the epic adventure: paris, the journey.

Apparently, my friend Megan and I should never travel together. All the signs are there, and if I had any brains, I would be able to see that. On our trips, things never seem to go right. They, in fact, go wrong. Right now would be a great place for an allusion to rodents and their plans, but I'll resist. So, as a recap, in December, we went to Frankfurt, and I got pneumonia. This weekend, we went to Paris, but made a slight detour through the north of Spain before arriving. I'll explain. To save money, we booked two flights each way. On the way there, we planned to leave Wednesday night for Girona and leave early Thursday morning for Paris, and to return on Sunday with a stop in Girona. This would have worked perfectly had we made the flight on Wednesday, which, through our own stupidity, we did not. My excuse? We're both 22, and when you're 22, you make bad choices so that later in life, you learn from these mistakes and make better decisions. So, there we were, in Madrid around quarter to ten at night, stranded, and needing to be in Girona (an hour outside of Barcelona) by 6 am at the latest. The bus was about 8 hours to Barcelona, putting us in Girona at around 8. The train going to Girona that night had already left. There were no more flights. Keep in mind the earlier statement about being 22 and making questionable choices. What to do, what to do...So, weighing our options, we rented a car, from the only car company that would rent us a car: Europcar. We were sent there after being denied by Hertz, which would not let us near one of its cars until we were at least 25. Europcar will rent you a car at 23, and if you're younger, they charge you an astonishing additional fee of...12 euros. Seriously. How did we know where to go? Not only did Europcar rent us a Nissan Micro (remote control car size), they also gave us a map. Off we went, with one map, three candy bars, and Diet Coke. At least Megan had experience outside of a parking lot with a manual car, unlike the other driver. But, no one was injured, and many of the tollworkers were incredibly amused, especially when I missed the toll and had to back up at four in the morning. Hilarious. The journey was surreal, to say the least. We passed under the Prime Meridian at about 3:30 am. How do I know this? Not only are there signs, but Spain decided it would be a good idea to mark this manmade, imaginary line with a glowing arc in the middle of nowhere. I'm about 90% sure that I wasn't dreaming that. But, although I had serious doubts, we somehow made it to Girona, by 5:30 am. Time to spare! We caught the plane, dead tired, and somehow, made it to Paris. At least at 22, sleep can wait.