BARCELONA—Everyone complains about the McDonald’s, but what I noticed most was the music. American music is everywhere in Europe. More than just youth culture tuning into rap and boy-bands, the phenomenon greets you in cafés, clothing stores, and train stations.

Some bemoan this Americanization of the world, the decline of cultural diversity. Go to Europe, eat a Big Mac and watch Scary Movie 2. Can’t we get away from ourselves anywhere?

But at times, for this weary traveler, it was nice to have a little bit of home so far away. After an uneventful summer at home, I took off for Europe to meet my friend Susannah and see a little of Spain, Italy and France.

Travel was not without complications: getting a train ticket from Barcelona to Italy proved much harder than we had anticipated. We forgot that Europeans go on vacation too, and that they tend to go at the end of July, just when we were trying to leave.

After spending an hour in the ticket line to find that our train was sold out that night and the next two, we spent another two hours waiting just to get information about other possible routes. Theoretically, you didn’t need to stand in line. You took numbers, like at a deli counter, and sat down until yours flashed on the screen. Unfortunately, the paper numbers ran out and the ticket area became chaos.

After another hour in a sort-of line, having shoved a few pushy Italians out of our way, we reached the ticket counter again. There, we faced the yells of a disgruntled employee telling us that we couldn’t buy tickets for international travel now and would have to come back at 7 a.m. the next morning. Never mind that next to us, two other Americans had just bought their tickets to Paris. Exhausted, despondent, without a hostel for the night, and faced with the thought of returning to these same lines in only eight hours, we collapsed onto chairs.

Out of the din of arguing customers, harried workers, and whiny children, we heard the strains of a lilting melody. It was Barbara Streisand, there to comfort us with “Send in the Clowns.” We sighed, relaxed, and toughed it out until morning.

At 4:50 am, we were still in the train station. As I slept, or attempted to, on hard plastic seats, Susannah stayed awake and listened to the music: “From a Distance,” “Sarah,” “Only You,” “Purple Rain,” “Natural Woman,” “Toy Soldiers.” The list was long and horrible.