It’s almost 3am. I slept in my bed for over eight hours. It’s a cool 75º in South Seattle. I’m sitting on my couch with my feet up.
Here’s how my journey home went… I was so well prepared for the journey home, I had hours to kill. My bags were packed, and I had laundered all my sheets. My roommate came by on her way to the beach just to wish me well. I was looking forward to seeing my girls.
I decided to take my bags downstairs and wait for my driver on the bench outside, 15 minutes earlier than the meetup but sitting on the bench would be nicer than my hot, empty room. I wheeled my gear out and said goodbye to my apartment and its window to the favela for the last time. My passport was in my pocket.
Downstairs, the doorman indicated that the driver was already there waiting for me, which was a surprise. I got straight into the car and off we went. The driver introduced himself as Pedrinho, and said it would take a couple hours to the airport. We chatted in Portuguese as he drove past the Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas and through Butafogo. He knew all the shortcuts. I caught my last glimpse of Cristo Redentor up on Corcovado.
It was kind of a slow slog through traffic after that. Once leaving the Zona Sul, Rio turns into big city freeway; it reminded me of LA, Manila, and Shanghai. The winter sun set very quickly, and soon we were another set of red tail lights in a slow trickle. Finally, after running out of things to talk about, we made it to Galeāo. I collected my gear, said goodbye, and walked into the terminal.
I didn’t get far when I realized I didn’t have my passport.
I searched through my pockets and then my back pack. When that didn’t work, I started sending messages to my roommate and opening up my carry-on; then my checked bag. My roommate found nothing back in my room. I contemplated spending the night at the airport, contacting the State Department, and wondering when I was going to burst into tears.
I wondered if my passport had fallen out of my pocket in the car. I sent a whatapp message to W, the woman that organized airport transportation, but she didn’t respond. I called her and didn’t pick up. I didn’t feel like bursting into tears yet, so I opened my luggage and checked one more time, and then tried calling again.
To my surprise, she picked up. I told her, Hola, tenho un problema. Estou no aeroporto mais não encontro o meu passaporte. Asho que tal vez ainda está no carro. Você pode falar com o chofer? Foi Pedrinho. I have no memory of what she said back but I was surprised at how succinctly I was able to get that message across. It was a long shot anyway.
I checked my bags again and said a prayer to St. Anthony, patron of lost items. I happened to be looking at my phone when I saw that W was calling me. I don’t usually receive calls, so it was lucky that I was looking. I answered, and she told me that Pedrinho had found my passport and was on his way back to meet me at the exact spot he dropped me off. I think conversation was in Portuguese, but my memory of the is in English… is it possible she spoke to me in English? Anyway, but that time I was dying to pee, so I found a restroom and then made my way out to the drop off point to wait for Pedrhino, who, again, was already there waiting for me.
I thanked him profusely, and he wanted a photo with me holding my passport. I told him we’d take a selfie as well because I was so happy and relieved. Here’s my happy relieved face.
I sent the photo to W, who sent me high-ten emojis.
From there, I breezed through bag check, security, passport control. I was hungry but I wanted to check that my gate existed before eating, after having just seen a TikTok where someone didn’t check and was getting I-told-you-so’ed because they missed their flight. Checking to see that the gate exists meant walking past all kinds of inviting Brazilian restaurants and walking to the extreme end of the airport where there was a grumpy lady out of sandwiches selling pasteis and empanadas to an exasperated Argentinian mom with two kids running in different directions, three kids if you count the dad.
So anyway, I had a pastel, a pão de queijo, and a bottle of water, and that was my dinner. I boarded the plane and sat next to a kid who tried to order whiskey. I watched a few movies but didn’t sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time. Played my phone game. About halfway through the flight, I realized I was sniffling and so was the kid next to me.
The sniffling became a miserable runny nose, and luckily I had a bandana with me. We landed before dawn in Houston, and I wondered if I was allergic to my aloha shirt, so I took it off and put it away. I bought a lox bagel and a cup of coffee at Little Purse Dumplings, which is a bagel shop in the morning. Both the bagel and the coffee were delicious, but it was $30 USD.
Got on the flight back to Seattle, last leg of my journey home, and I was surprised to see the same kid sitting next to me, only this time we had an empty seat between us! So lucky! The flight was uneventful, except for the fact that I was grumpy that they checked my carry on, saying there was no overhead space left. There was hella overhead space left; the one over my head was entirely empty.
When we were landing at SEA we were soooo close to wheels down, when we felt the plane accelerate and start to climb; the pilot later explained at ATC had a some planes on the runway that weren’t moving fast enough, so we took another circle over Seattle, the sound, and turned the corner over Tacoma to line up again.
Finally we landed and I met my sister at baggage claim.
And just like that, I’m home. My sister made me a plate of rice, salmon, and a black bean salad, which I devoured. We did pasalubong and then I tried to rest.
I went with K to pick up li’l K after her preschool day was done. She didn’t see me at first, but when K turned her around she ran to hug me. She liked her dress and her t-shirt that I bought her, and gave me plenty of hugs and kisses.
Li’l M came home later, while I was asleep. I dragged myself out of bed to go see her. She was in the high chair eating dinner. She happily exclaimed “Toto!” and I gave her a kiss on the forehead. Later she came and hugged me on the stairway, as I was going back downstairs to crash.
The End! I’m home. I return to Seattle having started my journey to becoming a Portuguese speaker. I’ll find ways to keep practicing, but I know these two weeks were crucial in starting the engine, and that improvement will not be linear. I won’t be traveling away from my girls again, I can’t stand being away from them. However, if they travel without me next year I will have no choice but to plan my revenge.
Ideas for more posts: language school tourism.
you don't have to read v2.0 