We're sitting in London Heathrow, waiting for our flight to Malaga. The flight was scheduled to leave at 4:15. It may leave at 7. Turns out that the French air traffic controllers are on a short strike, probably because the government wants to limit them to 2 bottles of wine per shift or increase their workweek to 12 hours or something.
We arrived here at 11:45, so that means we'll have, oh, seven hours in the airport.
Next day now: We're in Vejer de la Frontera now; it's Saturday afternoon. Following up on last night: the flight left at 8:30, we arrived in Malaga at 11:30. We waited for bags until there were no more. Thinking they were lost and cursing BA, we went looking for the lost luggage office; turns out BA doesn't have one. But the woman at the Iberia Airlines office asked if we'd checked the baggage carousel in customs - as non-European residents, we had to go through customs. Ah, sure enough, there they were.
Went to get our rental car - no problem and a little luck: the rental car counter usually closes at midnight but because of another late flight was still open. Then we wandered around the garage to find the car, then wandered around Malaga trying to get to our hotel, which we could see on the other side of the freeway. Finally arrived, it's now 1:30. The guy at the desk checked us in, and when we asked if the bar was open (he was also running the bar) he said no, but he'd sell us a couple beers to take to the room. Yes, that would be a great idea.
2 a.m. - lights out. What a day!
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