First and foremost, merry Christmas and happy New Year to everyone! I hope you've had a great first week of 2011.
Secondly, I have absolutely no idea where to begin recounting my life since I last posted. I suppose the beginning would be a good place to start, but so much has happened in 17 days that I'm having trouble remembering details. Forgive me if I jump around a lot. Also, I regret to inform you that all of my outrageous anecdotes will be without photographic assistance, as my camera was stolen along with my purse in Barcelona. We'll get to that later. I understand if you don't even read all of this. Without pictures it's going to be much less appealing.
So the snow storm I told you about became less enchanting and more of a huge pain in the ass as days went on, as it meant that the airport was not functioning. My flight for Monday, December 20 from Florence to Mallorca was canceled indefinitely. In order to avoid awkwardly going back to the Rizzi's--after accidentally kissing Francesco on the face as we bid our farewells--I decided to camp out in Jenna's hotel room (courtesy of AirFrance, because her flight had also been cancelled) and we spent Monday watching movies in her hotel room. Not so bad. Tuesday we reported to the airport hoping that things were back in working order. Surprise: they weren't. After a very long line, some tears, and some phone calls Jenna and I each had a seat on a plane from Rome to our respective destinations the next day. Fed up with the situation, we jumped on the next plane to Rome. Casual, I know.
Luckily, Adair and her family were staying in Rome that night and we had the opportunity to share a lovely dinner with and finally meet the famous Bender clan. They were absolutely wonderful, and we had a lot of fun combining both of Adair's families. That night, unfortunately, was spent on the floor of the Roma Termini train station because Jenna and I were too stupid to find ourselves a real place to stay and had to pick our bags up from their baggage storage. Never again. Pry the most miserable "night's sleep" I've ever had. Thank God I had Jenna there with me. Fortunately, my flight was early the next morning and I was finally on my way to meet Quirky--who had been sitting in our hostel in Mallorca for two days by herself...
My flight from Rome to Vienna (where I changed planes...on my way to Spain...don't ask me) was delayed and it didn't look like I was going to make my connection from Vienna to Palma. I was getting worried, but rushed through security to the gate anyways. Good news: the plane hadn't left yet. Bad news: I lost my passport somewhere in between the two planes. I was a complete mess. A very nice Spanish lady helped me go through my entire bag as I bawled and cursed my stupidity, but they let me on the plane to Palma without my passport, and I figured I have to deal with it once I got to Spain.
After googling "What to do when you lose your passport in Europe" about 45 times, I made an appointment at the consulate in Barcelona where we were going in a few days, and figured I could get an emergency passport issued, and this nightmare would finally be over. Then, I decided to call the lost property office at the Vienna Airport. After I finally got an "English speaking" human on the phone I inquired about an American passport, and have never in my life been so happy to hear someone say "Lauren Ferris Evans". So, it was in the Vienna airport. How do I get it to me in Spain...FedEx is a beautiful thing, ladies and gentleman. Had it shipped to our hostel in Barcelona and one catastrophe was over. Quirky and I were free to enjoy the rest of our time in Mallorca. And we certainly did. I have never met so many hilarious characters or done so many hilarious things. Our hostel wasn't actually IN the city of Palma, unfortunately, it was in a strange little "suburb" (or the ghetto) called Arenal. Not being in the city meant that we had to make our own fun. Or lay in the room, Skype with the Quirks, eat Pringles and watch Christmas movies. It was so nice to see Quirky, I didn't care what we were doing. Or that we were accused of being a lesbian couple on three separate occasions. There are too many strange stories to tell them all. The night of Christmas Eve, while you were all going to church with your families, Megan and I accompanied some weird kids we met in our hostel to a discoteca called Pacha where we danced the night away with the type of people who are in a discoteca on Christmas Eve...glittery transvestites included.
Christmas dinner, while you were all gathered around a table with your loved ones getting ready to dive into some turkey and mashed potatoes, Quirky and I were sitting in a German restaurant (the only one we found open) being waited on by an incredibly intoxicated Dutch man named Sven. Who later introduced us to his boyfriend Sebastian who worked in the kitchen, and their friends Tomas and Tony. The six of us shared schnitzel and liters of beer and again, ended up dancing the night away. Gay Germans can really boogy, let me tell you. Sven and Sebastian definitely thought we were on a double date. Also, totally fine.
The rest of our stay in Mallorca was pretty uneventful. I'm going to cut this post short because I really should be studying for my museology final. Wahh.
Stay tuned for the tale of Barcelona...
Love and miss you all! Baci
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