My plan had been simple and decently thought out. During my two week spring break from St. Mary’s, I would first travel to Barcelona for three days, come back to my dorm for 24 hours to get fresh clothes and supplies, then enjoy another four days in beautiful Rome. That was my plan. That is not what happened.

I spent two wonderful, warm, sun-filled days in Barcelona. I saw La Sagrada Familia, a church begun in 1882 and still being built today; Las Ramblas, a funky street market; and the Pablo Picasso Museum, which had an exhibit on Salvador Dali as well. Everything was going great. I headed to the airport on the third day, not knowing that French Air Traffic controllers had gone on strike.

My flight back to London was canceled. I spent two hours waiting in line to talk to the EasyJet representative who would get me on a new flight and hotel reservations, free of charge. The only problem was, all flights were booked, and I had to be in London the next day for my flight to Rome. I explained my situation, the kind woman got me on a flight to a different airport in London, but I would have four hours to get from one to the other.

After spending a night in the free, four-star hotel, with complimentary food, I arrived back at the Barcelona airport to learn that I wasn’t booked on the flight, I was on standby. The flight was overbooked and I had to pray someone wouldn’t show up.

Thank God, it ended all right. Eight people didn’t show up for the flight so me and the other five people on standby made it onto the flight to London Luton, but that was only half a victory. I still had to make it through border control, to London Stansted, then through security before I was in the clear for Rome. 12 hours after I started my adventure that morning, and RyanAir was landing at Rome Ciampiano.

I had made it, I had survived! I spent another four days in Rome, seeing everything from the Colosseum and the Roman Forum, to Piazza Novano and the Pantheon, to the Trevi Fountain and the Spanish steps. I did this all in the same two shirts and single pair of pants I’d worn in Barcelona. The only break my poor abused clothes got was one day when I wore a dress I’d picked up in Barcelona with a pair of sandals I’d found the day before in Rome…..Somehow, and I have no idea how, I lived to tell the tale.