Mallorca, 2023. Our son, three years old at the time, dumps his entire apple juice on my lap. Full cup. We're 30 minutes into the flight. I grab the backpack in a panic. Spare clothes? In the checked luggage, of course. 300 kilometers below us.
Monday morning, 6:47 AM, Terminal 2, Munich Airport. My backpack weighs 9.8 kg. Four weeks of work, three countries, zero checked luggage. I walk straight past the check-in queue, through security, and I'm at my gate in 22 minutes.
Bangkok, Hanoi, Siem Reap. Five airlines, three countries, zero checked bags. I did it. And it was simultaneously the best and dumbest travel decision I've ever made.
Budapest Keleti station, 10:17 PM. The Nightjet to Vienna was boarding. I grabbed my backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and walked on. No check-in counter. No baggage scale. No argument with a gate agent about two extra centimeters.
The baggage carousel in Barcelona. My [product:B0BNN23FRT] came around the bend with a fresh dent on the corner. My partner's [product:B007WQJSGM]? Looked brand new. I stood there thinking: great, saved 90 bucks and now this.
10:14 PM, Barcelona El Prat Airport. The baggage carousel had been spinning for 40 minutes. Every other passenger grabbed their bag and left. Mine? Gone.
Sunday night, 10:15 PM. My flight to Hamburg leaves at 6:40 the next morning. I'm staring at an open backpack on the bed, wondering what on earth possessed me. Five days. Three cities. Two client presentations. A dinner with C-level executives. And everything has to fit into a single carry-on....
The baggage carousel at JFK spins. Slower than my heartbeat. The place smells like jet fuel and old plastic. Suitcase after suitcase slides down the ramp. Blue Samsonite. Black Rimowa. A green duffel with stickers. Everyone grabs their bags. Mine doesn't come.