For most expats, the phrase "going home" triggers an automatic mental playlist: the rush of packing, the excitement of seeing family, and a massive shopping list for the cousins. But this time was different. Traveling from Jeddah to Kerala in the shadow of the pandemic wasn’t just a journey; it was an obstacle course designed by the gods of bureaucracy. It was a stressful dance of vaccine certificates, shifting quarantine rules, endless PCR tests, and the nagging, low-grade dread that the flight might get canceled at the very last second.
The Pre-Flight Tightrope Walk
My anxiety had been simmering for weeks, and it only began to ease when I found myself standing in a painfully long, pre-dawn queue at the Jeddah exhibition center, waiting for my second vaccine dose. Even with both jabs secured, the green light to travel didn’t arrive until a nerve-wracking two days before departure.
The final hurdle was the PCR test. Waiting for that text message with the word NEGATIVE felt like waiting for exam results. When it finally arrived, a massive weight lifted off my shoulders. The "Great Day" was officially a go.
My flight was scheduled for 12:00 PM, but under the new normal, standard airport timing was thrown out the window. Passengers were advised to arrive four hours early. I left my room at 6:30 AM, racing through the quiet Jeddah streets. I made sure to grab a quick breakfast on the way—a tactical decision, knowing that airport food might be scarce or complicated to get under health protocols.
The "Dangerous" Souvenirs at Security
Walking into the terminal felt different. The usual pre-travel buzz was replaced by a tense, masked silence. Everything was going smoothly until my hand luggage slid through the X-ray machine at the security checkpoint. The screen flashed, and the officers flagged my bag.
"Open it, please," an officer said, his tone polite but firm. They had spotted something sharp and metallic on the monitor.
My heart did a quick flutter. I unzipped the bag, carefully pulling out two wrapped objects. They weren't weapons; they were miniature metal models of the Burj Khalifa and the Makkah Clock Tower. I had packed them in my hand luggage to protect them from the brutal baggage handling of the cargo hold. Once the officers realized these "sharp objects" were just harmless, glittering souvenirs, their serious expressions melted into warm smiles. They nodded, wished me a safe flight, and waved me through.
The High-Stakes Waiting Game
With time to kill, I walked around the terminal looking for comfort food. To my utter disappointment, the old, budget-friendly Al-Baik stall was closed—a casualty of the changing times. The only option left was a lone Del Monte kiosk.
"With airport monopoly prices in full swing, a simple sandwich cost me a small fortune. But I paid it without a fight. The last thing I wanted was to be 'hangry' on a five-hour flight while wearing a face mask."
When boarding for the SpiceJet flight finally began, any illusions of "social distancing" vanished. Budget efficiency had firmly won the day; the aircraft was packed to absolute capacity, a sea of faces hidden behind surgical masks and plastic face shields. Thankfully, I had managed to pre-book a window seat, giving me a tiny corner of the world to myself.
Since budget flights mean zero in-flight entertainment, I had come prepared. I whipped out my fully charged tablet and dived into my pre-downloaded collection. I spent the first couple of hours gripped by the Malayalam mystery thriller Nizhal on Amazon Prime, followed by back-to-back, laugh-out-loud episodes of Marimayam and Udan Panam. Before I knew it, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom, announcing our descent over Kerala.
| The Mid-Air Survival Kit |
|---|
| 🧃 Tangy Fruit Juice |
| 🥛 Refreshing Spiced Buttermilk (Sambharam) |
| 🍪 Sweet Biscuits & Salty Peanuts |
Landing into Organized Chaos
Because it was a night flight, I missed the legendary view of Kerala from above—that breathtaking moment when the plane dips below the clouds and you are greeted by an endless canopy of lush green coconut trees. Instead, there was only darkness punctuated by the twinkling lights of towns below.
Stepping off the plane, the familiar warm, humid Kerala air hit my face, but the airport experience was far from traditional. There was no mad rush to the baggage carousel. Instead, we were ushered into a meticulously planned system of health checkpoints—a setup of organized chaos:
- Queue 1: The Paperwork – Registering our details for the mandatory arrivals database.
- Queue 2: The Swab – The actual COVID-19 test. Luckily, it was a rapid throat swab rather than the dreaded deep-nasal poke, making it much easier to bear.
- Queue 3: The Health Desk – Final data verification by local health officials who noted down our home addresses for tracking.
By the time I cleared immigration, collected my bags, and stepped out of the terminal, it was 11:00 PM. The night air was thick, and there, waiting past the barriers, were my cousins. Seeing familiar faces after such a long, sterile journey made the exhaustion melt away instantly.
Home, Safe and Sound
Yet, the journey didn’t truly end when the car pulled into my driveway. The day after I arrived, my phone buzzed with a text message—my airport test result was negative. Shortly after, a polite official from the local Health Department called to officially welcome me back and gently instruct me to remain strictly indoors for a seven-day quarantine.
So, here I am. I am safely tucked away in my childhood bedroom, watching the rain outside, and enjoying the slow pace of vacation life from the comfort of my room. It wasn’t the easiest trip, and it certainly wasn't the most relaxing. But looking back at the hurdles crossed, it reminded me of a simple truth: no matter how complicated the path becomes, the destination called home is always worth it.
Ikbal Valiyathodi is the founder of Ishabil.com, a travel blog sharing budget-friendly travel stories, stopover hacks, and real experiences from around the world. He believes travel should be simple, honest, and possible for everyone.
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