"Your fingers really do smell like ham!"

...what Stella said when I shoved my fingers in her face a full hour after I ate gross jamón flavored chips.

In our tiny, elevator!

Sept 13, Wednesday

It's Stella Day! 

1009a I'm waiting for the bus to the Granada airport. I'm cutting it close taking this bus, but my earlier option would have given me three hours to kill in the airport. 

I hate waiting for things to happen. The bus has 6 minutes until it's exactly on time. I'm sitting at the start of the bus route. Waiting. 

1019a The bus is 4 minutes late... 

1025a 10 minutes late. 

1030a I'm in a cab. It's not the end of the world, but I'd had my mind on spending 3 Euros not 30. The thing is, I did my research. Yesterday I made a dry run to the same airport bus pick-up. I saw the airport bus, waiting early for passengers. I even took a picture of it so I would know what it looked like this morning. I even went to another airport bus pick-up closer to my place, but opted to wait at the origin of the route because I'd seen the bus there with my own eyes. My control freakshow has its upsides. 

My Buddy makes a great airport chair

WHEN IT WORKS. There's an obvious lesson here but I'm too annoyed to- fine, there is no such thing as control and adapting is the real superpower, I get it! 

1120a I'm through security and charging my phone in the snack area when I hear a voice yelling, "ARVIN!" 

That's weird. 

"BIANCA! BIANCA ARVIN!!"

Me??

"BIANCA ARVIIIIN!!!"

I yank my phone from the wall. I know I have my passport and anything else with my name on it. I run towards security and recognize the woman who checked me in.   She is in a panic. "Que pasó?" She talks a blue streak in Spanish. I really need to work on my Spanish. 

Barcelona coast from the sky

She hustles me back to the Check in desk and makes a call. I'm in such shock I can only think, is my ticket bad? Is my flight cancelled? Did something happen to Stella? To my dad??? I start writing the story of how Stella's airline and/or my dad's nursing home could only get a hold of me in the airport.

Airport security arrives. He's a uniformed officer- do they look like that in the states?? The uniform is intimidating! He walks me into the bowels of luggage check and I finally get it. They think I have a bomb in my luggage. He's much more calm than Panicky over at the check-in desk. Calm, but serious. The next baggage security guy who shows me the picture of the "bomb" in my luggage is also very serious. 

I don't blame them. It looks like I have a bomb. It's actually a camera stabilizer I've used zero times because it's too heavy to lug around sight-seeing. Once I take the stabilizer out and explain how to use it, everyone chills out. I apologize and they're both like, "Eh, we're security."

Stella's first pintxos

Either LAX is more used to pseudo-bombs or Granada's one-terminal, four-gate airport is ON TOP OF IT. I make a mental note to add bomb-check time to our flights for the rest of the trip. 

330p Stella’s here! I’m here! We’re here together!!

After we check into our Air BnB (so artsy, in a newly fashionable part of town according to Paula- all signs point to yes on that) we go for pintxos because I’m starving. As we try to leave our building, I can’t open the door. We can’t get out. Stella pulls it open like she’s Lancelot. We try to lock the door from the outside. She can’t get the key in- of course, I can and I do. I lock the door and we’re on our way.

We’re the perfect team, obviously. 

I’m so happy!

My view as I blog on our terrace- I didn't realize but you can see Stella in the mirror in her hammock!

At home on our terrace watching sunset