The things I do . . .

I’m insane. Really, it’s true. I’m surprised my family hasn’t tried to have me committed yet with all of the crazy schemes I bellyflop into.

The latest? Moving to France for two months with everything only coming together at the very last minute. Read: I planned far enough ahead to get the most important, basic things in place, but stuff like, oh, calling my bank to let them know I’ll be traveling internationally? Hmm. That would have been a good idea before I ended up nearly stranded in Spain because none of my credit cards would work and the cash I had left was 40 cents shy of my needed fare.

Ay ay ay. Ricky really would be yelling at me for this Lucy of a move.

Good news? The amazing man at the emergency international after-hours collect call center for USAA saved my life. Well, more like what little sanity I have left. And to think that after how wonderful he was in helping a stupid stranded American, I didn’t get his name so I can tell his boss how great he is.

So after my near-disastrous already-stranded-in-Spain-and-I-just-landed, I decided to get one of the little sample cups of what everyone else was drinking. In America our beverages come in “Your bladder will explode in 5, 10 or 15 minutes” sizes. While Europeans have a far more refined sense of portions. Small—or even minuscule—is perfect because what’s in that cup packs a punch.

Because caffeine and I are bitter enemies (hello migraines every time I drink anything stronger than Sprite), I opted for the perfectly petite but exquisitely proportioned Chocolate: thick and dark with exactly the amount of chocolatiness my frazzled soul required.

Since I was still at the airport, the Chocolate came from Spain’s Starbucks doppelganger, but oh it was good. I’m planning to spend some time in Barcelona at the end of my trip since I’m flying out from here as well. That means I’ll be hunting down some authentic Chocolate to drink before I leave.

Although it’s been nearly seven years since I spoke Spanish with frequency, I’m keeping to my own. Only twice so far did I break down and go with English.

On a related note, I’m barricading myself inside the cottage once I actually get to France and figure out where the hell I’m supposed to be.