Blogs by Ella Fisher

OMG. It happened again—I was going on a trip. Cue dramatic music and mild existential panic.

I’d known for a while that I’d be heading to Madrid for work. And even though I kept telling myself not to stress, guess what I did? Yep. Full-on suitcase anxiety. You know the drill: “Did I pack everything? Wait, where’s my passport? Should I bring five pairs of shoes for a three-day trip?” (Spoiler: I didn’t. Personal growth!) Though I did bring a pair of flip-flops that were so terrible I tossed them in the trash the second I got home. They were those cheap, beachy ones—definitely not cute. That's what I get for online shopping at midnight. Sometimes you win, sometimes you get plastic foot shame.

My flight was bright and early on Sunday—9:30 AM, which meant I was at the airport two hours ahead. That’s not even counting the time it took to drag myself out of bed, question my life choices, and caffeinate like my life depended on it. Usually, I wake up at least 90 minutes before heading out for a trip—more if I want to look semi-human.

Side note: I’ve been skipping breakfast lately and eating around noon, which honestly saves time. But let’s be real—on trips like this, all rules go out the airplane window. If I’m hungry, I eat. The gym can deal with the consequences later (hopefully).

The drive to Schiphol went smoothly (shoutout to long-term parking—truly the unsung hero of adulting). I always park there so I can stay independent and avoid depending on anyone. Very on-brand. I now religiously take a photo of where I parked because—fun fact—I’ve definitely lost my car in a parking garage before. Learn from my mistakes, folks.

Security was a breeze. I breezed through with my usual airport routine: Korean rap in my ears, chatting with my bestie on WhatsApp, pretending I wasn't low-key freaking out over whether I packed my charger. Speaking of the charger—oh, it had drama in store for me in Madrid. The thing stopped working! The charging block got weirdly hot, and I was too scared to use it because I’ve seen those horror stories where phones burst into flames while people sleep. Thankfully, a sweet colleague saved the day and let me borrow an extra one.

The flight itself? Super chill. I got my usual window seat (I always try!) and was seated right over the wing. Naturally, I took a dramatic video of takeoff and landing, because apparently, I’m that person now. And plot twist: the woman who used to be terrified of flying now loves it. Go figure.

And let me just quickly jump to the return flight—because, folks, it was unforgettable. I had treated myself to premium economy on KLM (right behind business class, row 3—very VIP of me), and it was worth every euro. Two very attractive stewards were working the cabin, and one had a great sense of humor. When I was dozing off, he tried to take what he thought was an empty water cup from my tray, but I shot up like a caffeinated meerkat and told him I still needed it. He jumped and said, “I’m just glad I didn’t spill it on your phone!” We both laughed.
Later, when I finally caved and went to the restroom (I always try to hold it till landing), one of them stopped me and said, “I have to say… you look amazing! That cobalt blue outfit with those shoes—just wow.” Blush. I felt so flattered. He even held the restroom door for me and joked, “The real party’s in the galley.” A return flight for the memory books, truly.

Back to Madrid Arrival Mode: once we landed, I played everyone’s favorite game—Will My Luggage Arrive, or Will I Be Stuck Wearing Airport Socks for 3 Days? Spoiler: my bag arrived quickly. Score.

I grabbed a taxi—my driver was this super friendly woman who immediately started chatting with me. She asked if it was my first time in Madrid and gave solid local advice: always take an official taxi with the red stripe, and don’t worry about getting ripped off—they all charge a flat fee (around €33 to the city center). It felt like having a local auntie in the driver’s seat. Loved it.

I glued myself to the window, filming every jaw-dropping building like a kid on their first school trip. Madrid is seriously stunning. One day, I’d love to come back with my family—my kids have to see this architecture. It sparks my imagination so much, both as a writer and human.

At the hotel, my room wasn’t ready yet—classic—but they stored my luggage. And then I saw it: a Zara. Right across the street. Was it destiny? Or a trap? (Both.)

