Even experienced travelers make silly mistakes

When it comes to international travel – maybe all travel, actually – the main question seems to be … why?

Generally speaking, if you have to ask the question, you’re not apt to understand any answer that we travelers are going to offer. It’s more useful to ask why we want to go to a certain destination.

That question came up in 2014 when my wife, Mary Pat Treuthart, and I flew to Iceland. The short answer was that we were scouting the country in advance of a second trip that Mary Pat would take a few months later as co-leader of a women’s delegation.

The longer answer was that Iceland intrigued us. And during our drive around what is referred to as the Ring Road, it proved to be well worth the effort. I mean, really, mountains and glaciers and volcanoes and black-sand beaches and geysers and waterfall and hot springs? What’s not to like?

The same question could be asked of our most recent trip, a two-week visit to Norway, involving stays in Oslo, a train trek across the central mountain range to Bergen and then a cruise down the western coast that fronts the North Sea. And the answer would be much the same: Norway is an intriguing country.

It’s also the final Scandinavian country on our list. During a 2015 cruise of the Baltic Sea, we saw parts of The Netherlands, Germany, Estonia, Russia, Finland, Sweden and Denmark. But we missed out on Norway.

So we had to return. And over the next few posts, I’ll describe how it went, using installments from my travel journal.

Thursday, May 1, 10:25 a.m.: Sitting in Spokane International Airport waiting to board the first leg of our journey to Oslo, the capital city of Norway. We go from here to Seattle, then Seattle to Amsterdam and on to Oslo.

You’d think that will all the travel that Mary Pat and I have done over the past 30 years that heading out on another trip would be no problem. But every trip involves a certain among of anxiety, especially when you’re headed to a country for the first time.

I got maybe four hours of sleep, and what sleep I did manage to acquire was filled with anxious dreams. In one, I found myself walking along a rocky roadway on bare feet, and my feet these days are far more tender than they were when I was a barefoot boy living in Hawaii.

When I awoke, I debated up until we left the house whether to take my laptop. But then I recalled our 2022 trip to South Africa and how I ended up leaving my MacBook Air at the Cape Town airport. (I did get it back, but it was a huge hassle and was achieved only through the efforts of Basit Ali, a friendly driver we had hired and then befriended.) So the laptop stays home this time.

2:54 p.m.: On the plane to Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport. Mary Pat has us sitting in bulkhead seats, which offers a lot of legroom but which obligates me to put all my carry-ons in an overhead bin. And I like to have my things – my books, my headphones, my journal, my snacks – at my feet. But Mary Pat needs the leg room, so …

At this point we have 8 hours and 18 minutes to go on our scheduled 8 hour and 57-minute flight. So far things have proceeded smoothly, our arrival in SeaTac graced by a brilliant, sunny view of Mount Rainier.

3:31 p.m.: The flight attendants come through with our first food service. Our choices are pasta or chicken, and we both opt for the pasta. But to be honest, it sucks. Not for the first time I wonder, when did airline food get so bad? Has it always been this way? And the worst I’ve been served is, ironically, on Air France.

This is nearly as bad, though. The main dish is accompanied by a single, dried-out dinner roll and some sort of succotash-like salad. A “brownie” is added for dessert. It’s enough to make me want to start drinking something alcoholic, but I know that’s just going to make my jet lag problems even worse than usual. So I resist the urge.

Friday, May 2, 9:59 a.m. (Central European Summer Time): Sitting in Schiphol, waiting to board our flight to Oslo. Everything continues to be smooth … with one exception: I left my headphones on the plane.

I realized this in time to run back to the departure gate. I couldn’t get past the door that leads down the ramp, though, so I stood there with another guy who said he’d misplace his hearing aids. We attracted the attention of an orange-vest-wearing worker who, after agreeing to search for us eventually found a set of headphones that are the same brand as mine. Yay, I said.

It’s only later, while opening them, that I discover they actually aren’t mine. Though they’re the same model, they’re older and more weathered. But they work, and as I connect them to my iPhone, I laugh at the fact that somebody else got an upgrade.

Again, I wonder how it is that experience hasn’t taught me to be more careful. The phrase s—t happens is not only a tired cliché, but it’s only marginally comforting. Anyway, I have a bit of time to contemplate my incompetency as we await the next leg of our journey.

Next up: Norway feels a lot like the Pacific Northwest, duh.