We were stuck in that tube between the terminal and the plane for about 20 minutes, for some reason they did not let us board. Standing in that dark, narrow tunnel with our luggage I realized something important: GETTING THERE IS NO LONGER PART OF THE JOURNEY! It is more like little trials, like in ferry tales, to prove that you are worthy of your first destination. Just before taking off a lady could not hold it any longer, made a run for the shrunk down version of a honey bucket at the back of the plane, we could not take of, altogether we were departed more than an hour late. And I had no plan B, if we lose the marathon in Dublin from terminal 2 to the farthest point of terminal 1, knowing that Ryanair will ruthlessly close the gate 30 minutes before departure. The stewardesses on our long haul flight had a robotic attitude, most likely trained by AI. We found some empty rows at the back, laid down first class style to sleep. Thanks to some back winds and the pilot we regained some of the time we lost earlier. We ended up walking to the other terminal with a lady of our age from Vashon Island. She told us the story of a relative with cancer who decided to walk the Camino de Santiago in Spain and lived longer than anybody expected. Ryanair to Malaga was as uncomfortable as usual, not even peanuts served, they tried to sell perfumes, gadgets and lottery tickets instead. The Spanish taxi driver was visibly upset that our hotel is in the old town, dropped us off in a busy street and pointed to a narrow alleyway for us to start walking. The complementary wine in our room, the view from our balcony was a good sign, that our real journey will begin now.