...always pack clean undergarments in your carry on. At least for international travel.
About three hours into our transatlantic flight last night, I noticed a scurfuffle. Word spread throughout the cabins: a man was legit having a heart attack on the plane. And, just like in the movies...there was a doctor on board. A doctor with scrubs! My sleepy mind drank in the awesomeness. The plane turned around, mid-ocean, and headed for Boston, the closest US airport + hospital...docked at 3am and immediately medics took the stable gentleman off the plane.
Finally, after two hours of tarmac-sitting, we got word that we couldn't continue on to Kuwait. So, we'd return to Washington DC...and get on a special flight sometime the following evening.
Yep. Halfway across the ocean and then back to the US.
The following few hours were one giant traveler's mess...we were told our flight wouldn't leave for 16 hours. At Hour 25 of my nonstop travels...the point at which I was unable to locate my sweet, sweet checked baggage full of clean clothes...I may have slumped in a chair and cried into my hands. I knew crying wasn't brave or going to help, nor was this a particularly appropriate time to fall apart. But I just couldn't keep it in anymore.
Eventually, I gave up on my baggage + vouchers and headed to the hotel Gabe had sweetly booked. And let me tell you: that was the most amazing shower I've ever taken. Not to get too saucy, but I crawled into that bed in my fresh undergarments and fell asleep for six beautiful hours.
rumpled clothes: check. sense of adventure: double check.
Long story short: thankfully, I'd tucked undergarments + toiletries in my carry on bag. (Shout out to my raspberry Kelly Moore camera bag, which has plenty of space for such things.) But, I am still wearing the same outfit I donned over 40 hours ago...and I can't sugarcoat it. I am gross.
All that to say: welcome to Groundhogs Day, folks. Tonight I really leave for Kuwait...
...provided no one decides to have a major medical emergency onboard this 747. ;)