Thailand Travel Journal: Pt. 1 The Wild Start of My Dream Job

Thailand was absolutely *magical*. I couldn’t imagine a better place to kick off my destination wedding photography adventure—it was everything I hoped for and more.

But let me tell you how it *started*...

I boarded my flight at PDX, hyped out of my mind. I had my sister and the bridal hairdresser herself, Megan Harris—owner of The Bridal Harris—with me. The vibes were high, the playlist was on point, and I was three Bloody Marys deep before we even got to Seattle.

Then, BAM—plot twist.

We land, I hear my name over the intercom: 'Laurel Bice, please come to the front desk.' And I’m like, heck yeah they do, thinking maybe they’re bumping me up to first class or giving me a backstage pass to the plane or something.

Instead? They look me dead in the eye and say: 'Your passport has been reported missing. This isn’t going to get you to Thailand.' Cue the stomach drop of a lifetime. I went from flying high to full panic in .02 seconds. That moment? Whew. Talk about a plot twist I *did not* see coming.

Okay, I’m gonna pause the story right there and just tell you what I learned in this exact moment:

One: Thank goodness for anxiety medication. I know it’s not for everyone, but I’d just recently started taking it before this trip—and I’m convinced it saved me from absolutely spiraling. Like, shout out to modern medicine for keeping me from melting into a puddle on the airport floor.

Two: Here’s the backstory. A few months earlier, I couldn’t find my passport. Total freak-out. So I did the responsible thing: reported it missing and got a new one. Go me, right? Well… flash forward. I *did* end up finding my old passport. Yay. Instead of removing it like a logical person, I left both passports—old and new—snuggled together in my 'important stuff' folder. Because why not? And guess which one I brought with me to the airport? Yep. The *wrong* one. The one that’s flagged as missing and can’t be used for international travel. The right one? Chillin’ back in Oregon. Approximately five hours away.

So yeah—pro tip from your friendly neighborhood travel photographer: Check your passport. Then check it again. And maybe once more for good measure. Make sure it's not just *a* passport, but *the* passport.

So what did I do next? First—I cried a little. Okay, maybe more than a little. I was in full shock. Like, “what the heck do I do now” kind of meltdown.

I pleaded with the airline agent. “Can’t I just go? I swear I’m Laurel Bice. I *swear* I’m an American citizen!” But no. TSA doesn’t play around. They needed my *actual* passport. The *valid* one. The one not on the 'maybe stolen' list.

So I called my husband. Like, *help me, please.* I need you to drive five hours and bring my passport right now so I don’t miss my flight. And bless him—he wanted to. But he was knee-deep in sports, juggling four kids like a superhero. Couldn’t make the drive.

Enter: my best friend Hollee. I called her in full desperation mode and said, “Girl. I will pay you *cash money* to drop everything, grab my passport, and get to me ASAP.” And because she’s a total legend—*she did.*

But here’s the kicker: I still missed my flight to Thailand. Yup. I had to send my sister and Megan Harris (The Bridal Harris herself) ahead without me.

There I was, solo, in the Seattle airport. Passport on the way. Flight gone. Already exhausted—and I hadn’t even *left the country yet.*

You’d think the chaos would end there, right? Wrong.

I open my bag... And my laptop. Is. Not. There. Stomach. Drop. *Again.* I had officially entered full “am I okay?” territory.

I pulled out my phone and opened the “Find My” app, praying it was in my bag somewhere, hiding under snacks or charger cords. But nope. You know where it was? On a plane. Flying away. To who-knows-where. My laptop had taken its own international vacation without me.

So I took a breath, gathered my stuff (what was *left* of it), and made a new plan. When my best friend Hollee got there with my passport in hand like the hero she is, we were going to go get me a new computer. Because what else do you do when your laptop flies away without you?

We hit the road like two women on a mission. And honestly, I couldn’t even tell you the name of the computer store we ended up at—some random tech spot in Seattle. It’s a blur of fluorescent lights and credit card panic.

Now keep in mind—it’s early January. And apparently, Black Friday had *cleaned them out*. They had *three* computers left in stock. Just three. And every single one was *$5,000*.

But thank goodness for years of setting aside business funds and having an emergency stash. Because right then and there, I swiped my business card and dropped **5K** on a brand-new computer. Yep. That happened.

So there I am—with Hollee. We’ve got a brand new computer in the backseat and a mutual understanding that the *old* passport is now dead to me. I literally handed it to her like it was cursed and said, “Take this. Shred it. Bury it. I never want to see it again.”

We grabbed some Chipotle, and she dropped me off back at the airport. At this point, I’m thinking: *Alright. Deep breath. You did it. You survived.* There’s food in the airport. Cozy chairs. I’ll post up somewhere cute and sleep until my flight in the morning.

Spoiler: **Wrong again.**

Turns out—when you’re flying internationally, and especially on the airline I was booked with—the kiosk for check-in *closes* overnight. Meaning? I couldn’t get through security. Couldn’t get to the comfy seats. Couldn’t get to the overpriced airport snacks.

I was stuck. In the front of the airport. With cold metal chairs, screaming babies, flickering lights, and floors that had definitely seen some things.

So what did I do? A normal person probably would've just booked a hotel. But I am *not* a normal person. I pulled out my flight pillow, my trusty travel blanket, and I *made a home* in the corner of that cold, echoey airport.

I created a little editing cave like the airport-gremlin-photographer I was destined to be. I curled up next to an outlet like it was a five-star suite, opened up that brand new $5,000 laptop, and started cranking through wedding galleries.

Honestly? It kind of felt like a rite of passage. Messy. Exhausting. A little unhinged. But also kind of... *badass*.