Balik Kampung for Chinese New Year

So the flight was all booked, and I had us checked in online. Presents had been bought, clothes had been freshly washed. I only had to pack. However, packing with care meant we took a lot longer than normal. In the meantime Chloe was busy downloading all the songs she was planning to take with us on the flight. By four a.m on D-Day, I still had not finished packing and cleaning up the house.
I was extremely tired, so I thought that it would be a good idea to take a rest and continue packing in an hour’s time. The car was only coming to pick us up at eight in the morning, so we would have plenty of time.
Midway through an already fading dream, I was welcomed awake by the sunlight streaming through the window. I looked at my clock. Twelve minutes past eight. ~*£$% . I grabbed my coat and ran down the stairs. The car was still there. I peered at the driver, trying to focus. He took one look at me and chortled, “You’ve just woken up, luv”. In spite of my smelly newly woken self, I laughed and replied, “Awfully sorry about this, would you mind waiting for us while we sort ourselves out?” Mr Cab driver said he would fill up the car with petrol, and return.
So the mad rush began. I threw on the clothes I had prepared the night before, called for Chloe to wake up. “It’s eight o’clock, Chloe”. From behind her door, I heard her say, “Ya. And so?” Oh dear. Another one not fully awake. I called to her again to wake up and moved on to tidy up the kitchen.
Three bags full of rubbish later, it was a quarter to nine. I had no choice but to leave the unwashed dishes in the sink. I poured bleach over the worst of it, and hoped the magic would work to keep the stink at bay for the time I would be away.
At ten to nine, we carried six bags down to Mr Cab Driver, still waiting patiently, thank God, for me. “What time is your flight, luv?” he asked. “10.50a.m”, I told him hopefully. Raised eyebrows from Mr Cab Driver. “O..kay, well, let’s just get in the car and hope for the best”, I said as I opened the door and bundled Chloe in.
Even while regaling us with stories of near disasters and reassurances that the M25 would normally be choc-a-block with traffic, Mr Cab Driver managed to get us to Terminal 3. 10.10am. Fourty minutes to spare! I was so happy. It was cutting it a bit fine, but I reckoned we would make it. I thanked him, gave him a whopping wad of cash, and trundled off with Chloe and our six bags of luggage.
We entered the main departure hall for Terminal 3, but I couldn’t find the check-in desk for Malaysia Airlines. Perplexed, I fished out my e-ticket to check the time and date. I’d certainly got it right. 11 Feb, 10.50 a.m. What was going on? I stopped a random official type and asked if he knew where to check in for Malaysia Airlines. He waddled over to the departures board and frowned at it. “Hmm. I’m not too sure. Let’s ask this guy”, Mr Official Type said, stopping Official Type No. 2. “Oh, I think, I’m not sure, but Malaysia Airlines is now at Terminal 4”, says Official Type No.2.
Oops. “Okay, please can you tell me what is the fastest way for me to get Terminal 4?” I asked. Politely. Calmly. “Oh, you can take the Heathrow Express”, came the reply. Nice Official Type No. 1 offered to show me how to get there. As I walked, at my brisk London pace, 6 bags in a trolley notwithstanding, the chappie said, “Well, maybe you can take a taxi”. And lo and behold, we were just approaching the taxi rank. “Okay, thanks very much”, I cried out, as we dashed off with our bags and loaded up into the black cab waiting.
“Terminal 4, please? As fast as you can? Our flight is at 10.50a.m. “Terminal 4? But it’s right on the other side”. Nevertheless, our brave Taxi Hero stepped on the gas and we sped along. By now it was 10.20a.m. Half an hour before take-off. Nevertheless, we obediently stopped at every single traffic light along the way, of which there were several. We arrived at Terminal 4. It was 10.30 a.m. and was dead quiet outside, quite unlike Terminal 3. Chloe ran to get a trolley. Supergirl. We loaded up our six bags. Again. We swooshed into Terminal 4. I couldn’t give up just yet. I headed for Zone A. “Mum, it’s Zone C we want!”, cried Chloe. I was speed on wheels to Zone C where the Check In Lady was just closing the desk.
“Hello”, I said. “Please can you let us on the 10.50 flight? No one told us it was Terminal 4”. Check In Lady looked at us doubtfully. “I’ve already checked in online?” I tried my winning smile. She picked up a phone and made a call. It seemed like a long time, but eventually she put down the phone and said, “I can let you on, but your baggage…” she trailed off, and looked pityingly at our mini mountain of stuff. “… can definitely follow us”, I offer immediately. Done deal. I loaded up our bags onto the conveyor belt. I did not even bother about whether we were overweight and she didn’t care either. Pro that our Check In lady was, two boarding passes appeared almost instantaneously. “Thank you!”, I said gratefully. We dashed off, Chloe and I, to the departure gates. It was 10.35a.m, with fifteen minutes to spare.
A little old lady like the type you’d never dare cross in Chow Kit Road was guarding the first level of security. “Please can you help? We need to board the flight for 10.50”. She looked at us. She released a belt and said quietly “ Try that way, it may be faster”. “Thank you!” Again another prayer of thanks.
Then we came upon Cerberus. Well, actually, it was a blonde lady. Not a black three headed dog. However, you could certainly still see the resemblance. “Take off your boots”, she barked. “Do you have a laptop? Reveal your laptop!” I tried to apologise, saying we were trying to catch a flight that was leaving in ten minutes. No dice. “You should have arrived sooner”. Huffily. No sympathy from this one, I correctly surmised. Plus, of course, she did have a point. So I shut up and obeyed all her instructions to make sure I didn’t annoy her any further. Behind me, Chloe was struggling to stuff her laptop back into her bag. I was hopping around on one foot trying to put on my boots while trying to peek around the partition to see where Gate 6 was.
Chloe caught up with me. I gave her the rolly trolley bag, and slung on the heavy as rocks green carryall. “Chloe, you run ahead. I’ll catch up”. And she ran. I hobbled, slightly out of breath. Not made for running, me. What do you know, we made it! The last of the passengers were just being herded in. We were the very last. 10.40a.m Ten minutes to spare!
Oh Praise the Lord! We skippy dipped on to the plane, easing into our fabulous cattle class seats that I’d bagged online. At 10.50a.m, Stewardess next to me muttered, “44G is a no-show”. Big smile spread across my face. I caught the eye of a cheerful-looking guy sitting near me and asked, “What do you think that means?”, even though I already suspected the answer. Turned out he worked at Gatwick Airport and was on his holiday way to Malaysia. He said, “Well, with the new regulations it means that if the passenger is a no-show, they will have to take off their luggage”. Chloe and I looked at each other, and she voiced my thought “..and they might put on our luggage. Wooopiee”.
Twelve hours later, well served, fed and watered, we landed at KLIA airport. Ten minutes ahead of schedule in fact. We breezed through immigration without a fuss. The Kak at the desk smiled at me, I’m almost sure. Perhaps it was just because I was just so happy to be home. I lengah –lengah jalan to the baggage carousel, afraid to hope, while Chloe was dancing around trying to hurry me up.
And there they were. Elegant, unharmed, waiting for us on the smoothly gliding conveyor belt, our bags. The final miracle in a series of events that could only have been guided by God, to get us safely home, in spite of my utter uselessness. We’re home. With Bags too. Terima Kasih.