As close to Turkey as I want be on Thanksgiving

So about this time last year I had decided, much to the chagrin of my parents that I was going to stay in Austin for Thanksgiving rather than go home for the weekend. As much as I knew my folks wanted me to come home, it was my senior year at the University of Texas and I had still never been to the uber-traditional Longhorn/Aggie bout so I figured it was something that just had to be done. My brother came down to Austin as well and we had a huge dinner for everyone that remained in town for the game that didnt have a family feast of their own to attend. I can remember it as if it were yesterday. “Mom, I promise I will be there next year”

Sorry about that Mom.

No Longhorn game (which, as much as I hate to admit it, doesn’t look like I missed much). No sitting around stuffed falling in and out of sleep during the Cowboys game. No quality time with the fam, which always hurts. So needless to say Thanksgiving this year would be a little different, but definitely be one to remember.

We got into Budapest, Hungary the night before the big day and got to work on where we would be spending our holiday. Lucky for us, the guy at the reception desk of the hostel was from New Orleans so he was on the same page. First, we wanted somewhere with Turkey. Done. Second, we wanted somewhere that we could get a respectable feast for a decent price. After all it was a holiday so we were willing to splurge a little from our usual travel budget. Done. Lastly, we wanted somewhere that we could celebrate with a little drinkin. Or a lotta drinkin. Done. Once we had picked a spot for the feast we told Brandon, the guy at the reception, to spread the word through the hostel that the two guys from Texas were going to a Turkey Day dinner and that anyone was welcome. It was a small hostel but I think we successfully got everyone staying there to come with us, even if they didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving back home. Joining us would be 4 girls from Oregon, Denelle from Canada and the lonely Australian, Calem. It would be Calem’s first ever Thanksgiving dinner. Here’s the crew.



Thank you to Trofea’s ALL YOU CAN EAT AND DRINK for a Thanksgiving that I will not soon forget. Along with a wide assortment of random Hungarian cuisine, the buffet actually had turkey with gravy. On top of that, Graham can now say he had some sort of brains on Thanksgiving before. He advised me against it though.

As far as our sightseeing goes, we followed our typical routine. First, find the highest point in the city in the city and climb up to it. Budapest has a few palaces/castles that atop the hills that had great views of the city. The Danube River runs through the middle of the city dividing it into Buda (the west bank) and Pest (the east bank). Most of the touristy stuff we did was on the Buda side.





The next day, after a long night of celebrating Thanksgiving, we made our way to one of the famous thermal baths that Budapest is known for and just relaxed. To be honest, I was a little skeptical on this whole “Bath” idea, but was sold on it pretty easily. It was just like a huge country club with random heated pools all over the place. Indoor and Out. The only real difference was that we were in Hungary so the place was filled with old overweight Hungarians stomping around in their speedos. Even the younger crowd, as small as it was, still rocked the skimpys with no problem. Maybe even a dirty little mullet and a gold chain to go with it.



As we quickly noticed, this time of year and this far east, the sun starts to go down at about 4:30 p.m. So now that we had spent our whole day lounging around the hot tubs with the Hungarians, we had to find something else to do for the rest of the evening. Apparently, one of the lesser known facts about Budapest is that there are these huge limestone mountains underneath the city and over the years the hot water that fills the famous thermal baths has worn away at the limestone creating these huge cave systems. By 6:00 we were geared up and ready to crawl around under Budapest. Our guide was a small little guy with a dirty sense of humor named Laslow. He spoke that kind of English that was just enough to get his point across but not near enough for his jokes to be considered anywhere near appropriate. It was pretty hilarious for us because our group was all young, however had there been a family or anything with us it would have been downright uncomfortable for everyone. Anyways, the caving was awesome. Not quite as extreme as the stuff we did in Switzerland but still cool. Crawling around, under, over, and through stuff that at first glance doesn’t look possible, we made it. Graham and I, being as tall as we are, obviously aren’t your ideal candidate for a good caver but we got through it. Laslow was about 5’6” 140 and had been “caving” for about 12 years so he made everything look much easier than it would turn out to be.



Overall, Thanksgiving in Budpapest was a success, relatively. Nothing can ever take the place of the quality time that we typically spend with our loved ones over this great American holiday but i will say that we made a good hand from the cards we were dealt.

