.L O S T.

Right!

So I am finally in Watamu after a....well....interesting journey.

Boarded the plane from Heathrow and to my luck I had two seats to myself. So if my TV didn't work, I had a back up one!The TV is the thing that excites me the most on these journeys.
So all great. Landed and everyone started shuffling around grabbing their stuff from various over head lockers. Whilst that was happening Kenya Airways made an announcement: transfers go up the stairs and people wishing to stay in Nairobi go on the bus. Well I thought I am getting a transfer to Mombasa and had NO intention of staying in Nairobi, so off I hoped up the stairs...............I should ve taken the bus. Why didn't I just take the bus!!! Gahd damn it.

So I ended up finding myself in international departures and I was like Ohhhh.......gosh darn it!
I freaked out. I was not suppose to be there so told someone that I needed to be in domestic departures and how do I get there.

First person I went to: "oh I am sorry, that is not possible. You should ve taken the bus." YOU THINK?
Second person: "ahhhh you are in the wrong place. Go to gate 6 and find the transfer desk there." Ok....not sure what was gonna happen there but went for it.
Third person (after queuing for some time): "oh I am not the person you are looking for. Go to gate 4 and my friend will help you." The word HELP in that phrase was welcomed through panic spluttering  girly tears.
Fourth person: "uh oh. You need to go through this gate security and down to my friend." I had been through enough security that I never bothered putting my belt back on. At this stage I was sweating. Was I gonna miss my connecting flight? Were my bags gonna be misplaced? Was I EVER going to get to departures?
Fifth person (my favourite): "there will be a bus." It was that simple.

So off I pooped with my new mates on this tiny mini bus dodging between aeroplanes.

Got through immigration and found both my bags. Checked in at domestic departures. Went to the gate. Found the loos and sprayed my whole body in deodorant. It was a sweaty nervous experience to say the least.

But obviously through all of this I thought....I must tell someone. No way was it gonna be mum and dad, so poor Jen had the phone call at 6.00am. All she heard through muffled voice and pathetic tears was "Urgghh international...blah blah." To which she thought......holy shit my little sister is in Iran or some international territory. Love you Jen!

Moral of the story.....get on that bus!