The Great European Adventure, Days 1+2: Chicago to London to Barcelonafeatured

In many ways, I feel like this trip kind of snuck up on me. We’d been planning it for months, but it always seemed just out of sight until the moment it was actually here.

This trip, our departure in particular, was extraordinarily more stressful than any other trip we’d taken. European culture and customs can be so different than those that we’re used to. Instead of worrying about how to get to Florida and which hotel we’d stay in, it was “How do we get Euros? What does a Euro convert at? Are we packing too much? Too little? What’s the climate in these countries? What do I need to prepare for?”

And, admittedly, I put off planning the final details of this trip until I literally couldn’t put it off anymore, perhaps as a means to keep it alive and the anticipation going. Once it was planned, it would be underway and once it’s underway, it’s over.

I was furiously packing, unpacking and repacking until I left for work the morning of our departure. I’d sent my big suitcase off to Mom’s house the weekend before and the plan was for her and Stephanie to take my big piece to O’Hare in the cab and I’d catch the Blue Line from work and meet them at check-in. I was worried about the time change and jet lag, so the night before our departure, I stayed up as late as I could, trying to get as little sleep as possible, so I’d be so tired on the plane that I’d just fall asleep.

Best laid plans, right?

That Wednesday morning, I woke up to a gorgeous, pure blue Chicago sky, perfect for the start of a brand new adventure.

I threw any tchotchke that wasn’t packed into one of my two carry-ons (no one in our family has ever been accused of packing lightly), threw a salad into my purse and ran off to catch the 8:49 am shuttle to work.

The day was already going far too fast as I alternated between setting up my autoresponder, filling in my backup and checking the turbulence forecast. Stephanie got out of work early and was in such a good mood that when I asked her if she wanted to drive downtown to pick me up from work so that we could all head to the airport together, she actually agreed.

We made a quick stop back at my apartment because I was totally convinced I’d forgotten to turn my flat iron off and I was about to leave the country for three weeks and burn down my condo (…it was off) and then we headed up I-94 to Mom’s house.

As our brand of luck would have it, traffic coming into the city was non-existent, but traffic coming out of the city at noon on a Wednesday was a terror (go figure), so we got to Mom’s house with no more than 15 minutes to spare before our taxi showed up. I reshuffled things amongst my bags until the cabbie literally took my bag away. One day, we’ll get this packing thing right.

The ride to the airport was quick and though we had to go to the counter to check in (turns out when you travel internationally, you need to verify your passport information when you check in on the American Airlines app. If, like me, you check in at exactly T-24 and happen to be standing inside a Macy’s store without access to your passport and you exit out of check-in and you do this more than once, your check-in freezes and you have to check in at the counter), check in was not only quick, but I found the words TSA Pre-Check stamped across my boarding pass in big, beautiful letters. Between that and the fact that my bag was only a pound and a half overweight (which sent three maxi dresses into Mom’s three pounds underweight suitcase), this trip was already off to a great start…until we got to the gate.

O’Hare…O’No

We got to our gate around 2:00 pm for our 4:40 pm flight to London. We grabbed some bars of chocolate from Vosges to enjoy on our flight and a quick lunch (Wolfgang Puck Chinois Chicken Salad for me – there is no better option at O’Hare as far as I’m concerned) and settled in at our gate.

All of American’s flights, whether domestic or international, depart from Terminal 3 in O’Hare, not the International Terminal. Even so, there’s a currency exchange in the middle of the terminal. The rates are pretty poor so I wouldn’t recommend using a currency exchange in a US airport to get the bulk of your foreign currency, but Mom went in and came out with enough Euros to cover a taxi to our hotel in Barcelona should we not be able to get Euros before we got to the hotel.

Even though we had a couple hours to pass before our flight, O’Hare is an interesting place to people watch and being in O’Hare means I’m going somewhere, so I never really minded long airport waits before. It was all part of the anticipation.

About an hour before our departure time, they announced a delay – our plane needed a new tire. The plane had arrived into O’Hare the night before (thanks, Flight Aware), so I wasn’t entirely sure why the delay was coming now when this would have been a known problem the night before. An hour later, we were delayed for another hour. Two and a half hours in, they finally announced the real problem: there was an unexplained vibration in the cabin that the engineers couldn’t figure out, let alone fix.

