Don't Know When I'll be Back Again. Oh Babe, I Hate to Go

Anyone who knows me well recognises that whenever I attempt to do something, I usually like to try and make things difficult for myself.

Did I tell you about the time I tried to cross an unfinished bridge in South Korea, just to avoid paying for a taxi?

Or perhaps you’d like to hear the story about how I spent three weeks in a tent at the World Cup in Germany despite suffering from chronic heyfever and spending at least six hours of the day at the airport to cope?

Or maybe you've heard about how I missed a flight to Spain because I left my passport at airport security?

All of the above….? Sure, I’ll tell you about them sometime – but I think after reading this entry, you will probably start to recognize a significant pattern in my stories of travel.

Having said some tearful goodbyes on Wednesday morning, I had to return to the real world and pack my bag to get ready for the trip which would begin with a train ride from York to St Neots later that afternoon. Although it may seem like I was toeing the line of being unprepared, it’s a line which I habitually step on when going away; firstly because I don’t like packing, and find it hard to travel lightly and like to cover the eventualities of every situation just ask anyone who has even been away with me, and wondered if I am staying for twice the amount of time that they are), and secondly it really annoys me when you have to consider whether or not to take something – ultimately deciding that you have to pack it away, knowing full well that you will require it before you leave.

In my head, I had a good idea of what I was going to pack. I’d made a list of all the technological belongings, wires, chargers etc… that needed bringing so it was really just a case of putting my clothes in the bag and making sure it all fitted. I had initially decided to go with enough clothes to cover ten days, and although my bag still had some space left at the top, I eventually took this down to five days worth of clothes, and seven of underwear. I’d read a website online somewhere that suggested travelling with just two t-shirts, one pair or shorts and some flip-flops to South East Asia, but I wasn't feeling that frisky so I decided to leave space for anything else that I might pick up along the way, and hopefully at the same time, covering all weather eventualities. 

I eventually arrived at York station with about ten minutes to spare (my grandad said he was going to give me a lift, but called just as I was about ready to say that his car battery was running flat so eventually I had to taxi myself with him in the car thankfully driving it back to his house for me), collected my tickets and boarded the train which required me to change at Peterborough before eventually heading on to St Neots to stay with my aunt.

Setting my alarm for 4:15 in the morning was one of the most painful things I’ve had to do recently – I’m convinced that it doesn’t matter how much sleep you get, waking up at that time of the morning is never going to be enjoyable. Jolted to a start with everything still pitch black outside, I collected my belongings and was very kindly taxied to the station. My train was at 5:33 from St Neots to Heathrow via Finsbury Park, and needless to say at that time of the morning, there weren’t too many people at the train platform. It was absolutely freezing (and being from up north that’s saying something), so I took refuge a plastic shelter before my train eventually arrived on the platform.

Plonking myself down on a seat, I felt like I needed music to prevent me from falling asleep, but felt a little bit of panic when I couldn’t find my iPod or my headphones. Strangely enough, this was the second iPod-based dilemma I had as after leaving York on the train I also couldn’t find it, and almost immediately made plans to go out and buy a new one as soon as I got to Heathrow – thankfully on both occasions it was safe and sound in a different pocket to the one I thought I’d put it in.

Sadly, this wasn’t the end of my panic as after the now trivial worry that I’d forgotten my iPod, I realized that my wallet was nowhere to be found.

I know that many of us have felt the fear of losing things such as your glasses, car keys or phone – but for me, the thought that you have lost your wallet is the worst amongst these. Why is it all of a sudden that everything starts to feel like the thing you're looking for, temporarily putting your mind at rest before panic setting in as it turns out to be something else entirely?!
After scrabbling through my bag, the floor and the seat I’d been sat on, the realization set in that I had clearly left it behind. I knew I’d had it in my hands at St Neots, thinking, “I’ll keep it there because my pockets aren’t very deep”. Despite giving myself that message, through the power of thought, I figured that my hands had over-ridden my brain and put my wallet in my very shallow pockets just before picking up my rucksack. The feeling of loss hit me at the first stop on my journey which was Sandy, but convinced that it would turn up I eventually travelled on to Biggleswade before leaving the train and catching the first one back in the oppositie direction.

Naturally, just to set the mood of stress a little bit more, it had started to snow, and it was probably a good job that it was still dark as nobody would be able to see the look of complete fear on my face that this trip was coming to the earliest possible, nightmare end. Arriving back at St Neots I strode promptly back to where I thought I had left my wallet just in time to hear a tanoy announcement requesting a “Mr Ben Small, to return to the ticket kiosk to pick up a valuable item of lost property”…..

Wallet in hand, I ventured back onto the next Heathrow-bound train and eventually showed up at Terminal Four with around two hours to spare. Having already checked in, it was case of just checking my bag in and going through security and eventually to the correct gate. By the time I had showed up at gate number six, there was only about half an hour before boarding time so I sat and waited until eventually the queue of impatient people went down and boarded my initial flight.

Destination number one, which I don’t think I have mentioned so far, was the Philippines (via Malaysia). I was slightly daunted by the near eighteen hour flight time to Manila, but it was broken up by a stop in Kuala Lumpur for an hour and a half before boarding a separate flight to the capital of the Philippines.
My first flight was relatively full, only a few seats remained, but having shot-gunned a window seat I wasn’t too bothered about having a full row of people sitting next to me. 

Influenced by the late night/early morning combination of the day before I slept through most of the flight, timing my waking up with when the three meals on board were being served. Despite browsing all the entertainment choices which were available the only thing I watch was an episode of ‘Chasing the Saturdays’ (judge me all you want!!!) It’s pretty incredible how flights have developed so far since I took my first one back in 1997 – no longer does everyone have to watch the same film on monitors placed sporadically throughout the plane. Malaysian Airlines had an incredible choice of about 50 films along with plenty of music, games and other television shows to enjoy; it wasn’t due to the length of my flight either as on my journey to the Philippines from Malaysia, the same choices were available.

Just as we touched down in the KL, my eyes opened, naturally I checked for my wallet…., and then headed into the vaguely familiar Kuala Lumpur international airport.


Leaving on a Jet Plane
John Denver (1969)