I arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare in Porto. The check-in system in Europe is very different than the US. Rather than checking in at any counter that is operated by the airline, each destination has its own check-in line. Unless you read the native language – good luck in getting in the right line the first time – fortunately the people in front of me spoke some English and I figured out that I was in line to go to Rio de Janeiro. Also, for those of you who complain about US security at airports (TSA), maybe you should try another country. With US TSA, if you set off the detector, they take you to a semi private room and use a detector wand and have someone of the same gender to work with you. In Porto I walked through the detector and it went off (not sure why, I was wearing sweats and flip-flops) – they hollered something in Portuguese and motioned for me to “spread ‘em”. I had a COMPLETE and THOROUGH pat down! I was feeling a bit violated as I walked away.
I saw some incredible sights on the way home yesterday. I’m certainly not a geographer, but the route we took home was by no means “as a bird would fly” or at least as I would assume a bird would fly. This was the route map of my day beginning in Porto, Portugal.
As we were flying into Paris for my layover, I was able to spot the Eiffel Tower! I had a fleeting thought about grabbing my camera so I could share the moment with all of you, but I was afraid it would be out of my window sight once I had the camera ready so I opted to not take my eyes off of it. It was very exciting – although not the romantic, hand-in-hand stroll around it with my husband that I have always hoped for, but maybe someday.
My layover in Paris was quite quick. I had a crash course in French 2 (French 1 was my layover on the way to Portugal). At least in Portugal I knew enough Spanish to shorten the communication gap (Spanish and Portuguese are very similar), but they only French I knew was Merci Bocou (spelling?) – but they don’t really understand it so much with the Texas accent. I highly recommend that if you ever have a layover in Paris at Charles de Gaulle airport – make sure you leave plenty of time to transfer terminals (if you are fluent in French it might be easier than it was for me). My layover was just less than two hours and it took me over an hour to get from the terminal I arrived in to the one I was departing from. That hour was solid moving too – I didn’t stop to shop or anything. Once I found my gate, I did some quick airport shopping (I felt like I was cheating… I didn’t truly go into Paris) and called to talk to Roy and the boys as they were headed to school.
As the map above shows, we cut way North (again, don’t know why – it could be very normal). I managed to fall asleep and when I woke up and looked at the geo map on the entertainment screen in front of me I was a bit surprised to see that we were coming upon Greenland – I was hoping to see the Eastern border of the US. One of the entertainment channels is a camera that is somewhere underneath the plane – so I enjoyed watching that (although it was typically clouds). When we started over Greenland, I opened my window shade to see if I could see anything. It was very fortunate that there were no clouds at that particular moment – I’ve never seen anything like it. It was ice – as far as you could see. Where the ocean met the land it was icy looking and then the land quickly turned to rugged, mountainous terrain. It appeared to be very desolate, baron land covered in ice. It was like something you would see on the Discovery channel – absolutely beautiful to behold. Before leaving over Greenland, it got too cloudy to see the rest of it. As we flew over Canada, most of what I could see was covered in snow as well. The remainder of the trip across the US was too cloudy to see anything and it was dark as we approached Texas.
When we arrived in Houston, we were 45 minutes late. I had one hour before the plane to Lubbock was departing (the last flight to Lubbock for the night). I called Roy to let him know what was going on and that there was a good chance I would be spending the night the Houston – made me sick to think about it, I was so ready to see him and the kids. My plan was to get off the plane and find out if I would ever see my bags again if I skipped customs and went straight to my connecting flight. Well, I didn’t have that choice. Upon exiting the plane, we were flowed into a hallway that led directly to Border Patrol and Immigration. I had to go through customs, get to the baggage claim and collect my bags, go through another check point at customs, re-check my bags, get to the Continental counter to get a boarding pass, go through security and then get from E terminal to B terminal (pant, pant, pant). So needless to say, I was running from the moment I stepped off the plane. Every line I got in, I kept thinking I was not going to make it – but I refused to give up! When I got my boarding pass, I asked if they could notify my flight that I was on my way – he said he would. So I ran as fast as I could (of course, through all of this, bear in mind that I hadn’t used the bathroom since somewhere between Greenland and Canada); as I was flying down the steps into the gate area they were paging me. They had announced to the other passengers aboard that I was transferring from France and on my way – no one glared at me upon entering the plane, rather it struck up great conversation with those around me as they were interested in why I had been in France, etc. After the plane took off and I was able to catch my breath; tears filled my eyes as I realized I had made it and was going home. In looking at the lines I was standing in throughout the airport, I had made myself come to terms with another night away from home – I just didn’t see how it was possible. But, here I am and I couldn’t be more grateful.
By the time I got home last night it was 11pm (5am where my day had started) and thus the reason that I am posting today rather than yesterday.
Throughout this trip I received three stamps in my passport, two for France (coming and going) and one for the USA. I inquired about a stamp in Portugal and as best I understand it, Portugal does not follow that same procedures as other countries, it has to do with the Schengen Agreement (although in reading about this treaty, I didn’t find any such information… with my luck, I missed the stamping desk and was in Portugal illegally). Upon arriving in Portugal, they went through my bags with a fine tooth comb, but I don’t recall them ever looking at my passport. I do know that several of my co-workers who were coming from India and Africa had a terrible time with Visa’s trying to get into Portugal, so I know they do have some kind of a regulation system. However, no one from the US received a stamp or anything to my knowledge.
In closing, I believe that I have eaten more pork in the last two weeks than in my entire life. So as I close the final chapter of this travel journal, I find it quite appropriate to say, “Tha, tha, tha, tha, tha, tha, tha, tha, That’s all folks!” – Porky Pig.
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