A Long Way from Longbottom

There's a fantastic coffeeshop in Hillsboro called Longbottom Coffee. It's my favorite coffeeshop not just because it's name comes from a Tolkien novel, and not just because they make amazing coffee, but also because they have an amazing view of Hillsboro from their small store seating area. I love sitting on the comfy couch with my giant mocha looking out on the green hills of my small town (or behind me at the employees lounging around seen through the window from the store to the warehouse).
Longbottom is a fantastic place to relax and take in the beauty of creation; it's the best place I know of in Hillsboro.

My new living room is even better. The past two mornings my body has decided to get me wake me up around 4:30am because surely that's no time for sleeping soundly. Unable to fall asleep, I've grabbed a Trader Joe's instant coffee pack and made my way down the marble staircase from my top floor bedroom to the kitchen on the floor below to boil some water for my coffee. I took the coffee into the spacious living room with large windows overlooking the town and watched as the sunlight reached over the hills in the east to lighten up the brightly painted houses in the valley.
For now you'll just have to take my word for it on how beautiful the view really is because I haven't had the sense of mind to actually take a picture of it to post. I haven't really taken any pictures yet, and I do apologize, but, in my defense, it's been a whirlwind of a week getting here.

After my farewell open house on Friday night, I spent my last Saturday in the states the same way I spent every Saturday from when I was four through when I was twenty - I went to breakfast with my dad. I thought I was composed enough to make it through church on Sunday, but all my plans of not crying fell out the window when I parked. I started tearing up in the parking lot realizing that seven years ago Westport didn't exist, but I was part of the team that helped launch it. Now we have a building - I didn't have to get there two hours early to set up my Port classroom, and I didn't have to stay late to pack everything back into the Grover's car. Instead I showed up early to catch a few more friends before they left from the first service and stayed late to give one last hug to one of the few people who's stuck around as long as me. (He's also the person who made me cry most that day - thanks a lot, Jamie.)
I went to lunch with a group of my students, and enjoyed the time laughing with those kids one more time. Next, I hunted down Jen and Dave who had to bolt from service without seeing me and spent time with them before running home for a final LAD meeting where Amanda and Desiree helped me weed out a few of my books from my three stuff suitcases. Okay, so it was like a banker's box full that they got me to take out.
I left from there to go to my final FUEL event and watched my kiddos play kickball before Sarah met me to go to dinner. She let me choose the place, and I got to have my last dinner in the states at Juan Colorado. Even though she was doubtful of the dessert that was deep frozen ice cream rolled in cornflakes and dunked in a fryer, she ended up loving the fried ice cream as much as I do.
Once we got back to my house, Sarah opened my three suitcases and confidently told me that we could get it down to two - underweight. The next four hours were a painful process of eliminating books, clothes, and a few heavy items - I left every mug behind.
And we're not even to the travelling yet. Ready? Let's go!
Monday morning at 7 am, my parents, Sarah, and I loaded the two full suitcases, carry on, and my backpack into the car with the empty suitcase just in case anything unforeseen happened at the airport. We drove to Tacoma where we had lunch and coffee with Cat before getting to the SeaTac airport at 3pm. Eight hours into my trip, we finally made it to the airport! Sarah walked up to the kiosk to check me in, and the employee weighed by checked bags which each had half a kilo to spare before asking me if I had a carryon. I told her my small duffel was my carryon and my backpack was my laptop case. She politely informed me that was not okay and I would have to remove my laptop from the backpack and leave it behind. She also said my duffel weighed too much to take on the plane. Sarah calmly pulled heavy items out of the duffel to put in the checked bags, and I frantically took my laptop out of the backpack and started stuffing clothes and food from the other bag into it to replace the weight.
I made it through security fine, and didn't even panic when my 10.5 hour flight to Frankfurt started boarding half an hour late, eating up a third of my layover. I calmly walked aboard my first international flight to discover all the nice flight attendants speaking German. I realized I was already outside my comfort zone, but I made my way to my aisle seat to discover an older woman occupying it. I told her I thought she was in my seat to which she rudely responded, "No. Find another seat. They have already moved me twice. Go away." Panicked, I showed my seat number to a flight attendant who waved me to the middle section. "Sit in that row," she said nonchalantly, "Just sit in the middle one." So much for my nice aisle seat.
