les histoires racontées du voyage, partie une

So I've always wanted to run through an airport, like in the movies. To lose all sense of propriety and just run like hell, bags flying behind. To me, that has always been the epitome of cool. Well, my wish was granted during my February holiday while I was at the airport in Barcelona. When I bought my plane tickets back in January, the best deal I could find to get from Budapest to somewhere in the south of Spain was through Vueling. However, Vueling does not do connecting flights, so I had to buy a ticket from Budape(sh)t to Barcelona, then from Barcelona to Sevilla. I told myself that this would be different from how I had flown previously, and that I would need to allow enough time to re-check-in and go through security, etc. I almost missed my flight from Budapest, which was kind of stressful but made me think that my stress quota for the day had been reached. Boy was I WRONG. My plane arrived at 12:50, and the next one to Sevilla did not leave until 4:15, so I had enough time to change out of my winter woolens and into clothes for warmer weather, eat lunch, and sit and listen to my ipod. I was feeling super savvy, like a very experienced traveler, and was thrilled that I did not appear to look as clueless as some of the other Americans that I saw in the airport. I looked on my ticket info that I had printed out, and saw that my plane boarded at 3:45. So I said to myself that I'd head to the gate at 3:45. So, I sat on a bench and listened to my ipod (my current obsession: Phoenix, and yes I know I'm way behind the boat on that one but they are A-MAZING and hopefully I'll get to see then in Nancy in a few weeks). At 3:43, I got my suitcase and bag and started rolling up the escalator/incline towards departures. I arrived at the check-in area and it still didn't occur to me that I had to check-in and go through security and that the flight was already BOARDING. I even got in a slow-moving line and patiently waiting for about 10 minutes before looking down at my printout and REALLY reading it for the first time. Then, I panicked, because underneath, in the fine print, it said that check-in closes 40 minutes before the flight leaves. By this time, it was 4:00. My heart dropped to my stomach. I started praying. I finally made it to the counter, hoping that maybe the man would take pity on me and let me check in. He just looked at me after reading my printout and said "Sorry, check-in for this flight is closed." I mustered up some real tears because I was honestly freaking out at this point and said "I just flew in from Budapest and got here as quickly as I could, is there ANY way I can get on this flight??" After regarding me with a skeptical eye for a few seconds, he conceded, wrote something on my printout, and directed me to a counter a few feet away. I waited another minute behind a group of Englishmen who were having flight problems as well, but miraculously they dispersed fairly quickly. The woman scrutinized me as she read my printout, and I told her the same thing, that I had just flown in from Budapest. She then said that if I hurried, I could make the flight. It was then that I realized that I had a bag that had to be checked. So I asked if I could check it. "Absolutely not, it's too late," was my answer. Then she told me my gate and bid me adieu. I started to walk towards security, which miraculously was not crowded. I got just inside the gate when I realized that not only was my suitcase too big to be a carry-on, but that I also had a large bottle of shampoo, a bottle of hand-washing liquid, razors, nail scissors, and probably all kinds of other illegal things that I had forgotten. I was torn between going back to the counter and seeing if there was another later flight to Sevilla and just throwing all of these things away and seeing if I could make the flight. After thinking about it for a split second, I decided to throw it all away and give my best effort to making this flight, for I didn't want to pay for another one if possible. So I unzipped my overstuffed suitcase and starting flinging things out and into the trashcan. Then, I took off my boots and coat, slung it all through the security contraption, and then I proceeded to walk through the metal detector. I had on a ring that I don't normally wear when flying, which caused the alarm to go off, and the woman security personnel had to frisk me. But somehow my suitcase made it through. I threw my boots back on and took off RUNNING, suitcase dragging behind, coat swinging through the air under my arm, about 150 feet to the gate. When I got there, my mouth was completely dry, my heart was in my stomach, and the gate was OPEN. I handed the flight attendant my passport and boarding pass, somehow she didn't even notice my suitcase that was dragging behind me, and I was allowed to walk into the tunnel to get on the plane. Turns out that another stewardess ended up checking my suitcase, but I WAS THE LAST PERSON ON THE PLANE. They literally closed the door after I sat down. The relief I felt cannot be expressed in words - I've never been so relieved to be anywhere in my life. I wanted to get on my hands and knees in the aisle and thank God for moving mountains and letting me make it onto that flight, but I decided that would probably be taken as a terrorist attempt or something and I figured I had caused enough stress for one day, so I sufficed to pray to myself in my seat with my eyes closed. But I made it to Sevilla, I sure did.

And when I got there and opened my suitcase to freshen up for the night, I found razors and a bottle of make-up that was definitely over the limit for carry-on luggage. Sure is comforting knowing that the Barcelona security are so on top of things.
And don't even get me started on airport security in Marrakech.