Travel Stories Are Grateful Stories

Who doesn’t like stories about the travails of travel? No matter how whiny some of them might sound, I’ve come to view them as songs of gratitude. A way, through story, to remind us that we’ve once again escaped the worst catastrophes that can befall a traveler.

Yes, let’s please hear about the lost luggage, not the plane that skidded off the runway. About the hair in the chicken pasta, not the cabin door that fell off at 30,000 feet.

Because whether you’re telling or listening, aren’t the stories of travel’s little annoyances our way of pushing the thoughts of real catastrophe a little more out of reach? A little farther beyond the realm of possibility when comedy, usually involving an obnoxious Karen or two, takes the upper hand?

I think they are.

And if we agree on that premise, what happens when we have no complaints?

When a trip goes … gulp … perfectly?

No major airline shutdown.

No crying babies on the flight.

No cursing, scantily-clad passengers.

Nada.

That was Ted’s and my experience on our two-day visit to Washington, D.C., this week.

The flight was flawless. The train to the hotel on-time, comfortable and paid for with a simple touch of a debit card on the turnstile’s automatic reader. The hotel was very nice–named after both an American historical figure and a Broadway musical! (With a rainbow flag out front, no less, that no one had yet shredded or burned.)

It was only a block from the offices where we had our Portuguese visa application appointment this past Tuesday morning.

Which went off without a hitch.

In under an hour.

Not only that, a clerk showed one of the documents we had in our folder as an example to the poor fellow next to us who had flown in from Wisconsin for his appointment, visions of a life in Portugal dancing in his head.

He was politely shown the door because he didn’t have an apostille emblem on said document. (See my previous blog on that particular visa application challenge.)

Unlike the fellow from Wisconsin, we had all our paperwork approved, thank the Lord. Every last document. And we were told to expect our visas from the consulate in about 60 days.

Afterward, we celebrated at lunch with an old friend … at a restaurant, the Foggy Bottom Founding Farmers, that was every bit as good as we remembered from our visit to Washington 10 years earlier.

In short, our trip could only have been better had J.D. Vance visited our hotel bar at Happy Hour … slipped on a cocktail napkin and fallen flat on his ass.

But we’ve learned not to expect miracles when traveling.

Only to be thankful for every trip we can take these days. Even the quick ones from our home in Atlanta.

Especially the ones from which we return without a story.

And with fingers crossed that the rest of our journey to Portugal goes as smoothly.

Happy travels, everyone!