TAP Air Portugal Experience

Hello, Lisbon :]

On my way to Rome, I had a connecting flight in Lisbon, Portugal, via TAP Portugal. The above image is a compilation as we approached landing.

TAP Portugal was good! I was not sure what to expect, as I booked through StudentUniverse.com, but the experience was pleasant. No one was sitting next to me, so it was a convenient place to put things! I also met a woman on the train from Penn station, also going to Lisbon on the same flight as me. I helped her navigate the train and airport process, even though it was my first time getting to Newark as well. Security was a bit funny there, and a security woman giddily told me that President Obama was there earlier. I was also 8kg overweight on my baggage (I knew I was overweight, what a tubtub luggage) but the guy at the counter was nice. He looked at me and said, A little lighter next time, okay?

For a 6 hour flight, I thought we would get a snack. Generally, when I fly the 5 hours from the east coast to the west coast, we get two snacks. So, I purchased a bagel and a bottle of beer while we waited at the gate. Promptly fell asleep on the plane, due to exhaustion from the last few days, as well as the beer. To my delight, I awoke to a “menu” on my lap about an hour into the flight. We get a full meal, AND a breakfast sandwich! Hooray TAP Portugal!!

First meal. Despite what it looks, the pasta was pretty well done for airline food. All the pasta pieces were evenly cooked (no dried or soggy edges), flavor was nice, and the lemon cake was yummy. The bread rolls (why two?) were hard though.

Hello breakfast! What’s this? A Milky Way for breakfast? My childhood self would be swooning.

Hello, Lisbon. Long time, no see.

Landing was… very purposeful. A solid thump. No bounces. Followed by an eruption of applause from the cabin =P

Which was followed by a lot of side-to-side steering. Hehe.

The connection to Rome was terribly frantic. We walked a very long way to what-I-thought-was the terminal to find the next gate. Instead, we are funneled to immigration. There were signs for connections pointed to the passport check… but that line was huge! I asked a guy that I saw in the airport (I heard him speak American English) if we go through that huge passport line and he said he didn’t know either. ‘Lo and Behold… the woman I ran into earlier! She was born and raised in Lisbon, so I asked her what to do. She asked assistants in Portugese, and said that yes, I go through immigration. I get in line. I have 50 minutes until take-off.

Twenty minutes later, I’m about one fifth of the way through the line. No way am I going to make it. Meanwhile, I’ve befriended the girl in front of me, who is also from NY and taking the same connecting flight to Rome. Sandra was her name, and she was going to meet up with her sister in Rome to explore Italy together. It reminded me of my trips with my sisters, particularly in Macau.

Another ten minutes later, twenty til take-off, and well into boarding, I hail an employee and tell him that our flight leaves in twenty minutes. He looks at me, rather sarcastically, and preforms a trio of heaving a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes, and saying, yes okay, go. And off we go, through a different line. We are stamped and ready to go… run through a hallway… and into another security check. Bags fly, laptops out, coats off, the whole drill. Run run run. Of course, our gate is at the very end of the wing. We both dash through, hand off our tickets, run down the stairs… and arrive at… a bus?

The bus takes us to our plane. Even TAP’s small jets are spacious.

Can you believe, that even the 2.5 hour flight equates another breakfast?!

I made a cute little sandwich with the mysterious ham slice, tasty cheese, and dried apples. The young Italian girl on my right silently observed a lot of my behaviours. She had a bit of sass too, and I learned how to “properly” ask for “caffe” from her.

So, I make it to Rome! Most things were smooth from there. Tubtub-luggage made it safely, and I dragged the heavy thing successfully to the train station. Ticket (biglietto!) quickly picked up. Ticket validated in the yellow box! (as my good friend informed me to do so… if she hadn’t told me, I would have completely missed it and been fined a lot of euros). I pop out in Rome’s main station, Roma Termini… and quickly experienced the withdrawals of 3G on a phone. I am lost. Sort of.

Earlier, I looked up many directions, maps, and took many screenshots on my phone of the directions and maps, for how to get to the hostel. I thought I was set. Turns out, the platform I got off on was not the Platform 1 that the hostel told me I’d be on. Instead, it was Platform 35 or something like that… and the only exit shot me out on a street… that was not labeled on my maps. Hmm. Puzzling.