They kept mentioning the phrase decision time. “The new decision time is 6:15 pm.” “Decision time will be 7:00 pm.” Decision time is a heavy phrase. It felt like we were looking out at two unappealing choices: flying seven and a half hours in a broken/recently fixed plane or a cancellation. I had four different friends holding my hand via text message throughout this delay. This was not the way we’d envisioned our trip starting off, but we were glad more than ever that we added that extra Barcelona day into our itinerary for this reason alone. The airline handed out meal vouchers that weren’t valid for booze, which was exactly what I needed, so Frontera Grill would have to do.

At 7:30 pm, nearly three hours after our scheduled departure time, they made the call to get us a new plane. I was incredibly relieved that our flight wasn’t cancelled and that we wouldn’t be flying on the original aircraft, but a whole new issue surfaced: there was no chance we were going to make our connecting flight to Barcelona. We’d chosen our flights carefully so that we’d have enough time to connect and experience Heathrow, landing in London around 6:30 am and departing for Barcelona around 9:20 am. We were so far delayed at this point that there was no way we were making that flight. Mom got on the phone with British Airways to try to get us rebooked and to try to preserve the preferred seating we had paid for and the rep assured us we would be rebooked into the same kinds of seats we’d booked and put us on the next flight out to Barcelona, leaving at 11:20 am. While not great, this still got us into Barcelona by 1:00 pm and allowed us enough time to check in and salvage some of the exploring we’d wanted to do that day.

We sat around waiting and waiting and waiting. Our 8:30 pm departure time was moved to 8:45. At 9:00, it became 9:15. We’d approach our new departure time and figure out we’d be further delayed by logic, not by any announcement from the crew working the counter, who were not lax at providing updates, but awfully cold towards a large crowd of people facing a very heavy delay.

Skipping Across the Pond

We finally boarded around 9:20 pm and people literally cheered. We took off closer to 10:00 pm, making our delay five hours and 20 minutes. I’ve never been in an extended range aircraft before, so traveling in this 777 was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. The plane was pretty old, with old features and no wi-fi, but the seats were pretty comfortable, there was decent pitch and the in-seat entertainment units offered plenty of movie options on demand for free (Into the Woods, Annie and Still Alice were the ones that stood out to us). Pillows and blankets were waiting for us on our seats when we boarded, but even though the pillows were packaged for “freshness,” I found a hair inside of mine. At that point, I’d had enough. This delay was going to eat up nearly all of my first day in Europe, which meant eating up half of my time in Barcelona, the counter crew were awful at providing timely updates and I got onto a plane to find someone else’s hair on my pillow. I sent a string of Tweets to American Airlines letting them know exactly how I felt until I had to put my phone on airplane mode. And, needless to say, none of us used the pillows or blankets.

Dinner and drinks came out as soon as we leveled off at our cruising altitude. When you fly from the US to Europe on American, regardless of which cabin you are flying in, meal service (with wine) is included in your fare. We were seated in the front of the Economy cabin, so we had our choice of pasta or chicken (those seated in the back may not have had much of a choice). Stephanie and Mom opted for the pasta and I opted for the chicken. Each entrée came pre-plated on a tray with a water bottle, a roll, a salad, cheese and crackers and a brownie. It was much more generous of an offering than I had been expecting. Behind the meal cart was the beverage cart, and the flight attendant was more than generous pouring the wine.

The beverage cart made one more round after dinner, and Stephanie and I got another (generously poured) glass while Mom was already snoozing across the aisle. We passed the time watching movies and taking awful selfies until we were tired enough to try to sleep.

I’ve made some great strides in conquering a longstanding fear of flying but flying over the ocean on a flight that was nearly twice as long as the longest flight I’d ever been on was still making me twitchy, so I had some anxiety that made it difficult to sleep. We’d hit bouts of heavy turbulence intermittently and I’d wake up grabbing for Stephanie’s arm. She’d look at me, hold my hand and say “Shhhh. It’s okay. We have wine!”

I dozed on and off when the plane wasn’t shaking, and I think my decision to stay up late the night before coupled with the emotionally exhausting delays is what helped me get any rest at all and helped me adjust to the time change. I stopped trying to get any more sleep when the sun started rising over the Atlantic, filling the cabin with a rosy glow.

Breakfast was served right as we began our descent – so late that I didn’t think it was coming. No choices here – everyone was handed a box with yogurt, granola, a muffin top and some dried fruit.

