I’m on my way back to work – twenty-four hours of travel ahead – and yes, this post is aggressively “first-world problems,” but I’m self-aware, so it’s fine.

I’ve been flying long-haul to and from work for over ten years, and as a superyacht Chief Stewardess, you’d think I’d have the whole travel routine down to an art by now.

But somehow, every single pre-travel day still starts the same way – a washing-machine breakdown, a “does this have a lithium battery?” panic, and me whispering “be ruthless, G” while packing and convincing myself that six Gymshark tops basically weigh nothing.

Two checked bags. Both full, obviously.

One is the sensible case – clothes, toiletries, all the things I actually need for my two months away.

The other is the festive nonsense case (as I’m away for all of Christmas): Elf on the Shelf, Stroopwafels (minus the ones I’ve already eaten, RIP), decorations, and my big, fluffy coat (which I vacuum-packed, as I’m not about to waste half my suitcase space).

Completely unnecessary, but future me will be thrilled when she finds it all onboard.

Hand luggage gets the most thought. I pack it like I’m prepping for a survival scenario – underwear, pyjamas, gym gear, trainers, nude bras, and a little lamp for my office.

Because no one deserves to sit under that 400-watt interrogation light in my office ever again.

I’ve accepted I can’t be my best self without my home comforts – and my sparkly cup.

☕ The Morning Plan (That Didn’t Go to Plan)

Travel day. I was leaving my apartment at midday, so I woke up at 5am with the most perfect schedule. The kind of smug, delusional optimism that only exists before 7 a.m.

I’d watch The Celebrity Traitors at 5.30am in bed – I’m ashamed to admit the Daily Mail is the only paper I read, but every morning after an episode, they put a spoiler right in the headline, so I wasn’t risking it – then wash my bedding, finish packing, squeeze in a gym session, go for a walk, and leave for the airport calm and collected.

Naturally, this was not how my morning went.

🧺 The Laundry Situation

Thursday is my assigned laundry day at my apartment. All the residents share two ancient machines – one horrendous, one semi-functional.

EVERY single time I’ve ever tried to wash my bedding in it, no matter which setting I use or how many items I put in, it either floods the floor or refuses to drain, and I’ve had to empty it with a jug more times than I’d like to admit.

These days, I just take my bedding and towels to the local laundry and the lovely team there do it for me – it’s cheap, easy, and no one bursts into tears – but since I was flying later that day, I needed to wash my own bedding and decided to risk the “less horrendous” machine.

At first, all seemed well. Then the bedding came out covered in brown gunk and half-dissolved detergent.

Excellent.

So I re-washed it, which of course threw my beautifully timed schedule into disarray.

The gym?

Cancelled.

The walk?

Cut short.

My sense of calm?

Hanging by a thread.

Washing done. And I’d managed to get it all dry with about five minutes to spare – nothing like starting a 24-hour travel day already sweating through your outfit.

🧳 Airports: The Trust-Issue Era

Airports have given me mild trust issues.

Everyone smiles, nods, and promises your bags are checked all the way through – with the confidence of someone who’s never had to wash their undies in a hotel sink.

Over the years, I’ve worked with several girls who’ve turned up to the boat without their suitcases, and it’s always a saga.

My friend Holly, whom I used to work with in 2014, was flying to the yacht for her first day. The airport lost her suitcase.

They eventually found it and sent it to France, but by the time it arrived, we’d sailed to Gibraltar. Then it got rerouted there, but we’d already moved again. I think it finally caught up to us in Norway – a well-travelled suitcase living its best life, while Holly was wearing the same outfit for eight days straight.

And then there’s Johannesburg airport.

My boyfriend and one of his crewmates were told their bags were “definitely checked all the way through to your final destination.”

They decided to check the carousel anyway, just to be safe – and sure enough, there were their suitcases, doing laps like they hadn’t just been nearly abandoned.

So now, in Johannesburg, I always collect mine. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and I’m in Paris with no pants.

🌀 The Travel Plot Twist

My trust issues finally paid off on this trip.

I always tell my local airport I’ll collect my bags in Johannesburg and re-check them myself – even when they insist it’s fine to send them all the way through. I just smile, nod, and think, sure, Jan.

So I’m all checked in, sitting at the gate, cappuccino in hand, waiting for my first flight when my phone pings.

It’s the boat:

“What’s your status? We’re relocating.”

Of course you are.

I looked at my boarding pass like, cool – my flight takes off in 45 minutes and my bags are already on the plane.

Then immediately thought, OH MY GOSH – thank GOODNESS I told them not to send my bags through to my final destination, or this would’ve turned into a very long day.

