For the past few years, as a Chief Executive Officer of the Nepal Tourism Board, I have been coordinating Nepal's participation in ITB Berlin-the world's largest tourism trade fair. With more than 7,000 exhibitors, over 100,000 visitors, and representatives from 170 countries, ITB Berlin is far more than a business exhibition. It is where the global tourism industry takes its pulse, strengthens partnerships, and sets the direction for future collaboration. For an emerging destination like Nepal, participation in such a forum carries immense strategic importance. This year, alongside the Board, 31 tourism entrepreneurs from Nepal's private sector were preparing to attend. A series of engagements had been scheduled from March 2 to 5, 2026-bilateral meetings, destination pitch, media interactions, and a special 'Nepal Promotion Evening.' Coincidentally, the final day of the program overlapped with Nepal's national election day. The timing placed me in a dilemma: should I travel or remain in the country to fulfill my civic responsibility? After careful consideration, I decided to proceed with the trip while planning to return on March 5 so that both responsibilities could be balanced. A smooth journey - until it wasn't On the morning of February 28, I departed Kathmandu at 9:10 a.m. by Qatar Airways and landed in Doha around noon. My connecting flight to Berlin was scheduled for 3:45 p.m. Everything seemed routine. The orderly environment of Hamad International Airport and its efficient transit system made the journey feel seamless. But around 2 p.m., the atmosphere suddenly changed. News broke that tensions between Iran and the United States–Israel alliance had escalated sharply, leading to the closure of regional air routes. What initially appeared to be a minor delay quickly turned into widespread flight cancellations. Across the terminal, electronic boards began filling with the same words: Delayed and Cancelled. Passengers anxiously scrolled through news on their phones. Some watched video clips circulating on social media; others exchanged fragments of information and speculation. Queues formed at the information counters inside the airport as passengers tried to understand their options. Questions echoed repeatedly: Where will we stay? What about visas? What happens to our luggage? How long will the airport remain closed? Etc. Yet amid the uncertainty, one striking feature stood out-the calmness. Despite the stress, passengers waited patiently in line. There was no shouting, no disorder. I could not help but reflect that in many places, specially countries like my own, such a situation might have quickly descended into chaos. Here, even in the midst of crisis, discipline and civility prevailed. Only hours earlier, travelers had been excited about reaching their destinations. Now they were experiencing the immediate consequences of geopolitical conflict. When global politics becomes personal By evening, more than ten hours had passed inside the airport. As the night deepened, tension grew in the air. At one point, a loud explosion-like sound echoed from outside-a deep, thunderous boom. Even within the thick airport structure, the vibration could be felt. Someone nearby whispered, 'That must have been a missile.' We saw nothing directly, yet the psychological impact was immediate. Global politics had suddenly transformed from distant headlines into a lived experience. Images from the Russia–Ukraine war and the Israel–Hamas conflict-scenes I had previously seen only on television or social media-flashed through my mind. Hearing the distant echoes of conflict while sitting inside what should have been one of the safest spaces-a modern international airport-was an entirely new experience. Still, many of us remained hopeful that diplomatic efforts might stabilize the situation and that flights might resume within hours. Like everyone else, I continued scrolling through my phone, searching for updates. By temperament, I am not easily panicked. Fear was not my strongest emotion at that moment. My primary concern was whether I would reach Berlin in time to represent Nepal in the scheduled meetings. The reassurance of small messages As the crisis unfolded, calls began arriving from Nepal-family members, relatives, friends, and colleagues. 'Are you safe? 'How serious is the situation?' 'The news on television looks frightening.' Every call carried a mixture of worry and affection. I reassured them as calmly as possible that I was safe and that the situation around me was not as dramatic as it appeared on television screens. My younger daughter, Evara, who is eleven years old, had casually created a small family group in instagram that included all of my family members. Messages from her kept appearing throughout the evening: 'Stay safe.' 'Don't go outside.' 