Its still a little Greek to me

So after 22 drawn out years of a long anticipated introduction, Greece would finally get what it had been waiting on; another Leonoudakis from Texas. My parents would have been the last ones there, but of course we won’t get into how long ago it was. Graham and I would take a ferry from Ancona, Italy down the Adriatic Sea to Patras, Greece. 8 hours on trains and 21 hours on a ferry later, we would arrive in Athens. After 29 hours of anxiously waiting to see what to me has just been a name and a place for my whole life, it only took me about 5 minutes to see some familiar sights that quickly reminded me of my grandparents that were born here back in the day. They were the only ones of us that ever really spoke any Greek and I can remember it vividly. The Greeks are known for their aggressiveness in their voice and body language when they talk. Waving hands and yelling this and that. When we got off at the train station in Patras I saw a couple getting into it with one of the conductors. At first it seems like they were about to come to blows, but I quickly realized that’s just how they do it here. I can remember conversations between my grandparents starting out in slow “civilized” English and quickly turning into what seemed like all our verbal attacks, in Greek. Awesome to see it all again. So we were off to see Greece. Besides French, this was the language I can say that I knew the most of, without the help of Rick Steve’s Travel Guide. Unfortunately for Graham and me it wouldn’t get us far because my arsenal consisted of all of four words. Papoo & Yaya (Grandfather & Grandmother) Gyro (which was the most helpful) and of course Leonoudakis (which actually got me a little street cred). So unless I wanted to tell someone that the Grandma and Grandpa Leonoudakis wanted some gyros, we might as well have been starting from scratch here too.

We got our stuff to the hostel and I quickly had my eyes on the prize. A Gyro. Now any of you out there from my hometown of Texarkana can appreciate the gravity with which I describe such an ordinary situation. To those of you who may not know where I am coming from I will just say these pita wrapped delicacies hold a deep seated place in my adolescent memory. That being said I felt it was necessary to explain to Graham the reason for which I was probably going to eat only Gyros for the next 4-5 days. I got dangerously close too. Threw in a Greek Salad and a Subway sandwich to mix it up a bit though. He was sold just as quickly as all of you were back in the day at the Four States Fair and Rodeo (that’s for a select few of you.).

Well now that the important things were taken care of we could go see a little history. We climbed to the acropolis; saw the original stadium for the modern Olympics held in 1896 as well as the most recent one from 2004; went to a few museums and saw the old ruins areas where Zeus and Apollo used to hang out.






It was at the end of the day in the archaeology museum that I decided that between Rome and Athens I said seen enough old rocks to hold me over for awhile and I wanted to mix it up a bit. Graham and I had been playing with the idea of going to some of the islands while we were here so we decided to head down to Santorini. We knew we were taking a bit of a gamble by heading there in the middle of November, but we had a few days to kill before we could leave Athens (by flight) and wanted to give it a shot. Our ferry got there at 2 in the morning. We handed our directions (in full Greek) to the place we were supposed to stay to the cab driver and we were off. 30 minutes later we arrive at the address. It was cold and rainy outside and there is not a light on or a soul in sight at “Niko’s Apartments”. Lucky for us, this time there was no national holiday or anything taking up every room in the city so we got him to drop us off at the nearest hotel.



When we got up next day we were surprised to see the sun shining so we got some lunch, a gyro of course, and rented a few four wheelers to cruise around the island. The whole island itself is about 30 square kilometers so we just took off in one direction up the coastline. Though sunny outside, it was one of the windiest places I can remember being but still gorgeous. However by about 4:00 the clouds rolled in and it started raining so we took it to the house. We originally had planned on staying two full days on the island but the outlook looked a little bleak and there was no nightlife whatsoever to speak of so we headed out a day early back to Athens.



It was the first time in my life that I can remember giving someone my name, ID, passport, etc. for whatever reason and they didn’t look up at me with that look of utter confusion as they spilled over each feeble attempt not to completely butcher it. It even got me into the Agora for free. The lady saw my name on the card and let me through free of charge. Small gesture but still pretty cool.

Next stop, Thanksgiving in....

