We got up and enjoyed the best shower yet in our cute little room at the Hotel Lirico, then went to breakfast in the lobby. European breakfast will always be my favorite: bread, cheese, fruit and coffee.

We calculated that we should have exactly enough time to go see the Spanish Steps before having to head to the train station, so we set off that direction, checking the map regularly since we didn’t have time to get lost. It was already incredibly hot and humid in Rome and we were rushing.

A sign led us to an underpass at one of the major intersections, and the underpass ended up being a book store. That was very, very strange.

We only got a little diverted once, but managed to find our way to the steps. The area was packed with tourists. The plaza was super-cute, and I’ve loved to have shopped there.

Of course we’d arrived at the bottom of the steps, and the easiest way back to the hotel was to go up them. Plus it seemed important to climb them. We had to stop halfway up to rest, but we made it in the heat. The top was full of buskers, guys in gladiator outfits, and people painting landscapes and selling their work.

We rushed back to the hotel, a journey that seemed to be mostly uphill, even though we’d just climbed up to what we thought was the top. We checked out of the hotel, and the porter carried my bag down the stairs for me, thank god. We rolled our way over to Termini and bought tickets for the Leonardo Express from a machine. The train seemed to only have first class tickets, but they were fairly cheap.

The train pulled in a little late, and everyone hopped on. It was less of a crush of humanity than it had been at Civitavecchia, though, and the train was much nicer. Matt put our bags on the rack, and we got seats in a little elevated couch section in the middle where we had a good view of the Roman countryside.

One thing that surprised us about Rome is how quickly you leave the city. On the train, you pass Vatican City, a couple suburbs, and then it’s basically nothing but farmland between there and the airport.

We got to the airport half an hour later, and took the long walk to the terminal through the station. We found the EasyJet check-in: it was the one with piles of litter laying all over the place. (I assume that’s one of the reasons it’s so cheap.) The lines weren’t long, but there were only two desk agents helping people out. There was a proletariat line that we were in, and a line for their frequent fliers. That line got priority, which was fair.

Once we got to the front of the line, we stood there waiting for the agent to gesture to us, just like he’d been doing for everyone else. The French couple behind us got REALLY angry that we weren’t going, explaining that this was the queue and we should just go down there. They were definite asshats, those Frenchies. We went to the counter when the guy called us.

We checked in, went through security, and a French lady jumped to the front of the line at the scanner. We didn’t have a great opinion of them by that point, and were wondering how our trip to Paris would go.

Our gate was fairly empty, so we went to do some shopping in the terminal. I overheard something in French about our flight number and a new gate, so we checked the board and that was correct. By that point the EasyJet queue was pretty long, so we were a little worried about getting crappy seats. But a bunch more people showed up behind us, so we figured we were safe. We stood there for 20 minutes or so, and then they started scanning boarding passes. We went into the jetway area, and found the whole ramp full of the people we’d just been in line behind. We were used to the queuing, but it was about 20 degrees hotter in the ramp area.

We stood there for way too long, and then the line started moving again. We made it to the entrance of the actual jetway, and Matt and I were able to edge inside far enough to feel the air conditioning. We stood there for another 10 minutes or so, then slowly the line started moving toward the airplane door. (I still think it’s worth it for the price of EasyJet tickets, but holy crap. Prepare to stand in line for a hour.)

We managed to get a row to ourselves, which was awesome. We bought cans of London Pride from the flight attendant, and had a meal of the Italian version of Go Ahead (which I’d bought at Roma Termini) and my Pocket Espresso. (Note: don’t open a Pocket Espresso on a pressurized airplane. It will just go on your pants.) We had a good flight, and our British captain Gary got us to Paris-Orly ahead of schedule, at 4:20. We saw the Eiffel Tower from the plane, too!

We stopped at a little shop in the Sud terminal to get some food and drinks from a vending machine, then started following the arrows to the rental cars. They ended up being at the Oest terminal, but the walk wasn’t bad. We found Citer/National after some searching, and checked in at the desk. There was some mixup with the car we requested (automatic, with a trunk since we’d be keeping luggage in there for a while), so they ended up giving us a much nicer car: a Citroen C5. It was hella fancy, and we decided to name it President Mitterand.

I’ve never driven a car with GPS before, and I’m generally annoyed by it, but it made our getting around infinitely easier. We figured out how to program our destination after some futzing with it, and headed out on the highways of Paris. We only encountered a few traffic jams along the way, and then we were out in the countryside.

