The year was 2007. Baghdad was still a city caught in the fierce grip of conflict. The dust from the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s regime in 2003 had not yet settled, and despite the establishment of a new government, sectarian strife and uncertainty were daily companions. The streets of the city were as much a battlefield as they were a place of daily life, and the skies were no exception.

Commercial airlines, naturally, avoided the capital. The risk was too high. This left only one option for anyone trying to get into or out of Baghdad: a chartered airline called Jupiter Airlines. At that moment, I had no idea that stepping onto one of its flights would lead to one of the most absurd yet unforgettable travel experiences of my life.

The Airport: A Far Cry from Convention

When I first set foot in Baghdad International Airport, the contrast to any modern airport I’d experienced was jarring. There were no shiny, air-conditioned lounges or gleaming cafés, no bustling crowds of travellers leisurely passing the time. Instead, there was a sea of weary, anxious passengers—faces etched with fatigue, eyes glancing nervously at their watches. The sense of chaos was palpable, the disorganisation unmistakable. The roof was shaky, and the escalators were not working.

Securing a ticket wasn’t the end of the battle. It was, in fact, just the beginning. Boarding a flight was not a guarantee, even with a valid ticket in hand. First, you had to arrive well ahead of time, claim your boarding pass, and then prepare yourself for the unpredictability of what would come next. It felt less like flying to a destination and more like navigating a survival course.

The Business Class “Experience”

Business class—something I had grown accustomed to, a mark of comfort and privilege—was hardly a relief on Jupiter Airlines. In fact, it was the exact opposite of what I expected. All it really meant was that I was sitting in the first row. And in a cramped, hot cabin, the only distinction it seemed to offer was a slightly better view of the chaos unfolding around me.

The security process was a maze of confusion. With multiple checkpoints and a lack of clear communication, I found myself caught in a swirl of disarray. The passengers, many of them regulars in this turmoil, carried oversized luggage—almost like a badge of honour, showing what they had survived or were still carrying with them. Everyone’s belongings were crammed into the small cabin, and the crew, mostly Eastern Europeans, looked as if they had just emerged from a never-ending battle with the passengers.

Despite their best efforts, there was a language barrier that only added to the frustration. Their English was sparse at best, and the passengers’ Arabic wasn’t much better. It wasn’t just a flight; it felt like an exercise in patience, negotiation, and sometimes, sheer survival.

Boarding: A Wild, Unregulated Free-for-All

Boarding was an experience I will never forget. There were no assigned seats. The concept of personal space didn’t exist. As the plane began filling up, it became clear that this wasn’t a normal flight. It was more akin to a market square, where everyone was scrambling for their place in line—except, of course, there was no line.

Passengers pushed and shoved, jockeying for spots, each with bags or boxes—everything from massive suitcases to huge parcels wrapped in plastic, all making their way into the cabin. As the plane continued to fill, it felt less like an aircraft and more like a chaotic storage unit on wings. I watched, somewhat bemused, as the air hostesses tried to calm the crowd, their pleas falling on deaf ears. The luggage wasn’t just baggage to these passengers; it was their life, their possessions, and they weren’t about to relinquish them.

After what felt like hours of negotiations, some of the luggage was reluctantly transferred to the cargo hold. However, much of it remained crammed into the cabin, occupying every possible inch of space. The air conditioning, too, had been switched off. The Iraqi summer heat, combined with the press of bodies and bags, turned the cabin into a furnace. But even then, I was fortunate—my seat near the door allowed a faint breeze to drift in, offering some respite.

The Mad Busload Cycle

Just when I thought the ordeal was over, another busload of passengers arrived. The cycle repeated. More shouting. More luggage. More frustrated negotiations. The scene reminded me of something from my earlier days, back when I had travelled to remote, rural locations for banking assignments. I recalled the sight of crowded village buses where passengers hung from doors, sacks of grain were stacked high, and goats were tied near the driver’s seat. But this was no village bus—it was an aeroplane.

Eventually, after several more rounds of chaos, the last busload of passengers arrived, and the doors were shut. But, of course, a new problem had emerged. The crew started counting heads, only to realise that a few passengers had nowhere to sit. The solution? Without missing a beat, a flight attendant fetched plastic stools from somewhere and placed them in the aisle. Yes, plastic stools. On an aircraft. And just like that, we were ready to go.

The Takeoff: A Flying Village Bus

And then, finally, the plane began to taxi down the runway. With everything crammed in, with plastic stools wedged in the aisles, it was clear that Jupiter Airlines was more of a flying village bus than a commercial airliner. The noise of the crowd, the smell of sweat and heat, the hum of the engines—all of it combined into a sensory experience that was both overwhelming and oddly captivating.

As the plane lifted off and began to climb into the sky, I looked out the window, absorbing the absurdity of it all. Here I was, flying in an aircraft that felt more like a bus ride through an unpredictable rural landscape. It wasn’t just about reaching a destination anymore. It was about the experience of travel, the raw, unfiltered reality of it.

I realised, in that moment, that this chaotic journey wasn’t just about getting from one place to another. It was about navigating the unpredictability of life itself. The absurdity, the chaos, the frustration—these weren’t just characteristics of a flight. They were metaphors for how life itself unfolds, especially in places like Baghdad, where nothing is certain, and every day feels like a struggle for survival.

The End of the Era

Over the months, my experiences with Jupiter Airlines became more routine, though no less bizarre. Eventually, as the security situation in Baghdad improved, Gulf airlines resumed their operations, and the chaotic flights became a thing of the past. But no matter how many flights I’ve taken since, none of them have ever quite matched the madness of that first journey with Jupiter Airlines.

In the end, that flight wasn’t just a journey through the skies—it was a reminder of the resilience, unpredictability, and sheer determination of people living through extraordinary circumstances. It’s a story I carry with me, one that captures the spirit of a place and time that, for all its hardship and chaos, still found a way to carry on.

And that, in the end, is what makes it one of the most unforgettable travel experiences of my life.