Paying the Piper

Those left behind.  Saying goodbye to an pair of old friends.

Four years, four continents, the odd sub-continent.  Faithful to the end.

There comes a time to pay the Piper and our time has come.  We had drawn the 8:35 PM flight out of Bangkok, which would seem like a good departure hour.  It is not.  Arriving at Suvarnabhumi two hours ahead of time is not only a good idea, it can end up being just enough time to make an international flight.  That means arriving at Suvarnabhumi at 6:30 PM, the insane curve of rush hour in Bangkok.  There will be more to write on that.

With a whole day to kill, we made arrangements for a late checkout and then basically lolled around.  I sat on the terrace and smoked whilst My One dozed under the breeze of the fan.  We had no desire for anything more.  We discussed the most pressing conundrum:  how to get to the airport.  From the secret lair, there is public transport directly to the airport.  Public transport at rush hour, however, is no place to be with a full complement of bags.  I was packed far heavier than normal with the stuff I was schlepping from the US.  Lots of stupid luggage, just the kind I always advise against.  An aircon taxi to the airport is the easy way to get there.  The problem is, will you get there?  It is reasonable to assume that one will eventually arrive at the airport, but between 3 PM and 7 PM it is not reasonable to expect a taxi ride to take less than say, two hours.  Or maybe three.  Or maybe one.  Those horror stories you may have heard about Bangkok traffic, they are true.  The choice was thus:  Rush Hour on the MRT and Airport Train, wrestling with bags and turning into a ball of sweaty dough -- or -- an aircon taxi ride of dubious and uncertain length.  We finally opted for braving the trains, a route we know well.  

People often ask "How do you do the long flights?  I would love to go to Bradslavoktransia but I just can't do those 12 hour flights."  The only answer I have for this is to say that the flights are the price of admission to the bigger world out there.  And, yes, the flights mostly suck.  I try to make a game out of the whole thing, but it is difficult to do more than shift the brain into neutral, try to be empty-headed and/or entertained in some way, and just get through it.  What I have discovered is that my break line is ten hours.  A ten hour flight from Europe to the USA is a piece of cake, relatively speaking.  Movies, sleep, airline food, repeat.  Past ten hours, the body starts to rebel.

The easy train ride.  It got so bad I could not get my camera out of my pocket.

Four-thirty PM and off we went, out of the tiny Soi and down into the MRT.  We were departing four hours prior to our flight departure.  It would prove to be just enough time to accomplish the mission without undue stress.  The MRT ends at Hua Lampang so we were able to get decent positions near the doors of the train.  By the time we got to Petchaburi station, the train was packed cheek-to-jowl.  Even wielding a duffel bag, back pack and large carry-on, the Thai people are pretty gracious, rush hour notwithstanding.  With a bit of help from our fellow passengers, we found ourselves deposited on the platform, all bags still with us.  Okay, slow and steady, it is time for the non-aircon slog up and out of Petchaburi and across the 300 meter pedestrian bridge to the Airport Train.  This is Bankok and it is hot.  Haste is a silly and foreign concept.  Steady on, we made it to the Masakan station and took our place at the end of a longish line for boarding the next train.   Packed, the train arrived packed.  Defying the basic laws of physics, the line of passengers scooted, squished and squashed their way onto the train, ourselves included, though only just.  I wedged my bags against a pole and did a precarious balancing act against them.  Somehow, it works.  The train stops and it is so packed that people cannot move, yet they find a way to make it off the train and do so in a polite manner.  The train disgorged more and more people as we rode further out of Bangkok, easing the burden inside.  We finally arrived at the airport station and disembarked.  Loading our bags onto the free luggage carts (FREE!  FREE!  Are any of you SeaTac Airport Officials reading this?!?!?!  The carts are FREE!!! ) was a most welcome relief.  

I stowed my pack into the big checked bag, mourning the state of my good suit that was now a ball of wrinkles, and we set out for baggage drop.   We rode up the ramped escalators that allow a traveler to wheel his or her FREE CART (They go up the escalators you SeaTac Ninnies!!!  It is possible, you see??) from the bottom floor of the airport way up to the departure deck.  And there things sort of stopped.

Yikes, the baggage drop and check-in line.

Okay, dead stop.  The line for Etihad Air was, well, huge.  I stood on queue while My Baby got us some snacks.  She stood on queue while I went shopping at the Booths Pharmacy.  The line crept along.  So it goes.  Eventually we were free of bags, checked in on both flights, and left the queue with boarding passes in hand.  Then it was security, passport control, and the long moving walkways through the massive terminals of Suvarabhumi International.  Finally sitting down to a quick aiport meal that cost us more than some of the bungalows we enjoyed on this trip, we realized we had one-half hour until boarding.  So there it is, four hours lead time and none wasted.  

From here on, routine takes over.  It's the Zombie shuffle onto the plane, find the seats, sit down and wait.  Six hours to Abu Dhabi and six hours to Vienna.  Movies, airplane food, dozing, repeat.  Abu Dhabi is a strange place judging from the airport.  Cramped and packed, this has become a major hub for international flights.  We toyed with the idea of hopping a flight to somewhere else, anywhere else.  There was almost no place we could not go from here.  But no, we must return to cold and grey Yurp.  

Purgatory, otherwise know as Abu Dhabi.

And then we were airborne again.  No movies on this smaller Airbus, so it was food, dozing, keep the mind sifted into neutral.  The time passes, you pay the Piper.  It is always harder on the return flight.  Tray tables up, seats in their upright position, it is just dawn over Vienna as the lights come under the wing.  And then we are back.  The good folks at the Austrian passport control deign to allow me back into the country, our bags are actually the first ones down the chute, and it is over.

They have this thing in Vienna called "cold" which takes some getting used to.  Here is how I recover from a long flight.  Chose what works for you, this is my method.

Two months of traveling has come to an end.  We are home, back in our apartment, our oasis.  A familiar bed, familiar surroundings, those small blessings of returning.  I know that I have balance when I am eager to leave and, at the end of the journey, thankful to be home.  The scales of leaving and returning are very delicate, tipping at the slightest variation.  I cannot claim that there is no danger in the initial setting out.  I will be the first to tell you to go, to leave the familiar and venture forth into the world.  At the same time, it is important to know that the returns are not without cost.  Travel can bring about many, many changes.  One of the most insidious changes is that prolonged travel may unravel the mooring lines to one's home.  The unfamiliar becomes the familiar and vice versa.  Distinctions blur between that which is known and that which is unknown.  The urge to set out once again burrows deeply into the heart and will not be dislodged.  I urge you to recall the words of J.R.R. Tolkien as spoken by Bilbo Baggins:  "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door.  You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to." 

And so, Friends and Neighbors, the journey is done.  Travel well, travel often, be kind when you do so, and maintain an open heart.  The world will reward you handsomely.  As always, I bid you Ciao for Now!!