Let the planning begin!

My annual leave is getting closer, and it's almost a month away from now. Thirty-two days, to be exact.

I've already started planning what to do over the Croatian summer. Well, my friends have, since it's a bit harder for me to plan from so far away. Luckily, I have people around me who are equally eager, so I'm sure it'll be fun.

I still have tons to do. There are lots of small projects I need to wrap up before I go, but I also need to pre-plan some for September, when I start work again.

I'll also have to have my living room ceiling changed while I'm away, which means moving everything from the room while packing, preparing, sorting stuff out etc. It will be an interesting couple of weeks, especially since I only have a certain amount of time in between finishing work and leaving to the airport. It's plenty, of course, but the weeks before that day will be busy busy busy.

This makes it a bit easier.

Another airport, another story

C from work has, very rightfully, commented that Kuala Lumpur’s Low Cost Carrier Terminal is mental after I posted a snapshot while waiting in line for check-in.

It’s a perfectly appropriate word for an airport that is considered one of the busiest in south-east Asia, especially when it comes to low-cost airlines, hoards of backpackers and schools of lost pensioners, disco-balling their gaze around in a chameleon-like manner, looking for directions or, simply, someone to save them.

I’ve travelled before, but this airport just left me speechless. The feeling that came to mind was raising my head to see a gigantic building or a sight – no previous knowledge and experience mattered here (except the one from there). The organizational system here is obviously mind-boggling to any westerner, especially when one realizes what it takes to go through the airport.

As soon as I got off the plane, I knew it was going to be an adventure. Bilingual (or even multilingual) signs don’t really help, because you end up going around in circles, roaming the airport in search of numerous and countless counters. People, similarly as in India, consider themselves rightful of extinguishing the signs, so they send people around to where they’ve been before. It’s a bloody maze.

Even thought I had plenty of time, I started having my concerns when I realized how long it’s taking me to get through passport check – an hour fifteen! You need to go T8, but go here first, clear customs, get the stamp, get out in the street, come back in, go to R07, go through the security x-ray, check in, get the exiting-Malaysia stamp, go to the departures terminal, then in the secured area (thirsty and hot), look around, sit down and take notes. By the time I was done and near gate T005, I felt like I have three atoms of energy left in me.

Couples take turn in electric massage chairs, Buddhist monks walk around with electronic equipment on their trolleys, a young Muslim strolls around, dressed fully in white-laced robes, wearing a matching white hat and carrying an, of course – matching, white iPad Mini.

Teenage boys all look like they were teleported from a Gangn-whatever video, girls don’t move around in groups of less than four, and they can always be located by simply following the giggling, a herd of mask-wearing Japanese just warped by me, obviously running for their flight – so much for punctuality.

The half or so hour that I spent out of the airport was so hot and humid that I’m concerned what Myanmar’s going to be like. The extended weather report went up to 40, which will probably prove to be very challenging when it comes to walking around all day and visiting sights.

I thought it might turn this trip into a lazy and laid-back one, which I didn’t think anyone would mind.

 

Gotta love airports

I just remembered a rather funny anecdote from when I was travelling to India the second time, back in 2007. I'm sorry I seem to be talking about India all the time, but I'm trying to make myself to write down more about it (especially in order to finish my So-Called Book), so please bare with me.

So, I book my ticket, go to the office, cash it out, get out on the street and start dancing and giggling uncontrollably. Movie scene. I got a really good deal, since I was still under 25 then and I was really happy about that. I pack my shit up and my friend Maja takes me to the airport. I'm not taking anything warm to wear, since the temperatures there are 25-35, but it's December here and people are giving me weird looks. I know better.

I have a cup of coffee with Maja, do some shopping at the tobacco shop and get a small but insanely appreciated gift from Maja - a Snickers. I suggest we go to the counter, so I can check in and get that over with. At this time she's completely cool, letting me do all the blabbing and all. If I get aware of the fact that I'm leaving for India for five months, I'll start running around the airport in circles. Like when a soccer player scores.

Okay, check in time.

'Hello.'
'Hello.'
'I'd like to check in.'

I give her my ticket and my passport and she's completely Mona Lisa with me. She checks the passport, glances at me and checks the ticket. All of a sudden she's all nice and all, giving me the widest smile possible.

'So, have you ever flown before?'
'Yeah, sure.''
'Out of the country?'
'Yes.'
'And you're travelling alone?'
'Yes, I am.'
'To India?'
'Umm, yeah.'
'Alright...'

Maja is standing next to me, checking out brochures like's she's taking her next vacation somewhere in Polynesia. In fact it's just a bunch of those small name tags that you can put on your luggage. So, the hostess is giving a call to Istanbul Atatürk Airport to confirm my flight and motioning me to to put my backpack on the baggage strip. All with a gigantic smile.

She puts the big label saying IST and BOM on it and another one saying Türk Hava Yollari - Turkish Airlines. She doesn't stop there, but puts at least five more saying Special Care, VIP passenger, Extra Heavy, Handle With Care and what not. I'm looking around to see where the candid camera is hidden. By this time there's at least another hostess and a host with her and I feel like there's a light spot on me. Or one of those red sniper dots, you know.

And everyone's smiling at me. Maja is just grinning, but she also has no idea what's going on. So, the hostess yells to the main desk host or whoever he was:
'This gentleman is flying to Mumbai, so please take special care of him. He's flying India by himself and he's fourteen.'

I look at her in awe and can't suppress a burst of laughter. I hope none of my saliva jetted her way over the counter. Maja is laughing like crazy, but you can her no sound coming out of her mouth. She's trying to cover herself up with those tiny name tags, but she fails completely. It's just name tags.

Not that it matters really. Thanks for the compliment, now I feel even younger. I wanna make the most innocent expression possible and even put my hands on the counter, like a puppy putting its front paws on the table. But I try to get a grip.

'Umm, sorry, but I'm not fourteen.'
'But your ticket says Young Passenger.'
'Yes, it does, because there's a discount if you're under 25. I'm 24.'
'Aah, okay.'

She's a bit embarrassed, but in a cute kind of way. My backpack and all its tags are on their way to wherever the whole machinery is located, somewhere behind the counter.

'My baggage is going all the way, right? I don't have to pick it up in Istanbul?'
'No no, it's going all the way, don't worry. It's completely secure.'

With all those tags I can't imagine otherwise, but better be sure.

'Okay, so here's your boarding pass, you've got enough time in Istanbul to look around and enjoy your trip.'
'Thanks very much!'

I turn around and everyone's looking at me like I'm wearing the fuzziest cuddly-panda-bear outfit that was ever made and I figure they've all got lolly-pops and candy prepared for me. Maja is totally grinning all over the place and I figure she'll be telling the story to everyone as soon as she gets to work.

So hang around a bit more, we say good bye and I catch a glimpse of her just standing there, her hands down and looking somewhere in my direction, but not really at me. I go behind the corner and see a bunch off people waiting at the security check, some of them knowing the routine and already taking off their belts.

Here goes.

Somewhere in Iran, 2008

You can also check India (Take One), India (Take Two) and India (Take Three) for some more stories.