Part 1: The Big Bang Beginning

At 6am, when I should have been in the air, I was still standing in Heathrow with two overloaded trolleys, a dog in a crate, and no idea what was happening. This wasn’t the usual move abroad with a suitcase and a flight. It began with a cyberattack, handwritten boarding passes, and an unexpected BBC News appearance.

Packing, Planning, and Kindness

Even with months of preparation, the final days before leaving were intense. Shipping meant documenting every single item in every box - everything had to be weighed, given a harmonisation code, and logged into a spreadsheet.

It took a village to get us out the door! Friends from the campsite spent that Friday helping me pack. At a point of overwhelm where I was standing looking at a piece of paper, they just said, “Focus on the things you need to take with you. We’ll sort out the rest.” Their kindness was incredible.

By that point, the place looked like an explosion of belongings. Boxes stacked high, lists half‑ticked, suitcases that needed sitting on to close. It’s always the final tacks of life, the little bits collected from place to place, that take the longest. Others stepped in later that evening to take down the awning on my caravan, and yet more friends collected us for the drive to Heathrow. It felt awful leaving jobs unfinished, but I was reminded of the beautiful community I've found in my time back in the UK.

The Morning That Wasn’t

Heathrow at three in the morning is a big open space filled with humming machines and the echo of footsteps. We arrived at 2.45am for a 6.10am flight. Two trolleys were stacked with four suitcases, a backpack, hand luggage, and Dusty’s crate.

Check in didn’t open until 4am, so Dusty had some time out on the lead. When the desks finally opened, passengers were split into two queues, one for KLM and one for Air France to Paris. Near the front, I chatted with travellers heading to Madagascar and Peru, all of us watching the time slip by - I hope they made their connecting flights.

At around the time we should have been taking off, the desks started moving, but with handwritten boarding passes and luggage tags. When it came to Dusty’s turn, staff said he couldn’t be boarded. They couldn’t guarantee his transfer.

No apology. No rebooking. No answers. Just two overloaded trolleys and the sinking feeling that the move to Costa Rica had already come undone.

Stranded, with Kindness

With no help desk and the airline hotline closed, the only option was to sit, have a little cry, and then book a hotel nearby.

Heathrow wanted £35 for a porter to move the luggage a few metres (a disservice to those with mobility issues in need of support). Instead, other passengers stepped in, helping me out of the terminal and down to the Uber pick up. At the hotel, staff eventually lent a trolley so everything could be managed in one go, with the help of a guest who carried my last bag!

If you’ve ever travelled with pets, you’ll know that every step feels like a gamble and every small kindness feels enormous.

Air France confirmed over WhatsApp that Monday would be the next available option, so the weekend passed in a little apartment with a kitchen, groceries ordered in, and Dusty curled up beside me.

Monday, Take Two

Back at Heathrow on Monday morning, the same supervisor was on duty. She remembered us (well, Dusty I think!) and we hugged, acknowledging how difficult Saturday had been. She moved us to the front of the line and thankfully, Dusty was checked in without a problem. It finally felt like the carefully formulated plan (already postponed by a year due to Dusty needing extended physiotherapy) was becoming a reality.

At Charles de Gaulle in Paris, the concierge service booked ahead of time was worth every penny. A guide met me at the gate, helped collect Dusty and the luggage, found him a patch of grass, rechecked everything, and even pointed me to a vegan café while we waited for the next flight.

Dusty pressed close to me as we sat in the terminal, as if to say, “We’re in this together.”

Tip: If you’re ever travelling with a dog, have a lot of baggage or a short connection, a concierge service at CDG might feel extravagant, but navigating this airport wasn't easy, and it's well worth considering!

A Very Surreal Twist

On Saturday, after realising dogs weren’t being boarded, I had sent a message directly to the BBC so they’d know and hopefully report it to save others the journey. They responded almost immediately and asked for an interview. Suddenly Dusty’s situation was being covered on BBC News while we were still stranded at Heathrow.

By Monday, sitting on the floor in Paris airport with Dusty curled beside me, BBC Newsbeats rang. This interview was completed crouched among suitcases, with the bustle of tannoys and people, whilst keeping an eye on the time for the connecting flight. Whether it ever aired or not, the whole experience felt surreal, especially given the wider events happening in the world.

Landing in Costa Rica

By the time the flight touched down in San José, adrenaline was the only thing keeping me going. Dusty came off the plane safe but wide eyed. At arrivals, porters were on hand to greet travellers and help with luggage. They’re official members of staff, and in that moment they were worth their weight in gold. One helped me track down Dusty from the oversized baggage area, and it was only then I realised I'd left a tote bag in the overhead compartment. Inside were his harness, lead, and water bowl. Luckily the harness had an AirTag attached, so it was easy to see it was still at the airport.

Tip: Using trackers like AirTags in your luggage (and even on your pet’s harness) can give you peace of mind - I could see from my seat on the plane that all my belongings (and my furry friend) were moving with me.

The porter went above and beyond, making sure the rest of my bags came off the belt, guiding us through the customs scanner while Dusty’s documents were checked, taking us to the transfer, and then setting off to find the tote. He spoke to staff, walked us across the terminal more than once, and didn’t give up until it turned up.

Tip: At San José Airport, porters are there to help you. They’re official, and while you do need to pay them, the support they give (at least in this instance!) is worth every colón or dollar.

Before leaving, I'd booked a car with the wonderful Arturo, who was patient and reassuring. He waited with me to collect my stranded bag, helped load everything and even stopped at a supermarket so I could pick up food for myself and Dusty before heading to the Airbnb.

Stepping outside, the humid air wrapped around me like a gentle steam room. Driving through San José at night, the city was alive, headlights cutting through the dark, motorbikes weaving past, horns honking, voices carrying. Heathrow at 3am had felt sterile and mechanical. San José felt vibrant.

After days of airports, hotels and limbo, the reality of Costa Rica had finally arrived.

Finally, collapsing that night, surrounded by bags and a tired but safe dog, it was clear how much the kindness of both friends and strangers had carried the journey, and saved my waning sanity!

But of course, this journey didn’t begin at Heathrow. To really understand why Costa Rica matters, I need to take you back to Vietnam…