When in Rome... and Florence

I really don’t know what I expected of Rome but I know was surprised at what I got. I knew of the Colosseum and things like that but I don’t think that the history of the place had really set in. The way that there are ruins just laying all over the middle of the city was a little surreal. The stories of things that went down here in the last 2000 years was pretty amazing. We bought a ticket for one of those weak BUS tours ( I would quickly see how bike tours would be a bit of a problem) on the night we got there just to try to go see where everything was and get a plan together for the next day. We grabbed a few beers and crawled on top of the bus and rode around Rome for about the next 2 hours. Good Stuff



To be honest, learning about Rome made all the stuff I had been yapping about it Paris for the last 3 months seem a little less significant. On top of that, I kept seeing things in Rome that the Kings and Emperors of France seem to have copied. The Arc de Triomph. Copied. The Austerlitz statue of Napoleon in Place Vendome. Copied. The Pantheon. Copied. One of the Obelisk from Ramses II tomb. Rome had it first. Paris has its own version of all of these structures only they are about 1500-1800 years newer.

That night we went to a great little Italian joint to get a little local flavor. After they let in three parties of Italians that came in after us on the wait list we finally got a table. No way that gets by me or Dylan back home but we were forced to show some restraint being in their country and all. By now I have just learned to deal with being treated like a tourist everywhere I go. Not a lot I can do about it so there is no reason to get all worked up about it. I feel for the first waiter that crosses me back home. Not Really. But seriously.



The next day we got up and got back on our tour bus and headed over to the Colosseum. We took a tour with this guy from Rome that looked a little shady at first but turned out to be great. He told some pretty cool stories of ancient Rome and was really passionate about it all. That’s one thing that I was probably lacking on in my tour spcheels. He wanted to take all those pre-conceived notions that we all have of the Romans and how violent they seemed and recreate a more realistic sense of what life was actually like back then. A few times he seemed near tears when talking about “his people” and who they really were and are. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my time in Paris and really have developed more of an appreciation for its history, but just don’t see myself getting choked up when talking about it. The rest of the day we just walked around the city looking at all the ruins and then visited Vatican City and went inside St. Peters.



At the end of the day we found a pub in town that was showing American football that night. For Dylan and Charlie it was a way not to miss a Cowboys game for the year but for Graham and me it was our first of the season. So we get to this place, the scholars lounge, appropriate I know, and there are 9 different NFL games being broadcast starting at 7:30 p.m.. I even got to see a little VY in action, which was real special even though he ended the game with a desperation interception. Unfortunately, the following morning, we would have to part ways with Dylan and Charlie. Unfortunately for them, they had to get up at 5:30 to catch a train to the airport. From here Graham and I would open a new chapter in our travel log. Just the two of us and Europe for the next month.

From Rome, we caught the train to Florence. We had to choose either Florence or Venice and though it was a tough choice, we went with the majority opinion we had from our similarly aged Fat Tire patrons back in Paris. Venice will just have to be one of those places I see on my next trip to Europe when I come back to finally climb the Eiffel Tower (still haven’t gotten up there yet but there are reasons which I will delve into on one of my final memoirs)

Florence was great. We took a walking tour in the morning of the city. Then went out on our own and climbed the famous cathedral there, went and saw David, and ended the day in a church on one of the highest hills in the city and listened to a group of four monks do their ritual chants. No real good travel stories to brag about here, just great scenery and interesting history.





I will however tell a little story forewarning any of you couples out there thinking about conquering the sights of Europe together, toting matching backpacks while constantly holding hands, about what NOT to do if you decide to stay in the hostel dorms (meaning not private). We were staying in a 6 person room and the bunk next to us had a couple from Australia occupying it. They were real nice and easy to talk to and even gave us some travel trips because they had just come from Greece and that was next on our list. However, before we even shut the lights out to go to bed, this guy gets down on his knees, next to the bottom bunk, and starts BABY TALKING to his girlfriend and tucking her in. Unbelievable. It was like he was putting a 3 month old to bed. It would have been less awkward for all of us if he would have just gone ahead and crawled on top of her. Believe it or not, that’s not even the worst part. Once they did shut the lights off and he hopped on the top bunk, they started TEXT MESSAGING EACH OTHER. Please, if you want to maintain any credibility among your traveling peers, or even your friends back home (because if I knew any of this guys friends back in Sydney you better believe I would make sure they knew this)…….get a room.

We were in and out of Florence pretty quick and were quickly on our way to the motherland. MY motherland. GREECE.

A little place I like to call Cinque Terre

After the debacle in Avignon we made it to Nice, basically just because it had what turned out to be an awesome Hostel. We didn’t really have any time to spend there because we wanted to stop in Monaco on the way to Cinque Terre so we got up and got out the next morning.

