Careful what you wish for

Friday October 15th, first day of my leave of absence, the day before my last at home. Wondering if I'd have anything to report before my trip. I'd already spoken of twists and turns, so I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised at what was to come.

With my flight to Alicante at 7am on Sunday, I had arranged for me and hubby to go and have dinner with Farmor on Saturday night. She lives ten minutes from the airport and it saves some time and stress in the morning staying there, instead of driving an hour from home. Friday night was for concerting rescheduled by corona, so Saturday was meant for hubby time and heading to the city around 5pm. First thing Saturday I thought 'I'll just check in and do the extra corona measures required these days', so I can have the day at leisure. Leisurely it was not.

Check in - done.

Spanish health thing - done. Kicking goals. Hit submit... "the name on your corona pass does not match the name you have entered"

Hm, no panic (yet), it said at the beginning I was only able to change my name on the form, go back and correct to my married name - success.

Before the pandemic, it was possible to travel on a passport in your maiden name for years and it seemed like a logical option. New ones are expensive and require some effort. I'd only had it renewed two years ago and felt a little sad for the passport who never got to travel. That sentiment and logic turned into a lot more money and a lot more effort than a new passport would have cost.

I've always joked that chefs don't cook their own dinners and mechanics drive beat up cars, so it should follow that travel agents are blaze about their own arrangements. One time I rocked up at Brisbane airport - while I was working for Flightcentre nonetheless (and before everything went mobile), without a printed copy of my trip to America.

Next step - upload corona pass to SAS site, so I don't have to show it manually once I get to the airport at 5am... my mind is slowly starting to tick. Sure enough "the name on your corona pass does not match the name on your ticket." In this instance I can't change the name on the ticket, because as well as matching the name on my corona pass it also has to match the name on my passport. I begin to see where this is going, but surely when they can clearly see it is me, the corona pass thing wont matter. Surely...

An hour later I finally get through to SAS and after a quick laugh at the situation the fellow on the other end goes to consult with his colleagues if anyone has encountered anything similar. As I've already started to piece together, an emergency passport from the police at the airport and a name change on the ticket will do the trick. The police are in charge of corona regulations so the airline can't say if I'd be allowed to board if I chance it with the current situation and the SAS team who are approving travel documents are contracted, so even the consultant on the other end of the line is not able to get in contact with them.

Had it been a midday flight, it might have been different, but with the police counter opening at 6.15am and boarding commencing at 6.35am it doesn't leave any room for error.

My brother arrives to wish me a bon voyage as I am finishing up on the phone with SAS. I end the call and explain him the situation with my 'can you believe this' giggle. Parting gifts and goodbye hugs make it all better, although I must admit I'm not all that worried. I've got time and options. I could have had this problem at Kastrup, 5am and sleepy eyed. It's only midday on Saturday and all I have to do is make a decision.

I've come to appreciate adversity as a great reminder for perspective. My husband is saying let me know what I can do to help and when I tell him we might need to leave for Copenhagen before 2pm instead of at 5pm, it isn't a hassle. Nor do I have to feel guilty that I am spending the day I had earmarked for us hanging out together before three or four weeks apart, putting out fires instead. My brothers visit reminds me of how lucky I am to have a family who are always there for the big and little things; a call to say how was your first day at work; rice, cans and balloons on the car, hair done to perfection, cutlery clinging on the plates, flowers, speeches and more at our impromptu wedding that I expected to be anything but tradition; and of course goodbyes before a pilgrimage.

With a heart full of love, I call the police at the airport to figure out the graveness of the situation. They confirm that the name on the corona pass has to match the name on the ticket. They also inform me that if I get an emergency passport with them I still have to apply for a proper passport later, whereas if I do it with 'Borgerservice' they will process the proper passport with the emergency passport and get two for the price of one - price and effort. Of course they're not open until Monday, so I'd miss my flight to Alicante and the four days I am spending here are already on the cusp of what makes sense to go on a holiday for.

I could book a flight direct to Porto in my married name and skip Alicante, but this leg seems like an important part of the journey.

Off to the airport we go and while my patient husband waits in the car, I try to tick more boxes while the friendly police officer makes me not one, but two emergency passports. I count my lucky stars that I checked the first one on my way down the stairs and not at the airport the next morning and wonder to myself how it is always a bit of a shambles when I set out on a new chapter of my life. Going to Australia some fifteen years ago had me equally wondering if I would make it there in the end.

Passport with correct spelling in hand, we head over to the terminals in case SAS take another hour to pick up the phone. As we are about to enter the automatic swinging doors, I hear something in my pocket. He tells me he was about to hang up and glad he didn't I pay the fee to change my name and has him repeat the spelling about twenty seven times. Now that I am set for departure Sunday, we agree it must be enough to declare a day well done.

(I'd spent most of the trip from Faavejle to Copenhagen Airport on the phone with the third party agent I had booked my trip from Alicante to Porto with. The call ended in the line cutting out before I found out where on their website I had to send my marriage certificate for them to still not be able to guarantee the name change would be done in time for my departure five days later. It seemed only reasonable, with the pressing wins already achieved, to delay my outrage at this along with what it might mean for my desired return to an industry that is at times a little backwards and of course the solution to my actual name change, to another time.)

Sunday in the early am, smooth sailing through the airport, the woes of yesterday a distant memory. That must be a good sign... right?

It's harder than anticipated saying goodbye to my love, but for the first time in a long time when we've said farewell for an extended period of time I don't have the sense of dread that the world is ending and we might never see each other again. Perhaps my emotions are finally maturing with me - against all expectation.

Beautiful sunrise on the plane and a lovely family as neighbours, a comfortably non eventful flight, lulls me in to the false sense that perhaps my traveling jinx has come to an end. . .

I'll spare the gory details but as I pick up the car at the airport they charge me more than six times the agreed amount, even though my voucher says those extra things are included. All they can say is take it up with the third party agent (another kick to my travel agent heart) and after a quick assessment of my options I decide against, taxi, public transport and having my dad drive two hours each way to pick me up. Instead I find some faith that of course someone will later right this wrong.

#lifehack - even though airlines are not allowed to change tickets booked through third party agents, once travel has commenced, so does easier access to service. When the pandemic started I spent countless hours pulling my hair out at how powerless you can sometimes be as an agent, being sent to and fro because of a breakdown in the systems between agents and airlines.

I go to the AirEuropa counter at Alicante airport hoping they operate under the favourable rules. The travel fairies are with me and they are able to change the name on my Porto flight for a twenty five euro fee, saving me uncertainties until my departure Thursday and the extra forty euro fee of the third party agent - yep that's right, the agent fee is twice the airline fee, which of course you still have to pay through the agent as well. Since not having access to a GDS, I've made a point of paying a bit extra to book direct with the airline, but somehow this one slipped through the cracks. I think it was because the flight was so cheap when I booked it, not considering that if I'd have to book a new one a few day before departure, it would be nearly ten times more expensive.

Finally in the car on my way to Pozo del Esparto and my only outstanding headache is the robbery of car hire company. The two hour drive seems endless, but the views that await, the loving arms of my family and the lessons learnt, make it all worthwhile.