The Nervous Traveller

A carefree, independent traveller, in the past I would set off, comfortable in the knowledge that all the elements were in place, nothing had been left to chance and all arrangements had been double-checked. More recently though, and for what reason I don’t know, I’ve become a bit of a travel worrier.

Whether it’s all those familiar stories of travel chaos at the airport because someone has gone on strike for some reason, or news reports of fires raging through holiday destinations across the globe or a volcano that has been dormant for 2000 years decided today was the day to cast millions of tonnes of ash into the atmosphere right on the route my plane was due to fly, I don’t know. Perhaps there’s been an outbreak of severe athlete’s foot in Southern Europe and the Foreign Office is advising against all but essential travel. Or the Moussaka served on Thursday night at a small Greek Taberna in Kissamos on Crete has resulted in spinal paralysis on three continents. Whatever it is, these days I am prone to worrying that in some way, things won’t go according to plan. To be honest, it should be simple – you purchase a holiday or all it’s elements, you check your documents, you go to the airport, get on a plane, get off it, go to your hotel and have a fab time. Then, go back to the airport, get on a plane, get off it, go home and put the washing machine on before trawling through catch up on the telly. But for some reason, the grumpy pessimist, who in recent years seems to have taken up permanent residence on my shoulder, likes to remind me that things aren’t always simple and I should be prepared for the worst.

My wife and I recently returned from another trip to The Algarve, it’s one of our favourite places. We have always enjoyed our many holidays there over the last 30 years and we tend to visit Portugal two or three times a year. Great weather, fabulous beaches, lovely people and wonderful food, what’s not to like? For some reason as the holiday approached, I began to worry. Was there something I’d overlooked, had I booked flights on the right days, did I give the correct passport details, did I actually have a passport? Of course, I did! Was it in date? Of course it was, I’d only renewed it two years ago! This holiday was a little more complicated I guess as my daughter and four-year-old granddaughter would be joining us later in the trip, so I’d had to make separate travel arrangements for them including return train journeys to the airport, outbound flights and inbound flights to coincide with ours, travel insurance, a car seat for the hire car etc. If I checked our travel documentation once I must have checked it a dozen times. Even on the train to the airport, I had a mild panic because I was convinced my wife and I had my daughter and granddaughter’s passports instead of our own, I had to double-check even though I’d already triple-checked before leaving home!

My first real worry on this trip was that we wouldn’t get to the airport on time. I’d booked a specific train which got us in in plenty of time to stroll from the airport station to the terminal and get through all the security checks and still give us time to sit and relax before our flight was called. The week before our journey, industrial action on the railways once again reared its very ugly head. In the last five out of six of our recent airport train transfers the trains have been cancelled or substituted with overcrowded bus replacement services that can result in long queues and fractious passengers and staff. For almost all that week I worried that the train wouldn’t be running or as the train operator’s website said, that services may be cancelled at very short notice. This was usually because whilst the train was in its correct starting point at Carlisle, for some reason the driver of that train was in Southampton and everyone else was having a day off because they were in a particular trade union.

So convinced was I that the train would not run, that a couple of days before I sought the help of Scott, a musician who had come to play live in the studio at the radio station where I work as a presenter. Apart from being an excellent singer/songwriter, he had 25 years experience of working in the ticket office at my local railway station. If anyone knew what my options would be, Scott would. During the advert breaks I quizzed him about these options. ‘So, even though I’ve got tickets for a specific train, can I catch any other train if mine isn’t running?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘So, even if my ticket is for a particular rail operator, can I use it on another rail operator’s train?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Is it likely that if all the trains get cancelled there’ll be a bus replacement service that will get me to the airport in time?’ ‘Not necessarily.’ ‘Even though I’ve got a ticket doesn’t the rail operator have a duty to get me to my destination? ‘Are you serious?’ More fuel to my worry bonfire.

Plotting ahead for the eventuality we managed to put a plan in place that would get us to the airport, it wouldn’t be that convenient but at least we should get there. As it turned out the 13.49 Northern service to Manchester Airport rolled into the station at 13.47 and rolled out again at 13.49. My worries subsided, for a short while.

I suppose my first travel concern for the actual day of the journey came when I saw my wife Wendy’s carry-on case. I’d booked priority tickets with the airline which meant we could have a small bag and a small case in the cabin with us. As you know, this saves time on arrival at the destination airport as you can swerve the baggage carousel completely. Wendy’s carry-on case under normal load conditions is the absolute maximum size for most budget airlines. However, it does expand should you want to add extra items and today, boy had it expanded! I voiced my concerns. ‘It looks big because yours is small’, was the response.

A couple of years ago I bought a new hard-shell regulation-sized case and I’ve always managed to get pretty much everything I wanted in it which gives me a little peace of mind when running the airline gate gauntlet. Some airlines have those frames that you place your carry-on case in and if it goes in and comes out easily, you’re fine. I can’t remember the last time I was asked to do this but I’m happy in the knowledge that when inevitably I am asked, I can smugly place and remove the case in one swift movement. Wendy, no doubt, with her case, will be left standing at the gate as I mouth ‘told you so’ from the aeroplane steps. Mine indeed looked small alongside hers, which was almost as broad as it was tall. Looking directly at it from the front it looked fine, but turning it sideways and its profile was massively bulging and she hadn’t been to any Portuguese markets as yet! Not only wouldn’t it fit in the airline’s case sizing frame, I wasn’t sure it would fit in the overhead locker. So then there was a double worry. Her case would be rejected and she’d have to start repacking, which is a waste of time because when you’re packed to capacity, and as in this instance, beyond capacity, there is nowhere to go. Well, there is a place to go actually, the aircraft hold at €60 extra each way. I tried to lay my fears aside but I knew they wouldn’t subside until we were walking up the aircraft steps with both our cases, just as we packed them.

