So I may have jinxed myself and Ryan in the last post.
The morning of our departure from Pamplona, Ryan and I woke up at an ungodly time to catch our bus a mile walk away, with very heavy luggage in some prematurely agressive 80 degree heat. A sweaty twenty minutes later, a screen of terror flashed in our faces: “CANCELLED”. Yup, our ride to Barcelona was no more, which also meant our flight from Barcelona to Ibiza was not happening either. A couple attempts to catch other buses and trains at some nearby stations, Ryan and I wound up where we started, waiting for the next earliest bus- which was three hours later. Oh and this bus wasn’t a direct route of course, but contained two stops and a “bus layover” in Zaragoza.
Now I won’t bother to bitch about the older men who didn’t know what deodorant was that sat in front of us on the first bus. Or the group of sixteen-year-olds that wouldn’t stop yelling behind us on the second bus. But I will mention that there was no air conditioning or wifi on either, which almost perfectly foreshadows the hostel we checked into once we finally reached Ibiza… at midnight the next day.