'How is it now?' Those simple messages touched me deeply. A child's concern is perhaps the purest form of care-unfiltered and sincere. As we grow older, we become more practical and cautious in expressing our emotions. But the sensitivity of a child's heart remains genuine and powerful. In moments of uncertainty, those small messages reminded me that crises are not only geopolitical events-they are emotional experiences that ripple through families and loved ones so closely. A midnight evacuation Around 1:30 a.m., after briefly dozing off in a quiet room at the airport, I was awakened by airport staff. News had emerged of a drone attack near Dubai Airport, and authorities were taking precautionary measures in Doha as well. Passengers were being relocated to hotels. Half-awake, I quickly gathered my belongings and joined the long line forming once again at the information desk. We waited until around 4:30 a.m. Initially, a hotel voucher was issued, but we soon learned that the assigned hotel had already been overbooked. Some passengers grew frustrated, yet the staff continued coordinating alternatives. Eventually, accommodation was arranged at a Waldorf Astoria Hotel in Doha's West Bay area. Around 9 a.m., we were escorted out of the airport passing through a special immigration route. Throughout this period, Qatar's security agencies continued providing regular updates, assuring the public that attempted attacks had been intercepted. There was tension, certainly-but there was also a clear sense that the situation was being managed. Adapting to the unexpected I usually travel light. In my carry-on bag, I had only my laptop, few pages of program documents, and a book. After more than thirty hours without changing clothes, the discomfort became unavoidable. Once I reached the hotel, the only option was to wash the clothes I was wearing for 30+ hours and wait for them to dry. For several hours, I remained wrapped in a hotel towel until my clothes were dry enough to wear again. In ordinary circumstances, such improvisation might seem unthinkable. But crises quickly redefine what feels normal. The following day, when nearby shops opened, I walked to a nearby mall and purchased a few essentials-a couple of T-shirts, undergarments, trousers, and socks. It was a simple reminder of how easily we take basic comforts for granted. In uncertain situations, even a clean shirt or a modest meal can feel like a luxury. Lessons from Doha Today is the 6th day stranded in Doha. The days spent here are not merely days of waiting. They became days of observation and reflection. First, the importance of coordinated systems Airport authorities, airlines, immigration, and security agencies operating within clearly defined roles. Information flowed through unified channels and circulated widely and regularly to the target audience minimizing confusion. In Nepal, tourism crises are often treated as the responsibility of a single institution-usually the Nepal Tourism Board. Yet tourism is inherently interconnected. Civil aviation, immigration, foreign affairs, security agencies, and many other institutions must function in coordinated harmony. Second, the value of decisive action Doha's immigration authorities quickly announced a one-month visa extension for stranded passengers whose visas are expiring. The decision was immediate-and implementation equally swift. In many of our own institutional settings, decisions often move slowly through layers of procedure. In times of crisis, however, agility and promptness matters as much as accountability. Third, service speaks louder than publicity Transportation and accommodation were arranged quietly. There were no banners, no ceremonies, and no competition for credit. The efficiency of the system itself was the message. In crisis management, calm competence builds far more trust than loud announcements. Perhaps the most profound lesson from this experience was a reminder that tourism extends far beyond mere destination marketing. A traveler's journey passes through multiple systems-airlines, transit airports, immigration desks, security checkpoints, and information networks. The reliability of each of these systems shapes the perception of a destination. If one link fails, the reputation of the entire chain is affected. A lasting reflection My unexpected days in Doha are being felt filled with tension. Yet they are also deeply instructive. Crises test not only individual patience but also the institutional maturity of nations. For those of us working in tourism leadership, the responsibility goes beyond promoting scenic landscapes or cultural heritage. It includes building systems that remain trustworthy even in moments of uncertainty. Even today, the echoes of explosions in the Doha sky is scary to experience. But along with that sound comes a quieter realization: Crises may be temporary, but the lessons they offer can endure for a lifetime. Joshi is the CEO of Nepal Tourism Board