So, I'm a sarcastic ass and I do my best when complaining...kinda hard to be sarcastic when you are happy with your surroundings...comprendo? So, I will start by saying this has been an awesome trip and we've loved very nearly every minute of it.
Up at 4:30 am, testy cab driver to la aeropuerto, long suspicious looking line at Air France (ps - fuck you Air France, you baggage losing losers) to find that, what? excuse moi? Air France is on strike.
I've said it hence, and I will probably say it many times forth, I love traveling with My Guy. He has status on Delta and trust me, in a pickle, it can get you pretty far...out of long lines that is.
We got a flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico on Iberia, after much searching, only to find that the Air France Fuck Counter Guy neglected to actually book anything. The Iberia Counter Guy, only slightly less a Fuck and who mirrored Stanley Tucci in his saddest, darkest most independent film, was the slowest moving Spaniard in the entire country. For those of you who have been to Spain, you know I'm talking beyond molasses, beyond three toed sloth slow. He had to go confirm with his manager that our flight transfer from Air France (fuckers) was legit...so he walked away from his perfectly functioning phone, and stopped to peruse a magazine on the way down the hall. He returned in 5 minutes and proceeded to take, I kid you not, at least a half an hour (after asking for our, meaning my, home address and telephone number ????? Ray jumped in and gave him his cell number then the dude asked if we were brother and sister! I said we were married - the service got even slower).
Can't get all the way through to Miami so in San Juan we have to collect luggage, go through customs and check in at the American Airlines counter. Two hour layover...think we'll make it? Highly unlikely. I already took a picture of our luggage before it left so it can be identified.
So here we sit waiting for our 1:45 flight, in the Madrid airport since 5:15 am. We. Are. Over. Spain.