One woman, Two suitcases and a ticket to Barbados....

...... i waited on the quayside in St Maarten for my transfer to the airport en route to the Celebrity Eclipse.  Experience taught me though I was only taking an island hopper flight via Antigua, I was well aware that whenever this particular Caribbean airline were involved the journey was less than likely to be trouble free. 

In the taxi, I made the acquaintance of John Clithero and his companion Mary. John is a guest speaker on sport and music and a thoroughly lovely bloke as is his companion Mary. I had assured them that despite our seemingly late departure from the ship, we would not only make our flight in good time but that the support of the travel company employed by the cruise line in the UK would ensure us safe passage to wherever we needed to be regardless of any delays. As a frequent traveller I have long since stopped worrying about the tribulations associated with missed connections and unexpected layovers and instead focused on my new challenge ahead... The impending arrival of Lent. 

Most years I try to give up something  and having a skipped a year last year I was determined to further challenge myself this time by giving up three things very dear to my heart... Wine, bread and........Diet Coke! Argh. Wine would be a challenge. I LOVE a good glass of wine and especially with the sumptuous collection of vino available in "Cellar Masters" onboard Celebrity  cruise lines its particularly difficult to resist. Bread is pretty much all that's available to me on a travel day especially through European airports where panini and pizza slices tend to be the staple offering. So giving it up would mean the need to plan ahead for these eventualities and to hold my nose when walking past the cheesy oozing slices of Neapolitan heaven calling me to indulge... I'm telling you if I had no sense of smell I'd be a size zero. 

But Diet Coke? That's the real killer for me.I don't and have never drunk tea or coffee and have always consumed admittedly way too much Diet Coke and now amongst protestations of scientific jargon from my family members extolling the dangers of the stuff I have decided to cut down and for Lent, cut it out completely. 

Simultaneously I have decided to try to stick to the 5:2 diet for a month. Five days of regular healthy eating in a Seven day period and Two days of fasting. Fasting sounds extreme, its just a reduction to 500 calories in a 24 hour period and as I'm not really a breakfast food fan, a 24 hour period consuming 500 calories from 2.30pm-2.30pm seems to suit me the best. I'm on the second of two fasting days this week so far, though I am inevitably hungry as it nears the end of the period, I'm already feeling the benefits. This diet is supposed to be particularly good in aiding digestion and, without going into too much delicate detail "re-setting your system". It also boasts weight loss, energy boosting properties and insulin regulating benefits and so I'm giving it a go, figuring travel days are the ideal day to do this. A perfect way to avoid the pizza altogether! 

Back to the airport, picture me  having my final "butty" (sandwich to my American friends) before weaning myself off the bread and starting day one of the fast. Already my flight is delayed and there is little to no information available as to the whereabouts of the plane. 

After a couple of hours and several fruitless attempts to ascertain the airlines plan, I hear my name being called over the tannoy and as quickly as you can say "yeah mon" I'm being thrust through the doors of the departure lounge onto the Tarmac and being told to "get on that plane" 

"What about my luggage?" I asked the supervisor "will it make the flight" 

"Hopefully" she answered with about as much conviction as an insomniac at a Zumba class. 

On the plane that I was reliably informed was headed to Antigua, I was seated next to a young lady named Shantice who it seemed was having "the worst day ever". Ordinarily I'd strike up a conversation with her as she seemed clearly distressed at these somewhat topsy turvy travel plans but to be quite honest I couldn't really understand what she was saying. Amid an interaction with the guy opposite I discovered she too had been shoved on the flight at a moments notice and that her trip home to Barbados for the weekend had something to do with a suitcase full of frozen fish. I just closed my eyes and tried to remain calm.

On the tarmac in Antigua, Shantice and I were unsurprisingly informed that we had missed our connection to Barbados and that we would be accommodated in Antigua for the evening before leaving for Barbados first thing in the morning. But as we entered the arrivals area in the airport "passengers to Barbados" were given a rather odd looking blank boarding pass and told to clear security again. Great, I thought.  Maybe the Barbados flight has been delayed also. However after stripping off my outer layer for about the third time already that day and fruitlessly searching for the information on the illusive Barbados flight we were told in no uncertain and less than polite terms to "get on that plane" for the second time in as many hours. Only this flight wasn't headed to Barbados but to Dominica. Shocked, Shantice immediately displayed her disdain in a more than eloquent fashion and this time I understood every word of what she was stating.

"I'm not going to Dominica. I don't want to go to Dominica. Why would you be sending us to Dominica? I'm not getting on a plane to Dominica"

Shantice was not going to Dominica. 

"Why can't you accommodate us here in Antigua?" I asked. "As your colleague offered on the tarmac?" 

"Because of the cricket" Mrs shirty knickers explained. "There are no available hotel rooms because of the cricket" 

At which point Shantice's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Antigua is 108 square miles!" her voice now raised and clearer than ever. Impressive I thought, and waited for her to continue 

"You can't tell me there are NO hotel rooms on this entire island" 

"That is exactly what I'm telling you" Mrs aggressive pants added. "And you cannot stay in the airport overnight so you either make your own arrangements in Antigua or you get on that plane. 

