Everything that could possible go wrong, went wrong that day…

Okay, maybe not. But it deffo felt like it.

So it started early morn. After hurriedly prepping Luna for school, we dumped her and our luggage in my beat-up wagon — chock-full of stuff to be donated to an op shop (we had just moved to our new place a week before the trip). Chased down her bus cause we missed the pick up time from her usual stop, left the car parked on the street across my old apartment and took a cab to the airport.

The flight to Sydney (where we were to take our flight to Europe) was delayed. And that meant arriving at a later time and missing the passport pick up window from the Consulate General of Italy (yes, I was that brave to leave it with them until our actual flight day). I nervously called their emergency contact number (which should just be for proper emergency matters of Italians) to inquire if I could still pick up my passport with the issued Schengen visa past 12 noon. Much to my relief, they replied ‘yes’. I left my partner at Sydney airport and took the train to the embassy in Sydney’s CBD. When I got there, I found out I was only given 7 days instead of 17 on my visa.

I didn’t dare question it. And I took the train back to the airport with a newborn issue and a pregnancy cramp.

Our flight from Sydney to Paris via Abu Dhabi was to depart 5ish in the arvo. After checking in, over some Thai lunch at the food court, we concocted a plan B (Shall we go to Morocco after the 7 days? Or head to Southeast Asia?) — as we did, I left a voicemail message on the same emergency number I called earlier, asking if it was possible that someone might have made a mistake.

Aaand they returned my call as we were headed to the departure gate to say that someone had indeed entered the number of days wrong. I was instructed to go back to their office so that they can reissue another visa label. Which of course meant another return trip of train ride and a 400-metre dash.

I walked Brendan to the departure gate.

“If I don’t make it to boarding, leave without me…”.

It was like a scene from a sappy movie. Or apocalypse movie.

He had that worried look. Either cause he was leaving his pregnant girlfriend behind, or cause he was gonna embark on a long haul journey for the first time by himself.

Back at the embassy, they apologised and said that the number ‘1’ before 7 was missed. It took about more than an hour to process, I was the lone person left being served. Changing the length of stay isn’t just a matter of printing another label, it has to be arranged with some office in EU first.

Our plane took off without me. Bought a ticket almost double the price of my original one, but fortunately it was departing just 3 hours after the one I missed.

Aboard my new flight (Oh, upon checking in the ground staff had to ask her manager if I can enter France if my visa was issued by Italy!), in our middle seat block of four, I was on an inner seat. To my left was an elderly lady from Lebanon, to my right was the most talkative Aussie bloke aboard who was journeying to Edinburgh. And beside him to the far right, was an accommodating Aussie lady on a business trip who responded to everything he said.

Upon (almost)departure, the plane taxied for a few minutes then turned back around and parked in front of a nearby hangar. Pilot announced that there’s someone who was having a “medical episode” and that they were to let the person off. It was a nail-biting, hair-pulling moment as we were getting close to Sydney’s aiport curfew even though the pilot assured us that we will be able to fly before then.

We darn made it out on time.

The flight experience was one of my worst. The bloke beside me talked for the most part of the trip, didn’t care if I was wearing my earphones watching inflight movies. He showed random photos of his daughter/life to all of us which made the grandma beside me lean over and rest her elbow on my baby bump as she showed photos of her family too. And when he wasn’t talking, he’d be napping with a standard pillow under his head which took up some of my space and whacked my head a few times when he readjusted it. I also had a hard time getting to the toilet (and boy I went several times) as grandma wouldn’t get up. Had to crawl on top of her with my bum brushing her face as I squeezed my baby bump through. But she was nice, and we conversed with her pidgin English and my pidgin Arabic so I wasn’t completely upset with her.

In Abu Dhabi, we deplaned and parted ways for our respective connecting flights. Thank. God. Oh, if you haven’t transited through AUH, I’m telling you it is quite the ordeal itself. Before you even get to the transfer desks or the boarding gates, you have to wrestle with hundreds of people to get to/stay in a queue for the x-ray. Got out of this mess unscathed, but because our flight was delayed I had to sprint to the next one.

The flight to Paris was peaceful, and I truly thought my time of tribulation will soon be over. In Charles de Gaulle Airport, getting through immigration was a breeze. Not one question asked. Went straight out to the arrivals as I only had my carry on. The airport has its own station – though a long hike from my arrivals area. Been to France twice before so I assumed public transport should be relatively easy for me. When I reached the ticket booths, I realised the station was shut and there was a bunch of police walking around as in search of something or someone. Seriously?! I walked to the taxi rank and found several people trying to get cabs as well. I was only able to get one fairly quick because I agreed to share it with two other ladies. The offer wasn’t much of a rip off but the catch was he was only dropping us off at a train station in the city, not exactly our final destination. The station’s two stops away from mine, so I still ended up taking a train after the cab ride, then looked for my hotel on foot.

And oh, our hotel’s tucked along a small alley, I had to ask a receptionist from another hotel to help me find it (he hadn’t heard of the hotel name before and it was just on the next block.

Reunited with bae in Hotel Floride Etoile who fell back asleep after a couple minutes of conversation. I too, finally got to lie down after 30+hours of journey. But only for a two hour nap. The Eiffel Tower was waiting.