I wrenched my knee getting in to the seat, but once able to buckle the belt, I didn't stand up again until we landed in Frankfurt. As we began our descent, the flight attendant announced that due to our delay several passengers had already been rebooked on new flights and those going to another list of connections would have to rush to make their connecting flight. Naturally, the connection to Basel was one that I had to rush to.
After nearly 11 hours seated, I found my knee did not respond well to weight of any kind put on it, but I ignored the pain and powered through to a massive security line. I walked to an employee and held out my ticket asking, "Will I be able to make my flight?" He looked at the ticket and confirmed I was travelling alone before letting me cut to the front of the line. Flustered, I pulled my laptop out of the case, placed my carryon after it on the conveyor belt and walked through when the waved me forward without a chance to empty my pockets. Of course I set off the alarm and I'm sure the employees thought I was the dumbest person to go through the line that hour (I'm assuming they get several people a day flustered because they're about to miss their flights... I'm hoping at least). After being released from security once they confirmed the metal bookmark in my backpack was not a knife (thanks, Jen), I hurried on to the long line at customs. I made small talk with the couple who flew in from LA and were about to miss their connection to Prague. I prayed that the line would move faster. I fidgeted as the stern faced employees checked passports and tickets. I finally made it to the counter and discovered there was no need for worry. With just a quick look at my photo and my face, the kind German customs man put the first stamp in my passport. I didn't have to answer any questions or be delayed any more. He directed me how to get to my gate, and I booked it through the massive duty free store to make it panting to my gate.
The kind woman asked me politely if I was going to Basel. I said yes. She asked me if I was from Helsinki. I panicked. "No, I'm from Seattle," I said as soon as I remembered that's where I flew from, not Portland. The other flight attendant said that I was from Seattle at the same time, so I felt a little better. She scanned my ticket and let me through the gate. I followed a doorway to a hallway to a tunnel and started to panic again - where was my plane? It was leaving in less than half an hour, and I was lost in a tunnel!
I came to a bus in front of a man with a yellow vest. "Basel?" I asked. He nodded, and I got on the empty bus save one American business man. "Are you going to Basel?" I asked. "Yes." "Are we flying?" "Yes." "Okay. Good." I sat down and caught my breath. "Are we going to make it?" He looked at his watch and told me we'd be fine. We sat there for another ten minutes as a few more people loaded the bus.
Finally, the driver boarded, and we left the tunnel and entered the tarmac. Big, fat raindrops bombarded the bus, and the driver swore as he was assaulted by wind and rain when he opened the door. (I laughed inside when the one naughty German word I know was the first one I heard in Germany.) I plowed through the sheets of rain up the stairs into the plane and found my seat near the back of the tiny jet. I plopped into my seat and checked the time - 4:12. The flight was scheduled to depart at 4:15, and I'd made it. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Once my sigh was out, the pilot announced that the entire Frankfurt airport was closed indefinitely due to the thunderstorm. We sat there in the pressurized cabin for an hour before actually beginning our half hour flight to Basel.
Once I exited the plane, I knew I needed to get my bags and leave out the French exit - NOT THE SWISS - where my ride would pick me up. I followed the signs with pictures of bags that everyone else seemed to be following and was assaulted by a red hallway with a white cross that boldly told me WELCOME TO SWITZERLAND. I turned around and looked for any other hallway that might welcome me to France, but, seeing no other way out, followed everyone else to baggage claim. I discovered once we got to the baggage carousels that there were exits from there leading to France or Switzerland. I picked up my two suitcases and walked towards the French doors expecting them to lead me to another line where I'd have to answer questions about the contents of my bags. Instead, I stepped in the green lane with nothing to declare, and walked through the doors to France were Dani immediately stepped out and said, "Laura?" I was so relieved, exhausted, and smelly, that I weakly smiled my reply confirming she was my ride.

Now do you feel a little more okay with me forgetting to take pictures? Thanks. I do hope to share some soon, but it may take me a few days before my body knows when to wake up and when to pull my camera out to document the beauty around me.