The Bangkok Incident

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Note to Reader: This is a long one.

Henry's First Rule of Travel: Stay with the group.

Henry's Second Rule of Travel: Confirm. Communicate. Confirm Again.

Henry's Third Rule of Travel: Go with the Flow Because People Never Follow Rules One and Two.

The One Night in Bangkok thing was kind of funny the first time around. The kids had never been to Thailand, we could check off another country, and it was just one night out of 47 of the round the world trip. Besides, we all five agree that Thai food is the best Asian food there is, bar none.

However, when we checked in at the Hanoi airport to begin the final leg of the journey (Hanoi-Bangkok-Brisbane) we were surprised to learn that our connecting Thai Airways flight from Bangkok to Brisbane had been cancelled. It was a red-eye from 11:30PM to 11AM thing. They had re-booked us on the next available flight at 8AM the next morning. We were not happy about this last minute switch and planned to take it up with the Thai Airways people when we got there. One thing was comforting: they assured us that we would not have to recheck our luggage, that it would seamlessly flow from Air France to Thai Airways in Bangkok and be checked through to Brisbane. Deb had experienced cases where we had to get it from one airline and check it with another. They assured us that even with the 10-hour overnight layover, it would be a problem.

Back to the flights. Once in Bangkok and at the TA desk, we learned that they had cancelled the Red-Eye flights to Australia back in JANUARY, about a month after we purchased the tickets through a travel agent. They also showed us the telex they sent to the travel agent on that date informing them about the switch. Since the screw-up was not of their making, there would be no hotel, no dinner, and no showers. We were welcome to make ourselves comfortable in the Economy Transit Lounge, with its lovely collection of vinyl couches and fully functioning AC that kept the air temp a comfortable 40 degrees F (or so it felt).

After pushing a few couches together for make-shift beds and swaddling the girls in some souvenir table cloths that I had in my carry-on (tough-guy Nam refused any frilly coverings). It was a mini-U.N. with a couple of dozen other stranded souls from around the world trying to catch a few ZZZs.

Deb went to make the clinched-teeth call to the travel agent on the West Coast. This was the fourth such flight SNAFU that we had to learn about on our own. The first three we fortunately caught and got worked out before we left (see earlier Blog entries). The gist of it was, they were very sorry, but couldn't verify when exactly they were notified about the change. But, then again, we have their e-mail assuring us that after the first three flight cancellations were found, that they had reconfirmed all our other flights in June, the week before we left. That couldn't be true since the Bangkok to Brisbane flight had been changed six months earlier. They made a small consolation credit to our account, but beyond that, what could they do at this point? Indeed, I had asked Deb what did she really want from them at this point. “I just want them to admit that they made a mistake,” she said. Debbie is the consummate planner and organizer and has little patience for those who are not the same way. The logistics for this trip were mountainous, and most of the credit for dealing with them goes to her. We literally could not have done it without her.

But at this point, there was not much anyone could really do. We were stuck, behind immigration, with our bags checked through to Brisbane. It was past 1AM and there seemed little point in spending the time and money to get to a hotel only to turn around and come back in a couple of hours. Trying to be philosophical, I explained to the kids that this was a Rite of Passage ("What are you talking about, Dad?" came the clearly annoyed reply). This would be their first night sleeping in an airport, something that would make them truly seasoned world travelers. "Think of the great stories you have to tell," I said. "This will be one of the more memorably nights of the trip." Nam and Rachel rolled their eyes, and Lydia, who refused to eat anymore airline or airport food, choked back the tears and said that she just wanted to go home. (We managed to finally abate her hunger with a visit to an airport Burger King for chicken tenders, fries, and "ketchup like America, not like Hanoi," Lydia said.)

Bleary-eyed, wrinkle-clothed and cotton-mouthed, at 5:45AM we pulled ourselves together as best we could to get ready for the 9-hour flight. We took the long walk from where we "slept" to the far end of the enormous Suvarnabhumi International Airport, which is bigger than its name. This place is built like a huge, multi-tiered mega-mall, clearly designed to wear out both your legs and your wallet. It was newer and more commercial than any airport we had been in yet.

We went to a coffee shop for a little sustenance, and an hour later, at 6:45, we headed toward the gate. Boarded was to start at 7:20. I paused in a bookstore for a moment, when Deb announced that she needed to call Rob, our friend in Australia to let him know we would be late. "Fine," I said and we walked to the top of an escalator about 30 yards from the security checkpoint that lead to the E gates, numbered 1 to 10. At this airport, there were separate scanning stations in each wing of the airport. I said I would wait with the kids while she made the call.

