Day 38: The Long Journey Home

 

After my only meltdown of the entire holiday, I finally arrived home.

Every night during my trip, tucked up in bed, I checked the status of my return flight scheduled for the 12th. It always said the same thing: “On time.” I didn’t entirely trust it. Given everything that was happening in the region, I half expected it would be cancelled at the last minute. Still, I reassured myself that at least I was in the system—if it was cancelled, the airline would have to reschedule me or issue a refund.

One night, however, my heart nearly stopped when I opened the flight status page.

Instead of the familiar message, the screen simply read: “You have no upcoming trips.”

What?

Where had my flight gone?

Panic set in immediately. I began frantically searching through my emails for any correspondence. That’s when the true horror began to unfold. It turned out that I had actually booked the flight through a third-party company called Flight Network. Normally I’m extremely careful about avoiding this, but somehow their name had been hidden in very small print. At the time of booking, it looked as though I was dealing directly with Etihad.

I quickly searched for the company’s website and entered my booking reference.

“Error: incorrect number.”

I tried again.
And again.
And again.

Nothing.

That was the moment reality truly struck me. I was in a war zone with no flight out.

Under normal circumstances you would phone the airline and see what the hell was going on. But people had spent eight hours trying to get through to Etihad's Chat Bot for help and then been cutoff.

I immediately started searching for alternative flights. My heart sank when I saw the prices. Flights out of Oman were coming in at around €6,000. Etihad had no flights to Dublin available for at least a week. Emirates had nothing to Dublin either.

That night I didn’t sleep at all. My mind kept running through every worst-case scenario imaginable.

The next morning when I walked into the kitchen, Jen took one look at me and asked what on earth had happened. I immediately burst into tears—even though I had promised myself I wouldn’t alarm her.

I should have known better.

Jen is one of the calmest people I have ever met. She handed me a cup of tea and calmly opened her laptop to start searching for flights. Before long she was just as horrified as I had been by the prices. Emirates only had Business Class seats available. When we looked at flights to London they were coming in at nearly €10,000.

That simply wasn’t an option.

Just as another panic attack threatened to arrive, Jen—being Scottish—had a very practical thought.

“Why not check flights to Edinburgh or Glasgow?”

Sure enough, there it was: a flight leaving the following day to Glasgow for €4,000.

It was a bargain under the circumstances.

I snapped it up.

My next worry was actually getting to Dubai Airport. I had heard horror stories about people making it all the way there only to have their flights cancelled, leaving them stranded again.

Thankfully, Emirates provides a chauffeur service for Business Class passengers. Once you’re in that car seat, getting you to the airport on time becomes their responsibility.

Happy days.

At 1:30 on Monday morning, a sleek black BMW pulled up outside the apartment building. Finally, I was on my way home.

“This is stress-free,” I thought to myself.

That thought lasted about five minutes.

A short distance from the apartment, the driver pulled over, rolled down his window, and asked a parked taxi driver:

“Which way to Dubai?”

No.

No, no, no. This cannot be happening to me.

Thankfully the taxi driver gave directions, and we were soon back on the road.

At the airport, another Business Class perk kicked in. There’s a completely separate entrance with plenty of check-in counters and no queues. I sailed straight through and headed for the Business Class lounge, fully determined to eat and drink €4,000 worth of food.

I did my best.

The relief when my flight was finally called for boarding was enormous. It wasn’t cancelled.

The seat converted into a bed, complete with mattress, pillow, and blanket. For someone who hadn’t slept in two days, it almost made the price worthwhile.

The final hurdle was leaving UAE airspace. I cannot describe the relief when we crossed into Omani territory. For the first time in days, I felt like I could breathe properly.

When I arrived in Glasgow, I was greeted by the news that a vape shop at the airport had gone up in flames.

At this stage I had to wonder—am I jinxed?

After about an hour’s delay, I boarded the final flight of my journey.

When I eventually stepped onto the tarmac at Dublin Airport, I honestly felt like doing my best Pope John Paul II impression and kissing the ground.

Inside arrivals, the best moment of all was seeing my brother Finian waiting for me. Ten days earlier I had driven myself to the airport and parked my car, fully expecting to return in two weeks.

Ah, the innocence.

Finian and Marese had decided there was no way I was coming home to an empty airport. Even better, Finian insisted on driving my car home while I sat in the passenger seat. Despite my sleep on the plane, I was still in no fit state to drive.

And that was the end of my long journey home.

After the best night’s sleep I’ve had in over a week, I’m only now beginning to process the full extent of what just happened.

One thing is certain.

It’s a trip I will never forget.