How I planned an epic trip and messed up the biggest detail

I meticulously planned my trip to Spain, which included a ton of planning, and then some extra planning on top of that planning. I had the entire trip on my Google maps, in an Excel spreadsheet, and even a hand written paper itinerary in case all else failed. I planned the most minute details, like how long it was going to take me to walk from point A to point B, added five additional minutes, and that’s how I determined what train I needed to be on. I packed in as much as was humanly possible into every single day and night, without a free hour in the entirety of the trip.

I suffer severely from FOMO, otherwise known as the fear of missing out.

Why do I do this? Why do I plan these extravagant trips and pack the itinerary full until it’s busting at the seams? Because I suffer severely from FOMO, otherwise known as the fear of missing out. I don’t know if I’ll ever be here in this moment, in this beautiful country again, so I have to do every single thing on my list or else the entire trip was a waste. This also makes me extremely difficult to travel with but makes me a supreme solo traveler. I can get up and go at warp speed, catching planes and trains in a single day when I don’t have anyone else’s comfort to consider. And I’m not gonna lie, that really works for me.

Where I screwed up in Spain was when a friend came to meet me. When I say friend, I obviously mean the tall, dark, and sexy kind. This was not a factor I’d had to consider when traveling previously as I rarely have sexy men jet setting around the world with me. Needless to say, even with all the itineraries and backup itineraries, the plans were fucked from the moment he showed up. We sat down in a bar and had a couple rounds of drinks. We laughed and relaxed. We went for food. And that was the entire first day. The next day we managed to see my #1 itinerary pick, the Alcazar in Seville, but AGAIN we went for drinks, then dinner, then a copious amount of drinking, and that was it for day two.

Being a perpetual solo traveler, I’ve never had to factor in the amount of “fucking around” time that another traveler adds to my agenda. All the drinking and laughing and eating, it really hampered the sched, especially when I consider a Red Bull and a Clif bar on the go a well rounded meal. When I travel, the slower parts of a trip always take a backseat to my super psycho itinerary so having another person with me brought my tight timeline to a screeching halt. This became wildly apparent once we got to Barcelona. Jet lagged still, exhausted from the early mornings and liquor laden nights, my ability to go-go-go was about to hit a wall and this dude was no help. Also incredibly travel weary from his own exploits across the seas, together we became an unstoppable force of lethargy. We were drained in every sense of the word and together it compounded.

I’ve never had to factor in the amount of “fucking around” time that another traveler adds to my agenda.

My schedule went to shit. We dropped our stuff at the hotel. We got some Five Guys burgers, which was just what the American in me needed after a week of authentic mediterranean food. We wandered around with no idea where we were or what we were doing. We indulged, popping in for a drink at some local places and maxing out credit cards on ungodly expensive jamon. It was delightful. I had forgotten how nice it was to go on a social trip with someone you like and just have a good time.

I didn't even glance at the itinerary again until the next day, and it was then that I realized it was already too late. Why? Because everything in Spain is closed on Monday. MONDAY. First of all, I’m from Vegas. Nothing closes ever, so much so that I’m still acclimating to Walmart no longer staying open past midnight. I spent years grocery shopping at 3 am. Second, the dipshit American in me just assumed we ALL rest on Sunday. I felt pretty confident fucking off all Sunday with the full intention of hitting all my must-sees on Monday as I had a super early flight home the next day. This most importantly included the Picasso Museum and the History Museum of Barcelona (MUHBA), which just so happens to be multiple museums spread across the city. Not one. Every. Single. One. Closed. I missed out on going into every building we were even in Barcelona to see. Imagine my disappointment. Not only was Monday our last day in the city, it was my last day in the country. I wasn’t just mad I missed those sites: the psycho planner from hell, pushed far back in my brain, was screaming like a banshee, “See! See what happens when you don’t stick to the fucking schedule!”

Once I came to terms with my epic fail, it wasn't so bad. We hit a karaoke bar. Got fairly drunk. Binge watched Rick and Morty. It was a nice little evening, but it wasn’t a last day in Spain kind of evening. So if you’ve learned nothing from me thus far, at least heed this advice:

Don’t let some distraction fuck up your agenda.

*Oh, and pay careful attention to opening times.

xoxo, The Bitter Bitch