We could read most of the road signs, so that was good. (We didn’t know what ‘rappel’ meant, but thought it was pretty funny.) We learned that France is really, really proud of its rural areas: they put signs up showing you what kind of farmland you’re passing, or what industries exist in a town. We passed the Asterix theme park, too, which looked a little bit run-down.

We entered a toll road and paid with a credit card, with no idea what the toll was. As we saw the Belgium border coming up on the GPS, we wondered if there would be any remnant of the plaza that used to be there pre-EU, but there was no sign of it. Just a ‘welcome to Belgium’ sign in French and Dutch. We took the first roadside exit at Texaco to use the bathroom and get snacks. Matt got an individually-wrapped Belgian waffle, since obviously that’s what you’re supposed to do there.

We were shocked when we got out of the car: it was COLD there. Like, way colder than we had expected. I was in capris and flipflops, and I was freezing. After we left the building, I dug my hoodie and sneakers out of my suitcase in back.

We got back on the road and soon crossed from the French side of Belgium (Wallonia), to Flanders, the Dutch side. The President told us how to get to the hotel, and that all went well til we got to the center of Brussels around 9pm and encountered Pride. Like, the actual parade was going on right at that moment. We diverted and had to circle a few blocks, but we managed to find the hotel. There were cars parked three deep in the entrance, but the valet told us to leave the car there and helped us unload the luggage.

The Hotel Metropole was probably the fanciest building we’ve ever stayed in. The lobby was full of Japanese tourists taking photos, and the entryway was full of notes from celebrities who had stayed there. We had a gigantic room, and the rack rate was 450 euros (we paid $140). The bathroom had a huge tub and a towel warmer. There was a trouser press on the wall, which Matt tried out later.The TV greeted us by name in English, and there were 2 free Stellas and bottles of pop in the fridge. We looked out onto Boulevard Anspach, which was in a certain degree of disarray due to Pride.

We unpacked a little bit while enjoying our beers, then decided to go try Delirium Cafe so we could enjoy several of Belgium’s ten billion excellent beers. We set out and walked a few blocks as things got quieter and quieter, so we suspected maybe we weren’t going the right way. We also noticed that every other business there was a temp agency. We looked at the map and turned around, heading back down another street. We passed a battery store, and noted it for later: I’d realized only a few days into the cruise that the one thing I’d forgotten was my camera battery charger, and I was heartbroken over the idea that I might not be able to take photos. I was glad that we at least both had nice cellphone cameras, but it’s not the same.

We passed our hotel and went the other direction. The street became crazier and crazier, so we figured we were going the right way. The area around Grand-Place was nearing a disaster, with drunk people stumbling everywhere and empty cans and cups all over the place. (It was around 10:30 at that point.) We hurried through the narrow cobblestone streets in the area, knowing Delirium Cafe had to be nearby. But we couldn’t find it, after circling and passing places we’d already passed before. We finally saw a sign for it pointing down a street, saying the entrance was in the alley. We followed the arrow and there was nothing there, so we kept circling. Finally we ended up going the other direction on the street with the sign, and found the alley… and it was absolutely packed with Pride partiers.

I was exhausted and had zero interest in trying to get in there. We decided to go find somewhere else to eat, and come back to one of the bars in the area for beer. Everything in the area seemed to be closing down except for the bars, so we finally decided on the Sultans of Kebap right outside Grand-Place. It was going to be packed with drunk people later, but at that point it wasn’t too bad. Matt ordered the doner kebab, and I got falafel. That food was so good, it will haunt me forever. They had the best bread in the universe.

Refreshed, we headed back into Grand-Place and settled on a place called Drug Opera, for one reason alone: it was quiet. We got seats right at the bar and ordered beers. Finally I was really happy to be in Brussels. AND they had free wi-fi!

We had another round, and the place started to close down around 1am. They only charged us for one beer, and we were fine with that. We decided to stop by the liquor store across the street from our hotel, and ended up grabbing a couple of beers, a can of J&B and cola (Matt had seen them smashed in the street, and was intrigued), and Kriek Max. Holy crap, I fell in love so hard with Kriek Max. It’s delicious.

Back in the hotel, we watched a German-dubbed version of British Silent Library, and a Tosh-like YouTube show called Rude Tube. European TV is so entertaining.