Before the worry of having cases rejected at the gate though, there is the worry of having your cases singled out for extra scrutiny at security. On this trip, I was busy unpacking all the bits from my bags and pockets that needed to go in separate trays for scanning, laptop, tablet, phone, keys, coins, trouser belt, jacket, liquids etc. I was confident as I waved goodbye to the three trays of my belongings that were trundling towards the scanner that there would be no problem. I then realised that actually, there might be a problem, but now it was too late. Wendy always likes to be prepared and on our self-catering holidays, she likes to carry a something little extra for those evenings we decide to stay in and cook instead of eating out. That little extra something is a small, clear plastic bag filled with her favourite mix of green herbs, salt, pepper other culinary spices which was tucked away in a zip pocket of my backpack. To all intents and purposes, it looks highly suspicious and wouldn’t be out of place in the evidence locker of my local police station where it would sit as part of a drugs bust haul. I stepped through the body scanner and was immediately waved on, which was great. But now I was waiting for the operator of the bag scanner to hit the alarm button and bring the full force of border security down on my head. To my relief, my backpack slid down the ‘free to go’ section of the scanning station and came to rest in front of me where I could retrieve it. This was whilst many other bags were being redirected for a thorough search by security staff. One of those bags was Wendy’s bursting-at-the-seams carry-on case.

We had been warned prior to scanning that any personal searches required would result in a wait of around an hour so it was suggested that everyone double-check their bag contents to see that everything was permissible. A lot of bags seemed to have been redirected down the ‘you’re not going anywhere’ section and it was a little chaotic. People were jostling to see if they could spot their bags whilst others were being challenged to explain that even though they had been advised many times to put any liquids in a plastic bag for inspection and those liquids can’t be more than 100ml, why are there a couple of litre bottles of Sambuca in their suitcase. Wendy waited dutifully to be called forward and when she eventually was, she stood and watched her case being swabbed for chemical traces of something, explosives perhaps, drugs possibly and then the unpacking began. The member of the security team assigned to search Wendy’s bag did a double take as she unzipped the case. The contents inside making a bid for freedom after being loosened from their constraints. Eventually, the culprits in her bag were discovered, a shampoo bar and a pack of Avocado cleansing wipes, which had shown up on the scanner as solid masses and possibly liquid. With the items confirmed as acceptable, the security agent moved on to the next person and Wendy began the process of repacking and reclosing her case, two weightlifters and a personal trainer assisted.

Once on board the plane, with recent concerns laid aside it was time to settle down to a worry-free few hours winging across western Europe to the sun. There was though a slight concern at the back of my mind. The previous few weeks in Portugal had been somewhat unpredictable weather-wise. Friends had returned a couple of days previously after spending five weeks there. They’d had severe storms, almost two weeks of rain, strong winds and sand storms blowing in from north Africa and grey skies, all quite unseasonable for springtime Portugal. So severe had one storm been it washed all the sand off a lovely beach and the government were spending €14 million on replacing it in time for the season. So began my usual holiday weather worries. No matter how brave a face you put on it, one of life’s greatest disappointments is the ‘same or worse weather than at home’ phenomenon. A soul-destroying, gut-wrenching situation that however best you try and put a spin on it means a ruined holiday, or as I like to call it, two weeks of unnecessary shopping. We are fortunate though that in all the visits we have made to Portugal we have experienced only a handful of rainy days, which is quite a good record. It was going to be a wait-and-see situation, where my fears would be fully realised or like so many others, they would just vanish along with the non-existent rain clouds.

Once on the ground, off the plane, through passport control and with the hire car collected and cases unpacked, the holiday can finally begin. The worries can be lifted from my shoulders and washed away in the sound of the gentle waves of a crystal blue sea lapping against a perfect sandy beach. But we don’t have the full insurance option for the hire car, which means I’m liable for any damage, despite who caused it. What if I lose my wallet? I’ve had a couple of blood clots in my legs caused by previous airline flights, that’s 10 days in a Faro hospital bed right there. What if I eat a bad mussel? I don’t even like mussels! What if Portuguese Covid testing suddenly returned and the over-enthusiastic nasal swab nurse at the testing station in Almancil wanted to stick a swab so far up my nostril like she had done once before, it felt like she was taking a scraping of my brain? What if my daughter and granddaughter missed their flight? What if I fell off the balcony whilst watching the sunset with a glass of wine in hand, even though we were on the ground floor? Worries came flooding back. I tried my hardest to dismiss them as irrational thoughts or things that could be dealt with if and when they occurred and I shouldn’t let them spoil my holiday. It was stupid to let them do so. I had no rational reason to be nervous about anything. Then I remembered, that Wendy had bought three dresses, a skirt, a bag, two scarves, some sandals and three ceramic birds at Quarteira market the day before. That flaming carry-on case was going to be the death of me!

Duncan is a presenter and producer with a local radio station in the north of England. He writes on a number of subjects including travel and family life.

Duncan Moore