FRENCH TRAVEL WITH OREGON AND IOWA

French travel started out bumpy.

I found my seat on the second plane, the long haul plane out or Minnesota.

But it was occupied. That’s no way to start.

Simple adjustment, right? But the lady had the same ticket for the same seat. At least that’s what she said.

Then we all looked at our tickets. She was in the wrong seat.

Like a gentleman I offered to take the middle seat instead of my wife. I think I offered. Either way I took the middle seat in a three seat group.

The other passenger was a thin older woman. Perfect.

Turns out she was a retired university professor. Even better, she was a French literature professor who spoke French, had been to France a million times, and she taught at the University of Iowa.

Iowa? French? I liked her right away.

I liked her a lot more once we landed and she could navigate from the gate to the bags. That’s right, I checked my bag and it made all the connections. That’s not always the happy ending.

I liked her even more when we shared a cab from the airport to the hotel and she talked to the driver like a pro.

Iowa has been one of my touchstone places since I was eighteen and it’s still working. We said goodbye and good luck since she was headed to her own place to wander around.

French Travel Iowa

With a Rick Steves tour one of the rules is using the buddy plan to make sure we are all present and accounted for. After the introduction meeting where everyone said their name and where they’re from, I knew who I’d pick for a buddy: the Iowa couple.

I’ve had good luck with Iowa and don’t expect it will ever change.

Now, this isn’t a BFF deal, just an eye contact moment at different times so no one gets left behind.

You’d think if people found their way to French travel we’d be able to keep up? Not always.

When it all works out, and it usually does one way or another, things settle down.

My comfort zone started early, right after the airplane seat thing. The KLM flight had a few extras, like food and a warm towel. And a snack.

As the flight made it’s way across the sky hour after hour, snack time arrived with cheese. French cheese? Swiss cheese? No and no. It was Tillamook cheese on a French travel flight.

Which proves you can leave Oregon, but Oregon still goes along for the ride.