We got up at 8, packed up our remaining stuff, and headed on foot to St Pancras. Not only were we carrying the same heavy backpacks, Matt now had a Harrod’s bag full of booze, and I had all the other souvenirs crammed into a reusable bag I’d tied closed for safety. It seemed like a very long walk to the train station.

We already had our tickets, so we headed to security. They put the bags through scanners but didn’t seem to care about the contents. Then we passed through French passport control (which was sort of confusing since we were going to Belgium again) and ended up in a big waiting area with several restaurants around it. It was a much larger terminal than the one in Brussels.

We went to Caffe Nero and got cappuccinos and pastries for breakfast, and also grabbed sandwiches to take on the train for lunch. We grabbed seats in the lobby, and were very excited to find out that St Pancras had free wifi. NOBODY has free unprotected wifi in Europe. Right as we finished eating, they announced our train. We went up the escalator to the platform and found our car, which happened to be the same one as before. We just had way more stuff to cram onto the overhead racks.

Once we got far enough out of London that we knew the Chunnel had to be close, we kept an eye out for it. The problem with the UK side is that there are many, many regular train tunnels, so you end up getting excited about being in the Chunnel, then suddenly emerging into the light again. Finally we got outside Dover, saw the white cliffs, and were in the real thing. We had our sandwiches and G&Ts in a can to celebrate. (Just so you know, this is a picture of Bally in the Chunnel. It’s hard to tell it’s not just dark out.)

I was reading a book on my Kindle that kept making me cry. I wanted to stop reading it, but then I knew I’d have to just delay the crying til later. So yeah, I was sitting around crying on the Eurostar.

We arrived at Brussels Midi around 2pm. The shops were all closed and the station was nearly empty, because it was a bank holiday there. Even the parking ramp was deserted, which thankfully made it really easy to find the President there. He was waiting with all of our luggage intact!

Matt set the course for Paris, and we got on our way. I was sleepy most of the way, so we stopped halfway for beverages and snacks. We marveled at all of France’s famous farms again, and made it to our hotel exit shortly after 5. The Mercure Ponte de Pantin parking involved navigating a narrow driveway into a parking garage with tiny spots, so at that point I wasn’t at all thrilled with our gigantic Citroen. Getting into the last spot in the lot involved about a 40-point turn, but I made it!

Though we were only staying two nights, we had to unload absolutely everything from the car so we could reorganize our luggage for the return trip. We hauled it all in in their tiny elevator, checked in, and went to our room. It smelled like smoke when we got there, but we opened the windows and it aired out right away.

We were tired, so we decided to go find dinner somewhere, then pick up beers and bring them back so we could do the big packing/reorganizing project. We were tired, and figured we wouldn’t have time to see any of Paris before dark anyway. After hanging out in the room for a bit, we suddenly realized we didn’t have Bally. I knew we had just left him sitting on the dashboard in the car, but that still didn’t hold back a slight feeling of panic. We both went down to get him from the car in the garage. BALLY IS VERY IMPORTANT. Hey, we don’t have kids or pets, right?

We also knew hardly anything about the layout of Paris or the landmarks, so we looked at the metro map and picked a stop with a name we knew that was also on our same metro line for convenience. We walked the couple of blocks to the Hoche stop and rode to Bastille. The station exited right out onto the Opera plaza, and there were people everywhere. Walking right out onto the street in the middle of Paris was pretty exciting, I admit.

We headed in the direction of a bunch of restaurants and started looking at menus. A few blocks away, we found a place called the Iguana Cafe that looked alright. The downstairs was packed, but the guy at the bar said we could go sit upstairs. It was empty so we had little hope of getting a server, but shortly after we grabbed a table, other people started coming up. A server showed up with menus, we ordered food and drinks, and all was good.

While we were waiting for our dinner, Matt was watching people out on the street from the upper level. We were across the street from a bread and pastry shop. Suddenly his face lit up, and he excitedly told me that he just saw a man walking down the street carrying five baguettes under his arm. That was the most Paris thing we could possibly imagine. So funny.

I had four-cheese tagliatelle and a mojito, and Matt got steak frites and a Moscow mule. Matt declared himself an expert on Paris after seeing the baguette guy, so he started regaling me with facts. We were pleasantly surprised at the decent service we got; after other encounters with French-speakers, we were absolutely convinced that everyone in Paris would be a huge asshole. We were glad to be (mostly) proven wrong.

