When asked where the safest place in the world is, some might suggest the airport security queue. Vigilantly monitored, it sends me into autopilot: finishing my water, putting my luggage on the tray, taking out my electronics, shuffling through the body scanner and collecting my belongings. But as of August last year, I’m no longer so nonchalant.
My family, boyfriend and I had spent a carefree two weeks on holiday in Portugal. I was already mourning the end of summer – and my return to medical school – when we arrived at Porto airport for our flight home. I had just stepped away from the security queue and was repacking my bag when I realised something I had put on the scanner belt was missing: my iPad. Panicked, I demanded that everyone comb through their luggage, but it was nowhere to be found. Four years of medical school notes, as well as reams of unfinished writing from my year as a journalist, had vanished.
We alerted a security guard, who seemed sceptical, and insisted that my bag be rescanned. That confirmed it: the iPad was gone. The security guard called the police, and the countdown began. Our flight was due to take off in 45 minutes. I had to find my iPad before then.
My family and I were greeted by a friendly policeman, who said he would review the CCTV. I began to second-guess myself – had I just misplaced it? But I realised there was a way to check: Find My iPhone. Opening the app, I spotted my iPad, moving through the airport, away from me.
The policeman returned with footage of the culprit: an elderly, balding man in a white shirt accompanied by a little boy wearing an oversized blue rucksack. Unassuming suspects.
At this point, we had only 30 minutes until our flight took off. While my mum and sisters went through passport control, my dad, boyfriend and I followed the policeman. I showed him the location on my phone and he knew where to go.
“I have a plan,” he announced, bounding down the stairs. We tried to keep up but lost him in the crowd. Checking my iPad’s location, I saw it on the other side of the airport.
After 20 minutes of futile searching, we regrouped and agreed to go through passport control. The policeman reappeared, took my details and said he would send me a case report for insurance purposes.
It seemed like the end. But on the other side of the airport, my sisters had also been tracking the iPad. While it had moved farther away from me, it had drawn closer to them, to a boarding gate just opposite our own.
Running to the ground crew, they explained the situation and asked them to hold the plane. The staff looked confused, but called the police to confirm our story. The gate was deserted – everyone had boarded and the plane was about to depart. Our flight had started boarding, too.
Amazingly, the ground crew agreed to search the plane. Armed with a verbal description of the culprit, the colour of my iPad and its screensaver, one of the team members boarded.
The wait was tense. We sat in silence. But then a figure appeared, striding down the boarding bridge with an object held over his head: my iPad.
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None of us could believe it. The fact that we had narrowed down the exact plane and a crew member had found the thief with nothing but a vague description seemed like something out of a spy thriller. Overwhelmed with gratitude, we thanked the crew profusely before sprinting to the tail end of our boarding queue.
We never did find out what happened to the culprit. I only hope that the other passengers on his flight weren’t too delayed. To this day, my family still spends hours around the dinner table debating how the crew persuaded the elderly man to surrender my iPad. It has become our favourite story to tell.
I used to think airport etiquette was an unspoken law: don’t tamper with other people’s security trays, and only take your own suitcase from the luggage conveyor. I won’t be so easily fooled again.