Gone in 5 days: My Award Travel Heist

[drron]

Does your username refer to "Sambal" as in the sauce/chutney/condiment?

Well he is in a pickle now.

 

[somebol]

Does your username refer to "Sambal" as in the sauce/chutney/condiment?

no. Some Binary Object Large

 

[somebol]

Currently in BOM. About to board flight toBKK

 

[somebol]

So backing up to my second day in Birmingham.

Jet lag meant that I was up at 4am, nothing better to do I ventured to moor st station and purchased tickets for today’s excursion to Warwick castle. Then to while away the time, my favourite thing to do, ride double decker busses with no particular destination.

Today’s route is number 6 to Solihull.

 

[somebol]

I enjoyed the excursion to Warwick Castle. The history is fascinating—this place has been standing for over a millennium and has hosted everyone from William the Conqueror to Netflix location scouts. There’s something both grounding and surreal about standing in a centuries-old stone hall that predates your entire country. Touching walls that have seen a thousand years of drama, betrayal, and questionable plumbing is oddly humbling.

Beyond the expected stately rooms, towers, and draughty corridors, there were live shows, falconry displays, and more activities for kids than you could shake a foam sword at. I spent a couple of hours just wandering the grounds, climbing towers, and taking in the views.

All in all, a great way to spend a few hours


East gate

Great Hall

State rooms

 

[somebol]

Towers and views

 

[somebol]

After a bit of rest and some much-needed time plugged into both a power outlet and the void, I headed out to explore the famed Jewellery Quarter. It was… quiet. Aside from a few equally misguided souls, the place was largely deserted. Apparently, Saturday afternoon isn’t peak time for diamond shopping or idle wandering.

Still, I gave it a go. Wandered the leafy streets, peered into closed storefronts, and stopped at a couple of watering holes that were thankfully open and more than happy to pour a pint for a lone traveller. Grabbed a bite to eat somewhere vaguely edible—nothing to write home about, but it did the job.

After a couple of hours of aimless ambling, I decided to call it. Back to the hotel, back to bed. Tomorrrrow’s a big travel day, and I’ve got to be up at sparrow’s fart for a romantic 3:25am date with a National Express coach.

 

[andye]

I tend to remember Birmingham as a city full of brutalist concrete and despite being the UK's second city, one I rarely recommend going to. Your (and the FT) report are confounding my memories

 

[somebol]

Ready and checked out by 2:30am for my ultra-luxury, zero-lie-flat National Express coach to Manchester Airport. Not that I was getting much rest anyway—I went to bed at 9, but from midnight onwards it was a revolving door of 30-minute naps, existential dread, and glances at the clock.

By 1:30am I gave up the ghost, got dressed, and headed out. The walk to the coach station was surreal. The night crowd was still in full swing—revellers spilling out of bars, kebab wrappers fluttering in the breeze, the occasional bouncer still trying to enforce order with minimal enthusiasm. A strange moment of contrast: me, stone-cold sober and heading to an airport via bus; them, still mid-evening and searching for their next Jägerbomb.

The coach station was heaving, too. Not a single empty seat in sight. Apparently, 3:25am is peak hour in Birmingham if you’re travelling on a budget, trying to make a Ryanair check-in, or in my case, chaining together a convoluted award itinerary for fun.

The coach was punctual, if not plush. I climbed aboard and promptly began the noble tradition of trying to sleep while upright, while also guarding my bag with the intensity of a Victorian governess. An hour or so later, I was at MAN, bleary-eyed but upright, ready to continue this grand adventure with a short hop to ZRH, and then onwards to BKK in LX J this evening.

Everything was going according to plan… until it wasn’t.

We boarded on time in Manchester. We sat. And sat. Eventually, the captain came on with that charmingly vague update: “Just a minor technical issue, should be a 30-minute delay.”Fine. I had a 6-hour layover in Zurich, so I wasn’t worried. Yet.

Thirty minutes later, we received another update: “Actually, it’s an indefinite delay. You’ll need to deplane.” Cue collective sigh and the slow realisation that we'd become temporary residents of Gate B4. The deplaning took another hour—apparently, buses were harder to find than award availability to Europe in school holidays. By the time we got off, we’d spent 2.5 hours onboard, going absolutely nowhere.

