“Our driver is kind of a jerk,” seat 22 said. That was our hero he was talking about, so I didn’t know how I felt about that. Because twenty minutes ago, our driver had been the one who greeted us when we—sweaty, tired, overheated—had finally found the bus, five minutes late. “It’s your lucky day,” the driver growled, as he climbed down from his seat, with zero desire to help us, in order to open the baggage compartment. Three hours…
Erika and I have said we think we’d have liked Lisbon a lot more if we’d gone there before Porto. As it was, we were high on Porto, and not ready to leave, so Lisbon felt like a bit of a letdown. It didn’t help that we left a fantastic AirBnb in Porto to go to a… not fantastic one. Sorry Ruth, we’re shooting 50% while you’re with us! Also, Lisbon is where I had one of my patented crashes,…
Paris is a city that’s always hard to leave. No, I mean, like, physically difficult to leave. The last time I was there, I had a flight out of Charles de Gaulle. I left the hotel 5 hours before the flight, and still nearly didn’t make it. This was on account of the train strike that stopped the train halfway there, throwing everyone out into the station and into mass confusion. On the bright side, I’ve never spoken nor understood…