Deb had purchased and international calling card they night before to call the travel agent. There was money left on it, but she had to use it in the store where she bought it. That was on the opposite end of the airport. There had to be another one closer, and she proceeded down the escalator to find it and contact Rob. And we waited.

And we waited. Minutes were ticking by. 7AM came and went. 7:10 rolled around and we waited still. Kids are getting anxious. At 7:15, I pull out all the boarding passes and passports, thinking she might have gone straight to the gate. All five sets were present. Like the Presidential Nuclear Codes, I am the Man With the Football. She couldn't get through security without her passport and boarding pass. She has to come back to us. Nam starts pacing. He goes down to look. I tell him not the go far and come back, she'll be here soon.

7:20 rolls around. They are boarding our flight and still no Deb. Possible scenarios start whirling in my head. Maybe she’s been abducted. She hadn’t slept all night. Maybe she fell asleep waiting for a phone. Morbid medical possibilities are considered and dismissed, then considered again. She takes anxiety medicine before flights. This was a long one coming up. Maybe she overdosed.

7:30 comes and goes and she still doesn’t appear. Nam looks some more, this time going down as far as the security gate. No luck. From our vantage point we can see down two floors to some ticketing desks. I keep checking in case she shows up there. Nothing. I start rehearsing what I’m going to tell the police, how I am going to describe her. She was wearing a green shirt. No, wait, it was pink, I think. Her pants were khaki. Or were they black. But she did have a sweater. Or maybe she didn’t. It dawned on me that I had no idea what she had on. We had been traveling for over six weeks and I could describe most of the clothes she had in her suitcases, but couldn’t be certain what she had on.

I consider sending the kids on through security to the gate. But then what if she never shows, and they get on the plane without us. Having us split up across two continents is not a situation I want to deal with. We will stay together.

We hit 7:45 and I start expanding the circle of worst-case scenarios. Maybe she just checked out and final left us. This whole trip around the world could have been an elaborate ruse to put her in a place where she could just disappear, go completely off the grid on purpose. I think, she can’t leave the airport without her passport (which I check again; yes, I have it). But then again, if she planned this, she would have a new identity and a new set of papers. She wouldn’t need her old stuff.

7:50 and “Final Call” is posted on the board. We can still make it if the security line isn’t too long and she shows up right now. She doesn’t.

At 8:00, I leave Nam at the post, top of the escalator where we have been for the last 75 minutes and go down two floors to the Thai Airways ticket counter, Rachel and Lydia in tow. I tell the agent I have an emergency situation, my wife left to make a phone call over an hour ago and we are supposed to be on the flight leaving from Gate E8. She is missing. I need help. He glances at his computer monitor.

“I am sorry, that flight just left,” he says. Well, that’s one mystery solved. We will not go to Australia today. I look at my watch. 8:07.

He tells me I need to work with the airport security to find her. Go to the information kiosk and they can page her. Then to get a new flight, we will have to go to the main Thai Airways reservation desk on the other side of Suvarnabhumi International Airport.

The information kiosk is about 50 meters away. In walking from the ticket counter, I can see Nam two floors up. He looks down at me. I look back, shrug my shoulders, palms up, the universal signal for “any news?” He nods “no.”

I repeat the story at the information kiosk and show them Deb’s passport. They are friendly and patient, though not exactly in a hurry. The lady at the desk picks up a phone and reads Deb’s vitals to someone on the other end. She hangs up and says for me to wait right there. A minute later we here, “Attention, Miss Deborah Hill, please come to the information desk in international terminal E,” repeated twice for good measure. And after 10 more minutes of pacing, still nothing.

I ask the desk attendant if she can repeat the page. Almost on cue, the loud speaker pipes up “Attention, Miss Deborah Hill …” with the same announcement.

Then down the hall, I notice a store sign for Cat Telecom. That’s the place that sells international calling cards and internet connections. That must be where she went to make the call. I head over, passport in hand. Two clerks sit behind plexiglas at a desk. I show the passport to the first and ask if she has seen her recently. She says no, but explains that so many people come through that it’s hard to remember. The second clerk looks over and says, “Wait, did she call Australia?”

“Yes!” I reply excitedly. A sighting!

“I remember her,” she replies. “She had trouble making the call. I helped her dial it.”

“When?” I ask. “How long ago?”

“Oh, a long time. I’d say about 6:45.” It was then 8:20.

“And then what?” I ask.

“And then she left.”

