Leaving the German giants

It was a sad farewell to Barcelona this morning as we flew home after our lovely yet quickly over trip.



It was as we were being driven to the airport by a very chatty taxi driver that I suddenly realised I’d not reported on my hotel room. So, without any ado…

My hotel room was actually very comfortable. The usual massive bed with the unusual option of up to four pillows to myself. Naturally this was because it was just me – usually Mirinda has three of them. The bed was quite hard which I like. To be honest the only thing wrong with the bed was the wheels.

Call me odd but if I was outfitting a hotel, I’d take the wheels off the bed base if I wasn’t going to attach it to the bed head and the wall. I hadn’t realised that the bed was likely to skate around the room until the first night when I started writing my blog post.

I set myself up with a pillow on my lap and two behind me and started hitting the keys. All was fine until I stopped to have a bit of an inspiring think. Leaning back, I lifted my arms above my head then suddenly realised I was moving. Away from the wall. Then the pillows behind me fell down. The bed had moved towards the other side of the room.

I put up with it for that first night but after that I sat at the small desk presumably put there for that purpose.

The shower was good, the water hot and forceful. The only odd thing about the bathroom was the fact that at 8pm, on my first night, there was a ring at the door bell (yes, the room doors had bells). Standing there, ladder in hand, was a maintenance chap holding a light bulb and telling me, in great Spanish detail that he needed to change a dead one in the bathroom.

While I thought it rather odd to do at 8pm, I told him to go for it. Which he did and was gone in about five minutes.

Then there was the conference of giant Germans. They were everywhere, arriving yesterday and packing the lifts with their freakish heights. Maybe it was a conference of growth hormone biochemists. Whatever it was, it was odd how tall they all were.

Getting a taxi was simplicity itself. Virtually every corner in central Barcelona seems to be a taxi rank. We just wheeled our bags out and jumped in the first one. Unfortunately he turned out to be the chattiest taxi driver in existence. He also liked his radio very loud.

I think he was practising his pretty basic English. When he found out we were from Oz, he asked how hot it got. Mum said she’d moved there 56 years ago. The driver was shocked.

“56 degrees?” He gasped, “That’s very hot. I think I’d like it. I also like fishing. Do they have fish in Australia?”
“No,” I almost replied, “The wallabies ate them all.”

Really? Fish?

Strange driver aside, we had a lovely drive along the coast to the aeroporto where our assistance started. Of course I mean mum’s assistance.

Mind you, I took great delight in metaphorically thumbing my nose at the normal bods, standing in their queues, flustering around the scanners. I was through security in a matter of seconds. Seriously, seconds! Brilliant. Of course, mum set off the alarm and had to be hand scanned but she’s getting used to that now.

It was then all aboard the electric car for a delightful drive to the departure gate. And we were first on the plane. And there was another electric buggy waiting for us at Gatwick.

Actually the whole trip back home was marvellous. My only complaint is the WiFi at Barcelona airport. Yes you can logon for free but it takes so long with so many ads and forms that by the time you get connected it’s time to board your plane and leave.

Still, that’s a very small complaint when you consider the fantastic assistance at both airports from both airline and airport staff. Barcelona and Gatwick REALLY look after you.



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