I came within a cat's whisker of being flown from Molde, Norway to Oslo rather than to my intended destination of Bergen when I was a teen. Molde Airport is a

I came within a cat's whisker of being flown from Molde, Norway to Oslo rather than to my intended destination of Bergen when I was a teen. Molde Airport is a very small affair, a handful of flights every day, and no such fancy thing as boarding tunnels; rather, you were just passed through at the gate and let onto the apron, where a plane would be waiting. Only on that day, there were TWO planes waiting, one hidden from view behind a hangar - but both were from then national flag carrier Braathens. So, I get out from my gate as the very last passenger, having bought a standby ticket, so no pax to follow, lemmings style, to my plane. Walking over to single plane in view, I board and find my seat on the nearly empty flight, door closes, pre-departure briefing, taxiing towards runway. And then they announce that estimated flight time to Oslo will be 45 minutes. Uh, Oslo? So, I call for a stewardess, who suggests that whatever I may need, just wait until we're airborne. 'Uh, that's kind of the point - I am going to BERGEN, not Oslo.' She runs off to alert the captain, and a minute or two later, a truck with boarding stairs come zipping alongside, I disembark, get driven over to the plane to Bergen and as I board the correct plane, a guy is getting off the Bergen-bound plane and is driven over to the plane I had just left. As we both had stumbled onto the wrong plane, the tally matched the expected numbers and all seemed normal - until they'd announced where we were actually going, that is.