The Savvy Travelers pt. 2: the saga of Iberia Air

Our time in Madrid afforded me the opportunity to recover from jetlag, cram in as much last-minute pork into my diet as possible, and remember why it was that I live in a Middle Eastern country where it doesn't snow in the winter (though if we had been dressed for it, the snow in Madrid really was pretty). Copious amounts of hot chocolate kept our thin, sissy blood from freezing in our veins, and we both agreed that Spain, while very pleasant (and undoubtedly easier to enjoy in the summertime, when we weren't shaking from the cold), was not where our hearts lay. It was time to go back to Africa.

Now, as savvy travelers, we have mastered the art of the train, bus, mini-bus, tuktuk, Nile felucca boats, donkey cart, camel, and politically-sensitive border crossings on foot, but the airplane seemed a bit sophisticated. Our other option was to pay in euros to take a train from Madrid down to Gibraltar, take a ferry across the Mediterranean to Tangier (the Tijuana of Morocco and known for seediness more than its scenery), and then a Moroccan train down to Marrakech. Or, we could take a 2 hour, $85 flight direct from Madrid  to Marrakech. It was an easy decision to make, but an air itinerary didn't jive so well with our laidback, "let's just do things as the come" plan-less vibe we had been rocking until this point. $85 or no, it was also an international flight, with all the extra time required for customs and security. Feeling invincible, we showed up at the airport 1 hour before departure. 

Now, I admit, showing up at the airport an hour before the flight isn't the smartest thing in the world (but how could we leave before getting in one last tortilla and cafe con leche [or churros and chocolate, if you have Nod's insatiable sweet tooth] at a picturesque and snowy cafe in Madrid? Surely we can be forgiven...). 

But Iberia air is the worst. The entire country is trying to fly out on one, government owned airline. They had maybe 6 check-in booths. The check-in line snaked out and around all the way through the terminal. There was no way we were going to even check in for our flight before it took off, much less make it to the gate. A very helpful Iberia air rep (ok, 1 point to Iberia air for her) called out flights that were leaving soon so that passengers could cut in line if they were leaving soon. She kept calling for Casablanca. Our flight was to Marrakech....both in Morocco, but were they the same flight? I was shy to use my Spanish, which was getting all garbled after a year without practice. An American backpacker girl was standing behind us and overheard us stressing about the flight. Smacking her gum with a condescending flat stare, she interjected,

"Uh, if you guys are leaving soon, you should probably go tell that woman. She's been calling your flight for a half hour."

Listen, emo backpacker girl with more Spanish cred than me, there's only enough room in this departure area for 1 savvy traveler. And...ok, it's you. 

We cut in line (with permission) and gave the Iberia rep our information to check in. After heaving our backpacks onto the tray to be checked, she told us our gate information. Great--we only have 2 minutes to get there! We started racing away. The Iberia air rep started yelling after us. Oh, right, our boarding pass might be helpful? We had forgotten it at the desk. The savvy travelers strike again.

We dashed towards the gate. The signs posted in the interminable and glistening hallways did their best to dash our hopes: 25 minutes to our gate, 2 minutes to departure. Coming from O'Hare--the busiest airport in the world but delightfully compact--it is beyond me why they felt the need for this airport to be so spread out. 

Dressed for the snow outside in beanies and scarves, we were sweating and puffing as we finally showed up at the gate. Could it be? Did we make it? I excitedly asked a middle age Spanish woman if she was headed to Morocco, too. "Yes, yes," she replied, with a look that said, "don't get so excited, my dear--this is Europe, and we do things with a bit more sophistication than America." Whew, whatever--we made it! It turned out that our flight was delayed by an hour, giving us just enough time to get there before boarding.

To celebrate, Nod decided to go off in search of muffins at the nearby food court. The second he was out of earshot, an Iberia air rep got on the PA system, announcing in Spanish that our gate had changed to the other side of the terminal. Nod doesn't speak Spanish, so there was no way he would have understood the announcement, even if he had heard it. The entire plane of passengers picked up their carry-ons and started walking to the other end. 5 minutes until boarding. Could it be that we had miraculously made it through security in time, only to miss our flight because of a muffin? It was so ridiculous that I was afraid it just might happen.

4 and a half minutes later, Nod returned triumphantly with a blueberry muffin in his hand. "Run!" I said, and moments later we were bolting down the terminal to our new gate. We made it just in time to scarf down our muffins, snap a photo, and tag onto the back of the boarding line. Still a bit flustered from the harried morning, we also almost left the plane with our massive copy of Lonely Planet Africa behind on the chair, until a helpful passenger grabbed it for us.

Alright, we already took home the wrong bag from the airport and almost missed our flight to Morocco. With a few early bugs out of our system, there was nothing more that could go wrong, right? To be continued...