Back in the terminal, a Swissport rep greeted us with a classic piece of travel fiction: “The flight isn’t cancelled, just delayed indefinitely, and Swiss will rebook you on all missed connections—even separate tickets.” I’ve spent enough time on frequent flyer forums to know that was about as believable as a Ryanair “comfort” guarantee.

While others queued politely for false hope, I got to work—mentally limbering up for a full-blown award booking gymnastics session. It was 11:00am, and I had about 4.5 hours to make it to Zurich if I wanted to salvage my flight. Spoiler: there were no viable options. So, I cut my losses, cancelled the entire ZRH-BKK-MEL award, and started heading in anyvaguely eastward direction.

I spotted availability on Air India First, LHR–BOM, and pounced on it. No idea how I’d get home from there, but that was a future-me problem. I also booked a one-way car rental through Sixt, because when in doubt, drive.

By 1pm I was officially offloaded and standing at the Sixt counter, clutching keys and hope. Google Maps promised I’d get to LHR by 4:30pm—leaving a generous cushion for my 9:00pm departure. Ha. As if.

Soon, ETA creep set in. First 4:45. Then 5:15. By the time I passed Birmingham (yes, again), it was 5:45. Eventually, I rolled into LHR at 6:15pm, heroically navigated a couple of accidents and roadworks, and returned the car.

By 7pm, I was in the Singapore Airlines First Lounge, clutching a well-earned drink with the slightly haunted look of a man who’s aged several years in one afternoon.

Naturally, I wasn’t done yet. I started scouring for onward options from BOM. I still wanted to make it to Bangkok and salvage the remnants of my Thai stopover. Found a seat on AI BOM–BKK in J, with a 3-hour connection. Is it risky to do a tight connection on separate tickets again? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Also yes. At this point, it was either that or surrender to Heathrow Terminal 2.

I also found an onward TG flight to SYD, so in a shocking twist, the plan was back on track. I'd arrive in BKK 10 hours later than planned, but still with enough time for mango sticky rice and a nap. I’ll take it.

Upon arrival in BOM, I made a beeline for the transfer desk, only to be told I couldn’t use it without an onward boarding pass. Classic. So I entered India legally—for all of 20 glorious minutes—before checking in, breezing through security, and popping into the Adani West Lounge to reflect on my life choices.

The BOM–BKK flight was predictably delayed due to ATC restrictions, landing an hour late. But eventually, I made it to the hotel in Bangkok and fell into bed like a man who’d fought the system and won. Barely.

 

[andye]

Ready and checked out by 2:30am for my ultra-luxury, zero-lie-flat National Express coach to Manchester Airport. Not that I was getting much rest anyway—I went to bed at 9, but from midnight onwards it was a revolving door of 30-minute naps, existential dread, and glances at the clock.

By 1:30am I gave up the ghost, got dressed, and headed out. The walk to the coach station was surreal. The night crowd was still in full swing—revellers spilling out of bars, kebab wrappers fluttering in the breeze, the occasional bouncer still trying to enforce order with minimal enthusiasm. A strange moment of contrast: me, stone-cold sober and heading to an airport via bus; them, still mid-evening and searching for their next Jägerbomb.

The coach station was heaving, too. Not a single empty seat in sight. Apparently, 3:25am is peak hour in Birmingham if you’re travelling on a budget, trying to make a Ryanair check-in, or in my case, chaining together a convoluted award itinerary for fun.

The coach was punctual, if not plush. I climbed aboard and promptly began the noble tradition of trying to sleep while upright, while also guarding my bag with the intensity of a Victorian governess. An hour or so later, I was at MAN, bleary-eyed but upright, ready to continue this grand adventure with a short hop to ZRH, and then onwards to BKK in LX J this evening.

Everything was going according to plan… until it wasn’t.

We boarded on time in Manchester. We sat. And sat. Eventually, the captain came on with that charmingly vague update: “Just a minor technical issue, should be a 30-minute delay.”Fine. I had a 6-hour layover in Zurich, so I wasn’t worried. Yet.

Thirty minutes later, we received another update: “Actually, it’s an indefinite delay. You’ll need to deplane.” Cue collective sigh and the slow realisation that we'd become temporary residents of Gate B4. The deplaning took another hour—apparently, buses were harder to find than award availability to Europe in school holidays. By the time we got off, we’d spent 2.5 hours onboard, going absolutely nowhere.

