Four years!? Has it really been 4 years since I’ve been on a plane? 4 years ago that was unthinkable. Travel is my passion, the reason I breathe. However, 3 years ago I decided I needed to breathe more than 4 weeks per year so I made a career change and relocated from New York to Baltimore. Unfortunately things have not worked out as I imagined and finances did not allow me to travel. Then the Covid pandemic hit and travel became just a memory. But here I am on a plane again, mask on, heading to a domestic bucket list destination, since travel to Europe is still iffy. Drinking my pre-flight Prosecco and being a nervous wreck at take-off all seems so familiar that the 4 years seems to have melted away. I wish I could say that my misfortune has, but a lot has changed since my trip Greater Catalunya. I feel very much a different person. But being 38,000 feet in the air and my stomach on the ground reminds me of the amazing travel experiences I’ve had.
When I was a baby traveler at the turn of the century, I had my first international trip to Barcelona with 2 well traveled friends of mine. As I’ve written in another blog, smoking a cigarette outside my pension that first night is what awoke this inner travel passion I had and have never relinquished. That pension was also my first exposure to budget European lodging. It was a triple room, which was perfect for the 3 of us with a shared bathroom down the hall. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about that, but there was only 1 other person on our floor so it was fine. There was this atmospheric unroofed leafy breezeway near our room which seemed so strange yet so romantic, very different from what I was expecting. The pension locked at 11pm, but as there was no curfew, we were assured the front desk was attended to 24 hours a day and after 11pm all one had to do was ring the night bell. One night the three of us arrived back well after midnight, not terribly late by Barcelona standards, but a good night out for Americans. We rang the night bell, then rang it again, and again, and again. No answer. This was before cell phones so there was no way to call the office. We proceeded to knock and then bang on the door to no avail. After about 20 minutes of this 2 young men approached us. They addressed us in French. We shook our heads to communicate we didn’t understand them. I decided to use my poor Spanish skills to ask them if they spoke Spanish, they both shook their heads no. I explained we were Americans to which one immediately replied, English we can do. I explained our plight and they were dismayed because they too were staying at the pension. We then re-started ringing, knocking, and yelling. I was concerned our late night ruckus might get us arrested. That’s all I needed, my first trip abroad I end up in jail! Well if I was going to jail anyway it wasn’t going to be for disturbing the peace but breaking and entering. You see, I had a secret talent that my friends didn’t know about. I was a lock picker. I have no recollection as to when or how I picked up this skill, I just know that I’ve been able to pick locks since I was a kid. My 6th Grade teacher used to call on me to pick the classroom closet lock every time it accidentally was locked, which happened quite a few times (the only things in there was colored crape paper, cups and some school supplies, why Fort Knox?). So in the middle of the night in Barcelona it was time to start picking. I was rusty, it had been awhile. I asked my friends for hair clips or a paper clip and a credit card. They looked at me as if I was nuts. The Frenchmen were laughing. I told them all to be quiet and give me space, but I secretly relished the taunting I was receiving from everyone. The pressure was on! After a few minutes of being assured that I was a moron and to stop pretending to be a hero… CLICK, the door opens! The looks on my friends’ faces was priceless, sheer astonishment and bewilderment. Goodie too shoes Keith just broke into our pension! The Frenchmen just started calling me MacGuyver and patting me on the back. Our communal joy was short-lived however as another goodie too shoes in our group became enraged when she saw the attendant completely passed out right by the door button. This very sweet, intelligent, rational, small in stature woman started screaming at the guy to wake up. There may have even been some poking. The stare down she was giving him sent chills and I wasn’t even the target of it! When he came to we all started screaming at him in 3 languages. He apologized and said he smoked too much weed and that made him sleepy. Oh, that was a good excuse! He then said since we were inside, it was no big deal. His honesty did NOT help him and I swore my friend was going to murder him on the spot. Not to be stereotypical in the age of Woke but don’t talk down to an Italian-Irish woman who has had a few to drink! Her sister and I calmed her down, had a few choice words for the attendant ourselves and headed back to our room. Now I had some explaining to do as the total shock of my lock picking talents resurfaced. So many questions. The next day the Frenchmen yelled MacGuyver at me again and we laughed. My friends, who unfortunately decided this trip that my nickname was Kiki called me Kiki MacGuyver. Great, what a nom de plume! It made for a memorable story though from my first trip abroad.
Unfortunately locks have become much more technologically advanced since then that my skills have become obsolete. But my memory of that night is almost as fresh today 21 years later as if it was 21 weeks ago. All my trips feel that way. I remember lots of great stories as if they happened yesterday. I suppose then I shouldn’t be surprised that 4 years away from a plane feels like no time has passed. Maybe I need to focus on that. I have had a lot of challenges the last 4 years that have made me feel like I have lost a lot of time, and that it’s running out. But here I am as scared to fly as when I was 28, 38, and now 48. Timeless.