Naturally, I went in “just to browse” and walked out 45 minutes later with new outfits. It took forever to find the fitting rooms (bless the security guy who helped me), and just as I was checking out, a button popped off a sleeveless blazer. Off to a great start. I considered returning it, but opted for a new one instead. After swapping it out and returning to the cashier, I finally made it out… only to set off the security alarm. Seriously?! Turns out someone else walked out unpaid at the same time. Wrong place, wrong time. Classic travel chaos. Never a dull moment.

Eventually, I checked into my room—thankfully spacious, clean, and with a great bathroom. The glass water bottle you refill in the hallway? Loved that detail. One small complaint: why do hotels tuck the sheets in so tight? I immediately go full ninja and rip them loose.

Later that evening, I went to dinner with a few colleagues. We found a cozy little restaurant, sat halfway inside near the open doors (the terrace was full), and had a great time. The server complimented my tattoos (always a confidence boost), and although I had a fresh shin tattoo, I kept it covered out of respect for the business vibe.

I ordered a meatball risotto, which… was a choice. Let’s just say it won’t be entering my personal hall of fame.

The next morning (Monday), the real work began. I was stationed at the registration desk, welcoming attendees and scanning badges like a seasoned pro. A few years ago, this would've made me anxious—but now? One hand on the scanner, one on my coffee, let’s go. Growth looks good on me.

One thing I still get awkward about: being photographed. I could feel the camera on me, and yes, I saw the photographer in action. But he was respectful and unobtrusive, so props to him. I just prefer being behind the scenes—and that’s okay.

That night was the networking dinner: good food, great wine, amazing conversations. The weather was perfect, the view even better. My favorite part? A spontaneous selfie moment with a new colleague who was funny, kind, and totally my kind of people. The picture isn’t my favorite (per usual), but I know next time we’ll take a better one. We even got another great photo together on the event stage before I left—so it all worked out.

Tuesday (aka Day 3) brought more presentations and fewer registrations. I finally had time to sit in and soak up the sessions. Unlike my first time at this event, I didn’t skip them—and wow, such a difference! The speakers had clearly put in a ton of effort, the content was engaging, and some even threw in humor (bless them). Also, big shoutout to the free bottled water in the session room—I needed it more than I thought.

That evening? Fancy dinner at a gorgeous venue. Think: Pinterest wedding board, but make it corporate. The food was chef’s kiss, and the vibes were peak “work-hard-play-hard.” Of course, there was dancing. Of course, I danced. Of course, I drank a bit too much wine… and beer. (Pro tip: don't mix.)

When I got back to the hotel, I was toast. Quick shower, faceplant into pillow, goodnight.

Wednesday morning hit me like a truck. Hangover level: catastrophic. I don’t usually drink that much, and now I remember why. I scarfed down a protein bar (because health), sipped a sad little instant coffee, and tried to regain the will to live. At 41, hangovers are not cute. I even laid down again like, “Can I call in sick to life?”

I texted my colleague to see if I could start a bit later. The answer? A polite but firm no. So I got my life together, chugged water, ate some food, and pushed through.

By midday, it was time to leave for the airport. The taxi ride went smoothly, and—plot twist!—I ran into a former colleague at Madrid Airport. It was so nice to see her, and I even got to thank her personally for the bottle of vermouth she’d given me. (Best airport meet-up ever.)

I grabbed a salad, something to drink, and did some last-minute souvenir shopping for the girls—two dolls and a couple of magnets that were a huge hit back home.

By that evening, I was back with my family—tired, happy, and just a little bit wiser (probably still swearing off alcohol for the next two weeks… again… probably).

What really got me? My dog. When I walked through the door, he cried. Full-on happy sobbing. I’ve never seen anything like it. The love he has for me? It’s unreal. Moments like that make everything worth it.

All in all? An amazing experience. I grew a little, laughed a lot, danced a bit, and came home inspired. Here’s hoping I get to do it all again next time—with slightly less wine, more water, and better flip-flops.