Back in the terminal, a Swissport rep greeted us with a classic piece of travel fiction: “The flight isn’t cancelled, just delayed indefinitely, and Swiss will rebook you on all missed connections—even separate tickets.” I’ve spent enough time on frequent flyer forums to know that was about as believable as a Ryanair “comfort” guarantee.

While others queued politely for false hope, I got to work—mentally limbering up for a full-blown award booking gymnastics session. It was 11:00am, and I had about 4.5 hours to make it to Zurich if I wanted to salvage my flight. Spoiler: there were no viable options. So, I cut my losses, cancelled the entire ZRH-BKK-MEL award, and started heading in anyvaguely eastward direction.

I spotted availability on Air India First, LHR–BOM, and pounced on it. No idea how I’d get home from there, but that was a future-me problem. I also booked a one-way car rental through Sixt, because when in doubt, drive.

By 1pm I was officially offloaded and standing at the Sixt counter, clutching keys and hope. Google Maps promised I’d get to LHR by 4:30pm—leaving a generous cushion for my 9:00pm departure. Ha. As if.

Soon, ETA creep set in. First 4:45. Then 5:15. By the time I passed Birmingham (yes, again), it was 5:45. Eventually, I rolled into LHR at 6:15pm, heroically navigated a couple of accidents and roadworks, and returned the car.

By 7pm, I was in the Singapore Airlines First Lounge, clutching a well-earned drink with the slightly haunted look of a man who’s aged several years in one afternoon.

Naturally, I wasn’t done yet. I started scouring for onward options from BOM. I still wanted to make it to Bangkok and salvage the remnants of my Thai stopover. Found a seat on AI BOM–BKK in J, with a 3-hour connection. Is it risky to do a tight connection on separate tickets again? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Also yes. At this point, it was either that or surrender to Heathrow Terminal 2.

I also found an onward TG flight to SYD, so in a shocking twist, the plan was back on track. I'd arrive in BKK 10 hours later than planned, but still with enough time for mango sticky rice and a nap. I’ll take it.

Upon arrival in BOM, I made a beeline for the transfer desk, only to be told I couldn’t use it without an onward boarding pass. Classic. So I entered India legally—for all of 20 glorious minutes—before checking in, breezing through security, and popping into the Adani West Lounge to reflect on my life choices.

The BOM–BKK flight was predictably delayed due to ATC restrictions, landing an hour late. But eventually, I made it to the hotel in Bangkok and fell into bed like a man who’d fought the system and won. Barely.

Bravo. Well played

 

[zainman]

This is crazy!!!!!

 

[masco131]

Ready and checked out by 2:30am for my ultra-luxury, zero-lie-flat National Express coach to Manchester Airport. Not that I was getting much rest anyway—I went to bed at 9, but from midnight onwards it was a revolving door of 30-minute naps, existential dread, and glances at the clock.

By 1:30am I gave up the ghost, got dressed, and headed out. The walk to the coach station was surreal. The night crowd was still in full swing—revellers spilling out of bars, kebab wrappers fluttering in the breeze, the occasional bouncer still trying to enforce order with minimal enthusiasm. A strange moment of contrast: me, stone-cold sober and heading to an airport via bus; them, still mid-evening and searching for their next Jägerbomb.

The coach station was heaving, too. Not a single empty seat in sight. Apparently, 3:25am is peak hour in Birmingham if you’re travelling on a budget, trying to make a Ryanair check-in, or in my case, chaining together a convoluted award itinerary for fun.

The coach was punctual, if not plush. I climbed aboard and promptly began the noble tradition of trying to sleep while upright, while also guarding my bag with the intensity of a Victorian governess. An hour or so later, I was at MAN, bleary-eyed but upright, ready to continue this grand adventure with a short hop to ZRH, and then onwards to BKK in LX J this evening.

Everything was going according to plan… until it wasn’t.

We boarded on time in Manchester. We sat. And sat. Eventually, the captain came on with that charmingly vague update: “Just a minor technical issue, should be a 30-minute delay.”Fine. I had a 6-hour layover in Zurich, so I wasn’t worried. Yet.

Thirty minutes later, we received another update: “Actually, it’s an indefinite delay. You’ll need to deplane.” Cue collective sigh and the slow realisation that we'd become temporary residents of Gate B4. The deplaning took another hour—apparently, buses were harder to find than award availability to Europe in school holidays. By the time we got off, we’d spent 2.5 hours onboard, going absolutely nowhere.

