Transit Lounge: Bangkok

I’m in the lounge, struggling to sleep, defeated by an endless noisy feature on massage-chairs coming loud on television.

I came in at 04:15. The moon hung low and large when I landed thirty minutes before into an airport in slumber. The number of planes and the scale of the airport reflected the size of the Thai economy. Here inside, I saw shop-girls in duty-free shops lazily rapping shelves with feather-dusters, chatting dully, sulkily, looking like they’d rather be home, sleeping. No sales were happening in the few open shops. Now Japanese businessmen from Nissan (stickers on laptop covers) are tapping on sleek ultra-small Panasonic laptops and talking around me. I enjoy the rasping consonants in their speech. Beyond, a gallant Western man is attentive to his pretty Asian companion.

I don’t sleep. I work on my Mac for a while, see the time, and go. The terminal has awoken with gusto. The aisles are teeming with passengers and queues have formed at cash-counters. At my gate, the flight to Singapore appears to be going full. Outside, the world is dry and bright. My holiday has begun.

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