It was gray and dreary as we descended into London, and I just kept leaning over Stephanie to look out the window. This was it. This was Europe. This was the start of anything and everything we’d spent months planning and years anticipating.

‘ello, Heathrow!

We landed at 11:10 am, just in time to miss our 11:20 am connecting flight. This is when a bit of panic set in – the next British Airways flight to Barcelona wasn’t until 2:30 in the afternoon and if that flight was already full, the next (and final) flight out was that evening. As soon as we landed and deplaned, we were met by agents at the gate who had already re-booked everyone on connecting flights.

American had indeed booked us on the 2:30 pm flight, but our tickets had no seat numbers, so we made our way out of our terminal and back through security to re-enter the international terminal (another joy of international flight that we hadn’t been aware of – you don’t exit right back into the departure area like you do on domestic flights. You deplane into customs or security, depending on whether or not London is your final destination). We stopped at the British Airways counter to confirm our premium seats would be accommodated only to be told that not only did they not have premium seats to seat us in, they couldn’t even seat us together. We were all spread out across the plane, all in middle seats, unless we wanted the last row of the plane. And once we left the counter, I just kind of lost it at that point (or as close to losing it as I get). We’d get into Barcelona six hours late, losing basically our entire day and not only did I have to sit alone on the flight, but I was in the middle seat. Nothing was going right. We’d barely gotten much sleep due to the intermittent turbulence throughout the night so it all felt like more than it actually was.

Looking back, this was, by far, the most unfortunate happenstance of our trip and in hindsight, we’re lucky. We arrived in London. We connected to Barcelona. We arrived safely and (spoiler alert) we had a wonderful trip. But starting off a trip like this made it feel like the walls were caving in a little bit. And more now than ever, I understand the necessity of buffer time when traveling to an embarkation port. We were missing nearly an entire day, yes, but we still had plenty of time to get to Barcelona to get on the ship.

We hooked into the free wi-fi when we got to the terminal and we already had 4,000 I’m Sorry miles each waiting in our inboxes from American Airlines. Mom got on the phone with American Airlines to discuss the lapses in customer service we’d experienced and I don’t think we enjoyed Heathrow as much as we would (or should) have because we were so distracted by what went wrong.

Because Heathrow is a lovely airport. One of the largest in the world. And I love me a good airport. At times, I felt like I was in a high-end shopping mall, with storefronts from Miu Miu, Chanel, Gucci and Tiffany & Co lining a corridor that also featured a caviar bar and a champagne bar.

In an effort to control congestion at the gates, gates aren’t released or listed until boarding time. Everyone waits in a large general area with a ton of shopping and dining options. Forget about O’Hare, Heathrow had it going on.

I perused a few shops, contemplating if and how much Cadbury chocolate I was willing to carry with me for the next 18 days and browsing through Harrods until it was time for us to head to our gate. I bought a magnet to commemorate my two and a half hours at Heathrow using my debit card and, having called my bank to alert them to my international travel plans before we left, had no problem.

As the saleslady at Harrods was ringing me up, she asked me if I wanted to be charged in pounds or dollars. I thought to myself “This makes it easy! Dollars! I can save on the foreign transaction fee!” A couple things I learned along the way of this trip: charging in dollars won’t save you from the foreign transaction fee and you should always charge in the native currency, as the exchange rates are generally more favorable. More on this in the Paris part of this review.

London to Barcelona

Once your flight is about to board at Heathrow, your gate will appear on the screens. Some of the gates are up to 20 minutes away. Luckily for us, ours was only five or so minutes from the general waiting area. The boarding experience was different on British Airways – the actual gate, itself, was closed off and only opened when actual boarding began. They checked every carry-on (and made all of us check our rolling ones at no cost), but we only waited a couple of minutes before we actually boarded.

All of the anxiety of flying a new airline alone and having to sit in the middle of two strangers was alleviated pretty quickly. Aside from the man to my right eating a sushi salad that smelled like a fish market at closing hours, it was a pleasant flight. The plane had no frills: no in-seat entertainment units or movies, but we had good leg room, comfortable seats and a quiet, smooth flight.

And even thought it was a short flight (~an hour and a half), we were still served a meal and offered complimentary boozy libations. Having done my research before we left, I knew that there was an unadvertised vegetarian option on all British Airways flights and that was a safer option for a quasi picky eater like I can be, so when they were handing out ham and cheese sandwiches with a lemon knot, I asked for the veg pot and was handed a delicious pasta salad with bocconcini and ratatouille. I settled in with a trashy tabloid I found in my seatback and a bottle of sauv blanc and…it wasn’t bad. It was actually pretty nice.

