Nothing Like Waking Up On A Plane…
By Alyssa Ramos
During my sophomore summer in college I went on a Eurotrip with one of my sorority sisters that went to 15 countries in 36 days. Obviously this trip was not intended for educational purposes for us, and most of the girls on the trip immediately hated us for being the first ones to start drinking in Greece, but that didn’t stop us from having a ridiculous month of foreign debauchery.
The trip itself will require it’s own post because a lot of crazy shit happened, but for some reason I thought Barcelona should get the first mention. Aside from the obscene chaos that was happening in the streets and clubs after Spain won the World Cup, my friend on the trip decided it would be a good idea to go find foreign ecstasy.
It just so happened that her boyfriend’s best friend was in Ibiza for the summer and flew over to party with her. Since I don’t do drugs, I lost my party partner for the night so was left hanging out with the other friends I made on the trip.
I should mention that this was the night before our 8am flight to go back home. So while my friend was rolling somewhere, the rest of us ventured around…unaccompanied by our guide…through back alleys and into random bars. One of the random bars happened to be an absinthe bar.
I’m still not sure which was worse; the scolding hot temperature of the absinthe shot (they heat it up like crack), or the disgusting licorice taste, but I was ready for neither. After my painful reaction and five-minute recovery time, I could only convince two other people to do it, and those are the only two people I recall being with the rest of the night.
The most I remember after that was everything looking like it was swirling. The whole trip we had tried to avoid the gypsies that sell useless knick knacks and pick pocket you, but suddenly they became our prime targets. We bought everything and anything that lit up or glowed, and the only reason why I know that is because someone photo documented the whole thing.
The photos are also how I understood the catastrophe inside my suitcase when I went to unpack. The entire trip, my friend and I had strategically used travel space bags to compress our clothes and allow us to over-pack, but when I opened my suitcase I found 0 out of 10 space bags and negative amounts of clothing and souvenirs.
According to the photo, I was trying to shove everything in my suitcase by getting inside of it…and trying to close it with me still in it. I also vaguely recall thinking that by wearing all of my wearable souvenirs, I could make more room…which explains what happened next.
I got on the bus with everyone else at about 6am or whatever god-awful hour of the morning it is when the sun is coming up, and after fighting with our guide because my friend was still missing, fell asleep (or just don’t remember what happened). The only recollection I have of the airport was sitting on the floor with my group eating A LOT of food.
Then POOF next thing I knew I was flying on an airplane! As I tried to understand what the hell was going on, I noticed I was wearing all three of my fútbol jerseys (I bought one in each country where I feared hooligans), a fedora that said “Barcelona”, aviators that I’d never seen before in my life, and various blinking jewelry.
But that’s not even what confused me the most! As I looked to my left and saw my rolling friend fast asleep next to me, my brain started to have a conniption. I knew for a fact she had missed the bus…but I guess that’s technically all I really remember because after I aggressively woke her up/scared the shit out of her, she informed me that her guy friend drove her to the airport and that I was sleeping in my seat already when she got on the plane.
No hangover in my 25 years of life has evercompared to the feeling of death I had on that 12 hour plane ride home…except my last birthday party I had at a mansion in the hills that was sponsored by a vodka company and that so many people brought champagne to that I had to hide them in the shoes in the closet of the owner of the house claiming the shoes were actually champagne holders, and went on until 6am, and when I finally got a ride home from the guy in LA I was dating realized the guy I was dating in Ecuador was sleeping in my bed and LA guy had to sleep in his car, but only after making him and 3 other friends search the streets for my dog that I took out to walk and then couldn’t find because he’s an asshole and likes to get scared and sit down when I call him sometimes/I was wasted out of my mind…
Conclusively, I got my luggage from baggage claim, and of course after 36 days of being dragged around Europe, the wheel broke off as soon as I pulled it off the conveyer belt. Later the next day is when I would discover that I am the worst absinthe-induced luggage packer and will likely claim to never drink it again yet if I ever happen to stumble across it, might…but only if it’s recorded.
Alyssa, your vivid recount of that adventurous night sipping absinthe in Barcelona brings the city’s vibrant nightlife and quirky charms to life! It’s great to see someone embracing local traditions with such enthusiasm, adding a personal touch that makes the experience even more relatable. Your story not only entertains but also offers a glimpse into the unique cultural experiences that await in Barcelona. Thanks for sharing this spirited adventure it’s definitely inspired me to add a little absinthe experimentation to my travel bucket list!