There will be tears, and room to stretch your legs.

I probably shouldn’t have dropped the “F-Bomb” twice at the guy on the phone from Iberia, but as I over-explained to him, the words weren’t directed at him. I was frustrated, and wouldn’t he be frustrated too if he had called dozens of times and sent two emails trying to reply to this sweet upgrade deal they had offered? We wanted seats with a greater backwards incline, that was pretty much it. And by the time I had been passed back and forth between agents who *promised* they would call me back (and never did), the seats we had intended to purchase had been all bought up. So, f*** you, Iberia Supervisor, who told me I had no respect. It is you who is lacking the respect, you inefficient, unfeeling butthead.

After wasting more than several hours on this issue, I ended up a sobbing heap on the couch. In retrospect, I know that it is indeed ridiculous to shed even one tear about losing the opportunity for a bourgie extra. I should be happy enough that I get to spend a month in Europe. But anyone who’s been around me at the wrong time knows that I can’t handle anything, and the only thing I can do is cry when I’m feeling overwhelmed, or worse, cast aside. Ah, a woman scorned by customer service is a sight to pity…

But after several hours had passed, I was full of Round Table Pizza and feeling chirpy enough to check the online system one more time, BEHOLD: every moment of time I had spent on the phone had been a sham. Some cosmic test I’m not sure I passed or failed, because I was able to upgrade the darn tickets right there, for only like, $20 than I had been initially promised. Sheesh.

Now, upgrade in this case is an upgrade on a new Iberia budget airline called Level. This isn’t like upgrading to those cool pod beds on Emirates, but whatever! We’re going on vacation and we are adults. We can afford “Premium Economy.”

And what economy it was! As the crowd grew restless in the OAK terminal, we were the second group to board, right after people in wheelchairs! When we boarded, we were ushered to the 3rd row, behind the curtain. You know the curtain, the one the flight attendants pull over the front of the airplane so the upper crust can’t be disturbed? We were behind that curtain! We got socks, and food, and big fancy headphones, and even water! (The gimmick behind these flights is you get nothing unless you pay for it, which we discovered isn’t too bad if you’re only paying $500 for the ticket to begin with.)

There was water and early boarding and joking with the flight attendants and 12” screens instead of 9” screens. We were living the high life. Especially compared to that one time we missed our flight and arrived in Serbia without any luggage.

We emerged from our budget air motel into the shiny, clean Barcelona El Prat airport, where apparently no one cares where you’re going, where you come from or what you have in your bags. We then sat in a space pod/Metro that whizzed through the tunnels in shiny, well-planned glory.

So here we are, in our shared flat in the Gracia neighborhood with a cute couple and two cute dogs, in a basic well-fanned room for a shockingly good price. This afternoon we traipsed the streets and tonight we ate foie gras and octopus and giant pieces of rock salt (on accident, they were stuck to the foie gras...so maybe you’re supposed to eat them? Either way, very chunky.)

We have arrived in Spain, where the atmosphere is gritty olive-oil magic, and we are better than fine.