Following My Heart's Compass to Where Ever it Leads Me

One would think I’d rarely have travel hiccups as "tourism administration" is in the title of my major, but you would be so wrong. I’ll never forget the day two friends and I spent 32 hours trying to get from Marrakech to Barcelona by train, bus, ferry, and plane.

On the night train to Tangier, two 25-year-old Moroccan men joined our car. They were playing Arabic rap music, peppering us with questions in French, and laughing when we couldn't understand. Next thing I knew we had arrived in Tangier. Six of us piled into a single cab--four of us squished in the back while Ibrahim sat on Zouhier’s lap in the front. The ride to the port took 30 minutes. No wonder they laughed when we asked if we could walk.

After delays on the ferry and a long bus ride, we finally arrived in Seville, much later than scheduled, but we marveled at how smoothly our travels from Marrakech to Tangier to Algeciras to Seville had gone--somehow nothing went wrong.

Our luck ran out when we got to the Seville airport. As we were each about to pay the absurd 70€ fee for boarding passes, the airline attendant said, "I don't think you want to pay for boarding passes, your flight was yesterday." Our jaws dropped. As a new flight was 440€, we decided to go by train. Or so we thought--unfortunately, there were no more trains that night.

So we decided to rent a car and drive the 1,000 km to Barcelona. We reviewed all the terms and conditions, extra fees for being young, the GPS system, and paid for the car. It was so easy, it seemed too good to be true. Suddenly, the tourism administration side of me kicked in and I remembered to ask if the car was an automatic. Of course, it was not. We made the responsible decision to get a refund rather than risk learning to drive a stick.

We were stuck in Seville for the night; the train station would be our hotel. We went to get a drink and at 2 AM headed back to the station, only to find it locked. Sleeping outside on the cold hard concrete was a new low. Despite feeling vulnerable, I struggled to stay awake as I clenched my valuables between my legs. I was tired, hungry, sick, and unsure of what to do.

At that point, I decided it was better for me to go back to Copenhagen as my friends continued on. I knew Barcelona and Berlin would always be there. It was time to go home.

This trip is a reminder that accidents happen; they are learning experiences and a part of life. The most memorable stories come from the experiences you never expect.