Unexpected Layovers, Laughter, and Long Conversations: The Flight That Wouldn’t End

As someone who loves to travel, I have to admit that plane journeys are far from enjoyable—especially when you're stuck in economy, with long legs cramped for hours, dealing with questionable food and that unmistakable airplane smell and trying your best to go to sleep but needing your bed. Over the past couple of decades, I’ve always enjoyed visiting Dubai. However, with the current conflict in the Middle East, travel has become more complicated. Flights are taking longer, and delays have become the norm. I anticipated more of the same on this trip, but what actually happened was something I hadn’t expected at all.

With my late check-in, I quickly realized there was no chance of changing my seat. I was stuck in the dreaded middle... of the middle. I could already feel the discomfort creeping in as I made my way to the airport, wondering how on earth my back and legs were going to survive the flight. Sleeping on planes has never been my strong suit, but falling asleep while waiting for takeoff? That, I’ve mastered. So, naturally, I dozed off. Hoping to wake up and find we were five hours into the journey. Unfortunately, my optimism was a bit misplaced. When I woke, it had only been thirty minutes, and we were still on the ground. Eventually, we did take off. But during my brief nap, I’d apparently missed an important announcement from the pilot—our flight was taking a slightly different route... through Iraq.

Four hours into the journey, I had already attempted to sleep about three hundred times—each attempt more hopeless than the last. To make matters worse, the only seat in my cabin that decided to recline fully was, of course, the one right in front of mine. I could barely move my legs before, and now my knees were practically pinned in place. And then came the announcement. The one that turned this journey from simply difficult to "give me a parachute, I’m ready to jump."

"Your attention please, this is your captain speaking. We’ve just reached Iraqi airspace, but unfortunately, Southern Iraq has closed its airspace due to security reasons. Given this, we will now turn back towards Greece, which will take about an hour. After landing, we’ll need to refuel, which could take roughly an hour and a half before we can take off again and use an alternate route to reach Dubai. We apologise for the inconvenience." The whole plane erupted into muttered complaints about the extended journey. But me? I wanted to scream—specifically at the woman in front of me, who hadn’t slept for even a minute. Instead, she kept standing up, fluttering her eyes at the two single men behind her whilst my legs and back ached from sitting in the same fixed position for hours.

The Pakistani woman sitting next to me asked if I could explain the pilot's announcement in Urdu. She had a rough idea of what was going on but wasn’t entirely sure. So, I did my best to relay the message without alarming her. Her main concern was for her husband, who would be waiting at the airport. Then, we started talking—and we didn’t stop for the next three hours.
She shared stories about her kids studying in Canada and her life in Dubai over the past twenty-four years. We discussed everything from religion and politics to our travel experiences in Switzerland and the hope of one day visiting Pakistan. When she mentioned she was originally from Kashmir, I couldn’t contain my excitement—I had always dreamed of visiting. We spoke about the Afghan Sikh community; our languages, our traditions and what differs us from Punjabi Indians. She even asked what I was looking for in a future partner. Before I knew it, I realised I had just added another meaningful conversation to the long list of memorable encounters I’ve had while traveling. We never exchanged names, but our conversation felt like I was catching up with someone I hadn’t seen in years, making this twelve-hour journey a bit more bearable.

Just before we landed in Greece, the European couple sitting next to me asked what was going on. Their English wasn’t great, so I gave it my best shot with a simplified, broken version:
“Iraq. Close. Bomb. Fly back. Greece. Fuel. Change route. Dubai. Four, five more hours.” Trust me, I tried to say it in the least terrifying way possible. They got the gist and laughed along with me. No one on the plane was particularly stressed about missiles—we all just wanted to get off the plane.

My new Pakistani friend did mention she wanted me to continue talking to her so she does not get bored, but what she did not understand that I think I was enjoying the conversation more than her. When we landed in Greece the pilot informed us the the the airport staff in Larnaka were very well prepared when getting us our refuel, and that we would be ready within an hour. At this point most of the plane was stood up. Mostly tipsy and discussing the conflict. Some stressed and then the odd parent here and there trying to get their kids to stop crying.

Back in the air I realised I had dozed off and did not realise we took-off. First thing I said was "Are we flying?", to which my friend beside me giggled to and assured me that we were. We found ourselves analysing the flight route. As you can see from the picture, we had to avoid the central Middle Eastern region entirely, flying straight down past Egypt before crossing over Saudi Arabia and finally making our way to Dubai. I turned to her and joked, "Can I say I’ve been to Greece if we were there for an hour?" She laughed politely, but I could tell my humor wasn’t enough to ease the worry she felt about her husband, who was probably waiting up all night for her. Later, I found out that the airport in Dubai wasn’t even telling anyone where our plane was, which only added to their frustration. For reasons I still don’t understand, I decided to explain the plot of Manifest to her, trying my best not to freak her out. But then she calmly replied, "Oh, that can happen, you know." Suddenly, I was the one feeling a little scared. She mentioned similar stories have occurred in the past to which I just forced myself to assume she did not understand what I said.
Eventually, my humor started breaking through, and she couldn’t help but laugh, even as she face-palmed at my jokes. My goal was to distract her from her worries—things like safety and delays that were completely out of her control, especially since mobile connections and Wi-Fi had been turned off by the pilot. Ironically, this was advice I’d never have taken myself in a similar situation but her motherly aura was too precious to ignore. The final hurdle on our journey came when the captain announced that communication with Dubai airport wasn’t going smoothly. As a result, we’d have to fly past Dubai and loop back around, adding another frustrating thirty minutes to the flight. At this point, we both just laughed it off—what else could we do?

As soon as we finally got off the plane, it was just our group of passengers trudging toward baggage claim. We wore the same drained expressions—yawning, frustrated, relieved, and barely smiling—just happy to be off that plane, five hours later than planned. I connected to the airport’s Wi-Fi and sent a quick update to my mum before casually opening the BBC News app. That’s when the headline hit me:
“Iran launches more than 180 ballistic missiles at Israel.”
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and wondered if my sleep-deprived brain had somehow started writing its own apocalyptic news. Then, I showed the article to my new friend her reaction was classic—more like an Asian mum’s: “Oooooh!” with her eyes wide open.