We were revitalized after dinner, so we decided to walk the few blocks down Ave de Henry IV to the Seine and see what the view was like. We got there and were initially confused, then realized we were at the portion of the river on either side of Ile St-Louis. We saw the very top of Notre Dame poking up over the buildings, so we walked down one side of the river in that direction.

Paris was gorgeous. I don’t know why that should seem surprising at all. I guess I’d heard the ‘romantic Paris’ stuff so often I figured it was a bunch of crap, but it’s totally true. It felt like place you’d be sad to be single in, though!

We crossed a bridge over to the backside of Notre Dame, looked at the gardens, then went around front. We weren’t really planning to do any touristy stuff that evening in Paris, but it was there, and it was really impressive.

Entry was free, so we went inside. They were just beginning some kind of strange projected mass on a screen in front, and the church was quiet and very dark. That added to the atmosphere, and also meant the windows were well-lit from the outside at sunset.

We crossed back to the north side of the river, walked a few blocks, and ended up at the Hotel de Ville. There were a ton of basketball hoops set up outside it, so we had to go check that out. It turned out that the French basketball association was having some kind of kids’ event, and there was a big billboard with Tony Parker and other basketball players there. We vowed to bring Bally back there the next day to take his picture.

I was really glad we’d gotten to see some of Paris, because it made me a lot more excited about the rest of it!

We took the metro back to the hotel and got to our repacking project. It was a lot of work, but we got all the souvenirs stashed away safely, and the weight of the suitcases seemed like it would work out after everything else was added.

We sampled a few of our scotches from London, and headed to bed shortly after midnight.

We got up Friday morning, got a cappuccino at the hotel breakfast bar, and walked to the metro station. This time there were a million vendors set up along the sidewalk, much like the markets we saw all over Rome.

The metro drops off across the street from the Arc de Triomphe, so we took the pedestrian tunnel over to the plaza. There was a huge line for tickets, and we weren’t even sure what that was for. We followed everyone else outside so we could just take pictures. (I think the tickets are so you could go up to the top. I didn’t even know that was possible! It was kind of London-y and overcast in Paris, so we didn’t feel like we missed much.)

We could see the Eiffel Tower in the distance! Once again, I was shocked at how big it was.

We headed down the Champs Elysees, taking way too much pleasure in doing super-touristy things. It just seemed extra-funny in Paris. We stopped into a patisserie and bought pain au chocolate, then kept walking.

Back out on the Champs Elysees, I noticed a guy who appeared to drop something very near us, then go scrambling to pick it up. When I looked to see what it was, there was nothing on the ground, and yet he suddenly he had a ring in his hand. He tried to get our attention to point it out. I knew it was some kind of scam, so we kept walking. (I figured it was the typical ‘distract them while someone else picks their pocket’ routine.) It was so obvious, though, I wasn’t sure how he could possibly get away with it.

The President had made Matt an even bigger fan of Citroen, so we stopped into their multi-level museum/shop and checked out the cars. Matt bought a model of the President so we could take our awesome car home with us.

We walked down a few more blocks, then cut over to the river to find the Batobus stop. It’s the water taxi that stops at several points along the Seine. That worked pretty well in London on a short trip, so it seemed ideal in Paris as well.

The boat arrived in ten minutes or so, and we all piled aboard. We were planning on riding down to the Eiffel Tower, the last stop.

The Eiffel Tower was even more gigantic up close! We went upstairs from the boat launch and immediately noticed the massive lines underneath. We hadn’t really planned on going up in the tower if it was really busy, but had no idea it would be that busy. As we wandered around underneath, though, we soon figured out why: only one of the elevators in each tower was running, so it was doubling the wait times.

After taking a bunch of photos there, we went back down to the Batobus and boarded one for the Musee d’Orsay. We didn’t really have anything in particular to see there, we just knew it was famous, and we figured we could probably find some lunch over there too. At the top of the ramp from the dock, we saw another guy pulling the exact same ring scam in front of us! We ignored him as well and kept going, but I couldn’t stop laughing about it.

The museum also had a massive line out front. We walked around it and headed into the neighborhood to look for restaurants. It was lunchtime, so everything was pretty busy. We found a place with a patio that looked decent, so we tried to get the server’s attention. We thought she was going to seat us, and then she didn’t, and seemed bothered that I was standing there looking at the map. Matt said she was being really snooty, so we decided look elsewhere.

