After a horrible train trip from Nice to Barcelona that spanned for nearly 12 hours, including a first encounter of bunking with strangers in an overnight train.. we finally arrived at our hostel that no one seemed to know where it was.
With the thought that my Barcelonian adventure was going to be comparable to Vicki Christina Barcelona, I was actually really excited.
However, little did I know, my passport had decided to carry on its own Spanish rendezvous... minus me. The shock realisation occured at the hostel when I was asked to produce my passport as ID. With my mum's only word of warning prior to departing ringing through my head "it doesn't matter what you lose, everything can be replaced. just DON'T lose your passport," I was really up the creek without a paddle.
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