Back in the terminal, a Swissport rep greeted us with a classic piece of travel fiction: “The flight isn’t cancelled, just delayed indefinitely, and Swiss will rebook you on all missed connections—even separate tickets.” I’ve spent enough time on frequent flyer forums to know that was about as believable as a Ryanair “comfort” guarantee.

While others queued politely for false hope, I got to work—mentally limbering up for a full-blown award booking gymnastics session. It was 11:00am, and I had about 4.5 hours to make it to Zurich if I wanted to salvage my flight. Spoiler: there were no viable options. So, I cut my losses, cancelled the entire ZRH-BKK-MEL award, and started heading in anyvaguely eastward direction.

I spotted availability on Air India First, LHR–BOM, and pounced on it. No idea how I’d get home from there, but that was a future-me problem. I also booked a one-way car rental through Sixt, because when in doubt, drive.

By 1pm I was officially offloaded and standing at the Sixt counter, clutching keys and hope. Google Maps promised I’d get to LHR by 4:30pm—leaving a generous cushion for my 9:00pm departure. Ha. As if.

Soon, ETA creep set in. First 4:45. Then 5:15. By the time I passed Birmingham (yes, again), it was 5:45. Eventually, I rolled into LHR at 6:15pm, heroically navigated a couple of accidents and roadworks, and returned the car.

By 7pm, I was in the Singapore Airlines First Lounge, clutching a well-earned drink with the slightly haunted look of a man who’s aged several years in one afternoon.

Naturally, I wasn’t done yet. I started scouring for onward options from BOM. I still wanted to make it to Bangkok and salvage the remnants of my Thai stopover. Found a seat on AI BOM–BKK in J, with a 3-hour connection. Is it risky to do a tight connection on separate tickets again? Yes. Am I doing it anyway? Also yes. At this point, it was either that or surrender to Heathrow Terminal 2.

I also found an onward TG flight to SYD, so in a shocking twist, the plan was back on track. I'd arrive in BKK 10 hours later than planned, but still with enough time for mango sticky rice and a nap. I’ll take it.

Upon arrival in BOM, I made a beeline for the transfer desk, only to be told I couldn’t use it without an onward boarding pass. Classic. So I entered India legally—for all of 20 glorious minutes—before checking in, breezing through security, and popping into the Adani West Lounge to reflect on my life choices.

The BOM–BKK flight was predictably delayed due to ATC restrictions, landing an hour late. But eventually, I made it to the hotel in Bangkok and fell into bed like a man who’d fought the system and won. Barely.

Amazing Work!!!

 

[Seat0B]

Then to while away the time, my favourite thing to do, ride double decker busses with no particular destination.

We love doing that sort of thing too - bus, train, tram, doesn't really matter much . You get to see some really interesting things, as well as some extremely mundane things, but it gives an insight into how locals live. We last did it in Portugal when we couldn't deal with the crowds in Belem, and in Furano Japan just to take a look see.

 

[Seat0B]

OMG, what a ride!!!!!

 

[zig]

That was some very impressive manoeuvring.

 

[somebol]

Bangkok delivered exactly what I needed: a perfectly timed pause button before re-entering the world of school runs and negotiating screen time like a UN peacekeeper.

In just over 18 hours, I managed a manicure and pedicure, indulged in fabulous food, and wrapped it all up with a foot massage so good it almost justified the week of travel chaos.

This was self-care in its most efficient form: jetlagged luxury with just enough time to forget how many flights it took to get here.

Now, I’m back at the airport waiting for the final leg home. Well, second-last, technically—SYD to CBR is still waiting for me tomorrow, but let’s not get bogged down in footnotes.

I'll post a final wrap-up in a couple of days once the dust (and the jetlag) settles.

This has been fun.

 

[VPS]

So backing up to my second day in Birmingham.

Jet lag meant that I was up at 4am, nothing better to do I ventured to moor st station and purchased tickets for today’s excursion to Warwick castle. Then to while away the time, my favourite thing to do, ride double decker busses with no particular destination.

Today’s route is number 6 to Solihull.
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I'm exhausted just reading this but another who loves sitting on the top deck of a bus and doesn't care where it's going (within reason)