PANIC! AT THE (AIRPORT)?

After landing in Bangkok, Thailand on the 19th of July and spending two nights resting before our trip really began, we were excited to be in a taxi, bags in tow on our way to Don Muang International Airport on the morning of the 21st of July to catch our flight to Siem Reap, Cambodia. However, this excitement quickly diminished after arrival at the check-in queue when Jamie discovered that his passport was nowhere to be found. Standing in the terminal, the content of both of our rucksacks scattered across the floor, we made countless phonecalls back and forth to the hotel we had been staying in – though these were hindered by the severe language barrier between us and the receptionists. Eventually, Jamie’s passport made an appearance and we asked whether it could be sent to the airport as check-in was closing in forty minutes. To this, we were informed that the passport could only be sent in a chartered limousine – meaning a lot of money – and that it was likely to take forty minutes to get to us, but we took the risk and hoped that this was a better idea than having to pay for more flights.

Forty minutes passed and still there was no sign of the passport so we phoned the driver who could only tell us that it would be another twenty minutes before he arrived. I rushed into the terminal and pleaded with a woman at the check-in desk to keep the desk open for us but she told me she could only offer to check in both of our bags under my name as long as Jamie showed his passport when it arrived. Without a second thought, I ran out and waddled back in five minutes later with both 75litre rucksacks in hand. When I returned outside to Jamie who was trying to tell the driver that we were at Terminal 1 Stance 2, we were hit with a wave of panic… If we don’t make the plane, our bags are going to be 300 miles away without us. It was decided that I would have to go to Cambodia alone to get the bags and Jamie would have to catch up.

By the time the further twenty minutes had passed, we had made roughly thirty phonecalls to the driver stating every time that we were at Terminal 1 Stance 2. Eventually we received a call back asking why we were not at Stance 4. Instead of arguing, we ran down to Stance 4 to find that there was nobody around. No cars, no people. By this point, our tone was getting more and more frustrated but after a further ten minutes a man came sprinting out the doors behind us, passport in hand.

We always said we would never be those people you watch running through the airport to catch their flight but there we were: two passports present and £40 lighter. At least we made it in the end!

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Laura x

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