
Otherwise known as Siberia. It is vueling's gateway to Barcelona. The 200 degree glass line does a great job of letting in the dismal tones of the gray skies bringing that certain luster to the exposed concrete and dirty white mosaic tile floor. Siberia is at the end of the property next to nothing. The runways are the closest thing off in the distance.
Once you have completed the journey which allows you to feel the same way your old hamster did when you brought home the new Habitrail of tubes and tunnels, you are greeted by the French version of the American TSA. Out here they have dispatched the elite squadron of security specialists. A man that looks like Boris from the rocky and bullwinkle show complete with vertically deficient facial features and fauxe plether gloves. Why you ask? To prevent calluses from the mandatory pat down. In front of him is this Ethiopian looking woman who signals you through the gate into this bliss. Think Wal-Mart with an international language barrier.
With earbuds in one ear connected to her mo-bilePhone, a larger Toig lady switches between your bag on the screen and her soaps. This crack team wouldn't be complete without a well turned out in company uniform, woman who looks like Natasha from the same show. Between the rings, bracelets, fingernails, chains connecting rings and fingernails, glitter eyeliner, and hair color, it is obvious by the opulent display of personal wealth that she must be the squad leader and officer in this gig. Working in concert, Natasha,feeling the weight of my bag, told me to carry it to the table for mandatory inspection where she proceeded to actuate every fastener or hinge on, or in, my bag. Every one. Every pocket, holster, camera case, every external pocket on any internal case.....
Needless to say, I passed inspection, but more importantly, travelers the world over who find themselves sentenced to a term in satellite Siberia can wait patiently, albeit uncomfortably, knowing they are secure in the bosom of this elite delta force. Hoorah!


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