We walked a few more blocks, and I’m glad we did, because then we found Le Square. We got a table on the sidewalk, and ordered their lunch deal that included an appetizer and entree. They had Leffe on the menu, too, which was awesome. (Though if you pronounce it the correct way, like the Belgians do, a French speaker will correct you. Haha.) I had goat cheese on toast and a raviolo, and Matt had serrano ham on toast and beef tartare with frites.

Our lunch was excellent, so we were very pleased we’d found that place. We headed back in the general direction of the river, passing the National Assembly building along the way.

Back near the Batobus stop, we noticed that the British couple in front of us was talking to a woman about a gold ring. She had apparently given it to them, and was asking for money for it. They were laughing and refusing to pay or give the ring back, because they were obviously wise to it. (Here’s more about how it works… it’s not really as shady as it looks.)

We got back on the Batobus to ride back over to the stop near Notre Dame, so we could take Bally to the Hotel de Ville.

I love the walkways all along the river in Paris. There were so many couples sitting alongside the river, and people having lunch. That’s really awesome.

We got off the Batobus and walked over to the Hotel de Ville to see it during the day.

Bally got his photo taken with Tony Parker this time.

From there, we went over to find the Pompidou Center.

The plaza surrounding it was crowded with locals, tourists, and buskers. It was really interesting, and I loved the modern art fountain.

From there, we went to see the Louvre!

It’s too bad it was overcast again, but at least it wasn’t raining.

After wandering around the Louvre for a while, we went to find the Ritz. It’s another of the super-famous cocktail bars where Hemingway used to hang out. It took us a while to find it, and it was clear just from the outside that we would never be well-dressed enough to be in there. But we played the tourist card and went in anyway.

We got a table and they brought us snacks and a menu. The cocktails were all 30 EUROS. There isn’t a drink in the world worth 30 euros, but apparently that’s the price you pay at the Ritz. I got a sidecar, and Matt got a French 75. We sat there laughing about how ridiculous it was to pay 30 euros for a drink. And I took a picture of Bally on the table. What were the French going to do, disapprove? They do that anyway.

We stopped to use the fancy restrooms in the hotel before leaving, and the women’s room had a MAID. Like, wearing a French maid uniform. God, that was uncomfortable. There was also a porter turning the revolving door, because obviously people couldn’t do that themselves. Rich people are hilarious.

We walked over to the metro stop by the Opera, the one that’s known for being the scene of the Phantom of the Opera.

We rode to Goncourt, and it didn’t take us too long to find our destination: Baron Samedi. We conveniently arrived right at happy hour, though I wasn’t sure at first they were open because we were the first ones there.

One of the bartenders spoke a tiny bit of English, and the other none at all, but that didn’t matter. We ordered from the menu board and got a table. They had Ti Punch!

Matt was in heaven. They were playing the Dirtbombs, and the bar reminded us of Triple Rock in Minneapolis. For some reason, I’ll never forget that the co-ed bathroom door said ‘Mixte’ on it. A few people came in after us, and they ordered a round of beers, and a round of Ti Punch. Baron Samedi is the kind of bar I’d like to own someday.

Matt got another Ti Punch, and I went with a Kronenburg lest I not remember my name anymore. After that round we needed to find some food, so we set off wandering again. We found a place that reminded us of the Sultans of Kebap, but they didn’t have anything vegetarian (which is really unusual for that kind of place). We walked some more and settled on a restaurant called L’Autre Cafe. I had a salad with grilled cheese toasts and vegetables, and Matt had confit de canard. We had Pernod Ricard to start, and then I had a Leffe while Matt had wine.

After dinner, we stopped at a market on the way back to the Metro and picked up our last hotel-room beers.

We rode back to Hoche, and went to the hotel to finish packing.

We got up bright and early Saturday morning, at 6:20am. We quickly showered, packed our final things, and checked out of the hotel. We programmed CDG into the GPS, but apparently recent changes hadn’t been programmed into it, and it sent us in circles looking for the highway entrance. We finally figured it out ourselves, and were on our way.

I was stressed out about having to find a gas station near the airport to fill the car, knowing that the card readers in the gas pumps don’t usually work with magnetic strip cards (everything in Europe uses the chip), and I wasn’t sure if they’d be open yet. We found one right inside the entrance to the airport grounds, though, and I was able to go inside and pay with a credit card. We found our way to the rental car dropoff, which involves circling around the airport twice (intentionally!), and left the President at Citer.

