I have safely returned to my home of Los Angeles after a month of traveling.  It was one heck of a trip, with stops in Ireland, Amsterdam, Bruges, Brussels, New Orleans, Orlando, and Washington D.C.  An eclectic trip, yes, but each leg rewarding in its own way.  Like all good trips, I learned a lot during my travels.  Here are some highlights of my schooling:

-Two weeks before a vacation is not enough time to break in new shoes.
-Few cities can be experienced in just one day.
-Buy flexible schedule airfare and train tickets.
-Don’t book early morning flights in rural towns.
-Almost every travel problem can be solved by spending a lot of money.
-A picture of a still camera with an “X” through it also means no video recording.
-Irish print models look like normal women (they have wrinkles).
-A swear doesn’t sound offensive when it’s said in an Irish accent.
-Volcanic eruptions, though rare, can seriously affect one’s travel plans.
-The world contains wonderful people willing to help during times of crises.
-The Black Eyes Peas song “I Gotta Feeling” is an international sensation.
-Six year olds playing recess are cute in any country.
-Whiny kids sound the same in every language.
-Falafel and kebabs are the cheapest meal in any European country.
-Belgian french fries really taste as good as they say.
-Free wifi hasn’t caught on in Europe.
-New Orleans French Quarter gets really creepy at night.
-A taxi driver can both be extremely racist and extremely good at driving.
-Disney World remains enjoyable even as an adult.
-The Washington Mall stretches much longer than a map would make it seem.
-K-12 teachers love taking their students on trips to D.C. museums.
-Traveling provides lessons and experiences to grow from, but after a while, it feels great being home.

I will have been in eleven different airports on this trip, and they still fascinate me.  Airports reflect the cities they inhabit, but they also have that generic, institutional feel.  Like Miami’s airport, for example.  I had a layover there for an hour or so and needed some food.  They had the average pre-made sandwiches, hot dogs, and subpar baked goods, but they also had a Cuban quick service place.  Of course they do.  Cubans and their culture have greatly affected Miami’s history, so to have a Cuban eatery in the first and last place one might see when visiting Miami makes total sense.  I had to eat there.  When would I get to eat plantains in an airport again?

So I grabbed my cafeteria tray, metal fork, and plastic knife (I was in an airport), and sidled up to the line.  On the other side of the sneeze guard, there wasn’t some overworked but eager chef sauteeing fresh garlic and onions as Buena Vista Social Club played in the background.  There were metal pans filled with food and a lady in a paper hat staring at me.  I felt like I was back in my high school cafeteria.  I ordered the chicken with rice and plantains, and the lady slopped it on my plate.

That chicken might have been the dryest piece of meat I ever ate.  Leather would have had more moisture.  The plantains were overripe and overcooked.  The rice tasted okay, but screwing up white rice is pretty hard to do.  As I walked to my gate, full but disappointed, I came to a realization:  airport food might embody a city’s cuisine, but it’s still going to taste like airport food.

This city really is as beautiful as that assassin movie made it out to be.  It’s almost too beautiful.  It’s beautiful in the way a movie set is beautiful, that it defies all reality in its perfection.  The cobbled, windy streets; the horse drawn carriages; the canals.  Walking around, I needed to remind myself that people actually live here.  Those windy streets have actual houses that actual Belgians sleep in.  And not all of them get up every day to make lace and pralines.  Yes, tourism plays a huge part in the economy, but there is also a local scene beyond the frites sold at every street corner.  Even in my short time here, I started to find some local haunts.  I ate at Pas Partout, where I think I was the only non-local there.  I got an authentic-tasting mushroom soup, potatoes, and half chicken for nine Euros.  Sure, the restaurant didn’t have a view of the clock tower, and mussels were not on the menu, but that’s not the real Bruges.  I felt like I was one of the locals.  Well, almost.  Everyone around me spoke French or Dutch.  When I didn’t talk, I felt like a local.  I also had a lovely picnic lunch with fixings from the “golden triangle:” an intersection with the best bakery, butcher, and fruit stand in the city.  Sitting on a bench in the adjacent Astrid Park, I watched a woman play fetch with her dog next to a pretty fountain surrounded by pretty flowers.  The location was still idyllic, but the dog didn’t understand the rules of fetch, which made me happy.  It’s not all perfect in Bruges.  Some dogs here are ignorant.  That’s something I wouldn’t have learned had I stayed in the city center with the tour groups.

Made it safe and sound into Amsterdam.  This city is gorgeous.  Very photogenic.  I wonder how many people actually live here, though, since I feel I’ve mostly seen tourists.

Rented a bike today.  It’s been a while since I rode a bike, and I don’t care how the saying goes, it takes a bit of time to get back into the swing of riding one.

Have to go.  In a coffee shop with Jessica about to bike to a place that serves the “best gyros ever.”

It’s 4am right now, and I am sitting at Cork airport.  It is starting to look more like a reality that my 6am flight to Amsterdam is going to take off.  After six days of unscheduled travels, it doesn’t feel right that I’m about to travel to the place I was planning on visiting.  I hate to say it, but I’m almost a little disappointed.  Who knows what adventures I would have had if I took the ferry?  And now, whenever I tell this story–which I think will be often–I’ll come to Thursday and say, “And that’s the day I got on the plane and flew to Amsterdam.”  Then people will ask, “So you didn’t get on the 18 hour ferry?  You actually got to your final destination without spending a stolen afternoon in Paris?”  I will hang my head and nod.  ”Yes, by Thursday, air travel was operating at 90% in Europe, so I never got that chance.”

I suppose I still could get on the ferry, but if I don’t have to go on it, it feels like I would just be doing it on some masochistic principle.  A three hour flight compared to 25 hours of transportation is a little easier to take.  And now I’ll have just about the same amount of time to see what I wanted to see (I changed my flight to leave next Thursday).

The check in desk is about to open.  There’s already a line.  I better get in it.