We got to Monaco around 10:30 and had about 3 hours to walk around. Graham had someone he knew from Dallas that had relatives that lived in Monaco and owned a cool restaurant called Stars and Bars (American Flag), right there on the port so that was our first stop. From there we walked around the port some more then up to the famous casino and it was pretty ridiculous, as expected. Overall, Monaco was impressive but just a little too much for four guys in their early 20’s on a travel budget so it was fine with me that we be on our way. On top of this I was getting real excited about our next stop.



We got into Cinque Terre about 9 on Thursday night just in time to check in to our hotel and grab a bite to eat before everything shut down. If you aren’t familiar with this place it is a group of 5 villages (cinque-5 / terre-villages) on the coast of Northwest Italy looking out over the Ligurian Sea. I had never heard of it before I started working in Paris but one of the perks of all those everyday conversations that I had with people was hearing about cool little places like this. The villages from West to East went Monterosso, Vernazza,Corniglia, Manarola, Riomaggiore. We were staying in the 2nd vllage from the West called Vernazza. We found a great little spot with great pasta and wine and started out Italy in typical fashion. We tried to find somewhere to hangout afterwards but like I said, everything shuts down real early there. So we went into a restaurant that was barely still open and bought two bottles of local Cinque Terre wine to take with us and then went and sat out on the pier for the rest of the night and relaxed a little bit before our next big day of hiking.

This place is famous for its hiking. Each little town lies in a little valley/inlet from the ocean and you hike over the hills and into each town. In all its about a 5 hour hike through all 5 towns. I will admit I have never been much of a hiker. It was the one part of boy scouts I tried to sketch out of as much as possible. But I suppose it goes along with those French History classes that I hated listening to back in the day. Once you are doing it on your own you can appreciate it that much more. Unless I get into some serious hiking in the near future, this will probably be one of the most amazing hikes I take. 95% of the hike is on the coastline and every time you turn the corner and peek out of the brush you have another awesome postcard shot of the coast. Not only are the sights unforgettable but the sounds are just as cool. For 5 hours you listen to the crashing of the waves against the rocky coastline below you and hear the commotion of the wildlife and local farmers all through the hillside. I cant really describe it anymore than that but you can definitely check out some of the pictures. I’m pretty sure it would have been hard to take a bad one. I think collectively, 3 of us took about 300+/- pictures throughout the hike. Dylan came to Europe with a camera and just plans on stealing all of ours. What an ass









After stopping in the last village to get a bite to eat and take a nap on the beach we got back to our place at about 4. We actually had quite a hike to get back up to our room because it was at the top of our village, but we had discovered that around the corner it had an awesome little balcony looking out over the ocean and great view of a sunset so it was worth it.




Overall, this place is right up there with Interlaken, Switzerland as far as the landscape goes. Every time you turn around you could literally just sit and stare at the view. If you’re ever in Italy I suggest this be high on your priority list. We are headed to Rome right now, which I am pumped about, but I can say that if these are the only two places in Italy I see I would be satisfied.

Still workin out the kinks - Avignon

So the crew has assembled and we were ready to dominate Europe. Charlie and Dylan spent two days in London before meeting up in with me in Paris and had already set the tone for our trip. They claimed to have dominated London, imagine that, and were ready to do the same to every town we went to.

Over their 10 day stay we planned on visiting 7 cities.

I got up on Monday morning and took them to the bike shop and got them set up on the cruisers and would give them the ultimate tour of the city. Rambling off history to strangers everyday that could or couldn’t care less is one thing. Telling it to one of your best friends and brother is another. I will give it them though, they were more attentive than I thought they would be, probably because I’m such a damn good tour guide, but it was still different. You can’t really crack all the awesomely corny jokes that get giggles out of some crowds but on the same hand you don’t have to answer all the same questions and talk about the same stuff that goes along with tour guidin. It was awesome to show these guys what I had been up to for 3 months but at the same time it was great catch up with them and hear about their lives. We went o a few of my favorite spots for a good beer, picnics, dinner, and just cool places to hang out around the city.






