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I’ve mentioned in other posts that something goes wrong on every single one of the trips I make. Sometimes it’s just little things like traffic delays or train maintenance. Other times, it’s much, much worse. And when you’re traveling internationally– especially solo– you really don’t want to deal with that.

I’d hoped that my first solo trip would go well. I was going back to the U.S. for Christmas break after an extremely stressful and anxiety-provoking semester. I wasn’t in a great headspace to begin with, so I needed things to go well.

Yeah… that didn’t happen.

For some context, this happened while COVID restrictions were still in place. That meant a negative COVID test was needed to travel abroad, masks were still required, etc.. Remember, PCR tests took/take about two days to get results. Also, I’d never traveled by myself before this, never booked a train ticket, nothing.

I was an emotional wreck and was having difficulties booking things, so my parents helped me book my hotel and airport COVID test. I would arrive at the airport the night before my flight left, so I needed the rapid test. While my parents did that, I booked a train ticket to the airport and prepared for the trip. There was only one train that would get me to the airport in time for my COVID test appointment, so I was short on good options.

I made the mistake of finishing packing the night before I left Wales. I hand washed all my clothes (that’s a mistake with sweatpants) and nothing would dry, so I had to stay up most of the night waiting for the dryer. In other words, I didn’t go to sleep until a couple hours before I would need to get up and leave for the train. At that point, I wanted to just stay up and sleep on the train, but I ended up sleeping anyway. I don’t remember if it was because someone told me to get some sleep or if I just gave in, but either way, I regret it.

I woke up the next morning to a ton of missed calls and messages from my parents. My train had left already, and I hardly had any time before the next one would leave. Only minutes after I’d woken up and frantically started getting dressed, one of my flatmates knocked on my door. Someone had come to the flat to ask if I’d made it to my train, and I was still there. My flatmate helped calm me down and even went with me to the train station, pulling my suitcase while I called my mom.

My mom had apparently been going through my friends list on social media, trying to find someone who could get a hold of me when she couldn’t. One of my friends had to actually put it in a group chat with someone in my building. In my mom’s words, it took an “act of Congress” to get me on a train.

I was panicking and crying the entire way to the train station with my flatmate trying to reassure me that there was plenty of time before the next train and it wouldn’t matter if I was late for my COVID test. We took turns pulling my heavy suitcase (Christmas gifts, you know?) down the uneven stone sidewalks across town. We made it to the train station with time to kill, but my phone wasn’t working for me to book a new ticket.

I was able to book a ticket on my flatmate’s phone, and the train came and left on time. I was able to relax a little, thinking the worst was over. But it wasn’t over. A few stations after mine, the train just stopped. We didn’t move, and there was no explanation for a long time. When we were finally told what was going on, it turned out there had been some issues with something on the tracks. We were waiting for buses to take us to another train station that was beyond the issues.

The buses took forever to arrive, and everyone from the train was crammed into them. I was stuck for a couple hours with my overpacked backpack on my lap and men next to me talking about how one of them was the messiah, even though he didn’t know what a messiah was. That was quite a conversation to overhear while sitting there reading my Bible.

We made it to the next station with only a few minutes to spare before getting on the next train. Things did go smoothly the rest of the way to the airport, even if I was now going to be hours late for my COVID test.

When I got to the airport, though, I realized being late really didn’t matter. The line for tests wrapped around and around, and it was a 3-3.5 hour wait. I called to update my parents, and a man behind me recognized my accent and suggested that I go to one of the London airports from that point on, saying they were more efficient, especially when traveling on an American passport. So I guess there’s a tip. If you’re traveling on a U.S. passport, fly to/from London, not Birmingham. I’ve been doing that since, and it honestly is much better.

3ish hours later, I made it to the front of the line and went back for my COVID test. Imagine my surprise when I learned I’d booked the wrong test. I wouldn’t get results for several days, and I flew out the next morning. The woman there was telling me the only way I’d get the correct test in time was if I went all the way to London that night and came back before my flight. Yeah, I had no way to do that.

Sobbing, I phoned my parents because I didn’t know what to do. We were extremely fortunate to get another appointment slot for the correct test, and I went to the back of the line, which was even longer this time. The line hardly moved, and employees were trying to convince people to go to London or a drive-through test center because they would be closed before most of us would make it through.

All I could do at that point was pray and chat with another international student in line with me. God worked a miracle, because the line moved even faster than it had the first time. Everyone made it through before they closed, and I got my results back within a couple hours.

I wish I could say that was the last problem I had, but it wasn’t. Because now, I had to find my hotel. I quickly learned that there were at least three hotels by the same name within ten minutes of the airport, and I didn’t know which one I was booked into. I was given directions from one hotel to the correct one and tried to navigate my way down the narrow, muddy sidewalk in the dark with my suitcase wheels getting stuck on everything. It reached a point where I couldn’t figure out where I was going. I had to go back to the first hotel, a complete emotional wreck, so they could call a taxi for me. The taxi driver didn’t turn the meter on either, so I kind of got scammed into paying a hefty price for the mile drive.

Fortunately, the rest of the trip back home went much better. I was able to find my way back to the airport in the daylight, and there weren’t any significant delays with my flights. They were even nice at the CDG airport (which was almost weirder than when they’re mean). So I guess even the worst travel experiences can have a happy ending.

A few suggestions based on my experience here:

• If you leave in the morning, either don’t sleep the night before, or go to bed early enough that you’ll get up with your alarm(s).
• Leave your ringer on at night if you have people making sure you get where you need to go on time. If you sleep through your alarm, maybe you’ll wake up to a phone call.
• Bring food and water with you on train or bus rides.
• Make sure your taxi driver has the meter turned on so they don’t scam you.
• Figure out where everything (e.g., hotel, airport, etc.) is in advance so you don’t get lost.
• If you can, have a portable charger with you. You don’t want your phone to die if you have an emergency, need support, or get lost.

If it make you feel any better, I’ve known plenty of people who have never had a bad trip, so this isn’t the norm. But if you do have bad travel luck, you’re not the only one. Good luck out there.