I'm on my way…

As a rule, I don’t believe in signs, and yet there’s a little superstition niggling in me. The day I left to start my European adventure, I noticed the bracelet I was wearing was missing. Though not expensive, it had emotional value to me. And, of course, losing it created an unwelcomed “is this an omen?” I soldiered on and headed to Seattle.

Everything went smoothly at the airport. The plane wasn’t full, and I had both seats to myself. I could move without bothering anyone and even scored an extra pillow.

Daniel had assured me that since the Charles De Gaulle airport in Paris was small, I would have plenty of time to make my connecting flight. That is not true; it is a big airport, and though the security check was quick, the passport line was tortuously slow.

With all the shops at the Paris airport, I wasn’t worried about keeping myself occupied if I missed my flight or it was delayed. I overheard several moms using my travel mantra to calm their kids over flight delays, “It’s not the end of the world. There will be another flight so stop whining!”

American and Canadian citizens were moved to an area for automated passport clearance. It helped a little, I still had ten minutes to make my flight, so I ran. I’m not sure if it was because I was in a rush, but it was a confusing airport. I think the French acknowledged the challenges because there was someone to point you in the right direction every ten feet.

My ticket was a little lacking. It showed what I assumed to be the gate number; however, when I went up the escalators, I realized it was the terminal. There was no gate on the ticket or the departures board at the airport. Fortunately, there was someone there to assist.

Naturally, my gate was 29 out of a possible 30. Again, I ran and was the last one on the plane. Out of breath but relieved, I made my flight. My luggage didn’t!

As I flew through the airport, needing directions at every turn, it reminded me that, as American’s we are spoiled. I visit many countries where I don’t speak the language. Luckily, most people in those countries speak English as well as their native tongue. They are hospitable and do what they can to make guests feel welcome. I am appreciative and respect them enormously.

With my luggage still in Paris, and the report made, I waited for Daniel to arrive. After a stop at the hotel, we found the nearest mall with the Portugal equivalent of Target. I bought the essentials, underwear, a hairbrush, and a change of clothes.

Traveling with Daniel may have its trials but also significant benefits. He is fluent in many languages, which helps us make friends and get great advice on local places to visit. With the World Cup being played, we are watching and cheering with the locals who tease Daniel about Italy not making the elimination.

Portugal is fabulous. The people are the warmest, with great food and wine. The old city is fascinating and has Spanish, Islamic, and English influences. We went to a port tasting and drank outstanding fortified wines, the perfect end to a day of walking miles and miles, and miles and miles.

Now, on to Spain.