Location: Los Alcazares to Barcelona, Spain.
Summary: The journey from Los Alcázares to Barcelona ran smoothly, with easy check‑in, a relaxed airport wait, a short flight, a chaotic taxi pickup, and an evening on La Rambla before settling into the hostel for the night.
Journey to Barcelona.
Today I finally started my holiday and cruise to Rio de Janeiro, leaving Los Alcázares with a mix of excitement and the usual travel flutter. My friend June picked me up at 13:00 and drove me to Alicante airport; the ride was calm and chatty, the kind of easy conversation that makes the start of a trip feel right.
At the airport I couldn’t immediately find my check‑in desk. With about 40 minutes to spare, I asked at the priority desk and a kind woman confirmed I was in the right place, then surprised me by checking me in straight away. She tagged my luggage, sent it down the conveyor, and wished me a pleasant trip, which felt like a small, generous moment. It was only about 14:15, so I headed through departures determined to find a bar and relax with a beer.
Security set off the metal detector; after removing my belt and watch, the officer decided the studs on my shorts were the culprit and waved me through. My beer arrived in a plastic cup for €5.51, an oddly specific price that left me with a pocket full of change and a smile at airport economics. I sat at the bar, people‑watching and waiting for Gail, and felt that holiday looseness settle in.
About an hour before boarding I walked toward the gate and Gail spotted me as I approached. We queued and boarded, she was in row 23 and I was in row 6. I ended up next to a lovely Canadian couple who were halfway through a 57‑day cruise; hearing their route made my own trip feel part of a much bigger, wandering story.
The flight left about 20 minutes late but made up time, and we landed roughly 40 minutes after takeoff. Disembarking by row meant I was in the second group off; I waited for Gail, who was one of the last to leave, and we navigated the vastness of Barcelona airport together until we found baggage claim. After a short wait our bags appeared and we stepped outside to meet our Cabify driver.
We were two floors too low when he called, so we sprinted up a steep, battered escalator while he waited patiently and helped with our bags. The ride to the hostel on La Rambla felt like the first real step into Barcelona, bright, noisy, and full of possibility.
Barcelona Stay
Check‑in was easy: I’d prepaid and only had to pay local taxes, while Gail paid at the desk; I noticed my room was about €33 cheaper, which felt like a small victory for planning ahead.
We dropped our bags, met back in reception, and wandered down La Rambla toward the port. Nothing at the waterfront quite hit the spot, so we returned to the Rambla and ducked into an Irish pub. I treated myself to a chicken and bacon toasted sandwich and a mojito, then a pint of Guinness while live music played. We watched people get ID‑checked at the door and stumble over a loose floor tile, and I laughed more than once, the kind of laugh that says, yes, I’m officially on holiday.
Back at the hostel, the day’s travel fatigue finally caught up with me. I headed to my room feeling content and a little giddy, already looking forward to the next leg of the adventure.
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