Travel days rarely go according to plan, but this one took the cake. After a flight cancellation delayed my departure from Quito, I found myself stranded in the airport well past midnight—groggy, frustrated, and desperate for sleep. The wooden benches near the entrance weren’t exactly five-star accommodations, but they’d do. As I laid down, I realized I had locked up the main pockets of my backpack but the bag itself was prime for potential snatching. So I did what any reasonable person would and slid my legs through the backpack straps before dozing off for a quick 2hr snooze. If my bag was getting stolen, then I was too!
I had planned to wake up at 3am, but naturally, my body had other ideas. By the time I got moving, the check-in line was already forming. One hour and several yawns later, I finally made it to the counter, where I learned my checked bag was waiting for me around the corner. Another hour, another line. The attendant eventually confirmed my bag was accounted for and tagged it through to my final destination—San José, Costa Rica. Progress at last!
Once through security, I had five long hours to kill before my next flight to Bogotá. I treated myself to a towering stack of pancakes from TGI Fridays (ironically, on a Thursday). Normally, I fly overnight when everything’s closed, so having actual food options was a rare luxury.
The flight to Bogotá was blissfully uneventful—a welcome calm amid the day’s chaos. By the time we landed just before noon, my hunger had returned in full force. I wandered the busy terminal searching for a restaurant with open seating, eventually spotting a single free chair at a burger joint. I tossed my sweatshirt on it to claim my spot and promptly ordered chicken tenders, fries, and a large Sprite. When the cashier told me my total was 74,000, my heart nearly stopped before I remembered I was paying in Colombian pesos—roughly $18 USD. Crisis averted; I was really not prepared to sell any kidneys that day.
With my hunger satisfied, I boarded my final flight to San José feeling optimistic. The exit row seat promised extra legroom—a small victory—until the kid behind me decided to spend the next two hours enthusiastically kicking my seat. Running on less than three hours of sleep, still buzzing from travel stress and post-trip blues from Ecuador, I could feel my patience thinning. I cranked up my music, closed my eyes, and counted the minutes until landing.
Finally, Costa Rica. I breezed through the airport, eager to escape the chaos, and caught a shared van to Hotel Auténtico. A quick check of the group chat confirmed I was the first to arrive. I grabbed some chicken and pineapple kebabs from the hotel restaurant, devoured them in record time, and collapsed into bed. After a marathon of delays, lines, and layovers, sleep never felt so good.
No Regrets: The Only Way To Live 