresh clothes.

Meanwhile, the clock was ticking toward 7:30pm. I was starting to think I might miss dinner altogether.

The plane carrying my bag finally landed, and then it naturally took another 55 minutes for the luggage to come off the plane. But in my first stroke of travel luck on this trip, my bag was one of the first to appear.

I grabbed it, zipped into the airport bathroom for a quick change, and hustled outside to find a taxi, only to discover a line about 200 people long at the taxi stand. Of course. But the line moved quickly. For the first time all day, I started to feel like the travel gods actually wanted me to get to Disfrutar.

My taxi headed straight to the restaurant. I walked in the door at 7:35pm. Five minutes late. Truly a miracle. And so wonderful to see the boys waiting for me! Hugs and laughs all around.

For the next couple of hours, we enjoyed a 28-course dining experience, some excellent drinks, and truly exemplary service. For the first time, I tasted foie gras, oyster, and pigeon (which tastes like duck). The gruff man at the table next to us sounded like Dr. Claw and was, according to the semi-fluent Spanish-speaking Dave, disgustingly racist. But he didn’t spoil our evening. An absolutely glorious and unique dining experience, made all the sweeter by the fact that I’d come so close to missing it.

After getting situated at the hotel, Jerry and I headed out to Bobby’s Free, a local speakeasy-style bar with a truly unique experience getting in. You need a password. My lips are sealed.

But what a horrendous day of travel. Lufthansa gets a D, and that’s only because the plane didn’t crash. And the airports in Frankfurt and Barcelona are models of shocking inefficiency, dizzying ineptitude, and broken travel dreams. Nasty letters will be written.

Tomorrow morning, Matt joins us, and we’ll begin our exploration of Barcelona, starting with a tour of the famous Sagrada Família.