My hearing isn’t great at the best of times, but I was pretty sure that the Spanish lady at American Airline’s check in desk was asking me if I had brought Esther with me. I don’t know anyone by that name, so I was thoroughly confused. Why was Esther in charge of my travel arrangements?
The frustrated official wrote a web address on a scrap piece of paper and waved vaguely towards the rear of the cavernous departures terminal at Birmingham airport.
Fortunately I had my MacBook with me, so I typed in the address and all became clear. I needed an ESTA (Electronic System for Travel Authorization) permit before the check in desk could process me.