Lucky Shantice had friends in Antigua and paraded out of the departure area retreating back to her inaudible rants about suitcases of frozen fish. 

I don't mind telling you at this point, despite my earlier proclamations I was worried and a little upset. As i watched my comrade in arms leaving the airport I felt pretty alone and anxious. I too had no intention of going to Dominica but couldn't really see any alternative. Moments later, Mrs Cranky trousers' work colleague, Mr Patronising face informed me I would no longer be staying in Dominica but instead I would be disembarking there, waiting another hour and then flying on to St Vincent where I would be accommodated over night. After an unpleasant exchange involving  a selection of remarks such as "Are you listening to me?" "Why would I send you somewhere with no accomodation" "yes I KNOW you just came from St Maarten and so did this flight" etc etc and my retorts encompassing "I'm a woman travelling on my own", "you have a duty of care to me" and "don't you roll your eyes at me", in a flood of tears I reluctantly got on the plane to Dominica and unashamedly sobbed most of the way there. I had no knowledge of where my baggage was, no confirmation of where I was spending the night or how I would get to Barbados but most worryingly there was no paper trail anywhere and no one in the UK knew my current whereabouts as no official boarding passes for any of the three flights I took that night were issued to me and my phone wasn't working. 

After an hour in Dominica I boarded my final flight to St Vincent. Tired, emotional and very sweaty I was pretty sure this day could not get any worse. 

Needless to say, when my 'taxi' arrived to take me to my 'hotel' I was convinced I would meet my demise in St Vincent. 

What appeared to be a repurposed bread van with soaking wet seats and an engine gruffer than Louis Armstrong careered at unreasonable speeds up into the hillsides of the island and I held on for dear life as we traversed a road with more lumps and bumps than Oprah  without spandex.I was more than well aware that not only did no one know where I was but that I didn't either. 

Tired and teary I headed to my bed for the night in a somewhat dilapidated guest house down a dark alley for three hours rest before heading back to the airport for my eventual journey to my destination. 

The following morning I awaited my 6am flight to Grenada and then Barbados where I was more than prepared to have to wait till the airline located the whereabouts of my luggage. Sure enough, there she was at the lost luggage desk, Shantice, hollering at the poor baggage attendant about her suitcase of frozen fish which now, I would assume smelt worse than Gandi's sandals. If I was her, I'd have scarpered and left the smelly case as a thank you gift to the less than competent airline that had "ruined her weekend" . Instead she insisted on seeing the management to determine who was going to "compensate me for my frozen fish"

She left, still protesting in her wake "I can't eat the fish" and "you've ruined my fish" and "who's going to pay for my fish???" 

Six hours, several phone calls and two inbound flights from St Maarten via Antigua later, not only was there still no sign of the bags but no body could tell me where they were. The more I thought about it, the more I remembered what I'd packed in those cases and the more stupid I felt. On the island hopper flights you are only permitted to take one small piece of luggage and not the usual carry on trolley bag. All my best shoes, jewellery, stage wear, EVERYTHING I owned that was decent was in those bags not to mention 150 CD's I'd packed to sell after my shows and a necklace my parents had bought me for my graduation. I called Steve, devastated and completely convinced they'd been stolen. 

I joined the ship in Barbados as scheduled after three hours sleep, four flights, six islands in 12 hours and with only the clothes I was stood up in. 

The staff onboard the Celebrity ship are amazing and immediately took up the case, pardon the pun, contacting all the port agents shore side in all the places my bags could have been, sending them to the airports to check. They also gave me an emergency pack of toiletries,some stuff to sleep in and some clean underwear and I retired to my cabin to await the fate. 

The next day, the luggage was finally located in Barbados and flown on to st. Lucia where the ship was now docked with an hour to spare before sail time. I've never been so happy to see a box of contact lenses after spending 24 hours looking like a greasy ugly Betty and more than relieved to be performing my show in my stage wear rather than an 'I love st. Lucia' t'shirt. 

Amazingly enough, I write this sat at a table in St Maarten on the beach. That's right, after all that travelling and stress, the ship has brought me right back to where I started the flippin journey four nights ago and yesterday in Antigua I was in port with the ship I had left in St Maarten the first time to travel to this one. My carbon footprint I swear is yeti-sized. 

Tomorrow is St Thomas before two days at sea and disembarking the fabulous Celebrity Eclipse in FortLauderdale before flying to Costa Rica (again) to do the three hour taxi drive (again, i wonder if its victor who picks me up?) and to join the Celebrity Equinox (again) .

I love my job, and admittedly I learn something new every day (namely never to travel with a suitcase of frozen fish). 

As you can see its not always glamorous and without the support of my husband, my family, my amazing agents and the ships crew, I'd probably still be blubbing in Barbados somewhere.