When Travel Plans Fall Apart – T’estimo, Girona

When Travel Plans Fall Apart – T’estimo, Girona

Travel is a fickle teacher. You set goals, you buy tickets, you announce to the world that you’re embarking on an extravagant adventure and then suddenly… you’re not. Well, I am – but it’s definitely not the adventure that I expected.

I flew out of New York last week with a dream and a plan. I was going to drink two glasses of wine at the bar, pass out on the plane, wake up in Madrid, conquer the world and then start hiking the Camino de Santiago a few days later. I had researched my route, scheduled a timeline and mentally prepared myself for sore feet and rainy days. I was ready.

The universe, as they say, had other ideas.

There’s nothing worse than standing at baggage claim and realizing that your bag is never coming. After ten minutes of watching the other passengers shuffle around and happily collect their belongings, lost-bag anxiety begins to gently creep in.

“I’m just being paranoid. I know it’s coming.”

“But surely they can’t have lost MY bag – that’s the kind of thing that only happens to other travelers!”

“It’s definitely coming.”

“There are still a few people standing here. I’m not alone.”

“Shit – I’m alone.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Oh no. My bag is gone.”

This is followed by 30 minutes of talking to random representatives, filling out a claim, and realizing that you’re going to have to strut your stuff through the center of Madrid in the sweatshirt that you drooled all over in the plane. Although the woman at the lost-baggage desk was kind, she was not helpful.

“Do you have any idea where my bag could be?”

“Maybe they put it on the flight tomorrow. I don’t know.”

“What should I do? My entire life is in that bag.”

“Maybe we find soon.”

“I can’t walk around in these clothes all day. These are basically pajamas.”

“You tell the airline they pay you.”

I left feeling dejected, hungry and yet slightly hopeful. I was sure they would find my bag and get it to me the following day.

Norwegian Airlines, I’m Disappointed in You

After a day in Madrid, two days in Barcelona and a day in Girona, Norwegian Airlines was still clueless as to the location of my bag. Nobody was answering my emails, the phone line was disconnected and wandering in around in my moccasins had completely destroyed my feet. I was beginning to feel like a bit of a failure, despite how much I was actually enjoying myself.

Time was also an issue. I needed to start the Camino by the 26^th or I wouldn’t finish early enough to meet my mom in Italy. More importantly, I had nowhere to go. I spent a night at a cute little bed and breakfast for 50€ in Girona’s Old Town, but I couldn’t afford to keep sinking that much money into lodging so early on in my journey. Javi, the gregarious owner and artisanal jelly-maker (seriously – you should try his jelly), was sympathetic to my baggage issues.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled in the morning through a bleary-eyed mouthful of toast, “do you have any other rooms I can rent here?”

He smiled, nodded and said “Yes, I show you. Follow me.”

I soon found myself in a room comprised entirely of a bunk bed. It was clean and had a tiny patio that overlooked the alley. It was 25€ per night with breakfast incluido. Javi said “You stay as long as you like.” I gave him a huge (and likely somewhat startling) hug and handed him 75€.

T’estimo, Girona

Girona began to blossom. Maybe I was riding a buzz from the cheap wine and hot sun, but I fell head over heels for my impromptu home. I found myself strolling through the cobblestone streets, stopping for coffee to marvel at the landmarks of a city that was founded in 79BC. I walked along an ancient wall called the Passeig de la Muralla and smiled at the Pyrenees. I stood over the river on the Pont de les Peixateries Velles and watched the fish jump. Everywhere I looked, there was something to make me salivate. Music, art, culture, a bustling farmers market and most importantly: yoga. I took a class in Catalan, and then another. For the first time since living in Costa Rica, I had discovered a community that truly resonated with me.

With my bag lost but my sense of belonging gained, I started to look for apartments. I mean, I’m virtually homeless and I can’t go wandering around because the airline won’t be able to find me, right? Right. I protested climate change, ate my weight in oysters, and finally, after over a week of uncertainty, my bag was delivered to me by SAS Airlines. I have no idea where it was or why they had it.

Home Sweet Home

For now, I’m staying in Girona. I have two apartment showings on Monday and the yoga studio I’ve been stalking is conveniently looking for a sub to cover a few classes next week. Renting an apartment doesn’t mean that I’ll have to put my travel plans on hold forever, it simply means that I’ll have somewhere to rest my weary head when they fall apart.

Thank you, Norwegian Airlines. 10/10 will fly again.

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