T – Time, D – Day

The credits roll for Spiderman: No Way Home, just as the flight map shows 30 minutes until we land. I’ve managed about an hour and a half of sleep in the last 35 but we’re finally here! It’s happening! Brazil! São Paulo! I’m excited but right now I’m about ready to collapse. In about 90 minutes I can fall into my hostel bed and once I’m rested, the adventure can truly begin. Then I notice something weird on the map.

The continuous announcements in Portuguese should’ve given it away but apparently there’s a problem. A storm is stopping us from landing and we need to head to Rio. I start to panic and try to reach for the memory of researching the duration of a coach journey from Rio to São Paulo. ‘Far’ is all my sleepy brain can offer up. ‘Too far to get back on time.’

Fortunately the haze of tiredness stops me spiralling completely and I decide to try and sleep on the tray table of the chair in front of me. After not too long, we are told we are only stopping at Rio to refuel and will be heading back to São Paulo. Alas! All is not lost. I am too delirious to be anything more than peeved at the extended duration.

After 2 and half hours of failed attempts at sleeping, neck ache and fidgeting, we have refuelled and are most of the way back to São Paulo. As usual, when we land, due to the unusual circumstances, we are sat on the runway for a good 45 minutes presumably waiting for the stairs to become available. The weather inside the plane can only be described as ‘clammy’.

After finally being let off the plane, the beautifully warm and wet air hits my face. A short bus ride followed by a brisk walk through passport control, and I’m now more awake. The excitement creeps in again, WE’RE HERE! I stand waiting for my bag glad to be back on track when I hear my name over the Tannoy… ‘Please report to the customer service desk’.

This can really only mean one thing but I’d read a poster earlier in the day that said bags left unattended will be blown up and I’d had to leave my ‘Oversized bag’ in a special area. As I strolled to the desk I imagined all of my clothes shredded to bits and whipping around in the wake of landing aircraft at Heathrow. ‘Sadly your bag did not make it on the plane. Take this and we will deliver it to you tomorrow. Please can you confirm your address’? It was much better than I’d been playing over in my mind and to be honest, it pretty much fit the situation. I gave my details, met back up with Jay whose hideous pea-green bag had obviously arrived unscathed and we plotted our way to the hostel.

‘It’s an hour away, what time is it now? isn’t that past check-in?’ Of course it was. I’ll spare the boring details, mainly because I don’t have them. I went to find food while Jay spoke with the first customer service agent. Just over a foodless hour later (My card was declined and when I turned inward I saw I had no more f**ks to give) Our airline provided us with a hotel room with breakfast and dinner included. To their credit they really looked after us, providing a taxi from the airport and back to the airport in the morning if we needed it.

We headed to the hotel, emotionally beaten and simply grateful to have a warm bed for the night. When we arrived we were so tired but the prospect of free room service had really rejuvenated our spirits. We poured over the menu, the excitement wiping away the haze when we settled on a delicious sounding Brie and Parma Ham pizza. We laid in bed and I dialled room service finally ready to put the day behind us. No answer. I try again but still no answer. I know I saw ’24 hour’ on the menu, I’m certain. I look again and see segunda a sábado. I know what it says but I put it in Google translate because hope is a hard thing to let go of. ‘Monday to Saturday’

I conveyed the news to Jay and we immediately, in unison, turned off our lights and went to sleep.