Getting There is Half the Fun

On the flight from New York to Malaysia I heard an unexpected stop mentioned. Stockholm. “We’re going to Sweden?” I thought. How could it be? There was never any mention of Sweden when I bought my ticket. I don’t want to go to Sweden. I have no interest in being in Sweden. Oh well, here comes Sweden. Of course we were only there for a couple of hours so I didn’t really see anything. However the airport bathrooms were for single occupancy only, which, if that’s any indication of how the Swedes value privacy in the restroom I can’t complain. But what a major inconvenience for two hundred plus people having to use the toilet all at once. But alas, there must be a method to their madness. After all, I did witness one of their public “Smoking booths” which resembled an oversized, open-face phone booth with a small air suction vent in the ceiling. It was quite an ingenious contraption. People were standing around inside smoking away while their billowing clouds tapered off into a small fan above their heads. Why don’t we see more of these all over the place? Chalk one up for Sweden!

After we were airborne again I settled back into my tiny one-foot squared space and tried to relax. Once the passenger in front of me leaned back there was no room left for even the thought of relaxation. I could barely fit the thoughts of boredom and annoyance within my allotted space let alone my own feet. The check-in clerk at the airport had graciously offered me whatever seat I wanted and I said “Window”. That was a mistake. You should never ask for a window seat on such a long flight. Inevitably you’ll be sandwiched in by other people who want to sleep and will be totally unsympathetic to your restless needs for frequent visits to the rest of the plane. This arrangement was no exception. It also seemed like the ticket agent had played a practical joke on me because my window seat, although on the wall of the plane, was not next to a window. It was one of those few seats along the side that can’t afford a window due to its important positioning within the reinforcement structure of the aircraft. This compromise also means that the slight indentation you get at a window seat was gone. This precious two-inch reservoir would have been greatly appreciated for the twenty some-odd hours I was sitting there. I thought I could tough it out until we switched planes in Malaysia but to my disbelief it was the same seat. Different plane, but same seat. That’s when I knew the ticket agent was fucking with me.

Malaysia looked like a beautiful country from inside the airport. It reminded me of Hawaii. It looked hot and humid in that fresh tropical way that makes you want to get outside and be lazy. I couldn’t tell what time of day it was even though I knew it was six o’clock. Was it six o’clock in the morning or six o’clock at night? It was dark and I couldn’t remember which was more likely in this part of the word, darkness at six in the morning or at night. So I waited until the light changed. When the sun came up I re-synched my bearings and began exploring. What I found in the airport was very different from what I was seeing outside. It looked like a mall in Anytown USA. There was a McDonalds, a few lame-ass gift shops and a Starbucks. I decided to sit at Starbucks and see if I could get my computer on-line. My battery was quickly running out but I was able to find a free wireless signal that let me get online and check email and such. I had about six hours to kill in Malaysia so when my computer finally died I started wandering around again.





I found a giant candy store which puzzled me because Bina had told me that there was no chocolate in Southeast Asia. I had been smuggling a small package of precious Twix bars and wondered what she was talking about since here I was in front of one of the largest displays of worldwide candy anyone could ever find. But upon further inspection I realized that although many stores in Southeast Asia will stock M&M’s, Snickers, Cadbury, etc etc, Twix is a rare find. (Note for those planning to visit.)

At this point in the journey I was getting exhausted and quite loopy. I had been fed more times than I imagined an airline would do. There was a constant flow of beer, wine and water. There was a breakfast, then a lunch, then a dinner, then another breakfast, then, a dinner? A breakfast? Was that lunch again? What the hell time is it? What time of day am I suppose to pretend it is now? Shit, I’m so wired on coffee I forgot how tired I’m supposed to be. We chased the sun for a while and lost. But it had been perfect daylight in Sweden. Luckily Vietnam and Malaysia are only an hour off so when we entered Vietnam’s airspace it was early afternoon.

I was glad to get out of the plane. Now I had to gather my things and begin my new life in Vietnam. I was worried about my luggage because upon check-in I was told it was too heavy. I could either repack it there in the airport or pay the hefty fines. I didn’t want to stress about it too much so I paid the fines. But this left me thinking that maybe it wouldn’t make it all the way. Maybe the baggage workers would get mad at this big dumb American suitcase and throw it on a plane to Russia or something. I stood there waiting for my giant suitcase to come around and it seemed to take an eternity. I saw Bina outside the gate waiting. She was such a beautiful sight. And then my bag appeared. I went through customs without a hitch and had my passport approved easily. Then I left the gate and out into the hot humid Vietnam day. Bina hailed a cab and we were off. I had spent the past day or so in air conditioning and recycled air that I wasn’t use to the humidity and oppressive heat. But it still felt good. I had arrived easily, safely, and relatively quickly, so there was nothing to complain about. I was now a resident of Hanoi.