This time, however, I will be flying with someone...which is sort of new to me. I almost always fly alone, especially internationally. As CSI (as she will be henceforth named) called me yesterday and today with questions, it brought to mind my first time flying overseas by myself, to Portugal, back 1999. I was retelling my experience to my parents tonight and thought...I oughta blog that. So here you go.
As I said, I'd never flown alone internationally before. This was back in 1999, before 9/11 changed the way we fly forever, and so people could greet arriving travelers right up at the gate. At least, in America, they could, and that was all I knew. So, after an extremely long flight, I stepped off the plane in Lisbon and walked towards the gate excited to meet the people who were going to help set me up.
There was no one at the gate though.
So I waited and waited and waited. After everyone, including the pilots and crew had disembarked and left the gate area, where I was now clearly alone, I realized that my to-be friends were not going to be there at the gate. I walked slowly towards passport control. I remember thinking, "Surely they wouldn't have me go through passport control all by myself?"
There was no one waiting for me near passport control, though.
So I waited and waited and waited. After everyone had gone through passport control, and the guards sort of waved at me annoyingly, I realized that my to-be friends were not going to be there at passport control. Hoping the guards wouldn't ask me any questions I didn't know how to answer, I went through passport control...and then walked slowly towards baggage claim. I remember thinking, "Well, surely they wouldn't have me pick all four 70lbs bags all by myself?"
(Yes, back then, bags were allowed to weight 70lbs each. Dare to dream...)
I walked all around baggage claim looking for someone with a sign with my name on it. I listened as carefully as I could for someone to call my name. Nothing.
I finally shrugged my shoulders and thought to myself, "Well, I suppose I'll have to do this all by myself." I got a cart, and struggled to load each of the four 70lbs bags up onto it. I pulled out the paper I'd written with my to-be friends' address on it, and figured I'd take a taxi there. With no language whatsoever and no Portuguese money.
(Yes, back then, Portugal had its own money and not euros. Am I dating myself in this post?)
I was one of the last people to leave the baggage claim area, since I'd taken so long at each step since leaving the plane. When I finally pushed my heavy cart out the doors past customs, there was a huge crowd of Americans waiting to greet me...with a sign with my name on it and I think they had flowers. I know there was cake.
They told me that they were starting to worry when I took so long to come out...but no one had explained to me that they weren't allowed to come inside to the gate to get me. Since I didn't know that, I went with what I knew. And thus began the journey that I'm still on of learning that what I know from the US usually doesn't work the same way once I cross the big pond.
I'm looking forward to flying with CSI and living with her during her first few months in France. Hopefully I can help her avoid a few of those awkward, uncomfortable, confusing moments that I went through when I went over at her age. And maybe she'll help me fall in love with France all over again as I see it through her fresh new eyes.
Oh, to be young and not even remember when people could meet you at the gate, when you could fly with 70lbs bags, when every country in Europe had their own currency...
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