After two gorgeous days in Paris riding around on bikes it was time to hit the rails. Graham has drawn up a pretty legit plan for our 5-6 week trip and Charlie and Dylan would be joining us for the first 5 days. We took off on Wednesday to go down to Avignon where we planned to go on a day tour of some wineries then get back on the train and stay in Nice for the night. Well, we came up a little short. No real trouble getting out of Paris this time but once we got to Avignon we learned one more of what I’m sure will be hundreds of valuable lessons. What Rick Steves says in his travel guide, though very helpful, doesn’t always apply to traveling in the offseason. Many of the wineries were closed or just too far (not actually in Avignon) to see during that day. So we decided to make the best of the situation and just try to go see one of the small local wineries. Another lesson learned had to do with the language barriers that lay ahead for us. In Paris, we were just starting to get the hang of French enough to get us around. We didn’t realize how valuable it was that most people in Paris can understand at least a little English and are used to tourist. Once you start hitting these little towns outside of the main touristy areas that is not the case. People in Avignon speak French. That’s it. We were still ok, but it would just take a little more concentration.

Keep in mind, every time we get off the train we have these massive backpacks to carry around. Not an excuse, just something to think about. So we take a bus for about 30 minutes to the closest winery outside of Avignon. Immediately, I have to go into the bakery to try and get directions from a lady. She pulls out a map and start throwing her arms this way and that and I am just consistently nodding my head like I know exactly whats going on. We start walking around the countryside up and down dirt roads in what I am still convinced was the right direction.







Unfortunately we just didn’t have the time to just keep hiking because we had to, first of all, find our way back to the bus stop and then catch the ONE bus of the afternoon back to Avignon so that we could catch our train to Nice. No problem with the first part. We retraced our steps back to the station perfectly and found the bus stop with 20 minutes to spare. However, it iurns out that busses in the smaller towns are not quite as dependable as they are in Paris. We wait for about an hour, just in case it really is running that late, then decide we might have a real problem here. We are stuck in a little village outside of a small town with no way back to Avignon where we have a train to catch. I walk into the post office and in the best French I can muster up, tell them the bus didn’t show up and ask how else I can get to Avignon. I asked if there was anyway to call or catch a taxi. Not lyin, this is what she says to me as best she can. “there was a taxi around the corner the other day but I don’t know if its still there.” I go back to break the news to the boys and it starts to set in that we might have hit our first serious road block on our little excursion. About this time I walk up the street to a small credit union to see if they can help and once again no taxi, no help. So I go into the bar next door. Not to start drinking, yet, but still seeking some help. There are about 15 old men sitting around drinking (at about 2:30) and one lady bartender. I had clearly found the one little dive in this town and at first it didn’t look very promising. I start talking to the bartender and luckily the one guy in the bar who can speak a little English hears me and comes to my rescue. I tell him my situation and he gets on the phone to call me a cab. He hangs up and looks at me and I get one of my favorite Euro sayings. “It is not pozzible.” So I ask what else I can possibly do to get back to Avignon in the next 2 hours. I told him I would pay someone for a ride. This was my money shot. He turns to his buddies in the bar and asks if anyone was going to Avignon that day and wanted to take us. It appeared that everyone in the bar had a drink of some kind of another but at this point I was desperate. The local carpenter comes up to me, a leather faced crusty old man, cigarette in hand and tells he to follow him, apparently he could take me. I think I must have forgotten to mention to him that I had three buddies and 150 lbs of baggage. He laughs at me and points to his truck/van hybrid and I give him the thumbs up. And this is what went down.




I think we were all a little worried about what might go down in hills here with these two strangers. Luckily there would be no haunting ringing of a banjo in the French countryside. Plus, I had decided we were alright because one; we were all pretty big guys and the two guys in front were older, like one in their 60’s, and smaller, and second; we had all his tools in the back with us. Nothing to worry about though. We got to the train station safe and sound with plenty of time to spare and the guys turned out to be extremely friendly and at first even tried to refuse my money but I insisted. This guy was crucial to our trip going on with a major hitch.

Barthelonaaa

By now I have come to grips with the fact that leaving Paris is just not that easy. Not because I have some emotional attachment that I have trouble parting with but it’s the physical aspect of it that I have struggled with. Physically getting my body out of the city has been a bit of an issue. First, it was Switzerland when we missed our train because we were at the wrong station. Then they cancelled my train to Normandy because there was a nationwide transportation labor strike (see “would you like some cheese with your whine” below). As far as I can remember London went off without a hitch, but then there was Barcelona. Our flight was delayed 2 hours putting us into town at about midnight and the flight back would be even more of a debacle.

