Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Passport Drama


Wednesday 19th January, 20:15 Tahiti time.

Right, so I’m off on a FIFA FUTURO III course and I’m not really 100% sure what that means. It’s an advanced course in fitness instruction so I need to be at a certain level before I go. I think I’m there. Anyway, this isn’t about the course, or where I am… Actually, it’s vaguely about my whereabouts. In fact, it’s about how I nearly didn’t make it to Tahiti. Well I guess I shouldn’t count my chickens until we’ve landed… still a couple of hours away from touching ground. I guess if someone retrieves this essay from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, then perhaps we didn’t make it.

This morning, well tomorrow morning now we’ve shifted time zones (yes, Isaac, I am obsessed), I flew to Auckland from my lovely hometown, Christchurch. Best town in the universe and definitely the South Island. Anyway, It was all well and good. I checked in, Twitter, and Facebook, had a coffee, and sent an odd text message or two to Moata (definitely odd). I revelled in wonderful feelings of anticipation, of excitement, of I-can’t-wait-to-get-my-arse-to-Tahitiness.  I embarked the plane to Auckland and had a rather uneventful flight where I reviewed the presentation I’m giving in Tahiti tomorrow morning, flipped flippantly through the Kia Ora magazine, and did all the other acceptably lazy things one does on domestic flights. Then it came time to land.

All fine.

Then it struck me. Where is my passport? The horrible, horrible sinking feeling deep in your guts that you get when you realise something is incredibly wrong.  So deep and gut-wrenching you feel like your bowels are about to make an acquaintance with your feet. How I imagine poor Moata felt in Spain. And they say imitation is the best compliment you can pay someone. I paid it. But double since I imagined being stranded in Auckland is a whole lot worse than a detention centre in Spain.

My passport was sitting on my desk back in Christchurch. Unbelievable. I swore under my breath a few times, Enough for the young girl with the abominably-written essay on art history (seriously, she needs to take a writing course, and maybe a basic English course or three) in the seat next to me started twitching a little uncomfortably. I got a grip. The moment the pilot said it was OK to use our cellular telephones (I love that term) I called my mum to get the passport and take it to the airport.  Which she did. She is so awesome!

Timing was of the essence. Already it was midday and my flight to Tahiti departed at 3:35 PM. 3.5 hours, less check-in for international flights… 2 hours… less flight time from Christchurch to Auckland… Uh oh. It looked pretty bleak. I went to the Air New Zealand desk in Auckland to find out what could possibly go right or wrong, if it could actually happen at all, and what my chances were. I had a little cry. This course has been fully paid for by FIFA and Oceania Football Confederation so I’d feel like a complete arse if I screwed it up at step one! I was referred to the Air New Zealand cargo guy in Auckland, who referred me to the Christchurch staff. They now expected my mum and had a vague description of a 50-something woman with long grey hair (sorry mum, I could’ve said “silver”, but that’s been consumed by my media title and to use it for you would be a little Oedipal).

Anyway, at 12:27 PM I received a call from Christchurch saying Jackie on the Air New Zealand flight NZ526 was carrying my passport, and I was to meet her at the lounge. Unfortunately, I missed the detail of the meeting place. The flight was due to land at 2:10 PM. Over at the international terminal, I talked to Heidi, who then discussed my dilemma further with other Air Tahiti Nui staff. They checked me in using a photo of my passport I was carrying on my laptop. This partially saved my bottom, as they were able to give me a seat and check me in.

Tip #1: Always conceal a paper and/or electronic copy of your passport somewhere easily accessible without requiring an internet connection. And don’t keep it with your passport.

This was only a partial solution. Now I had to get my passport at the domestic terminal and haul my ass back to the international terminal before 2:35. At that point they were closing check-ins and I would not be able to get my boarding pass. Heidi gave me her phone number in case I was cutting it fine.

Tip #2: If possible, get phone numbers so you can call ahead to get a precious minute or two of leeway.

So I went back to the domestic terminal. At this point, dehydration and a lack of lunch started kicking in. It was 12:45. I should’ve stopped and had a sandwich or something. Instead I had a bottle of water, another flat white and a Belgian biscuit.  But not before I changed. Protocol for New Zealand Football referees travelling is to wear a polo shirt, dress pants and a polo. In my suitcase, I was carrying running shoes and socks, and running shorts.

Tip #3: Always be able to run a reasonable distance carrying your luggage. In this case, reasonable for me was between Auckland’s domestic and international terminals carrying a 10 kg suitcase. (It may have been slightly over 10 kg but I won’t confess if you don’t tell.) In the past I’ve had to run for trains, make dashes across busy roads.

The nerves started kicking in. I sat there looking at the arrivals board going “Ooooh” whenever the arrival time became 14:05, and “Argh!!!” when it reverted back to 14:10. That arrivals board was screwing with my head. I’m sure it was possessed by a demon of some sort possibly the same demon that hid Moata’s passport. Then it occurred to me to make a sign to attract the attention of the passport carrier.

Tip #4: always carry a marker pen and adequate paper for making a sign. It could be for hitchhiking, it could be a thing/food/place in a foreign language that you can’t pronounce but can write out of a guidebook, it could be for locating someone you don’t know.

It was an artistic sign. It said “PASSPORT” in big fat letters that people leaving the plane could see. I waited, on the advice of the Auckland staff, at the Arrival gate where all the fantastic people who would be disembarking NZ526 were passing through. So it hit 14:10.

14:10: Plane still in the air according to the devilishly fiendish arrivals board (DFAB)
14:13: Another arrivals board says LANDED. DFAB does not.
14:15: DFAB says the plane has landed.
14:20: no sign of any passengers. 15 minutes until check-in cut-off at International. Nerves building.
14:21: Passengers start coming out.
14:29: The pilot comes out. He sees the sign. This saved my bacon. Remember how I missed the detail of the meeting place? Suddenly he remembers where the meeting place was. He takes off to the lounge to get my passport. See folks., Tip #4 worked! I rang Heidi to let her know the passport had arrived and it was within 5 minutes of being in my hot little hands. (Tip #2)
14:32: The pilot appears with my passport. It seems like an eternity! I give him a big hug (think he was a little embarrassed). I take off, but, like any good referee, I pause momentarily to start my stopwatch. Sick, I know.

It took me 3 minutes and 27 seconds. A new personal best! I’m sure a lot of people out there could’ve run it a lot faster, and it’s also a run I never want to have to make again! There was a nod and a “Know what you’re going through!” shared with a man running the other way with a trolley full of luggage. I hope that man made his flight! Air Tahiti Nui further displayed its awesomeness. I got escorted through security and customs, skipping the horrible lines, and made the boarding gate with adequate time that enabled me to change back into my polo, dress pants and dress shoes. Got to keep that good impression up, right?!

Ran into the New Zealand FIFA lady who organised all my travel and told her an expurgated version of this story. And that provoked me to write it up as yet another awesome travel story. Why can’t I have an international trip without a major drama?! That’s 4 in a row now. At least this one is entirely my fault. Sweden, Australia, Thailand, Tahiti... where shall I go for my next misadventure?