Would You Like Fries With That?

If ever there’s a lesson to be learnt travelling, the first leg of simply transiting has taught me a few. The first is, that time-travel is both possible and not possible – which is to say that of course, time zones was my first hurdle. Already navigating the difference between east and west coast Australia I somehow expected myself to be able to leave from Bangkok earlier than I had left from Perth and expect that the flight from Bangkok to Amsterdam was a merry five hours (spoiler alert – it is not).

Realising my mistake approximately six hours after my scheduled flight left Bangkok (myself still in Perth) I rectified that particular issue for the small price of $800 and strongly debated whether I would ever disclose such a cock-up. Being that a friend was having a rough day herself I decided perhaps it was worth sharing to hear her laugh.

I left Perth the following morning, Beryl, a backpack I have borrowed weighing in at 18kg strapped to my back, my day pack strapped to my front and Scotty the Sea Lion secured on his leash. We took the train with me reciting Hugh Grants words, ‘I don’t like back packs, I don’t like back packs worn on the front, I don’t like water bottles …’ This isn’t true for me. I am an avid hiker – I have happily lived out of backpacks on trails and routinely carry ridiculous amounts of water. What was irking me was that I was navigating public transport and turnstiles aren’t exactly made for my kind of bag lady.

Still, we checked in to the first leg of the journey without issue. I was assigned an exit row, which when flying Jetstar is the closest you’ll come to actual leg room. I settled in with my book, and upon finishing it, settled in with my kindle, and upon finishing the books I’d downloaded on that settled in to staring out the window.

Smoggy damp Bangkok greeted me an hour later, and Scotty and I proceeded to clear immigration so that we could claim Beryl and then check her into the next leg on Thai Airlines, thus bringing me to lesson number two – transiting backage only works if it’s all the one booking, and having had to remedy lesson one, I had to deal with the consequences in lesson two. I had arrived in Bangkok around 8 in the evening, my next flight left at 5 the next morning. I could check Beryl in at 3.

Bangkok is not an airport I would recommend for a long transit. Unlike Singapore, Dubai or even Frankfurt once you have left the transit area and are waiting to check back in you (and everybody else in your predicament) is clambering for the few chairs you may occupy to wait out your purgatory. With Scotty as a pillow, I found a place to curl up next to a monk and ‘sleep’ with one eye open.

As the morning dragged on, I was able to check Beryl, buy a coffee and head to the gate for yet more of exhausted staring into the middle ground and playing the New York Times games on my phone – I solved the Wordle in 4 smart guesses. By 5, a mere shadow of my former self boarded the plane for the leg to Amsterdam and was dismayed to hear the flight was 11h and 35m. Thankfully, the bloke next to me was committed to the transit snore so my additions rounded out the harmony of the 47th row.

Touching down in Amsterdam, it must be noted that the Dutch only seem to employ models to guard the border. I suspect this is an effective intimidation tactic as the throng of crumpled and travel warry people in the queues in dubiously shared my concern of feeling about as attractive as chewed up bubble-gum and that’s before I have to show anyone my god-awful passport photo.

Even my taxi driver was a dapper man in his AMG, delivering me to my hotel with Beryl, Scotty and the bag of M&Ms I was clutching with efficiency and grace. Myself, now one of the walking dead and determined not to experience jet-lag checked in, bought a coffee and went to the gym. The fifth push-up very well confirmed that this was a mistake and after my work out I went to bed at 4, effectively missing my dinner reservation.

Still, I have awoken in Amsterdam – let the real trip begin!