Getting from our house in Fruita to our hotel in Lisbon became something of an adventure, the first leg of which involved securing a ride to the Grand Junction airport. Our flight left around dawn and we actually had a friend volunteer to pick us up at 5:00 a.m. and drive us there.
But, of course, that would have been too easy.
Just before our trip, his wife contracted Covid. While the offer to drive remained open, we decided not to risk pre-trip contact with someone who had close contact with a Covid victim. Instead, I called to reserve an early morning taxi.
Since we were going with carry-on luggage and Dianne now sported two titanium knees, I wanted plenty of time to clear TSA at the airport. I asked for a 5:00 a.m. pickup. The reservationist told me taxis have a thirty-minute window, which meant our 5:00 driver may not be there until 5:30. I changed the pickup time to 4:45 a.m. and set the alarm for 3:45.
After fewer than five hours of shuteye, we got up, brushed teeth and zipped up our suitcases. As I was taking out the trash, the taxi pulled into the driveway, a full 25 minutes early. We blindly wheeled our suitcases out and piled into the vehicle.
Two miles later, I realized that in the rush to depart, I had left my wallet on the dresser. The driver reversed direction, and with the meter running , he drove us back home. Wallet retrieved, we departed a second time for the airport. It was now 4:45, our originally scheduled pickup time.
At the airport, we blitzed through security with our shoes on, computer still in its briefcase and our Ziploc bag of liquids still tucked away in the suitcase. We ordered breakfast burritos (and coffee) from the airport cafeteria and waited for our flight to be called.
I had a bunch of United Miles I’d collected over the years, which we used to upgrade our seating to first class. That’s not much of a benefit on the 77-minute flight to Gridlock Gulch, but at least we got to board early and found plenty of overhead space for our roll-on suitcases.
We landed in Denver pretty much on time, wheeled our gear down to our next departure gate and were soon on our way to Philadelphia. Once again, we sat in the front of the plane, this time being treated to free wine and hot lunches. Mine was something claiming to be a trio of enchiladas, and while it did not resemble anything one would find at any of our local Mexican restaurants, it sure beat the bag of pretzels the folks got in steerage.
In Philly, we landed on concourse D and had to make our way to the international terminal at concourse A. I think Dianne got her 10,000 steps as we walked from one to the other. I had free day passes to the United Lounge, but a sign out front advised “no day passes” today. I thought about paying the $50 per person fee to use the American Lounge, but Dianne did not want to waste more of our kids’ inheritance (we have no kids). Instead, we sat in the terminal like real people.
Our departure gate assignment changed and then changed again. We ultimately waited at what they promised would be the actual gate. A plane sat there, but it was apparently not ours. It was eventually wheeled away, with nothing yet taking its place.
Boarding time approached with still no plane at the gate. The flight crew arrived and waited in the jetway for a plane to arrive. Eventually, an empty Boeing 787 pulled up and the flight crew boarded. A half hour later, we passengers were allowed to board.
Over the years as a travel journalist, I accumulated a plethora of American Airlines frequent flyer miles. We added to our stash by using an American Airlines credit card to pay all of our bills.
When we booked the flights, we had well over a half-million miles. We used a bunch of those to secure business-class seats for the night flight across the Atlantic.
I’ve flown business class on several different airlines, but I’d never seen a setup like this. Every seat was enclosed in its own little compartment. Each came with a bag holding a warm blanket and large pillow.
With a push of a button, our seats would go from upright to lying flat. After devouring our three-course dinners, we turned our seats into beds, unbagged our blankets and pillows and got a few hours sleep.
We landed in Lisbon around an hour late. After breezing through Immigration and Customs, we were soon out in the terminal looking for our prearranged transfer driver to take us to our hotel. The Lisbon airport has a specific location where drivers meet their passengers with large boards onto which drivers can post passenger names. We looked, but didn’t see our name posted. As I was doubling back for a second look, a woman approached and asked if I was Dan Leeth.
Twenty minutes later we were being blitzed through Lisbon, reminding ourselves once again of why we never rent cars in foreign countries. The driver dropped us off at a street corner. Pointing up a pedestrian walkway, he said, “Your hotel is up there.”
As we lugged our bags up a cobblestone alleyway, something didn’t seem right. So, I did what any good American male would do. I clicked on Google Maps. It turned out that we misunderstood the driver’s instructions and were heading in the wrong direction.
Retreating back down the alleyway, Dianne did what any good American female would do. She ducked into a restaurant and asked where our hotel was located. We quickly found our lodgings a few dozen meters from where the driver let us off.
We checked in, took our bags to our room and immediately proceeded to do what any good American traveler does in new surroundings. We bought beer.