So what do I do?

I read the sun! It is half past noon. I orient myself along the street so it is behind me (the sun travels along the south) and walk forward. The whole train station is to my right, and I know I have to put it on my left. There is a mysteriously HUGE tunnel underpass that I march straight on through, even though it is a one way tunnel, and my maps have some indication of a wide street that goes two-ways through the Termini. Whatever. I just go… and hope that it is the same street. And that google maps was wrong.

The tubtub-luggage is getting heavy.

I get to the other side, expecting a street sign. There are none. This has to be Via Marsala, I think. It HAS to be. I hope it is… I am confused, and a bit surprised that I am not panicking as much as I probably should for being lost in a foreign country.

I know I need to get to Via Maghera, which is off of Via Marsala. So, assuming I am on Via Marsala… do I go north, or south? South is downhill. I appreciate downhill, especially in this 80°F weather with Mr. TubtubLugg. But downhill cuts through old city walls, and I am weary of going past that wall. Something doesn’t seem right. Uphill it is.

I come across a building that is part of the Termini on my left. It has a sign with it’s address. I AM on Via Marsala. Yes. Perfect.

Further uphill I go. These cobblestones don’t get along with TubTubLugg. My jeans, backpack, and duffel bag, don’t get along with 80°F. There’s not much I can do about this, aside from slow my pace, and hope that I am going the right way.

!!
I find a street called Via Castro Pretorio. It sparks a brief moment of excitement. It looks familiar. I pull to the side and check my maps. Yes. I am much more south than I need to be, but I know where I am now. I am about 8 blocks away from my destination. With a bit of new found hope, I continue my snail’s pace with TubTubLugg, ChunkyBrownDuff, and F***nHeavyBP. I pause almost every block. People stare. I don’t care. About two blocks before I get to the hostel, I come across a guy who also is slowly dragging his heavy suitcase. We keep passing each other as each person slows down. I chuckle inside. On the outside, I am very tired, sweating, brows furrowed. We both make it, and turns out, he is also from California.

Check-in is smooth. I get my free-wifi login and password on a strip of paper. I read it and read it again. And again. It can’t be. I flip out a little on the inside because it’s essentially my passport information. I swear to burn this little paper and all it’s little numbers after I leave the hostel. This is dangerous, dangerous!!

There is a bit of confusion as I march up the 3 flights of stairs. Between 0-1 is fine. 1-2 starts to get muddy and is blocked by a big, wet, cementy bucket. I push on through!! 2-3 is occupied by two Italian men, chilling on the steps. They are re-tiling the steps. I can’t cross the steps, they say. “No! No!” and something in Italian. I go back down. There is an elevator. I take it, but panic when I get to floor 3 because the door won’t open. It won’t open at floor 4 either. I think I’m stuck forever and am seconds away from crying “HELP!” when a girl opens the door at floor 7. We both go down to floor 3, where someone happens to open it from the outside. Later, I learn that you must throw your body against the door to get it open. Hit it with all your might. Who knew…?

I settle down in my room. I take the top bunk because the bottom ones are taken. Later in the evening, I meet them all, and they are all very nice. Two are from London, one from LA, another from Australia, and another guy who came in late and all of us never knew where he was from. The Australian was very kind and funny. He had an Italian test the next day, and was trying to cram with his phrasebook, but he was also drunk. It was very funny. The next morning he tried to help me find a train to Rome, because the strike messed up a lot of public transportation. The London kids, I talked to the most. They were on the last leg of their 3-week backpacking trip, and had a lot to talk about. I heard wonderful things from Florence. We also talked about difference between schools/university in the UK, versus London itself, and the US. The guy is studying to be a structural engineer, and we talk about the certification processes for both engineers and architects. The girl is in her 3rd or 4th year, but wants to go to dental school… another 7 years. We bemoan the fact that it takes so long to get places professionally.

My experience at the Yellow (hostel) was not bad. It was better than I expected. Cleaner than I expected. Imagine my surprise when the Londoners said that this was the worst hostel they’ve been in. I think this will be a good trip :]