I Thought I Was Ready for Portugal, Lisbon Humbled Me in Less Than 24 Hours

Travel has a way of stripping away confidence when you least expect it. In less than 24 hours, Lisbon taught me humility through customs lines, lost luggage, fast escalators, cobblestone streets, and language barriers, and I wouldn’t trade the lesson for anything.

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, everyone was ushered onto a transport bus that shuttled my fellow passengers and myself across the airport grounds to the main terminal. Now inside, we were herded back and forth in a snaking line, shuffled like livestock bound for slaughter.

What Do You Say When They Hold Your Passport and ask "Why Are You Here"

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 get me sent 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 his backpack 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 part 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 closest train station.

Off to the train station.

Emerging from the underground Metro, I faced my next hurdle: the escalators. In Portugal, or maybe just at this station, escalators 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 train station should’ve been easy, but the cobblestone streets between 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 now that 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 I also had 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, I’d stayed the course with all the obstacles that were laid before me, and in the end I succeeded.

The Last Leg, Was the Easiest, I Was Finally Home

After arriving to Coimbra, 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 already 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 at the doorstep of my new apartment. 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. It's funny how you seem to forget the difficult times and the enjoyable times are the ones that are unforgettable.

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