The journey started rough in Armenia.
Flights from Yerevan to Doha leave at 3 am local time. My colleagues and I worked all day, relaxed for a few hours in the evening, and then made our way to the airport.
No sleep.
We arrived in a brain fog at the airport to crowds, slow lines, and odd rules. At one point, an Armenian TSA officer confiscated my friend’s laptop. Not mine, though. What was the difference? After some difficult conversation, they hand it back, and we’re on our way to the gate.
What just happened there? We still don’t know.
Window seat on a 737. Tight, but maybe I’ll be able to lean against it and doze a bit for the three-hour flight.
A young couple takes their seats next to me, and the friendly man sits in the middle, likely to shield his partner from the grumpy old man in the window seat. We exchange some pleasant conversation while the remaining passengers board.
I’m already glassy-eyed. I don’t blame the guy for shielding his partner.
Wheels up, and somehow, inexplicably, my formerly talkative neighbor falls sound asleep. Snoring. How does one fall sound asleep in coach? In the middle seat?
It helps if you take over half of your neighbor’s seat.
So the next three hours were an exercise in physical and mental tension. I’m straining to keep myself out of his way, yet I’m smashed against the fuselage.
It’s uncomfortably warm, I’m exhausted, I have no place for my feet, I’m trying not to touch the guy next to me, my back hurts, and I’m hungry.
I’m starting to feel like an InstantPot full of rice, and someone just locked my lid and pushed the “go” button.
