The time has come, mon ami, for me to take my voyage across the seas. I am taking a cruise around the continent of Europe, stopping here and there along the way. My voyage begins in Paris, before I take the train north to the coast and set sail.
I have reserved my hotel, directly off Line 12 on the Paris Metro. I have scoped out excursions while in Malta. I have picked out a few hammams to possibly visit while in Tunisia. Methinks, all is ready to go.
Now rather than pack, I am meditating on the subject: somehow I must fit two pairs of jeans, three shorts, eight shirts, one suit, two pairs of shoes, assorted socks and undies and bathroom-related things and of course presents for my lovely T.L., all in one carry-on suitcase. And the computer must also go in the luggage, as my second carryon will be my camera bag. It's going to be a tight fit.
The flight there is easy: Miami to Paris, direct. Bon jour. Getting home, however, is a chore: I end the cruise in Athens, but the airline has no flights from Athens to Miami (wtf?). So I must fly to Brussels, spend the night, then fly Brussels-Chicago and Chicago-Miami. There may be a viking ship or a covered wagon involved somewhere in the journey, I'm not sure what to expect.
I'm not complaining. This trip is being mostly paid for by credit card miles, which I have been saving for YEARS. And I tell you, those miles really are worth it if you get enough of them. I highly recommend getting one of those credit cards for yourself, you will get free trips! Free free free. Actually it costs, like, $30 to process everything but that's fine.
Can you tell I'm nervous? I'm just typing, typing.
I'm most nervous about making my rendevous with T.L., who is currently in possession of maps and directions and instructions of where to meet me in Paris. He must disembark from his ship, come to my hotel tucked away in the Latin Quarter, and collect me to bring me back. Luckily we have an entire day for him to find me. Hopefully it won't be that arduous an experience for him, and we'll actually have time to stroll the streets of the city and nibble baguettes. Or there is the possibility he will show up in tears, having walked circles around the city screaming in a mix of Spanish and Hank-Azaria-in-The-Birdcage English for someome to help. And the Parisians are such an understanding, patient people, you know.