During my first week of studying abroad in Rotterdam, I’ve learned a lot of valuable tips and tricks when it comes to traveling. I already feel like I’ve grown a lot from overcoming the obstacles I’ve encountered thus far, but there’s one situation that specifically stands out in my mind.
Picture this: after arriving at London Heathrow Airport at six thirty in the morning, traveling nearly two hours in a taxi to get to London City Airport, then being told I have to wait five hours to check my bags for my connecting flight that’s seven hours away, I decide to write a journal entry to pass the time. However, I ran into one problem: I couldn’t get my carry-on, which had my journal and various other valuables in it, unlocked. The TSA-approved luggage lock I placed on the zipper isn’t unlocking with the combination I knew was right.
My mom had helped me set up the locks on my two checked bags, and we had double checked that I was able to get in and out of them before attaching them to the suitcases. However, I set up the lock on my carry-on by myself. When I set it up at the gate of my home airport, I was certain I was doing everything correctly and had the same combination that I had on my other bags. However, as I turned the lock’s dials and tugged at it in vain, growing more and more frantic, I realized that I was locked out of my own suitcase. Sitting at the little cafe in the lobby of London City Airport where I’d just ordered a mocha and a croissant, with my other suitcases and backpack bearing witness from the trolley they were perched on, I realized I was staring down my very first travel crisis. And it was all my fault – I had set up that lock on my own.
I tug at the thick wires looping around the lock, wondering if I could possibly, with a strength I know I didn’t possess, rip through the wire.
I tugged until I felt the wire begin to leave indents in my palm. Abandoning my trolley but making sure to keep it in sight, I walked over to the gift shop, hoping that it maybe had a Swiss Army knife or a pair of safety scissors I could buy – worst case, I figured I could cut into the carry-on when I arrived in Rotterdam and just buy a new one sometime before I left. Sadly though, I found nothing that could help me among the keychains and teddy bears wearing the UK flag on t-shirts.
Left with no option other than to burst into tears, I decided instead to humbly wheel my trolley over to the British Airways help desk. The official title was “Reservations Help Desk,” but I was wondering if they could still help me find a pair of wire cutters.
The kind lady behind the desk with berry-colored lipstick directed me to the information desk, so that was the next place I awkwardly pushed my trolley to. After checking his desk and filing cabinet and resolving that he didn’t have anything, the Information Desk Man told me to “hang on a moment,” before walking over to the British Airways Desk where I’d just come from. Holding onto hope desperately, I also prepared to be let down. I had already looked it up – worst worst case scenario there was a hardware store around the block from my hotel – I could be there early the next morning before moving into my apartment.
“Here,” the Information Desk Man had suddenly returned. In his hand was a pair of rusty red wire cutters. “Give these a go.”
Taking the cutters from him, I pressed them down on the wire as hard as I could. Meeting resistance, I let go – the wires hadn’t been cut through but there was a dent. Progress. I pressed down again.
“That looks like a pretty thick wire, you might need a pair of bolt cutters -”
I ignored him. I didn’t care if it took me the rest of my entire connection –
I was breaking this damn wire.
“Let me try.”
My hand was getting tired. I handed the wire cutters to the Information Desk Man, and he was able to get the wire cut on the next try. He held up the broken lock triumphantly, but it was nothing compared to the relief I felt.
“Do you want to keep it or -?” he laughed as he held the lock out to me. I thought about saying yes for a moment, knowing it would make a rather unique souvenir.
I shook my head. “No, you can keep it.”
He then asked me where I was coming from and where I was going. I told him I was coming from Washington DC, like I would go on to tell most of the people I’d meet during my exchange orientation. It was easier than explaining I was actually from Richmond, Virginia’s capital that’s about two hours south of DC, which is easier than explaining I’m actually from an even smaller town about twenty minutes (if you take the interstate) north of Richmond called Ashland, and things get even smaller from there.
Getting locked out of my luggage was the first time I felt truly alone on my trip. I didn’t have someone traveling with me who could help me get out my predicament, or listen to me rant about how utterly stupid it was that I got locked out my own luggage. I was on my own – I had to figure out a way out of it by myself.
As stressful as it was at the moment, I’m glad that I had to figure out how to unlock my luggage on my own. It gave me the boost of assuredness I needed going into my semester in Rotterdam. It was a little message to myself that I could overcome any obstacle this study abroad experience threw my way. It let me know that I was ready to take on not just Rotterdam, but also The Netherlands and Europe as a whole if I wanted to. Leading up to my departure I was petrified – definitely excited, but still petrified – but after my carry on was freed, I felt just a little bit calmer. I can do things on my own; I’m capable.
I’m not far enough into my traveling journey to feel qualified to give official advice, but you can all learn from my mistake: please make sure you have your luggage locks set up correctly. Please.