There I was heading off to England; a place I had wanted to visit for what seems like a lifetime, but in typical Racquel fashion, something had to go wrong, and guess what? Nearly everything that could go wrong, went wrong.
It was 2am on February the 1st when I realised in my sleep-deprived state that my flight from Brisbane to Dubai was actually supposed to be in the air by now, so why weren’t we? Time got away from me, and as I had this realisation an airport attendant announced over the speakers that the flight from Dubai had been delayed due to technical difficulties.
My first time flying internationally alone whilst already being an emotional mess from the constant crying throughout the night after saying goodbye to home, and now I had to deal with a delayed flight. Great.
I sat on the floor of Brisbane International Airport with my bags tangled around my arms falling in and out of sleep listening to constant announcements proposing that the flight was still delayed for an unknown amount of time. Before I knew it I woke up from one of my short slumbers, looked out the window across the tarmac and saw the sun starting to rise; five hours later and I was STILL IN BRISBANE. It was around 5:30am that the airport staff finally announced that we were allowed to board the flight. Shortly before I boarded it was announced that the reason for the delay was because the luggage compartment on the plane wouldn’t shut properly, and, in the end, after having the airline engineer and the plane engineer out to try to fix the problem, they ended up having to basically force it shut and hope for the best. COOL MAN.
I finally land in Dubai eight hours later and now had to deal with the fact that I was late for my next flight from Dubai to London; to say I was panicking was an understatement. We were told that passengers boarding other flights from Dubai needed to check in at the Emirates service desk; so I basically ran to the service desk trying to quickly navigate my way around Dubai Airport, but Dubai Airport is SO FUCKING BIG so by the time I found this service desk I was dripping with sweat.
Wait, it gets better.
There I am in line with a thousand other people at the airline’s service desk trying to catch my breath when I hear a flight attendant shout out “Rachael Hardie boarding flight to London?, Rachael Hardie boarding flight to London”? Two things.
One, I’m used to being called by Rachael because it happens literally every time I go to Starbucks, but being as stress as I was, I silently got hella mad. Two, I now had to murmur “excuse me” and “sorry” to a whole bunch of people as I embarrassingly made my way through the lines of people at the service desk towards the flight attendant. Apparently, I didn’t get the memo that you only had to go to the service desk if you were flying anywhere BUT London. Are you kidding?
The flight attendant and I then power-walked through Dubai airport after getting temporarily lost, doing a 15 minute walk from one terminal to the other in 5 minutes. I shuffled onto the flight, almost dead, taking my shitty aisle seat (by the way, the window seat that I reserved got cancelled, so my dream of seeing London’s night sky as I fly over officially died).
Wait, there was one last incident that happened on this journey, and to be honest, I’m surprised I didn’t have a complete breakdown and burst into tears and weep in the bathrooms of Heathrow. About an hour before I landed in London I was awoken by a flight attendant and handed a letter. On this letter it explained that my checked baggage had not been put onto the flight I was currently on and was expected to arrive on the 7am flight the next morning.
I was 17,000 kilometres from home, on a flight that had been delayed five hours, sat in a shitty aisle seat with a screaming baby next to me; I was tired and stressed, but excited and keen to start my two month escapade, but now I also have to deal with the fact that I won’t have any personal possessions for another day…
Can you imagine what I was feeling?!
So that’s the story about my transit to London! In the end, I got to London, had my bags dropped off at my hotel the next day with everything still in tact, and had the best two months of my life; so i’m not complaining, i’m just merely re-telling.
If you can relate to any of these sequence of events or purely just enjoy the stories of my mess-of-a-life, remember to like this post, reblog this post, leave a comment, or subscribe to get email notifications of new posts. Also, remember to subscribe to my YouTube channel for travel vlog’s!
Thank you for reading!