Some would call it a coincidence. I call it professional foresight. Honestly, between me and the universe, we’ve got this whole travel thing nailed.

💺 The Aisle-Seat Miracle

So I’m sitting on the first flight, on the runway, refreshing my emails like a lunatic because work is rebooking my connection mid-take-off, and the only thing I can think is, please don’t trap me in a middle seat for twelve hours.

Five minutes before we leave, the new flight lands in my inbox.

Seat map: window or middle only.

Absolutely not.

I’m an aisle-seat person through and through – I get up and stretch, I go to the loo every hour, do everything to avoid kankles, and I don’t want to climb over strangers in the middle of the night.

Then I see it: one lonely business-class seat.

Within seconds, I’m doing mental gymnastics to justify it.

You’ll be working the second you land. It’s twelve hours. You deserve this.

So I click upgrade.

Card declined.

For no reason.

I try again with a different card and – what’s this? HALF the price of just a second ago?

Miracle.

The universe clearly wanted me horizontal in business, instead of vertical in economy, next to someone eating crisps at 3 am.

It was only my fourth time upgrading to business, and it shows – I am always the only one sitting there with a huge grin on my face like, this is amazing.

I’ve always been an economy girl; the boat pays for my flights to and from work, but always economy. But the last couple of years, I’m at a place in my career where I can afford to pay for the upgrade part myself and not have to worry about it.

And honestly, some people have Bora Bora on their bucket list – mine’s flying business class. Because honestly, every time I land after it, I feel amazing and think that was worth every penny.

🧁 Finally Horizontal

I was sitting in my little business-class pod, surrounded by people who all seemed to know each other – families waving, people chatting across aisles – while I sat there quietly wondering if any of them wanted to adopt a 33-year-old.

I had my compression socks on (with fluffy socks layered over them, of course), my pink sleep mask ready, and not a drop of champagne – tragic, I know. But hydration was the priority; I wasn’t about to step off the plane looking like a crusty raisin.

Dinner was between ravioli and salmon, but the chocolate cake was non-negotiable.

It was probably for the best that I’d upgraded; I’d eaten nothing but rubbish all day and needed to lie flat before I combusted. Earlier I’d spent £10 – ten pounds – on a big bottle of water and two tiny bags of Liquorice Allsorts. Diabolical.

But I was thirsty, and there’s no way I’m calling a Stewardess every time I want a cup of water.

I’d happily complain about that for weeks but somehow justify a business-class seat as “essential self-care.” The logic was questionable, but the seat reclined, so I won.

Feet up, chocolate cake secured, slippers on – business class might not be Bora Bora, but honestly, it’s close enough.

☕️ Calm, Cosy, Caffeinated

My connection was through Paris, which – and I stand by this – is my new favourite airport. Security was elite; it was well organised. The toilet cubicles had a proper space for suitcases, and they had three Christmas trees up on October 31st (Christmas Trees = immediate joy).

The guy at the security scanner was taking people one by one, calmly asking if they had any electronics in their bags. No chaos, no stress, just efficiency and manners.

He got to me and said, “Any electronics?” and I was like, “Yes. All of them.” So out came my laptop, headphones, lamp, about 824 other things and then my red-light therapy face and neck mask.

(If you haven’t seen one before, this is it in action… a photo I sent to my boyfriend – what a lucky guy!!!)

He looked at it and said, “What is this?” and I was like, “Umm… a mask for my face? It’s good for my skin.” Shook his head and clearly decided it was too early for me.

Then came my water flosser, which was in a little case that looked… questionable. I panicked and tried miming what it did, so I didn’t have to take it out, but somehow that made it worse.

Anyway, 10/10 airport.

I landed at 6 am, it was still dark outside, and I immediately felt festive.

Red carpet, green couches, three Christmas trees (even though it was Halloween).

The Starbucks staff had doodled little bats and pumpkins on all the cups and I was obsessed.

That’s when it hit me: I am a Starbucks girlie through and through.

Venti cappuccino, blonde roast, extra shot, almond milk, three pumps sugar-free vanilla — elite. Calm, cosy, caffeinated perfection.

🎀 Home Stretch

And that was it — Twenty-four hours, three Christmas trees, two packs of Liquorice Allsorts, one venti cappuccino later, one more flight and I finally made it back to work. Honestly, if every travel day ended with fairy lights and Starbucks doodles, I’d never complain again.

If you’ve ever had a travel day worthy of its own documentary, please tell me in the comments so I feel less dramatic. ✈️

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