STRANDED IN BAHRAIN

Getting off the plane, thinking a million things at the same time. How am I gonna resolve the visa issue? Will I be able to find a hotel at the last minute? Gosh, I'm so sick, I just want to go home.

How could I have even booked a 28-hour layover? How silly of me. I know I've been very busy lately. And I know I booked this flight when I was hardcore homesick. But 28 hours, really?

Approaching the transfer desk.

"Excuse me. I have another flight to Singapore. But I accidentally booked a 28-hour layover. I don't even know how that happened. Do you by any chance have a complementary hotel option or any recommendations for me?"

"Was your flight supposed to leave tonight?"

"Huh?" 

Meanwhile, I overheard the girl next to me saying the following.

"Sorry, but our flight got delayed for 24 hours due to the war. What are we supposed to do now?"

"Same! That happened to me too."

I knew I didn't book my connecting flights with a 28-hour layover.

But the thing is, I never received an email saying that my flight got delayed by a day, which, as you can imagine, is a huge deal. Instead, I received an email a couple of months ago stating the flight got delayed by 10 minutes, on top of the 24 hours. But since then, I'd been thinking that I had booked it with a day layover in a completely random country.

I had to add another vacation day to my staff system, because clearly the first booking was also a mistake. And since it had been 6 months since I first booked it, I didn't realise that what I'd originally booked was right and that the delay was due to the ongoing war.

"Look at you getting free stuff due to geopolitical tension."

It was my fiancé, and he was very right.

Because of this major delay, they put me in a 4-star hotel, all-inclusive, in a big suite room, and sorted out my visa, the one I forgot to apply for a couple of days ago. Basically, I was inadvertently placed on a 24-hour mandatory holiday stay in a brand-new country.

So, if I wanted to explore, I could.

If I wanted to stay in and sleep all day, I could.

If I wanted to work, again, I could.

After a scrumptious buffet dinner, I had one of the best sleeps of my life. Woke up to a stunning view. It looked so artificial, with all the skyscrapers and orderly placed trees. Reminded me of another country, lol.

After yet another scrumptious buffet breakfast, lunch and much-needed rest, I decided to take a stroll. But when I saw just how hot it was outside, I decided to call a cab. I had three places in mind: the famous mosque, the souk, and the beach park. All of them seemed close enough to visit in one afternoon, since I also needed to be back in the evening for– once again– buffet dinner, and then my flight home.

The first stop was going to be the souk. In my head, and also in the pictures online, it was so lively, colourful, and crowded. I love visiting markets of any kind. I hopped in a taxi and arrived after a relatively short ride.

Was this the same place I saw online? Because there was literally no one. Half of the stalls were closed. In the other half, there were only sellers, just standing there. I saw a few local men walking around, but that was it.

I was especially surprised by the scarcity of women on the street. I understand people might not be around just after noon due to the heat. But the people I saw were 90 percent men. The only two women I saw were with their husbands.

Where are these women?

I can't say I necessarily felt unsafe. But I didn't feel comfortable either. The men I saw on the street were staring, and sellers were enthusiastically inviting me into their stores. I purchased one fridge magnet from one vendor, but the guy wouldn't let me pay. He was insisting that I buy some other things too.

I understand why they do this. But I never understand why they do this.

Receiving that kind of pressure is never a nice experience. And I've never once changed my mind about buying something because someone aggressively insisted that I should.

Slightly disappointed that the souk wasn't the experience I had hoped for, I ordered another cab to go to the Bahrain Bay area. Just reading the name, you'd think it's a bay surrounded by luxury restaurants, yachts, palm trees, and people strolling around taking photos. The online photos looked similar. But when we arrived, it was literally a deserted area, completely empty. Yes, there was the ocean, but other than that, there was nothing. Either I put in the wrong location, or the online photos were misleading.

"Are you sure you want to get off here?"

"No, actually, can you please take me back to my hotel?"

And just like that, my "adventure" was cut short. I just couldn't risk being in a place where I was the only tourist-looking person. My relatively modest dressing and half-covered hair weren't enough to blend in, because the few women I had seen earlier were wearing niqabs.

A few hours' nap and a couple of meetings later, it was dinner time. I was sick of eating buffets at this point. Don't get me wrong– I love eating. But eating should be exciting. You should be curious about what you're going to eat. When there are five different rice, three different meats, and six different salads, it's hard to get excited. I don't want to see fish, chicken, and beef on my plate at the same time. Because when you're given the option, you want to try everything. But instead of two very delicious meals, you end up eating ten medium-level tasty dishes, which is also fine, but also the reason why I no longer like buffets. Not to mention the food waste, the inadvertent overeating, and the risk of being served the same food over and over.

But this wasn't the only problem. The problem was that I was the only woman in the dining hall, along with 15 men. How on earth is that normal?

Again — where are these women?

No families, no spouses or partners, no kids, nothing. Only a bunch of middle-aged men. I understand men come to certain countries for work. But it still felt extremely weird and uncomfortable to eat as the only woman in the room.

When the taxi came to take me to the airport, I was thinking about how much I missed home, and how I wasn't going to miss this place. Not for 24 hours, and not for longer.