Do You Have the Passports?! | A Taste of Travel

“Do you have the passports?” This is a question I ask Mac every time we leave our accommodation to start out on another travel day. We have one of those zippered pocket belts that runners use for storing keys and such when they run. It turns out that the pocket is the perfect size for two passports. As two travellers with barely enough possessions to fill 50L backpacks, we’re usually pretty aware of the location of every one of our belongings at all times. Of these possessions, I would consider my journal and my camera (and USB sticks with my photos) to be my most prized and special. Those two items top the list for sentimental belongings, but my passport is probably one of the most important things I own.

So, before we head out on the road, I always ask Mac if he has the passports. It’s become such an engrained habit now that I’ll even ask him as I can see that he’s putting the belt around his waist. At this point, it’s become sort of a routine. Pack our bags. Check under the bed. Take a selfie with our CouchSurfing host. And finally, a nonchalant ‘do you have the passports?’ as we’re walking towards however we’ll get to our next destination.

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Benalmádena, Spain

Recently, Mac and I stayed at a hotel the night before we started a house sitting gig. Check out was at noon, but we didn’t have to meet the homeowners until 2pm. Mac found a basketball court and shot some hoops, while I stayed in the lobby to do some sketching. We had had a fun morning taking advantage of the heated pool in the hotel, and were really stoked for our upcoming house sit. Coupled with the fact that we didn’t physically leave the hotel after we had packed our bags, our usual routine had been thrown for a loop.

A while later, as I sat with my sketch book and pen in hand in the lobby, I was shocked to see Mac suddenly appear beside me, completely out of breath. He looked at me, tilted his head, and asked (somewhat sarcastically), “do you have the passports???”. My eyes opened wide and the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. While he was warming up on the court, he went to take off his jacket and noticed the pocket in which he keeps the passports (when they’re not belted around his waist) was empty. Oops.

After a quick chat at reception to confirm they hadn’t started cleaning our room yet, Mac was given the key and raced back to retrieve the passports where they had been hidden under a pillow. Crisis averted. We happily continued on with our morning. Unfortunately there was one particular day where a missing passport scenario wasn’t so happy-go-lucky…

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Panama City, circa March 2015

We had just spent an awesome four days in the mountain village of Santa Fe, Panama. We had about a week left in the country before we flew to Colombia, and we decided to spend that time in Casco Viejo – a suburb of Panama City. Due to its location in the mountains, going from Santa Fe to Panama City involved a great deal of buses and coordination. We took three different buses and traversed ~300km. At the bus station in Panama City, Mac realised that the $40USD cash that was in his pocket was nowhere to be found. We’ll never know if it was pick pocketed or just happened to fall out of his shorts, but it sure was a blow to the ego… and the daily budget.

After our third bus/metro into Casco Viejo, we had stumbled into some sort of holiday weekend. All of the hostels were fully booked. Another blow to the ego. Thankfully, we managed to find a decently affordable room in a dingy hotel and exhaustedly popped into our room to offload our backpacks. A festival and parade were bustling outside, so we quickly regrouped and went to check out the festivities. Beers were enjoyed, street food was consumed, and amusement and surprise filled our faces as we stumbled into the loudest and most rambunctious parade I’ve ever experienced. Eventually, our tired bodies convinced us to call it a night.

dWe arrived back at the hotel, and just as I was putting the key into the front door, Mac yawned and gave one of the biggest stretches known to man. He stretched so enthusiastically that his shirt lifted up to reveal his bare stomach. It took about two full seconds for both of us to take in his bare stomach, look at each other, have our eyes nearly pop out of our heads, and exclaim in unison, “OUR PASSPORTS!!!”

Cue the Panic

You see, Mac’s stomach shouldn’t have been bare, because that’s where the belt holding the passports should have been!! We had just spent two hours weaving in and out of dense crowds. Our minds were clearly elsewhere as we waited in line for street food, admired the strobe lights reflecting on the water, excitedly watched the parade… Who knows when someone could have stolen Mac’s passport belt!

I immediately (and embarrassingly) went into panic mode. (Or, as my parents – with elephant-like memories from my childhood – would like to say, I had a ‘nuclear meltdown’). While crying, I hunkered down in the lobby to use the hotel’s only WiFi hotspot. With some concerned looks from the hotel staff, I started Googling the address of the Canadian embassy in Panama. We had flights booked for a week from now! How much was this going to cost?! How could we have been so absent-minded as to have let this happen?! I couldn’t help myself, I just kept deteriorating into a downward spiral of sadness and dismay (and a little bit of hysteria).

A Calm Demeanor to the Rescue

Mac on the other hand, was unconvinced of our panic-inducing situation. Cool as a cucumber, he ascended the stairs to our room. I was positive that in our exhaustion after arriving in Casco Viejo, we had only dropped off our packs and nothing else. Still, Mac went upstairs just to double check.  I was so caught up in my downward spiral of doom that I barely registered the passing of time. But, before long, Mac returned to the lobby…with the passports in hand.

It took me a while to pick my jaw up off the floor (and to wipe my tears away). Apparently in chaos of arriving and dropping off our bags, Mac did unbuckle the passport belt and stuff it in the bedside table drawer for safe keeping. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so relieved. We celebrated and hugged (and I like to think that the hotel staff watching my meltdown gave a little cheer in our favour). We collapsed in bed and had one of the most restorative sleeps that night.

*****

It’s slightly embarrassing to reflect back on that night and how quickly I went into panic-mode and hysteria. If we had happened to lose the passports, we were near enough to the embassy where we would have handled the situation. We might have had to reschedule our flight, or pay a cringe-worthy amount of money, but it clearly wasn’t an end-of-the-world scenario. I like to think I’ve grown from this event more than three years ago. Though I’ll still have the unfortunate nuclear meltdown (that one’s for you, Dad), I try to be more level-headed nowadays. Having Mac and his cool demeanour (sometimes irritatingly so) always helps too.

But, just to be on the safe side, I still always ask, “do you have the passports?!”.

Tell me, have you ever lost your passport? Have you ever had a ‘nuclear meltdown’?

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