As with most of my previous travel ventures, I approached my take-off date in a combination of whirl-wind and haze: I could tell you all of the boring details about everything that had to get done before I left for my adventure, but that would be, well, the opposite of interesting. Something less boring to know is that I have approached this trip with a feeling of destiny: there is something at play here, pushing me in this direction. This feels right; like a segue to a new and exciting chapter of my life. Turkey, Iran, India and Nepal: all foreign, exotic lands which promise to take me as far out of my comfort zone as possible, which has been the whole point.

My first flight was with Virgin Airlines from Brisbane to Sydney. Despite the frantic and at times sleep-deprived nature of the past few weeks, I was finally feeling very light and clear. Everything had been done, and even if it hadn’t – I was on a plane, and on my way regardless. I had the window seat, and there was a young couple sitting next to me. We didn’t talk at all, (apart from a rather perfunctory hello) and I spent most of the short flight reading my book (To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf). However, what was to be a very short and uncomplicated flight turned out to be one of the scariest I’ve ever been on.

We were told the weather was sunny, gorgeous and clear in Sydney, which by every appearance it was as we flew it. The sun was setting, and from my window it was a beautiful red above the clouds. We started our descent and it was all very routine. The sun had set and the sky was beginning to darken. We had our seatbelts on. Suddenly, what seemed like only ten metres away from touchdown (but in reality was probably more) the pilot suddenly pulled up the plane it was seemed to be an emergency manoeuvre – a very shaky and frightening manoeuvre. We then headed out to sea and into a bunch of clouds where we couldn’t see anything. There was no announcement for a long time, and from the nervous chatter and laughter that suddenly broke out, I could tell everyone was thinking the same things as me: the pilot’s gone rogue and we are being hijacked.

After maybe ten minutes’ of conspicuous silence from the cabin crew, an announcement was finally made: there were strong winds around the airport, making it difficult for the pilot to land the plane. He was in communication with the flight tower to get the all-clear for making another attempt. We cruised the Sydney airspace aimlessly for twenty minutes and then made another attempt. This time the pilot was quicker to back out of the descent. We cruised again for another 20 minutes or so. But this time, people were freaking out. It became very clear that whether we like it or not, we were trapped in a very unpalatable situation over which we had absolutely no control. How long would we keep circling for? How much petrol was left? What about connecting flights? Etc, etc, etc.

At one point before the third attempt at landing, I made friends with the couple sitting next to me. The guy (who was seated in the middle) was a fairly solid, calm looking dude whose arm I instinctively wanted to grab every time there was bad turbulence. We started making small talk. I told them how I kept visualising a particularly strong gust of wind picking up the plane and flipping it over. The guy laughed out loud, and I felt better knowing that my fear was actually laughable. The girl told me about a friend she has who fears flying and throws up every time she’s in a plane – and whose job, unfortunately, involves flying several times a week, and often to other countries.

The pilot landed the plane on the third attempt after some hairy turbulence, and the plane erupted in joyous cheers and applause. Everyone was just so happy to be alive. If the pilot had been around when we disembarked, I would have slipped him a tenner. I was super grateful he paid attention at flight school, and knew enough not to crash our sorry asses into the ground. At Sydney I had a fairly uneventful transit to the International Airport via bus. There was myself, and one other woman and a man. The guy immediately looked familiar to me. Stocky with a shaved head and wearing jeans and a caramel-coloured t-shirt, I immediately started racking my brains for which personal-development course I’d met him at. He had an air of kindness and trustworthiness about him. We didn’t speak, but then saw each other again at customs. I asked where he was going – Dublin – and told him I was headed for Turkey. He was very friendly. We separated shortly after to be grilled by immigration.

I was flying with Etihad Airways to Istanbul, with a five-hour layover in Abu Dhabi. There were A LOT of people on the plane, which was to depart at 9:50pm. I hadn’t thought about it too deeply, but as I was boarding started to ponder: where would I be seated? What kind of seat-mate would I have for the next fourteen hours? Would I have easy or awkward access to the toilets? I arrive at my seat (aisle, yay!) to find that my neighbour is – bald man heading to Dublin! He looked up at me blankly when I said accusingly (but in a fun way) “You! What the heck (sic) are YOU doing here?” Of course, there is no correct way to answer that question when posed by a complete stranger, but from memory he answered appropriately enough. There is too much information of a detailed and personal nature to describe in a blog post, but we had a very lovely, heart-felt and transformative fourteen hour conversation. And the universe, no stranger to finding ways to indulge me, saw fit to delight me ever further. Ian (his name) lives in Melbourne and works for Cadbury as quality control. Yes, he has to eat chocolate for a living.

We hung out in Abu Dhabi airport during our lay-over, and drank some beer and ate chips. In honour of my departure from Australia, I order the dirtiest beer I could find – a Fosters – and Ian made it very, very clear to the waiter that the beer was for me. Yes, even in an ultra-conservative Muslim country, Fosters is a stain that most normal people do not ever want associated with their good name.

This beautiful man exchanged ideas and life philosophies with me for fourteen hours…and then bought me a Fosters and pretended he didn’t know me. To be fair, he did let me smother our communal chips in tomato sauce! Thanks Ian, you’re a prince amongst men!

I would like to go into more detail about the people and how I perceived them – but ignorance regarding their dress, religion and culture prevents me. Suffice it to say that there were many men and women in traditional/religious Muslim garments, and they all seemed to be respectful towards people of other cultures. Some of the women were very beautiful and regal. I noticed they had what looked to be henna tattoos on their hands. Many of them had exquisite jewellery, handbags and sunglasses.

The four hour flight to Instanbul was not nearly so enjoyable, as I got moved around several times so that a group of Muslim women could all sit together and not have to sit next to a man. I got redirected to another seat (next to a man) who stated loudly that he did not want to sit next to me. So I ended up getting an entire row of four chairs to myself and having a sleep. By that stage I hadn’t slept in nearly 40 hours.

We finally touched down in Turkey, and the first thing I noticed was that the ground crew all looked like sixteen year old boys. It wasn’t long until I found Jesse sitting at the baggage claim (distinguishable by the fact that I know him, and also his trademark fedora) and we sat on the floor with our backpacks heaped around us, and laughed and acted like shitheads while people glared at us. It was fun.

We first have to take a stupid photo…

Then we take a semi-nice one…

We were both extremely tired, so we got a coffee and quickly found a bus to take us to our accommodation (an Air B n B place). We probably carried our back packs (20 and 25 kilos respectively) for 25 minutes once the bus dropped us off. Which, might I add, in the grand scheme of things isn’t too bad (we’ve come to realise). had an early night: we went out for a wander, ate dirty street kababs and then went home and slept. It had been a big 48 hours!