Nine and a quarter hours from Mumbai to London, put back onto the map — each frame placed by the timestamp and compass bearing it was taken with.
Mumbai → Arabia → the Red Sea → Egypt → Athens → the Adriatic → the Alps → London.
A Kuwait Airways A330 taxiing past the terminal at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj. The start line.
Center-pivot irrigation discs scratched into the desert — crops drawn from deep fossil water, unmistakable from altitude.
Turquoise reef and sandbar against a bare desert coast, as the track crossed toward Egypt.
A great port on a long curving shore — the Mediterranean edge of the Nile delta, most likely the approaches to Alexandria.
The swarm of anchored ships gives it away: Piraeus, with Athens climbing the mountains behind.
Wing over the Greek coast and islands — deep blue water and dry headlands, the classic Aegean.
Long, thin, parallel limestone islands — the Kornati archipelago. No coastline pleats like it.
Snow on the high ridges as the camera swung northwest — the track bending its last arc toward London.
Flat farmland and bright mineral ponds through the haze — the near-Continent, letting down.
The Thames coiling round the Isle of Dogs, Canary Wharf, the O2 — home, nine and a quarter hours after Mumbai.
The phone's GPS locked on the ground and never updated at altitude, so all thirty-odd frames carry the departure gate's coordinates — the Red Sea, Athens and London all tagged “Mumbai.” The places here come instead from each shot's timestamp, matched to the flown track, cross-checked against what's actually in the frame.
Flight number and date anchor the real great-circle path flown that day.
Each shot's capture time joins to a point on the track — even when the GPS lied.
The compass bearing says which way you were looking — out the left side, at the coast, into the sun.
We're building this out properly — tell us what you'd want to know mid-flight, or just say hello. Every reply reads.