We had forgone any ideas to book a hostel ahead of time because we were told that one of the guides there ran an illegal hostel out of his apartment and that we were more than welcome to stay with him. This turned out to be a terrible idea. We arrived in Barcelona at midnight and still had not been able to get in touch with him. We had a back up plan though or so we thought. Being early November, one would think that the travel season was at an end and that there would be plenty of hostels or even hotels to choose from. So this was our backup plan. Just wing it. We walked the streets of Barcelona, back packs and all, for the next 3 hours trying to find anyone that had an open bed. Whatever sign we saw that looked remotely open we walked in and asked for rooms only to be incessantly turned down. About this time Graham Robinson had formed a genius plan in his mind to trade out sleeping on the city benches for 3 hours at a time while one guy stayed up and watched the bags. During the first 2 hours I laughed at the idea but at 3 a.m. and after about 20 hotels and hostels with no rooms it was looking like a legitimate plan. One last hail mary we had in our pocket was to go back out by the airport and see if any of those hotels had rooms. Two 4 star hotels later we had a place to crash. A little higher end than an illegal hostel in the center of Barcelona but at this point it was that or a park bench.

The next day we woke up to a beautiful sunny day in Barcelona. Unfortunately we still had no plan for where we were going to sleep for the rest of our trip and we couldn’t really go see the sights until that was figured out. From here we went to the Fat Tire shop and met up with the owner and some of the guides and tried to see if they could help us out. Finally at 4 p.m. and after they had called 20 more places they knew of that were all full, J.J. from South Africa came to the rescue. J.J. volunteered to let us have his place for the next two nights and he would sleep at his girlfriends. We didn’t realize this meant that we would be partying with him for about ehhh….the next 36 hours…..straight. J.J.’s girlfriend owns a bar on the beach with some of the best sangria I have ever had and his roommate Matt is a bartender at one of the more popular places in Barcelona so the table was set for one hell of a time.



For those of you that have been to Barcelona and made it out alive, congratulations. For those of you that have been to Barcelona and claimed to have studied for a semester, stop lying to yourself and pay your parents back. No possible way anything productive gets done in that city, especially during school hours. Let me just give you a little idea of what I am talking about. People eat dinner at about 10 o’clock. At this time they go to the bars which close around 2-3 a.m.. Now where most people would call this a big night and take it to the house, these folks do not. At this point the clubs OPEN and will generally go until about 6-7 in the morning. I like to have a good time as much as the next guy but damn. If you are not used to this type of partying, which no one should ever be, then its tough. Believe it or not we would manage to pull through somehow though.

The next day we crawled out of bed to go on J.J.’s bike tour and that’s when it really set in to just how ridiculous this whole city is. People do this sort of thing regularly; cant be healthy. Anyways, the tour was great and J.J. made sure to tell everyone that the guys from Paris in the back were the reason he was a little hungover so that kind of set the tone for the rest of the tour. We saw a few parks, monuments, and Sagrada Familia which is this ridiculous church design by Gaudi started in the 1800’s and still has a good 30-40 years to go. In Barcelona, they end the tour at a café/bar on the beach that fortunately for us is once again owned by J.J.’s girlfriend. So we just hung out here for a little longer and watched the day go by. From here we hiked to the top of one of the hills in the city where there is a park designed by Gaudi as well.





After the day was over we decided we probably couldnt hang with J.J. anymore so we better not even try. So the 4 of us went to a place a little more low key to play pool and foose ball, L'ovella Negra (The black Sheep) for those of you that have been there, then called it a night because our flight was leaving at 7:30, or so we thought.

We get to the airport at about 6 a.m. running on fumes and all we want to do is get on the plane, get back to Paris, and sleep all day. About 7:20, they decide to tell us that the plane was cancelled. Now if you have flown around Europe before or even read my scholarly article on customer service then you know what is likely to happen in these situations. They don’t automatically put you on the next plane and they damn sure aren’t giving you a place to sleep for the night. From here it’s all up to you. They basically tell us that there are 9 spots on the 11 a.m. flight and that the later flight is full. So at this point 400 people rush downstairs to get in the ticket line and scavenge for whatever chance of hope might be left to make it home. After waiting in line for about 30 minutes and coming to grips with the fact that we were probably staying in Barcelona for another night they decided to charter another plane for us all at noon. How thoughtful!

We make it back to Paris safe and sound; worn the hell out and ready to lay low for a few days. Fortunately for me, Dylan and Charlie were arriving fresh and ready to go in Paris in a little less than 18 hours so I would have try and keep up.