Don’t miss your moment.

So, the journey begins.
I had a wonderful time visiting with Courtney in Denver. We ate at a Middle Eastern restaurant to whet my appetite for the pending Morocco visit.
It was luxurious to arrive at the airport in the afternoon for a direct flight to Europe. I say “luxurious” even though I was flying in the economy class of a budget airline. That said, I was very pleased with my Norwegian Air experience. I thoroughly enjoyed the gate agent announcing the various stages of boarding. “We are now boarding group A. If you are holding a group A boarding pass, this is your time to board. Please don’t miss your moment.” What a fantastic statement for life, in general. “This is your time. Don’t miss your moment.”
On the plane, I secured a window seat with a vacant middle seat. The gal in the aisle seat leaned over and said, “I am mostly going to sleep on this flight. But, don’t worry, I’ll get up at least once an hour to use the bathroom.” Although her statement proved to be false, I immediately liked my row-mate. I can’t say the same about the person occupying the seat in front of me, even though he was an adorable little boy from Australia. His accent was charming as he would whine about his younger brother to his mom. “Ma-hmmmy! Tell him to stoooohp.”
However, if you know me IRL (which means “in real life” — I didn’t know that until my super-hip niece taught me the lingo). Anyway, if you know me, you know I’m short. Because of that, sitting for long periods of time where my feet only sort of touch the ground can be uncomfortable. That’s why I often sit cross-legged. Luckily, in a plane, there’s a convenient spot to prop your foot — on the hinge of the armrest in front of you. I do this on literally every flight and have never had an issue.
My little Aussie friend was far more aware of his surroundings than most seat occupants, though. At first, he would just touch my foot and then move on to something else. I decided that was fine. Then, he started pushing down on my foot and really applying pressure. (As much pressure as a 4-year-old can exert.) Whenever he would do this, I would put my foot down (literally, I would lower it). But, absentmindedly, a few minutes later I’d be resting my foot on the back edge of his armrest. I get that it’s an “armrest,” not a “footrest” so would yield every time I remembered. Since I’m old and forgetful though, at one point I heard him lilt, “Ma-hmmy, her feeehet!” Perhaps fortunately, the mother had tuned him out completely so I did not have a mid-flight altercation.

Remember my previous post about being indecisive on where to go post-London? Because I had booked my Barcelona trip separately from my London trip, although both were on Norwegian Air, I had to go through immigration, collect my bags, and check back in for my Barcelona flight. I had given myself plenty of buffer time between flights and all went smoothly.
At one point, in London, I needed to use the restroom. I was standing in line, well, actually standing in the queue (because, you know, Queen’s English). The last stall was propped open with a trashcan (aka rubbish bin). The line was short enough that I just waited rather than braving the questionable stall. However, while I was in my stall, I heard a woman say, in a beautiful British accent, “Is anybody out there? Can you see my foot? I’m stuck in this stall. The door is locked, can you please go get somebody as my flight departs soon?” If we had been in America, I suspect those sentences may have been ridden with more profanity. The bathroom attendant arrived quickly which allowed me to hear this exchange: “What are you doing in that stall? I put a bin by the door so nobody would use it!” Derisively, “Why would you do that? That doesn’t mean the lock is broken. You should have used a sign.”
Sheesh.
Later, I had to use the restroom again (it was a 4-hour layover). While in line (queue), a woman in one of the stalls says, “Oh! Somebody left their passport in here. Please, ask if anybody out there is missing their passport!” What is up with people conversing with those outside the stall?!? Nobody is missing their passport and when she comes out she says there is a boarding pass with it so she’ll take it to that airline. A few minutes later, while I am doing my business (thank you very much), I heard a frantic woman saying, “Where is my passport!?!? I just left it in this stall. Where could it have gone?”

Nobody responds. I realize I must be the only one that witnessed the whole situation. So, becoming one of ‘those’ people, from my stall, I say, “Ma’am, I think the woman who found it is taking it to your airline.” She responds, “Why would she do that?!? Why isn’t it here, where I left it?!?” I assume these are rhetorical questions so don’t engage further. She’s gone when I come out.
I don’t care how badly I may have needed to use the restroom, I wasn’t going again in London.

Up next, Barcelona! (And, hopefully, this is my last post about bathrooms.)

Heading out from St. Louis! My passport cover says: “Not all those who wander are lost.” And yet, finding yourself, is a direct result of travel.

Overnight layover in Denver. Thanks for the hospitality, Courtney and Chris!

Last minute travel research courtesy of Courtney’s book collection.

“Welp. Here goes nothing.”

London layover breakfast at dinner time.

Magical spices. I seriously considered pocketing this spice packet but there was no cover and it would have spilled everywhere. I mean, because stealing is unethical.