Barcelona

Well, we made it to Barcelona last night. About 2-hrs late, but we got here. 

Interesting how your perspective of an airport can change, depending on whether you’re arriving or departing. 

When we arrived into Frankfurt, it was an outdated, pokey little shithole. 

When we left, it was busy, very long, and not too bad. Apart from the bagtags.

When we arrived in Lisbon, it was small, busy and cramped. 

When we left, it was crazy busy, crazy big, and pretty good. Ish. 

Not really. 

Let’s start with the kiosks. We flew with TAP, the Portuguese national airline. We had checked in online, and had already purchased a second bag. Hello? Sarah!

All we wanted were bagtags, and boarding passes if they were on offer.

Found how to convert it to English.  yay  

Found how to print boarding passes.  yay

Bagtag? Not so much.

We eventually got the attention of one of the two Menzies-branded staff in the check-in area. Using the default language, he was tap tap tap like a Ginsu knife demonstration, and hey presto… 3 bagtags. Two for me, one for Sarah.

I still don’t think that option is even there in the English version. That’s my story.

After the Frankfurt debacle, Sarah won’t touch the bagtags, so it’s up to me not to fuck it up.

Have you heard of Husband 101? It says that even if you’re not in the room, it is somehow your fault.

Frankfurt was my fault. This will be too if I get it wrong.

The planets have aligned, and these tags are more like what we’re used to. Having learned from Frankfurt, the tags go on the side handles. We’re on a roll.

Automated bagdrop.

Just scan your boarding passes and put your bag on the device. Easy. Your tag doesn’t match your boarding pass. For fuck sake!! The tag doesn’t specify anything other than the surname, you fucking moronic machine. Billions of blue blistering barnacles!!

OK then, let’s scan the other boarding pass. Success. 

Moving on. AvSec. It’s a bit of a walk. Not far, just back and forth. Twelve times. Disney could learn a few things.

You can’t see it over the back, and I couldn’t wander around for the perfect shot, because photos in these areas are usually verboten.

Anyway, from when you enter the AvSec area, till you reach the AvSec benches, you must obediently follow the path, up and back, up and back the length of the room. This is not hyperbole. Twelve times. Six up, six back. Probably a sociological device to crush your spirit before you have to tip out your bag. Or anticipation of a really busy time. Could go either way. 

As it happens, we ended up at the end where you don’t need to take electronics out. I saw signs at the other end as we approached telling us to pull out the laptops. Must be older equipment down that end. Small mercies.

So to the gate. Sorry, won’t know the gate for another hour, because we’re here early . Have you MET my wife?And our flight’s 45-minutes late. Goody.

So let’s find a snack to keep the ugly at bay. Feeding the monster doesn’t always work, but sometimes it’s the only thing that does. But don’t be late finding the right place or menu item.

Anyway 

Snack found and consumed. Monster sated.

Eventually we see the screens updated with our gate. 

S 15A

Signage for all gates is not flash, so it took a minute to figure out a direction. Ah, here we are.

No Aircon. No aircraft in sight. No delay messages. 

When they EVENTUALLY start boarding, there are no boarding calls, just a slight movement in the stagnant ever-anticipatory queue and a small screen above the boarding sets that now says Zone B

We are zone C, according to our boarding passes, but what the hell. We’re rebels.

Staff are now battling with passengers about hand luggage, but when we get there they are distracted so don’t notice mine.

So down we go to the tarmac, and onto a standing bus. No seats. The sign says max 100 pax. Fuck right off! I know they have a thing for sardines in this country, but that would be taking personal space to a level that would make Borat blush. 

No more than a dozen boarded after us, so waiting for zone C would have been an exercise in futility.

And racing this time…There’s a TAP aircraft over there. Sarah thinks it’s an E190. Nope, not ours. There’s another one. Nope. 

At one point, I was starting to think that we were driving to Barcelona. No wait!! No, not that one either. 

At last, we pull up next to an aircraft. Teasing? No. We found it. Phew.

The aircraft is an E190, from Embraer. Config 2 and 2.

Over the last few days, I have been getting nagging emails from TAP, offering us an upgrade to business for not much less than what I paid for our economy seats.

Now tell me. Exactly what is the difference between the first 2 rows in front of the curtain, and where we are? Anything you can see to justify almost double the price to move 3 rows up?

Me neither.