With a baby on board an international flight while moving abroad, from chaotic layovers to unexpected challenges. Follow part 2 of our 38-hour journey to New Zealand with a four-month-old, where exhaustion meets adventure and kindness shines through.
Link to part one here
Landing in China: A Tiny Victory (For Now)
The landing in China felt like a small victory. The heavy feeling I had in Amsterdam had lifted somewhat, replaced by the chaos of trying to gather all our belongings while a sea of people surged down the aisle. So grateful for the two backpackers who lent a hand with our hand luggage—small gestures mean the world. 😊
In Amsterdam, they had kindly offered to tag our stroller so it would appear right outside the gate during transit. However, our stroller was nowhere to be seen, and the mass of travellers swept us forward like a human conveyor belt.
baby on board: A not so Tranquil Transit
It all started with the woman at the transfer desk.
“We should have requested the bassinet seat three days in advance,” she kept repeating, as if saying it more times would magically turn back time.
So, I did what any sleep-deprived, baby-wielding mother on a 38-hour journey would do—I pushed. Not in an aggressive way, but in that slightly desperate, pleading, “I refuse to give up” way.
“Look,” I said, “we have a four-month-old. Thirty-eight hours of travel. Please, just check one more time.”
More sighs, eye rolls and unnecessary keyboard clicks.
And then—click.
“Oh,” she muttered. “You have a bassinet seat.”
Oh.
When I asked about our missing stroller, she just barked, “No, no!” and waved me away like an annoying fly. Alright then. Moving on.
I had imagined our eight-hour layover in Guangzhou as an opportunity to walk around, grab a coffee, browse some shops, soak in the airport vibes.
Reality check:
- One coffee shop.
- Two noodle restaurants.
- Three identical souvenir stores selling the same panda keychains.
- Two airport lounges.
With nowhere else to go, we made a beeline for a lounge.
Take our money please
A woman outside the first lounge practically pounced on us, sensing easy prey. Before we could even say “hello,” she had us seated in fancy chairs outside the lounge, launching into a full-blown sales pitch.
“We have hot food, soft chairs, showers…”
(Yes, yes, we already want to go inside, just take our money.)
Patrick took out his card. Declined.
I tried mine. Declined.
We tried every single card in our possession. Declined, Declined, Declined!
My hands got sweaty. Elsa started fussing. The lounge woman’s eager smile faded into polite indifference.
Patrick checked his banking app. Nothing wrong.
I checked mine. Nothing wrong.
And then it dawned on us—our cards didn’t work in China.
The Itsme app? Not available.
ATM? Not in the terminal.
At that precise moment, Elsa screamed. Loudly.
Not just a hungry cry—a full-blown I-am-done-with-this nonsense meltdown.
The lounge woman gently but firmly motioned us out of the comfy chairs, and just like that, we were back in the transit terminal—bags everywhere, baby wailing, no coffee, no lounge, no sanity.
baby on board: Plan B?
We stumbled into the one and only café. Patrick ordered me a coffee and a mysterious cake that smelled vaguely of lavender and regret.
Meanwhile, I searched for a semi-private corner to breastfeed Elsa. There wasn’t one.
I sighed. This was going to be a long seven hours.
But then—a miracle.
The second airport lounge (which was also cheaper) accepted one of our cards.
We walked in like two battle-worn travellers arriving at an oasis. Bags were dropped. Shoes were kicked off. Elsa was laid out on her little blanket.
And suddenly—everything felt okay again. Time passed quickly as we played with Elsa, pretended it was daytime for her, and lost all sense of reality
The final long Stretch
By the time we boarded our second night flight, I was exhausted. I felt a strange dizziness, somewhere between the fatigue I used to experience after a 24-hour shift in the emergency department and the aftermath of a night of dancing and too many beers.
Elsa fell asleep easily. I somehow did not.
Instead, I just stared at the dark cabin ceiling, waiting for morning, waiting for landing, waiting for the next step.
Two hours before arrival, I gently woke Elsa to start adjusting her to New Zealand time. My logic: if she was up now, she’d be ready to sleep again by evening in NZ. We were on the brink of arriving in New Zealand, but exhaustion overshadowed excitement, letting the moment slip by without much intensity.
Welcome to New Zealand: Auckland Airport
At baggage claim in Auckland, we found our stroller.
It was destroyed.
- Screws missing.
- Parts of the carrycot gone.
- The fabric? Torn to shreds.
Thank you, China Southern Airlines.
And then—the final hurdle.
We had to haul all our luggage across a 20-minute walk to another terminal.
Picture this: both in our Belgium winter clothes still adjusting to kiwi-summer
👩🦰 Me, barely awake, baby strapped to my chest, dragging too many bags.
👨🦰 Patrick, not visible behind a tower of suitcases.
Once again, kind strangers helped us along the way.
A Blurry Ending
Our final 1hr flight from Auckland to Napier was a daze.
The three of us were so tired we could barely stay awake while the flight attendants spoke to us or while the setting sun painted the sky gold.
My only thought: I hope I don’t drop Elsa if I fall asleep.
When we landed, two of my new colleagues picked us up. They had gone above and beyond—beds made, fridge stocked, internet set up.
We dropped everything in the living room and crawled into bed.
Did we really just arrive in New Zealand?
baby on board: Final Thoughts
Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. The chaos. The setbacks. The absurdity of it all.
But also—the kindness of strangers. The resilience we found in moments when we thought we had nothing left.
It wasn’t pretty, but we made it.
And maybe, just maybe—that’s the whole point of an adventure.
