Safe Arrival

After two days, three delayed flights and an overnight in Dubai, I’ve finally arrived in Iraq. Though it turned out all the flights were delayed, it would have been nice to know in advance as to ward off the stress of missing a connection.
Sitting on the plane at the Minneapolis airport, I was excited to get underway and already looking forward to the end of my long itinerary when the pilot announced that we would be delayed. Apparently, we had a rock in one of the tires. And by rock, I mean large chunk of concrete. I’m not sure how a chunk of concrete can come to be embedded in a tire, but we had to wait half an hour while they changed the tire, making the flight safe for take off. The thought of the damaged tire blowing out at take-off speed of 180 miles an hour helped me wait out the delay. But by the grousing of the people around me, I knew I wasn’t the only one impatient to get going.
After we were airborne, announcements of tight connections were made and wifi was available to check our next flights’ status. My flight out of Atlanta was scheduled on time, which cut my transit time down to forty minutes. Manageable. Upon landing, I realized how wrong I was. We unloaded at terminal B, and by the time I got off the plane, my connection was already boarding in terminal E. Racing for the train, I made it into the tunnel just in time to see the train pulling away. I decided to make a run for it before the next train arrived, thinking it wasn’t that far. Right. I made it one terminal before I gave up, jumped on the next available car and was whisked off to E. With only ten minutes left to departure, I ran up the escalator and down the hall. Rounding the corner into the gate, out of breath, I saw everyone else was already on board and I’d just made it.
Settling into my seat, I struck up a conversation with the woman next to me. We chatted about mad dashes at the airport and nearly missed flights. And then I realized this is the second time in two flights that I’ve had to run for a connection. I’ve got to start asking for longer layovers.
And then I started imagining where my luggage was going to wind up this time. Last flight, it went to Cairo. Would it be travelling to Peru this time? Iceland? Is forty minutes enough time to transfer my bags?
Turns out I didn’t need to worry. This leg was delayed as well. Something was wrong with the in-flight entertainment system, so we all waited patiently while a technician fixed it. And this time, there was no grumbling. No one wanted to make the fourteen hour flight to Dubai without a properly working video system. We’ll complain about waiting for a safety feature to be repaired, but are patient as the day is long when it comes to our entertainment. I think our priorities might be just a little skewed.

Walking out of the Dubai International Airport, I was hit with a breath of Middle Eastern air. And it felt good to be back. After a quick overnight at a local hotel, I was back at the airport, this time in the less impressive terminal 2. Terminal 1 is gorgeous, and as one passenger deplaning with me the day before commented, “It doesn’t look like an airport at all. It looks like a mall.” Wait until he sees the actual mall.
Terminal 2 has upgraded though since I was last there. They now have a Starbucks. And the entire airport is non-smoking. I have to admit, it’s weird being in a Middle Eastern airport that doesn’t have clouds of smoke hanging from the rafters. I almost forgot where I was. Until I got on the plane.
In classic charter flight style, my ticket stated departure was at ten o’clock. My boarding pass said eleven. And this wasn’t considered a delay, just a ‘last minute time change’. On the upside, I scored on the luggage front. Since I was flying a charter that wasn’t part of my transatlantic flight, I was dropped to a lower weight limit of only 20 kilos. As I heaved my 30 kilo bag onto the scale, wondering how much I would have to pay in overweight charges, the check-in agent didn’t even bat an eye. Ten kilos (about 22 pounds) over the limit, and nary a word. In the States, I get charged if I’m 2 pounds over. Ah, it’s good to be back here.
After killing time in the airport by chatting up an extremely nice Kurdish lady who has invited me to her home for tea, I finally boarded the last leg of my journey. And sat on the plane for another hour and a half. The zipper on some poor passenger’s luggage busted, bursting their bag open in the cargo hold. Apparently, the airport considered this a security risk, even though the bag had gone through the screening process and it was wide open so you could see what was inside. A number of low-level security guards hauled it off the plane, then proceeded to stand around, waiting for someone to tell them what to do, occasionally talking into their walkie-talkies.
All of this took place right outside my window seat, so I had a perfect view of Middle Eastern inefficiency in action. How many security agents does it take to render a bag safe? No one knows. But finally, after more than an hour, a call came from the top, the bag was driven out of sight, and we were cleared for take-off. I don’t know if the anonymous passenger got their bag or not, but I’m glad it wasn’t my luggage. And maybe if baggage handlers the world over wouldn’t chuck our bags around like they’re Olympic shot puts, that zipper would have held.
Flying over my old home city of Erbil, I felt nostalgic and exhilarated. I was excited to be back, happy to be seeing my friends and adopted family again. I was also amazed at how the landscape had changed. When I lived here last year, each month brought something new- new restaurants, new malls, new entertainment centers. In the ten months I’ve been gone, the most noticeable change is that there is now a giant park in the middle of the city. From the air, I could see a small river, bridges, gazebos, trees, flowers and large open grassy areas on top of what used to be pure desert. The transformation was shocking and heartening. The city has obviously done well. While I’m here, I hope to get around the city to see what other testaments of perseverance and resilience have sprung up in my absence.