How to Get Humbled in Less Than 24 Hours: A Traveler’s Tale of Navigating Lisbon’s Challenges

Customs agents, lost luggage, heavy bags, escalators, cobblestone streets, trains, finicky credit cards, and language barriers—these can humble even the toughest travel warriors. My Lisbon travel adventure is proof.

My story begins...

The flight from New York wasn’t as long as I thought it might be, I found the small video screen on the seat ahead of me quite entertaining and it helped the time fly by. I arrived in Lisbon, Portugal, at 8:45 a.m. safe and sound, without issue, eager to start my journey to a new home away from home.

The airport was massive. After disembarking the plane, I was ushered onto a transport bus that shuttled me across the airport grounds to the main terminal. Now inside, I was herded back and forth in a snaking line, shuffled like livestock bound for slaughter.

At last, I reached the customs officer sitting behind the thick glass. There I found a man glaring at me with steely eyes and a stone-cold face, he was clearly not someone you should mess with. The officer took a long look at my passport, then stared at me, and asked just one pointed question, “Why are you here?”

After flying from Portland on the West Coast to New York and then across the Atlantic to Lisbon, jet lag had fully set in. I froze, I’m sure, with the classic deer-in-the-headlights look. Panic then crept in—would the wrong answer send me back to New York? I managed to mumble, “I’m here on a D7 visa.”

Well, my answer worked. He quickly stamped my passport, handed it back and I immediately rushed off like a bandit grasping a suitcase full of stolen goods.

Next stop: baggage claim. Or so I thought.

After wandering through a maze of halls and corridors, I eventually ended up in the main lobby of the terminal—having completely bypassed the hidden baggage claim area. Like most airports I’d visited, I assumed the carousel would be near the front. I was dead wrong.

For the next two hours, I walked through every imaginable section of the terminal searching for the carousel and my bags. Unable to speak Portuguese didn’t help my cause. Several kind locals, speaking broken English, tried to assist but pointed me in every possible direction except the right one.

Eventually, I stumbled upon the baggage lost and found window, which in my case doubled as the “lost passenger” department. Finally an English-speaking agent reunited me with my suitcases, leaving me wiser—and far humbler—than when I’d arrived.

With my bags in tow, I headed off to the Lisbon Metro.

A short walk from the terminal led to the Metro station, where I faced a row of different colored ticket machines, each seemingly with a different purpose. I picked one that everyone else was using, hoping it was the right choice. Using my phone to translate the Portuguese instructions, I fumbled through the process. Inserted my new debit card and the final step was to enter my PIN code, this stumped me. I didn’t have one. Panic struck again as the line behind me grew. Thankfully, an attendant spotted my struggle and helped me find a workaround. Now with ticket in hand, I boarded the Metro, bound for the train station.

Now to the train station.

Emerging from the underground Metro, I faced my next hurdle: escalators. In Portugal—or maybe just this station—they moved at breakneck speed. My first attempt to enter was a complete disaster. With two large suitcases, one in front and one behind, I was stuck in the middle flailing around like a clown in a comedy sketch. I wish I’d filmed it; it would’ve gone viral in seconds. But after a few more tries, I had mastered the escalator dance and moved on like a pro.

The few blocks to the station should’ve been easy, but cobblestone streets turned my suitcases into fifty-pound boat anchors. What would’ve taken five minutes on a smooth sidewalk took fifteen minutes of struggle. Beware of cobblestones, my friends—they’re a pain in the suitcase, if you know what I mean.

Knowing my debit card lacked a PIN, buying a train ticket was now my next challenge. En route to the station, I stopped at a coffee shop for a much-needed break. Sipping my coffee, I remembered a rarely used debit card. At the ticket counter I handed my backup card to the attendant, It worked like a charm, I happily secured a train ticket.

After wrestling my bags onto the train and finding a comfortable seat, I had a few moments to relax and reflect. The recent struggles gave me a sense of accomplishment—I hadn’t quit in the face of adversity, and I’d stayed the course no matter what obstacles that were laid before me.

After arriving I found a taxi waiting just outside the train station. This last leg of my journey proved to be the easiest of all as I had conquered the many obstacles needed to complete this eventful stage of my trip. The driver knew exactly where I wanted to go and dropped me off in front of my new doorstep. No more ticket machines, escalators, or cobblestones—I was finally home.

My final note: Don’t let this story discourage you from taking a leap of faith, go for it! Travel humbles us all, teaching us to laugh at our missteps and helps us embrace the journey.

My hard-earned advice? Prepare for everything, stay patient, never give up, and carry on with “The Drift,” wherever it might take you.