We walked to the terminal and went to the check-in machine. Instead of our boarding passes, it presented us with an assistance slip, which meant we had to go wait in a very long line at the check-in counter. When we finally got there, the lady was nice and there seemed to be no issue, so I’m not sure what was up. She balked at us wanting to check three bags for free, but I told her I’d just contacted Delta to confirm that as an elite member and Amex cardholder, we were entitled to check two bags apiece for free. She agreed that that was true, and took the backpack. (I didn’t really even have to check it, but since we could I didn’t want to carry it around.)

There were long lines at passport control, too, and we suspected it was just due to Europeans’ intense love of queuing. From there we took the tram to our terminal, and went through security there. That part was quick, at least.

We headed right to the duty free shop to finish up our souvenir shopping. At the liquor store, we got another bottle of Havana Club and a weird bottle of super-concentrated Chartreuse Elixir Vegetal, which came in a little wooden case. We then went to the chocolate shop and picked up three boxes of French chocolate for people back home. We stopped at a little coffee counter to get pain au chocolate and espresso for breakfast, then headed to the gate where they were starting to board.

AirFrance followed the EasyJet boarding system, with an Elite queue (which didn’t include Delta elite, sadly) and a general boarding line, even though seats were assigned. I had requested specific seats that looked to be similar to the economy comfort ones we’d had on the way there, but since we weren’t charged for them, I was fearing the worst. We actually ended up in very roomy bulkhead seats near the bathroom, so I was totally fine with that.

The flight attendant sitting in front of us was very nice, and our video monitors showed an outside webcam view of what the pilot was seeing during takeoff. (It was kind of nerve-wracking to watch.)

It very quickly became apparent how awesome AirFrance is. Shortly after takeoff, they served us a snack of crackers and champage. I fired up J. Edgar on my TV and started watching, but I gave up shortly afterwards because of the sound. (The European-headphones with stereo sound weren’t loud enough over the engines, and my good earbuds were only in mono with the weird plugins they had.) I said goodbye to Europe as we passed the coast of France.

Shortly after our snacks were cleared, they began lunch service. I got my meal right away, because it was a special order vegetarian entree. I had a lentil salad, pasta, miniature baguette, applesauce, and coconut pie. We got Heinekens, too.

After lunch, another cart came around with our digestifs. I said no because we’d just finished our beers, but the flight attendant asked, “are you sure?” and showed us our choices: a pear liqueur or cognac. It’s hard to say no to free booze on airplanes, so we changed our minds.

I tried watching another movie, but I had to hold the headphones against my ears to hear anything. I decided to play solitaire and blackjack on my phone instead. We played cribbage, and I napped for a while. We crossed into North America, and saw what I’m pretty sure were ice roads in Canada.

We watched the cameras on the front and undersides of the plane for a while, and then it was time for breakfast. Mine involved a miniature croissant and pain au chocolate, some weird nondairy caramel pudding, juice, and coffee.

We landed early in Chicago, got off the plane right away, and rushed to passport control. One of the guys waiting there yelled, “who wants to come into America?” We went right to him, obviously. We waited a bit for our bags, and had to open my giant suitcase to put the duty-free stuff inside; you’re not allowed to carry it onto the second leg of the flight. From there we went through customs, and there was no need for my paranoia over the fact that we were smuggling Cuban rum; they didn’t even ask. (We’d declared the liquor we were bringing back, we just weren’t specific about its origin.)

Outside customs, everyone has to drop their luggage off with the baggage handlers. I was a little concerned about that part, because they weren’t airline-specific employees, so the bags would have to be routed to a bunch of different places. I know how that goes at O’Hare, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. We turned our bags over to the guys working there, and I was worried that I would never see my backpack again.

Everyone hopped on the tram and rode to their respective terminal. We checked out the map and saw that the Goose Island pub was in T3, so we walked the long walk over there and got seats at the bar. We were beyond thrilled to see sports on TV (hockey, even!), so we toasted to America and the guy next to us joined in. We got talking to him and learned that he was living in Belgium, so we compared notes on that.

Finally, it was time to head to our flight home. We had very comfortable economy comfort seats, and the flight was very pleasant.

….That is, until we got home and discovered that DELTA HAD LOST MY SUITCASE.

After several hours of panicking, contacting their service department online, and checking status updates, I saw that they’d located it at O’Hare and put it on the earliest flight out on Sunday. A courier dropped it off Sunday morning, and everything was intact inside. The duty free bag had a TSA notice on it and had been opened, but the Havana Club was still there. I’m not sure why they didn’t confiscate it, but I was thrilled that everything made it home intact.