Well, we left the house 24 hours ago for the airport. No weather delays as we made our way to Paris. But we were late departing Cincinnati while late-arriving passengers made their way to the enormous 767 aircraft. If this were my ride home I wouldn’t want to miss it either. Oddly enough our seats were in the very back of the plane.
The English-speaking flight attendants are enamored by the girls’ fresh pedicures and vacation hair-dos. They also thought that their idea of bringing their own pillows was brilliant (something I didn’t think was smart, but what do I know?). It was a full flight to Charles de Gaule and we didn’t have much room. Sleep was fitful for Angie and myself, but Maddie sprawled out over the two of us and Meg ended up with an empty seat, so they caught some shut-eye. Because of our locale in the rear of the plane the girls missed out on the dinner selection of choice, the pasta, and settled for the chicken entrée. Neither liked it much and the attendants took pity on them, delivering a nice untouched salad and fruit cup from first-class. 
Everyone is feeling the effects of jet lag, especially routine-minded Angie. Everybody thus far has been really nice. I don’t know what I expected, but I’m surprised at how many people at the airport in Paris speak some English. It makes me reflect how selfish we can sometimes be as Americans. It wouldn’t hurt any of us to try to learn another language. Anyhow, there was a lot of cloud cover as we came into Paris, so we couldn’t see much on approach except for the many quaint (and ancient) towns that lie just outside of the marvelous city. But we’re only on a layover, so we’ll have to revisit another time. Despite Internet talk to the contrary, the airport itself was very nice and modern. Apparently, we received a gate in the new terminal, which just opened. A fellow cruiser said the airport had sustained heavy damage a few years back when a portion of the roof collapsed, and this is the reconstruction. There are lots of Americans in the airport. Yes, our country’s current foreign policy is a mess by nearly anyone’s standards, but Americans are still venturing out to the rest of the world to prove that we are not all the jingoistic me-me-me nation that seems to be prevalent in the press. Angie and I trade in some of our AMEX traveler’s checks for Euros. The exchange rate stinks (thanks, in part, to the aforementioned foreign policy). I purchase a Diet Coke (and, yes, they don’t give you ice) for 3.85 Euros, or about $6. Ouch! We’re now about to board our Air France flight for a short hop down to Barcelona. I’m worried about picpockets in the BCN airport (I’m trying not to be paranoid). Maddie is suddenly very excited about the trip. I guess the enormity of this Magical trip to the Med is finally sinking in. Off we go.
Arrival in Barcelon was without incidence. Our only challenge was that the attendant in Paris gate-checked my carry-on bag containing our electronics. I thought I would get it back at the gate in BCN, but instead they pulled it with the rest of our luggage arriving on the carousel (so don’t do it unless you are confident you’ll get it back on arrival). Despite my worries of pickpockets at the airport we didn’t have any issues and all bags made it. Maybe it was because it was Friday and airport traffic was light. Or that we remained alert. Whatever the reason, I was relieved. We grabbed a cab (which was a first for everyone sans myself) and headed for our hotel. It helped that I had printed a map with the name and address of our hotel because our driver didn’t speak a lick of English. But, map in hand, we had no problems. He was a very good driver, dodging in and out of the crazy, crazy traffic in Barcelona. The cars drive literally inches from each other and hundreds of males and females on mopeds and motorcycles dart in and out while passing other cars. At one point we almost get side-swiped by another taxi and our driver yells something to the other car that I’m sure the girls shouldn’t hear. But we don’t understand him anyway, so it seems amusing. I remark that all of the rims on passing cars are broken or scuffed. Reminiscent of the scene from ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles,’ I’m sure Angie dug her nails into the seat. But she managed a smile and distracted herself by taking in the kaleidoscope of architecture that abounds in beautiful Barcelona. We arrive at the hotel and I pay the driver the posted 35 Euros, plus a 10 Euro tip. He seems duly satisfied and off speeds off to terrorize more arriving passengers. Our hotel is on the northeast side of town near the Westernized Diagonal Mar mall. Construction is going on everywhere you look, springing forth a wide mix of new and old. Along the way we marvel at the tree-lined avenues and millenials-old structures adorned with fanciful tile work. The Spanish are, indeed, master crafsmen. Check-in at the newly remodeled and modern-looking Hilton Diagonal Mar is crazy. The all-male, all-Spanish desk staff speak good English. We have two rooms on the 18th floor, overlooking the ocean and the hotel’s immense tranquil blue pool on the second-floor terrace.
We give the girls their own room and they are ecstatic.Maddie is puzzled by the bidet in the bathroom. We try to explain it, but suffice with a simple “leave it alone.” After our long flight we crash for a while and decided to skip a pre-arranged dinner downtown with some of our Internet DIS board friends. I walked the hotel and ran into DCL personnel checking in passengers that arranged hotel ressies through them (it was much cheaper to do it on our own). They tell me there are about 200 families that are sailing staying at our hotel. That explains why we hear so much English chatter in the hallways and elevators (not to mention the prevalent tee-shirts from Ambercrombie and Hollister—something we told not to do as Americans abroad). We cleaned up and walked across the street to the mall. In many ways it was like any mall you’d find in the states. We forego shopping and walk the perimeter, where we find a small, but well-stocked local grocery store. We purchase a few sundries for the trip and take them back to the room before setting off again for dinner on the terrace outside of the mall. We settle on a nice-looking restaurant featuring, what else, Spanish tapas. Our server—a white-haired gentleman who reminds me of Pinochio’s Gipetto—doesn’t speak English, but we manage well. He plays with Maddie in a grandfatherly way and does a superb job of filing our dinner requirements. A portion of the menu is in English and the girls settle to split a manicotti, while Angie and myself venture out to try a sampler platter featuring appetizers of calamari, tomato-infused bread, a cold cucumber based soup and a tasty spread for the bread. Maddie discovers the anchovies.
After ordering I excuse myself to say hello to another DIS board member eating dinner with her family. She is surprised I recognize although we’ve only know each other online (this is just one reason why the DIS board are a great planning tool for anybody planning a DIS vacation). But back to dinner. The modest 19 Euro price per person price also includes an adult beverage. Angie enjoys sangria from time to time and this offering disappoint. Delivered in a quaint glass (not plastic) pitcher, it’s light and fruity, full of fresh Mediterranean citrus—miles ahead of our usual offering at the Olive Garden (ha!) in the states. I enjoy a mugfull of local beer. Maddie devoured the accompanying plate of fresh anchovies in olive oil, vinegar and pepper while Meg declares the lightly-battered calmari is the best she’s ever had. She whoofs down nearly all of the cheese-laden pasta. They don’t look it, but our girls can eat. Already stuffed of delicious food our server brings out the meal’s featured item, a huge pan of fresh Paella. The girls amuse themselves by prying out the mussels from the shells. It was soooooo good. We eat as much as we can, but cannot finish it all. But there is more to come as we are served two slices of delicious almond cake for dessert. Wow, they sure know how to eat around here. And, as I had previously learned, dinner is not rushed. Our bellies full, I paid the 53 Euro tab and give our server another 9 Euros for tip (I don’t know how much an appropriate tip is here, but I feel safe with the American standard of 15 percent). We head back to the hotel for some much-needed sleep. Angie is exhausted and Maddie is glad to not have to eat any more plane food for a while. I settle the girls into bed and head to the window of our hotel room to take in the magnificent view of a full moon casting a long light over the nearby Med. The view is spectacular. Tomorrow we’ll leave our bags by the door for the bellmen to collect for DCL-chartered busses and will meet in the lobby at 11:30am to depart for the Disney Magic.
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