Buenos Tardes, Barcelona

Our flight to Barcelona ran a little long and we landed just before 6:00 pm local time. BCN was quiet and empty in some areas, which was a little surprising and unexpected from an international airport. We made our way to an empty Customs line, where the agent didn’t even ask us any questions or look at our passports before mindlessly stamping them and sending us on our way.

There were free carts at the luggage carousels (score!) and despite all of the changes to our itinerary, we all breathed a sigh of relief when all of our bags appeared on the carousel.

We found a currency exchange booth by the baggage claim area, but once you exit the secured zone, there are ATM’s, which may pose a better option depending on your bank. Stephanie has an account with a bank that offers reimbursement on all ATM fees, so we all put money in her account for her to withdraw in Euros when we were in Europe. The ATM’s had the best exchange rate and since she had no ATM fee, we could take out money as we went instead of trying to estimate how many Euros we needed.

Once you exit the baggage claim area, there’s a gate for people waiting for arrivals. It’s actually very Love Actually. There were also a few shops and restaurants outside of the secure zone, but after such a long day and a half, we just really wanted to get to our hotel.

We took an elevator downstairs and followed the signs to the taxi stands. It was incredibly easy to figure out how to catch a cab and even though we weren’t in a country where English is the first language, everyone spoke English. We didn’t even need my Spanish to navigate us from the airport to the hotel.

The ride to the hotel was around 20 minutes and €35. I kept staring out the window, completely disengaged with everything except for whatever was passing by. This was it. This was Spain.

Accommodations

We were booked for two nights at the Hotel Miramar, a five star hotel that sat at the top of Montjuic (a hill overlooking Barcelona on one side and the Mediterranean Sea on the other). The area was a little more low key than staying down in city proper, but we kind of enjoyed the quiet – the hotel was close enough to the major attractions for a quick cab ride and was only minutes from the port.

Check-in was quick and easy and the staff were friendly and helpful. They offered us cava (Spanish champagne), water and personalized recommendations for dining and sightseeing as they ran our card for incidentals and gave us an overview of the hotel.

The hotel had an old school glam kind of feel, with dark woods and spectacular chandeliers. The centrum area was open to high, vaulted ceilings and freshly cut floral displays lined the counters.

Our room was ready for us when we checked in, and already set up with the rollaway bed we’d requested. Though hotels in Europe have a reputation for being on the small side, we felt as if we were in a suite. The room was large, clean and modern, with a flat screen TV, an iPod dock, a huge private terrace (with a lovely view of the courtyard, the sea and the cruise pier!) and a large soaking tub in the bathroom. And this was just a standard room! As if that weren’t enough, there were Godiva chocolates on the bed, bottled water on every table, L’Occitane products in the bathroom and free wi-fi. I made a good choice.

Sleepless in …Spain

Even though we were exhausted, I knew we had to stay awake for at least a couple more hours to help us adjust fully to the time change, so we headed outside to walk through the courtyard. The Miramar has an absolutely stunning courtyard and gardens and even better, being up on a hill led to some of the most stunning views of Barcelona.

We could even caught our first glimpse of the Sagrada Familia!

And a statue of Christopher Columbus that points out to sea!

We were too tired to go looking for a restaurant for dinner, so we headed back to the room to order some room service, and this is where we hit our first cultural barrier. We ordered two orders of nachos and a burger. Nachos in Spain equated to chips and a side of sweet and sour sauce. And a burger medium-well came nearly raw in the middle. We were too tired to even care or do more than pick at the food.

I sat out on the terrace for awhile. A lot of the peace in being on vacation for me comes in the quiet moments I can spend outside, and this hotel offered the perfect space for that. Also, sidebar, no one told me that the sun sets much later in Europe than it does in the US. Sunset at home in May is around 7:30/8:00 pm. Sunset in Barcelona in May? 9:30 pm. The late sunsets single-handedly messed up my sleep schedule more than anything else while we were in Europe.

Mom and Stephanie let themselves crash around 9:00 pm. I took a nice long bubble bath and soaked off all of the stress from the past day and a half before settling in for the night. In all of the excitement of being in Europe, the fun part hadn’t even started yet.