A Postcard From... Portugal
The most chaotic trip to Portugal you've ever heard of
Between Norway and Portugal, Ami and I had the briefest 24-hour layover in England. During that time, we managed to repack our bags (ditching our heavy coats and packing for the overly hot few months ahead), enjoy a wonderful dinner with her extended family, frantically shop for a dress to wear to the Love Island villa (more on that later), and make our way back to the airport to head to Portugal.
This marked the beginning of what would become the most chaotic 72 hours of our lives. We arrived early at Heathrow Airport, dropped off our bags, boarded the plane, and then we waited. And waited. And waited.
After the first 20-minute delay, the captain reassured us that it was just a busy taxiway and we’d be on our way shortly. After an hour, he claimed there were simply too many planes in the sky at the time. After two hours, the captain finally admitted he’d been lying the entire time but was fed up. The airline had actually lost all of our luggage somewhere in the airport and couldn’t locate it.
Despite this, we had to take off, with the promise that our luggage would arrive in Portugal sometime within the next 48 to 72 hours.
Here’s the kicker: we weren’t going to be in Portugal in 72 hours. We weren’t even planning to be in the same city as the airport by the next morning.
Backing up a bit, Ami and I had originally planned to spend about a week in Portugal. We were flying into Faro in the south, spending a few days exploring the Algarve, and then heading up to Lisbon for a few more days before jetting off to our next destination. If our bags weren’t going to make it, it wouldn’t have been an issue under normal circumstances. However, everything changed when we found out we’d been accepted to attend the Love Island finale in Mallorca in just three days’ time. From the moment we touched down in Faro, we were on a countdown to be in Mallorca a few days later. Crazy to begin with—I know.
With no other option but to go (thanks to British Airways’ oh-so-generous policy: we COULD get off the plane but would receive no refund, no rescheduling help, and our luggage would still go to Portugal regardless), we made our way to Portugal with nothing but our backpacks and the clothes on our backs.
After the long delay, we didn’t arrive at our hostel until after 10 p.m. Thankfully, Europeans eat late, and we managed to find a wine and tapas bar where we had a wonderful and much-needed meal (and a glass—or two—of wine). To top it off, we found gelato afterward and decided to leave dealing with our problems for the morning.
The next day, our mission was clear: toiletries, new clothes, and food. We had originally planned to head up to Lagos that afternoon, but since it was about an hour away and we didn’t have our bags, we decided to scratch those plans. Instead, after a nice breakfast, picking up a new swimsuit and some clothes, and finally getting to brush our teeth, we figured we’d make the most of the day.
Our hostel tipped us off about a water taxi—a hop-on, hop-off boat service that took passengers to a few small islands off the coast of Faro. It turned out to be a perfect adventure. We spent most of the day at a stunning beach with $8 beach loungers to rent (an absolute steal, as we’d later learn by European standards), crystal-clear water, and endless seashells to collect.
We stopped by a couple of smaller islands, browsed local shops, grabbed a bite to eat, and then headed back—still with no update on the whereabouts of our luggage. At that point, all we could do was hope it would eventually show up. Back at the hostel, we booked another night, showered, and went out for dinner.
We sat down, ordered a large pitcher of sangria, and then the waitstaff asked if we could move tables to accommodate a larger family coming in. It was no big deal to us, but after dinner, they surprised us with two free desserts as a thank-you for helping out! It was a small gesture, but it definitely lifted our spirits.
After dinner, we decided to take a stroll through town, only to stumble upon the Faro Food Festival. There were dozens of vendors and live music filling the square. Had we known about it earlier, we would have eaten dinner there, but we didn’t let that stop us from indulging in a second round of dessert. We danced with some locals to the music before eventually heading back to the hostel for the night.
Although British Airways had assured us they would contact us when our bags arrived, we hadn’t heard a word. Thankfully, my trusty AirTag came to the rescue, showing that my bag had made it to Portugal. All we could do was cross our fingers that Ami’s bag had made it as well. We planned to check things out in the morning.
The next day, we headed to the airport—and this is where things got complicated. As with most international arrivals, the baggage retrieval area was tucked behind security, making it impossible to simply walk up to a help desk and ask for our bags. Thus began the ordeal of finding the right security desk, where I was issued a temporary badge and escorted to a private security room. Inside, a few other passengers from our flight were also waiting for their bags. Ami had to wait outside, as only a limited number of people were allowed in at a time.
The process of going through security took far longer than it should have, and when we were finally released into the chaotic baggage claim area, the real fun began. At the British Airways desk, the first staff member we spoke to had no idea what we were talking about. Luckily, another staff member overheard and took us down a dimly lit hallway to a room full of unclaimed bags.
Unfortunately, ours weren’t there. Neither were the bags of the other passengers waiting with us. Undeterred, the staff member led us even farther down the hallway to another storage room. Finally, we found our bags! She didn’t seem to care which bags we grabbed, didn’t check our names or tags, and simply waved us off. Hopefully, everyone else eventually managed to retrieve their correct luggage.
With our bags in hand, we celebrated by heading up to Lagos, where we had accommodations booked for the night and a bus scheduled to Lisbon the next morning. We spent the day exploring the charming town, browsing local shops, relaxing on the beach, and enjoying a traditional Portuguese dinner recommended by an Uber driver earlier in the day.
The next morning, we took it slow—grabbed breakfast, picked up lunch to-go, and headed to the bus station for our four-hour ride to Lisbon. Once there, we caught a taxi to the airport, thinking everything would go smoothly. Spoiler: it didn’t.
For starters, as seems to be the case in most European airports, we arrived too early for check-in. No problem—we figured we’d just wait in line. For those who haven’t experienced Lisbon Airport, let me explain: there’s a nice terminal (Terminal 2) and a not-so-nice terminal (Terminal 1). Naturally, we were in Terminal 1.
While sweating in line, waiting for bag drop to open, the monotony was broken by a commotion a few airline kiosks down. A woman was screaming at an airline worker, and to our shock, she attempted to crawl over the desk to assault him. What started as yelling quickly escalated, and within minutes, about 15 police officers swarmed in to intervene. She then redirected her rage at the officers, screaming and thrashing to escape their grasp in an apparent attempt to resume her attack.
Meanwhile, a man—presumably her husband—stood by watching and doing absolutely nothing, as if this was a normal occurrence that happens all the time. The entire scene unfolded in Portuguese, leaving us to piece together the drama using only our imaginations. While chaotic, it was certainly entertaining as we waited for bag drop to finally open.
Thankfully, shortly afterward, we were able to check our bags, make it through security, and board our flight without further incident.
Despite the crazy circumstances, I’d say we made the most of our whirlwind 72 hours in Portugal. From what I’ve heard, Lisbon is a beautiful city that I’d love to return to and properly explore one day. But for now, our time there was cut short—for exciting reasons.