The Journey
I began my trip from Atlanta to Doha by meeting my traveling companions at their houses. Lin, Lun, Huong, and Ngey are packing and getting the last of their paperwork and belongings in order. I was offered a seat on the couch in the living room during the chaos of preparing for a family going home, some for the first time in many years. All with a focused drive to take as much with them as they could. Boxes filled with candy, cleaning supplies, soaps, and a plethora of items seemed somewhat trivial and ordinary to me. It was clear then that the importance and necessity to take many things that could be picked up at any corner store or Dollar General was confirmation that where we were going was far from ordinary.
As the final boxes were duct-taped shut, an announcement was made that dinner was ready. I was handed a large bowl filled with rich beef broth, rice, chunks of coagulated pig blood, intestines, liver, chili, green onion, bean sprouts, and a generous addition of fish sauce. It was delicious. Rich as only liver and offals can be, spicy from Chile, depth of flavor from the fish sauce, and fresh with the vegetable condiments. As I gobbled and slurped down the delicious bowl, it occurred to me that my adventure had already begun. I nestled in to finish my pre-flight meal and got lost for a moment in reflection and thought as all around me conversation and intensity swirled in all directions. I couldn’t understand a word.
Of those traveling with me, only Huong (Tina) could speak English. Though she was going with us, I would quickly be separated from her. I would join her family members in Vietnam who are closer to my age and be shown around the country by them. Specifically Diem. Diem was tasked with being my guide in Hanoi and Da Nang. So far, I have figured out the Diem can count to 10 in English. So far, I can say excuse me, do you speak English and Thank you in Vietnamese. This is going to be interesting! Google Translate is about to be put to the test.
Getting on the plane.
As we entered the International Terminal at Heartsfield-Jackson Airport, It occurred to me that I hadn’t been in this terminal in almost a decade. Had it been that long? How fast time can slip into our past like water down a fall? What can seem like yesterday is separated from you by years. Check-in was relatively smooth. I was accompanying the matriarch of the family Ngey, (grandmother).
She is a sweet, ever-smiling 85-year-old who is going home to the place of her birth for the first time in over 12 Years. It was probably her last time, and how precious it all seemed. Since I will be at her side most of the trip, and she is in a wheelchair, I could skip the line at security. (Nice perk) We were also boarded first an hour before take-off. All in all, getting on the plane and situated was the easiest I’ve experienced. Thanks, Ngey!
The Flight
I was able to reserve a window seat in the same row as Huong and Ngey. I found my neatly folded grey blanket, pillow, and welcome pack in my seat. The welcome package included headphones for the interactive entertainment system, earplugs, lip gloss, toothbrush, toothpaste, fresh silk socks for some comfy feet, and an eye mask. All very helpful.
A gentleman living in Augusta but originally from outside Delhi in India sat beside me, and we had a great conversation before Dinner. He was flying home for the first time in almost a decade for a class reunion. I had Paneer Tawa masala with tadka dal, potato, and rice, a glass of red wine for dinner, and a cup of decaf coffee before settling into one of my favorite Bogey movies, Dark Passage (They had a great classic movie selection as well).
I didn’t see the end as I covered myself with my blanket and placed my eye mask just above my eyes. Sleep was coming quickly. She was beginning to descend upon me like an Angel of mercy. For days, sleep has eluded me. I was working harder to prepare for such a long absence from home, packing, and getting my affairs in order. Now, there was nothing left to do, nothing left to check or worry about. Freedom was driving now, and mercy pulled the mask over my eyes as Bacall and Bogey’s voices faded into darkness.
I awoke before Dawn to the cries of a small child, either upset with his current condition or not feeling well. He seemed more interested in making everyone else as uncomfortable as he was. The thing about being at 40000 feet with a crying child is there is just nowhere to go. I put my earplugs in and checked the flight path map. We were skirting through the straights that separated the Orkney Islands from Mainland Scotland. I opened my window to find a partly clouded sky over the sea, lit vibrantly by an almost full moon. I could see the northern shore of Scotland, whose coastline was lit up like Christmas lights tightly pressed in a strip against her coastline.
As Scotland fell out of view and the darkness began to swallow all the ambient light, a wonderful, unexpected sight appeared. First, one boat, then another, and even another still until the North Sea below me was dotted with what looked like amber-hued fairies dancing and flickering in the moonlit night.
One ship seemed to be on fire as its richly deep light danced on the low-hanging cloud above it. It was so large I could almost make out the details of her deck. The ships came and went and finally began to fade into the distance behind us as my focus moved from below us to before us.
The sister stars, with the older one perched high and to the left of her smaller sibling, sat above the wing as the horizon began to transform from a dark emptiness to a beautiful violet and then to an orange glow. The gloaming was upon us. Sunrise was fast approaching.
As dawn approached and the sun rose into the sky, a blanket of clouds rolled in underneath. A seemingly endless sea of pillowy haze began swallowing the north of Germany. The land would not be seen again underneath until the edge of Asia in the form of the Bosphorus straights and the gleaming ancient city of Istanbul as they emerged underneath the wing far to the south. The Black Sea beneath in its deep dark blue. Three hours left to Doha.
We officially crossed over to land on the Asian continent around 5:30 a.m. on January 24th, Atlanta time, to the east of Istanbul in northern Turkey. We’ve been in the air for 10 1/2 hours now. As we move deeper into Turkey, we appear to be veering to the east a bit. Looking at the map, I’m assuming it’s to avoid the areas of Syria and certain parts of Iraq still ripped apart by war. We are officially flying into the Arab world. That can only mean an approach to Doha is near. With an hour and a half left, I can already feel the plane beginning its staged descent.
As I look at the flight map, something becomes oddly understood. Given our flight path, we will probably go through Iran to Doha, Qatar. Interesting, then I remember the fear-mongering, and I rest in knowing that the world doesn’t work based on what we see on T.V. Or read in the paper. As we approached Iranian airspace, the attendants brought breakfast. Scrambled eggs, hash, baked beans, and sautéed mushrooms. Almost a solid London fry. It was served with a fresh fruit cup, strawberry yogurt, orange juice, and a roll. My luck, the seatbelt sign came on as he approached my row, so no coffee was served until after breakfast. However, with my cup of coffee came a beautiful sight.
The clouds began to break below and expose a beautiful snow-capped mountain range on the border of Turkey, Iran, and Iraq. Sharp peeks cascaded down into verdant valleys.
We hugged the Iraqi border 60 miles north of Mosul. Then, at roughly 6:15 a.m. Thursday, January 24th, Georgia time, we quietly, inconspicuously, without commotion or fanfare, crossed into Iranian airspace. We did so briefly before turning south and heading for Baghdad just inside the Iraqi border with Iran. I was finally in the Middle East and almost to Doha. The Tigris and Euphrates rivers faded behind us as we turned slightly east towards the Persian Gulf about 60 miles outside Baghdad. Kuwait and the Gulf were just ahead.
The Persian Gulf rolled into view below, and the crew hurriedly began the final procedures for prep and landing. As the seat belt signs came back on, our seats were asked to be put in standard position and our belongings and treys appropriately stowed.
We approached Doha as the tranquil blues of the Persian Gulf made way to the harsh, bright sands of the Arabian desert. I was not expecting the deep, smoggy haze that enveloped the city. Instead, it seemed as if the desert swallowed everything behind us and held on to its secrets, keeping just out of sight ahead as long as possible. Then, out of nowhere, the runway emerged on the edge of the Gulf. We had landed. I was in Qatar.
