I beginning to think I’m cursed. I don’t know what it is about me, but I think I bring bad weather.
The first time I went to Paris two years ago, it was mid-March. There were blossoms on the trees, just ready to bloom, but the weather was overcast and cold-ish, so I was denied the city in full spring splendor. Two weeks later, at the end of March, the friend I had visited posted pictures of sunny picnics along the Seine.
This year the fates coincided to give me a Semana Santa falling in the last week of March, and Ryanair coincided to give me a cheap flight to Paris Beauvais so I went to visit another friend I made at Herräng this summer. It was finally going to be spring in Paris! I was going to take so many pictures of pretty buildings framed by beautiful pink flowers!
There was some sort of late-season cold-front traveling through Europe. Mid-March brought snow to Paris which killed off many of the nascent leaves and flowers and the temperatures were still dipping down to 0˚C by the time I arrived on March 27. Somehow the trees were even more bare than when I visited in mid-March two years previous.
The terrible weather did give me the push I needed to go to the Louvre for the first time though. While it was worth seeing once, I still prefer the Musee d’Orsay. (Also, whoever decided to allow strollers in the Louvre is fucking idiot, or masochist, or both. Strap your kids into a baby bjorn, make them walk, or leave them at home.)
The last place I went for vacation was Granada. You know, southern Spain Granada? Southern Spain, which everyone always complains about being too hot? I assumed April would be perfect: not yet too hot but still spring, obviously.
Nope. It rained almost the whole time. It even snowed in the mountains.
Strangely enough, the one place I went spring which is famous for shitty weather–Basque Country–was actually where we had the best weather. Sure, it was hella windy which meant that the cloud cover and rain would come and go, but we were prepared with waterproof jackets and it never rained very hard, or for very long, until our last night in San Sebastian. We went and hiked our little hearts out with temperatures between 15 and 23 degrees.
Look, I don’t think I’m so unreasonable. When I travel in January, I expect cold temperatures and whatnot. Even in spring, I’m not adverse to a little rain, and I’m perfectly able to prepare for that. But this? Temperatures hovering around freezing while it rains all the damn time? What is that???
The moral of the story? Never depend on spring. Not even Jesus can save you from this shitty weather.