The Unsexy Side of Travel: My Hunger Games Dash Through Gatwick

Let’s talk about the unsexy side of travel the parts that don’t make it to Instagram. The messy, chaotic, sweaty, “Lord, why am I like this?” moments. Because baby, what happened at Gatwick Airport on my way back to Paris deserves its own documentary.


So picture this: It’s early. I’m tired. I’m in London with my girl Tiffanie, and we’re trying to catch our 8:10 AM flight to Paris. Boarding ends at 7:45 AM. Simple, right? WRONG.


We get to the train station, minding our business, sipping vibes, when the unthinkable happens:
The first train gets cancelled.


Cool. Fine. A hiccup. It happens. So we try to be slick and grab an Uber. They wanted $150 USD one way — for what?! And the kicker? Even with that price, we still wouldn’t make the flight. Absolutely not. I refuse to pay luxury prices for late arrival. So we wait for the next train like sensible adults until that train decides to add FIVE extra stops before the airport.


At that point I looked at Tiffanie like, “Girl, go on without me. I’m heading back to the hotel.” Logic said it was impossible. There was no mathematical way we would arrive at 7:10, switch terminals, get through security, find our gate, and make it before they closed the doors.


But the moment the train doors opened at the airport station something came over me. I wasn’t going to leave my friend. No baddie left behind. And just like that the travel version of The Hunger Games began.

I have NEVER in my entire life moved so fast while carrying two pieces of luggage. I was sprinting like TSA was handing out Beyoncé tickets at the gate. From the train station to the shuttle from the shuttle to the terminal it felt like a 5K race through chaos. I’m pretty sure I clipped a few ankles and rolled over at least one suitcase but listen, in the Travel Games, it’s every woman for herself.


Once we arrived at the main terminal, I told Tiffanie, “Get ready. We’re doing Fast Track.”
We paid that upcharge like two women who had seen the face of defeat and refused to shake its hand. Security, thankfully, was quick. But the moment we got out, I looked up and of course our gate was the very last gate in the terminal.


Why are international airport gates so disrespectfully far? Who designed these? Why must I walk a full marathon before I can board Questions I’ll never have answers to. So we took off again sweating, cramping, gasping, dragging suitcases like they were filled with bricks. People looked at us like, “Couldn’t be me.” And I kept yelling,
“WE CAN DO IT! WE’RE COMING!”
​

By some miracle and I do mean miracle we reached the gate at 7:45 AM and THEY WERE STILL BOARDING. I could’ve cried. I think my soul left my body and came back. The flight attendants saw us drenched, limp, and breathing like we ran from a lion, and immediately handed us water. Angels. True angels. And just like that, we were back in the air heading to Paris.
Will I ever try to save money by taking a train to one of London’s “other airports” again? Absolutely not.
​
Gatwick, Stansted, Luton  y’all won’t catch me slipping again.I lived to see another day of Mo on the Go travel, but let this be a lesson to my fellow jetsetters: Don’t be like me.
Budget for the Uber. Leave early. Wear breathable clothing.
And always ALWAYS  be ready for the unsexy side of travel.