We were up before sunrise, the kind of quiet hour when a city feels paused. By 6:45 a.m., our little caravan—husband and wife with two adult children—rolled toward Dulles (IAD) in two Uber SUVs. Fifteen pieces of luggage, including carry-ons, filled every inch of cargo space. Check-in had been completed online the night before; boarding passes were tucked into wallets and phones. The federal shutdown had caused a number of flights to be delayed, which, strangely enough, worked to our advantage: security moved more slowly, but the gates weren’t closing on the minute. We arrived at IAD with time to spare.
I wasn’t feeling particularly well, so I carried a doctor’s note. The airline staff were considerate, and that piece of paper made all the difference. A three-seat row in which to lie down and rest: my wife and daughter sat together; Rayan landed in another row; I had the “medical row” that would be my small island during the long crossing.
Baggage, Redemption Arc
I have two infamous baggage stories that taught me humility. In 2007, I grabbed a checked suitcase identical in color, brand, and size to mine. Only at home did I discover it wasn’t my life inside. In 2023, on a Bhutan–Bangkok–Washington route, I picked up another traveler’s bag in transit. I flew on to IAD, reached home, opened the case, and felt that same cold shock. I raced back to the airport to return it, but my own bag had already walked away with someone else. It took a full week to find it.
This time, I wouldn’t gamble. Rayan hung AirTags on every single piece, added a tracker, and we photographed each bag and tag before leaving the house. Same color? Same brand? Doesn’t matter-now they all have loud, unmistakable IDs. Remarkably, a little tech turns panic into peace.
Wheels Up, Wi-Fi On
We boarded our Qatar Airways flight, and the first pleasant surprise hit: free, fast Wi-Fi. I’m writing this midair, watching our progress crawl across the map while the cabin hums in that low, steady way airplanes do after the seatbelt signs blink off.
I started the flight off with Hindi movies—familiar comfort when you’re buckled in for hours. A light romantic-comedy to warm up, then a classic family drama. There’s something about an old Bollywood soundtrack that settles the nerves. Between films, I hopped on to YouTube for cricket: highlights, commentary, even some fan analysis from last week’s ODIs. With the Wi-Fi holding steady, it felt like a living room in the sky.
The Long Middle
About three hours in, the lights dimmed. I curled up across my three seats, pulled the blanket to my chin, and drifted into a deep sleep—two, maybe three hours. When I woke, the cabin had that late-flight hush: window shades mostly down, reading lights blinking here and there, the occasional cough or kettle hiss from the galley. My wife and daughter were whispering across the aisle about the next leg through Doha. Rayan texted from his row to report his playlist had outlasted two movies and one short nap.
I stretched, queued up another Hindi film, and returned to cricket—this time live snippets of analysis and a few over-by-over breakdowns. You forget how soothing the rhythm of the game can be, especially at 36,000 feet. The ball-by-ball pace encourages patience: a decent metaphor for long-haul travel.
Small Midair Stories
A few snapshots from inside the plane:
• Ginger tea diplomacy: the flight attendant saw I was sick and gave me ginger tea without asking. .
• The aisle waltz. Midflight stretch breaks are like choreography: water runs, bathroom rotations, the aisle politely negotiated with nods and sidesteps. Strangers are partners for two seconds, then vanish back into their rows.
• The headphone exchange. Our row neighbor’s earbuds died. Trisha had a spare pair in his backpack—because of course she did—and handed them over. Ten minutes later the neighbor mouthed “thank you,” eyes glued to an action film.
• The map trance. There’s a point where, instead of watching the movie, you start watching the map that traces your journey. You learn the names of towns you’ll never visit, and seas you’ll never sail. Time gets elastic. Snacks arrive like mile markers.
Doha on the Horizon
The IAD–Doha segment is about 13 hours long, but it’s manageable when you pace it: movie, tea, cricket, nap, repeat. With my three-seat row, I could actually lie flat and keep my back from locking up. That accommodation, and the steady Wi-Fi, made the difference between “endure” and “travel.”
Our plan in Doha is simple: stretch, hydrate, check the AirTags again, and keep the family together through the next gate. We do a mental roll call of the bags before we step onto the Kathmandu flight. The old me would trust memory; the current me trusts trackers and photos.
This Trip Taught Me (Again)
1. Label like your sanity depends on it. Because it does. AirTags, ribbons, stickers—pick your method and overdo it.
2. Carry a doctor’s note if you need one. Airlines can and do help when you’re upfront about your condition.
3. Break the flight into chapters. A film, a walk, a nap, a match highlight, a snack—repeat. It shrinks the distance.
4. Accept help, offer help. Tea from the crew, headphones from a stranger—it all adds up to a better flight for everyone.
Soon we will taxi into Doha’s bright terminal, a mix of glass, light, and quiet efficiency. Then a short wait, and the final hop to Kathmandu. And with luck, the bags we tracked across an ocean will roll off the belt together, their blinking on our phones like a row of green lights. And if one tries to wander off? This time we will know before it gets very far.
Freelance Writer
