I don’t recall what year it was, but it was the early 90s. We were flying home from Portugal (a different occasion to the episode where I got left behind), and our flight from Faro had been quite considerably delayed. We were due to fly at around midnight, but a huge thunderstorm in the region meant our flight kept getting pushed back. Faro Airport is not (at least, it wasn’t back then) a glamorous place to spend much time, and trying to sleep on the seats was next to impossible, though I do recall sort of nodding off, only to wake up and have a panic attack. I don’t know why, I cannot remember what set me off, but I was near-hysterical for a few moments.
At around 6am, we were finally ready to fly. The storm had weakened, but we would discover that it hadn’t totally vanished. The experience of flying through a storm, with the plane bouncing around in the high winds, is one I have no desire to repeat, ever. It was really hairy, and it also triggered (for the first, and so far only time) me into puking mid-flight. My poor dad was in the middle of my brother and I, and I doubt he was thrilled!
When we landed, we benefited from a free taxi ride home, thanks to having found a taxi driver’s wallet in a carpark some weeks earlier. Having safely returned it to him, he scooped us up from the airport and took us home, but I can only wonder when ran through his head when my brother was sick out of his window. I can only imagine what the driver of the car behind thought at that sight!