June has not yet finished, yet the rosters for July were released slightly ahead of schedule. Sitting at the warmth of a cup of tea in the orange-red sofa at the hotel lobby, I see how my romance with the Rostering department comes to a ‘heartbreak’, my life for the next month written in between the lines of the electronic paper sheet as it follows:

The month starts in Beijing, which I had bid for. As I have already unexpectedly conquered the Great Wall only a few days ago, I will focus my energy on visiting the Forbidden City and, time permitting, the Olympic Village, where the Games were held only a few months ago.
Arriving from China over breakfast, I will depart to Kathmandu for dinner. Another one of my bids, Nepal has been on my bucket list for years.
July turns as bittersweet as soy sauce. One of my long-awaited bids being next, yet in a double and exaggerated dose. Osaka with a Seoul-Incheon tag are scheduled back-to-back. A five-day trip flown with a day off in the middle, barely enough to do laundry and sleep.

Later, a series of long turnarounds to Hyderabad in India, Athens in Greece and Cairo in Egypt will test both my stamina and patience. Not stepping outside of the aircraft door, they will also be a teaser of destinations to be visited on days off. Kathmandu finishes the roster right in the peak of the Northern summer.

The hotel is a short drive from the airport at Hulhule Island.
Changed into shorts and armed with a white towel, the poolside is next. The sound of scattered drops of rain perforating the untouched pool water a mellow cradle song for the jet-lagged.

A short twenty-minute boat ride from the hotel, the island in which the capital Male sits on is regarded as one of the most densely populated places on Earth.
The tiles of a large mosque face the shallow C-shaped harbour, the sand banks turning paler as we approach the makeshift dock. The large red and green flag talks about independence and pride in the atoll-nation from the top of its high mast, the Maldivian faces talk about the islander life that govern these latitudes from Kerala to Antananarivo.
Without many remarkable sights, the capital of the Maldives is worth a visit mostly due to its size and nature. A five square kilometers window into the soul of the country and its harmonious synergy with the Indian Ocean.

At the manicured hotel lobby, fifteen fellow crew members and I meet and take the boat trip back to Male in shock waves of cheers and colourful shorts. Maldives is one of the most popular crew bids, so an evening of dinner and drinks is in everyone’s agenda.

The small restaurant awaits for our arrival, its thatched-roof vibrating at the loud sounds of Europop and its large wooden table overflowing with small round dishes of grilled fish smothered in coconut sauces and curry. Small pots of noodles are shared by the foreigners amidst copious amounts of a highly-alcoholic red fruit punch.
Late at night, the darkness turns damp and heavy. A thunderstorms punishes the quaint stretch of land, soaking our every belongings in a time in which a drunk run is had under the pouring rain, the heavy drops simultaneously pressing against both our adult bodies, which now clumsily weave around puddles of dirty water, and our inner children, which secretly enjoy every minute of it.

I return to my cup of tea in the hotel lobby. ‘Run with the crew under the Maldivian rain’ engraved in mind as an unforgettable life experience, I lay in bed with the windows open, the moon shining over the glittering silver ocean waving me good night.

The return flight is a long stretch for a narrow-body aircraft. The sugary banana pancakes served for breakfast perhaps a shy attempt to soften the holidays blue of the most-turquoise place I have ever been to in my life.
I land in Doha at midday. Enough time for dropping part of my dirty uniform at the laundry and nap. Minding every minute of my ‘minimum rest’, I walk to the supermarket and decide to stock up on cheese and chocolates in Zurich, where I leave for shortly before midnight.