in transit
well I am sitting here at the back of Starbucks, in Bangkok airport. I have gritty eyes and considering the fact that it is around 4.30am, Auckland time, I suppose it is to be expected. But it’s only 10.30pm, Bangkok time, and the place is humming.
I have found myself this quiet little back-water area where there is no foot-traffic at all, which is quite something. Its also a good spot because I have found an upholstered bench seat. Considering that I am here for the night – the upholstered seat is a bonus. I considered taking a hotel room for the night, but the scrooge in me, coupled with a bit of laziness, brought me to the decision that it really was not worth all the hassle of officially ‘arriving’ in Bangkok and then trotting off to a hotel and forking out a fistful of US dollars .for about 5hrs sleep – if I were so lucky! In due course I will see if it is possible to fall asleep here, I am not hopeful: I have been entrusted with bringing Rob’s new digital SLR with fancy lens to Hong Kong. My past record of leaving my video camera in airports, taxis and restaurants with dreadful regularity makes me a mite nervous about sleeping in a public place with the precious cargo.
This journal is going to try and avoid the ‘what I did on my summer holidays’ format, but I really must make mention of the incredible cloud formations which we enjoyed for several hours of the trip. Having climbed steadily for about an hour through thick murk, we eventually broke through at about 10,000m = which is fairly high if you were thinking of stepping outside for a stroll.
Clouds varied from thousands of acres of little cotton buds, to towering castles, to stuff that looked for all the world like the wind-blown foam on the beach during a storm. Then there was the unending blanket of soft white dimpled stuff – reminiscent of a king-size Pavlova or an ad for a giant’s mattress. And the amazing thing was, at times, while looking down on all this pretty stuff, we were actually scudding along under an overhead canopy of more cloud. Now that stuff must have been really high.
Some of my fellow passengers were interesting – to watch, I mean. There were the beach bound surfies – in board shorts, flip-flops, T-shirts and a Bali bag of essentials. Ready to hit he Thai beaches running. Then there was the very smart chap sitting opposite me. A young, clean-cut Fijian Indian is my guess. Beautifully polished black shoes; crisp white shirt, conservative striped tie and immaculate black suit. The only rather strange thing about this ensemble, was the “Cambridge” label sewn down on the cuff of one of the jacket sleeves. Now is this the new discreet version of printed T shirts, or was it a label to be removed once the suit was purchased? Or maybe Cambridge university has started a subtle advertising campaign. in these hard times?The two Indian lads sitting a few places along in my row were the opposite of discreet ‘class’. There they sat in their very cool shiny black leather jackets opposite each other and had a hearty non-stop conversation in Tamil. Not a discreet conversation, you understand, but a hearty one filled with much laughter and loud exclamations. We all enjoyed it.Then there was the petite Asian lady – incredibly delicate-looking in her leopard-skin pant suit, but towing a large bright red moulded plastic cabin bag that looked suspiciously like a mobile missile-launcher, plus a designer back-pack and toting a handbag the size of a Kathmandu Sales carrier bag!And I have no doubt that she would haul the lot onto the plane without the slightest distress or strain! Then there was the rather solemn Sikh with his maroon turban. I wondered if the colour was a fashion statement or a sign of rank? Finally there was this rather scruffy looking oldish bloke sitting quietly by himself – with a somewhat quizzical look on his face. Looked as if he was dressed for a bit of bush-walking, but on an aeroplane??? That was me of course.
ps my triumph over the padded bench was fairly short-lived. (picture to be added later) After a couple of hours (literally in the wee small hours) I decided upon a trip to the toilet. The airport was dead – not a soul was stirring. But when I got back, there was a body stretched out on ‘my’ bed – and fast asleep! He must have been hovering in a secret place, waiting to pounce. So the rest of the night was spent listening to Ravi Zacharias on my I-pod. Good stuff too.
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