I go back to the information kiosk just in time for the third “Attention, Miss Deborah Hill …” I ask to attendant how long we repeat this before we move to the next phase, and what exactly is the next phase anyway.

When suddenly I hear the unmistakable sound of stress and relief mixed with anger. “Henry! Where have you been?” I pivot to see Deb tear-streaked face, and puffy red eyes.

“Me?!? Right where I was when you left to make the phone call. Where have you been?”

“I was at the gate. I went back to the spot and you guys weren’t there so I figured you went the gate.

“WE NEVER MOVED!” I yelled. Nam later told me that the “conversation” could be heard two floors up and that everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. Only they didn’t have to stop because our voices were carrying just fine, loud and clear, through the entire terminal.

“I’ve been begging them to hold the plane for half an hour.”

We got on an elevator to retrieve Nam two floors up, and for me to show her exactly where we had been.

“How’d you get through security without a passport and boarding pass?”

“I told them my husband had it and he was already at the gate.”

“But we wouldn’t go to the gate without you because you’re not SUPPOSED to get through without them. Why would they let you through?”

“I don’t know but they did. What I supposed to do? You guys weren’t where I left you.”

“YES WE WERE!!!”

The elevator doors open.

“Geez, could you guys keep it down?” Nam asks. “Everybody up here can hear you. Where were you anyway?”

“I was at the gate,” Deb replies. “Come on, we’ve got to go.”

She turns toward the security checkpoint and starts running. Rachel starts running after her, shouting “Mom, wait!”

Nam looks at me. “Where is she going now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say to Nam and Lydia, “But let’s go, we don’t want to lose her again.”

As Deb approaches the security screening at a sprint she starts yelling, “Hold the plane!! Gate E-8! I’ve got to get to E-8! Hold the plane!” She quickly skirts the line of 10 people and throws her hand bag onto scanner belt, then zips through the metal detector. I am certain she is going to be tackled or worse, but she isn’t. She continues her dash down an escalator toward gate E-8.

I reach security seconds later with the kids in front of me, and tell them to keep calm and go through. As we try to work through security as quickly as we dare, I flashed Debbie’s passport and boarding pass at the agent and deadpan, “This is for the crazy lady who just ran through here.” To my surprise, he laughs and waves me through. I can see about a 100 meters down the terminal Debbie reaching the gate, talking animatedly with airline personnel. And I see that the plane is still at the gate.

How could this be? I don’t worry about it and grab my bags from the back end of the scanner. I also grab Deb’s which are still sitting there from her mad dash moments earlier. Walking as fast I can with four carry-ons hanging off me, the kids ahead of me. We made it. I can’t believe it. We will have to face about 400 seething Aussies, legitimately irate that we’ve held them up for more than half an hour, but I’ll pay that price if it means we made our flight.

Then I think it moves, ever so slightly. No, it can’t be. Is this some kind of cruel joke? But I watch the gleaming 747 twitch again and start inching away from the gate. I arrive at the gate as the airline folks are shaking their heads.

“Sorry,” they say, “We couldn’t hold it any longer.” They continue to fold up their tables and collect their things. This is where they do a final search of carry-ons and check boarding passes (unlike the rest of airports in the world).

I set my bags down and walk away from the scene. I turn back and look at the plane in silence. We all do. Ever so slowly, the agony drags on as huge jet lumbers on its way to Australia. “Go already, will ya,” I think. “You should have been gone a long time ago.” But the sluggish beast refuses to be rushed and keeps inching away, finally on its way to Brisbane.

When the slow torture final ends, we look at each other and pick up our “discussion” right where we left off. The Thai Airways folks grabbed their folding tables and slipped past us sheepishly. They had done more than they should have, but clearly they did not want to engage us at this moment. We follow behind them, back up the terminal walk, drawing the stares of other travelers. The kids gave us plenty of space as well, hoping that a little distance and their racial mismatch to us would hide the fact that we were all together.

I asked again, “Why would you even think we would have come down here without you?”

“Because you weren’t where I left you,” she said, “So where else would you go.”

“Nowhere, because we NEVER LEFT THE SPOT!” I repeated rather too loudly. “So tell me again exactly what you did.”

She replies, “I tried to call Rob but couldn’t get through, so made the call to the rental car company and asked them to call Rob. Then I came back up the escalator.”

“How many flights?”

“One.”

“We were up two.”

Walking back down the terminal, we could immediately see the confusion. The terminal entrance had security check points on two levels: one on the second floor where Deb came through and one on the third floor where we were waiting.

