It’s 6 o’clock in the morning. The sun is struggling to come up and with one final push it manages to rise. The coffee cup sitting vaguely in front of me has written on it in large friendly letters: “coffee is best served hot just like love – a German proverb”. Ah the Germans. Trust the Germans to come up with something so infantile and meaningless. The ‘Laos Airlines’ reception desk opposite me with it's bright yellow facade is scratching my eyes. It has written above it the motto of the airline: 'You are safe with us'. I blink and take a sip of the coffee. 'You are safe with us?'. Surely being safe is the first thing you’d expect from an airline? Nobody chooses an airline because it says it is safe to fly with them! Do they? Nobody says : 'I am paying double to fly with this airline because they are safe'. You pay double because you prefer the food, the service, the leg-room, or because the air hostesses are pretty and wink at you. You select airlines because they are ‘great people to fly with’ [PIA] or as ‘smooth as silk’ [Thai] or are the ‘worlds favourite airline’ [BA]. For me when an airline says you are safe with us they have something to hide. So that's it I'm not flying to Laos. I'm taking the train to the north and crossing the border by road. You are safe with us - whatever!
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Departure lounges
Departure lounges are strange beasts and I love talking about them. This particular one is in 'Chiang Mai’s' International Airport. Security is so good that I managed to bring aboard a cigarette lighter in my pocket – by mistake. Security here only serves to reassure passengers - a public relations exercise; cosmetic. Like most departure lounges passengers tend to congregate into groups. So all the Western tourists tend to hang about in the same area by means of some gravitational field that acts between tourists pulling them together. Why go to the ends of the earth only to hang out with tourists? Beats me. The Thai’s are in another clotted bunch, and then there’s me: Albert Camus’s ‘The Outsider’ or ‘The Rebel’ sitting in a corner away from everybody else. They must think I have airs or something. No, I’m just a misanthrope and a contented one at that, so leave me the f**k alone!
The departure lounge has (true to Thai style) a massage parlour. I wonder if this is a euphemism for?...No I don’t think so. Having a Whore House in an airport departure lounge is probably too much to stomach. But who would visit a massage parlour in an airport departure lounge anyway? What kind of person would patronize it? Somebody with severe foot pains? Someone hoping to de-stress, or someone thinking the parlour is a masque for something seedy?
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Benazir Bhutto International Airport
As were on the subject of departure lounges one of the more memorable one's I’ve had the honour and displeasure of visiting has to be the one located in the newly renamed Benazir Bhutto International Airport in Islamabad, Pakistan. The airport authorities may try as hard as they like to keep out those primitive village folk; but it's hard to keep out someone with a valid passport and ticket! Even if they are from a village. The specimen sitting next to me, I recall, was smoking in a non-smoking area, was screaming down his phone, staring at the Western women sitting opposite, and asking me stupid questions in Punjabi. As If I can speak that uncivil tongue! For have you ever heard someone speak Punjabi? I trust you haven't so let me tell you: Punjabi, unlike Urdu which was the refined tongue of the Mogul Court in the days of Jahangir, is the language of commoners. It's a filthy tongue without charm. Let me give you an example: Telling a women you "love her" should be a beautiful phrase in any language; it should flow sonorously from the tongue and be pleasant to the ears and to the heart. Well not in Punjabi. In Punjabi telling a women you "love her" sounds like a threat that you're going to shag her brains out behind the wheat-fields. The creature sitting next to me was still badgering me so I told him that I don't speak any languages that he knows. "English?" he asked. "No, No English, Espaniola" I said. He looked at me slightly askance. I could see where his mind was headed. "Which country?" he asked perplexed. "Guatemala" I replied. He left me alone after that. But he still kept snatching the odd occasional glance in my direction.
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Nong Khai
Nong Khai lies at the north-eastern tip of Thailand at the border with Laos, which is where I am sitting now. I took the 'overnight 1st class sleeper' up from Bangkok yesterday evening. It cost me 1,310 Baht to travel in superior style and comfort - and worth it too. I'm not usually good at sleeping on trains and aeroplanes. If my head is not horizontal I struggle and therefore it confounds me how anybody could possibly doze away on those uncomfortable seats. The train left Bangkok at 8pm yesterday and arrived in Nong Khai at 10am this morning. I slept all night. The bumping of the train lulled me away to a stupor. It's nice to wake up in the morning refreshed, to pull back the curtains, and then to enjoy breakfast and coffee served in your carriage, whilst marvelling at the bucolic country view outside of rice paddies and kneading buffaloes.
As I write this I am sitting in a Guest House on the banks of the muddy Mekong River in Nong Khai. I can see Laos from here. It's on the other side of the river! What does it look like? Any different? I don't know about you but I always expect the landscape to change suddenly when crossing borders. We'll have to see how different it is. Next stop Laos!