I continued my questioning: “Didn’t occur to you when you looked back that we might have been on a different level?”

“I never saw it that way.”

As we neared the security check point, Nam spoke up. “Guys, remember what the paper said about fighting?” He was referencing an article we read in the Post that said one thing that kids really hating about family vacations was when mom and dad would argue. Duly noting that he had a point, we walked on in silence, heading to the far side of the expansive airport to the main ticket counter of Thai Airways.

Once there, Deb went to the counter to sob out our tale and try to get us on the next available flight. I sat on the floor against a pillar about 50 feet away. It was best that I let her spin the story so that it could serve our needs. I would best help the cause by staying far away. The kids each plopped down at safe intervals. Deb called me over at one point, and asked if I’d rather we just went home to Virginia and bagged Australia. This was indeed the nadir of the trip so far and It seemed the travel gods would never let us leave Thailand. “No, we should go to Australia,” I said, and slinked back to my spot on the floor.

About half an hour later Deb finally came to deliver the news. “They can get us the same flight tomorrow at 8 A.M.” As we began to mull over how we were going to spend another 24-hour layover in Bangkok in the clothes we had put on 30-hours before in Nihn Bihn, Vietnam, she said “Wait there’s more. Our luggage never made it on the flight. It’s sitting over in baggage claim.”



How could this improbable stroke of fate be true? Had we caught our flight like we were supposed to, like we almost did, we would be about 8 hours away from being stuck in Brisbane in the dark of night with no luggage and our beach rental a good two-hours drive away. After cursing the travel gods (each other) just an hour earlier, we were now standing in slack-jawed disbelief as we marveled at our extreme good fortune.

With finally some good news to share, Deb issued a teary-eyed apology and promised to make it up us in Australia. I’d like to say this is the point at which I rose up, put may arm around Deb and said “There, there. Everything will be all right,” while the kids all rushed us to join in a big group hug. A nice thought, but it didn’t happen. Instead, we sat in silence for a while, then I got up and said “Okay, let’s go find the luggage.” All was forgiven. I just wasn’t ready to say so. I had only promised to stop fighting, not stop being mad. (I know you’re thinking, “What an effing jerk” and you’d be right.)

We found the luggage quickly enough, all six bags no worse for wear after spending a frigid night in the airport, then headed back into to Bangkok for the second unscheduled foray into this Asian capital in two weeks. We went back to the same hotel, and after a good nap, found the same sidewalk eatery to have some of the best Thai food we’ve ever had.

One final coda to this story: We arrived the next morning in plenty of time and went every where as a group. We were among the first at the gate, only to be told the flight’s been delayed while they looked for another crew. Our flight’s crew had been diverted to another flight. And it took them another four hours to find one.

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Photos

The Transit Lounge
Lydia makes the most of a table cloth I had in my carry-on as we hunker down for a night in the frigid economy transit lounge of Suvarnabhumi Airport.

Rachel , one couch over
Rachel does the same trick, trying to get a little sleep before our early boarding call.

Nam, sans coverage
Tough guys don't sleep with table linens.

Lovin the Pad See Ew
Nam digs in to a plate of his favorite Thai dish, which was cheap and plentiful on the streets of Bangkok.

Pad See Ew, too
Lydia does the same.

We can laugh about it now
Deb and Rachel share a laugh as we review the events from earlier in the day.

Now we wait
Another layer of irony is added to our unexpected stay in Thailand as Deb sleeps while we kill time in the gate area as we wait to board the plane for Brisbane.

Indian Ocean Sunset
Warning: Hokie sentiments below:
Finally in route to Australia, with Deb in asleep next to me, head in my lap, I raised the window shade to see one of the most vivid sunsets I have ever seen. I don't know if it was because we were 35,000 feet in the air, or because the air over the oceans is relatively polution free, but the oranges, purples and indigos I saw from the plane were breath taking. With each passing moment, they got darker, richer and fuller. I took 13 pictures of the same scene because each minute produced a better image. It struck me that of all the things I had seen in the last 6 weeks around the world, one of the most amazing was just light being bent through the prism of our atmosphere. This image only existed for those of us in that spot for that moment, and then shortly it was gone. I didn't know what Australia held for us, but I couldn't help but feel that everything that happened that day happened to lead me to this spot at this time so that I could see this picture. And for that moment, everything was right.

Comments

[Effie]

Wow
This is a story that you will some day be able to laugh about. I know we can relate to it, more on a smaller scale in a theme park setting. I can only imagine, how happy you all must have been, the first night you got to be home once again and sleeping in your own beds