- No new napkins in China! Stupid transfer system.
He supposed he was an expert on such things and readily disapproved of the methods on the communists.
Already he had settled in the departure lounge for the flight to Istanbul. 2 hours early.
A gate with no shops of cafe.
He had survived the rigorous security process.
The silly questioning, the silly poking.
- Evidently not good enough to be allowed near the new terminal.
Airports can give away something of a country's culture, to some extent.
In China they are pretty rough around the edges.
Plenty of stares from the security staff, eyes of suspicion, suspicious minds, or so it seemed.
- Are you done yet?
He could help but wonder how much time was needed to check him over for hidden illegal items.
Over zealous body searcher by the x-ray machine drew out the anti-climax of accessing the rubbish gate.
- Uh! Weary!
He had slept quite well on the flight from Beijing, but it was only short.
The run around in the airport in Beijing had eroded some of the gains though.
Behind him sat a group of aged Australians. They talked about their travels and the number of times their bags were searched. A subject finding common ground among them. He listened.
- It's good listening to old people sometimes.
A woman talked about visiting Spain in the 1970s.
Fasting for a few hours would do him some good.
He was distracted by the conversation of the men behind him. They were older than him, bearded and grey, party of a tour group it seemed. One of the men talked about his trip from the UK to Australia when he was a child.
He travelled by boat when he was 7.
- What an adventure! Not easy to remember much though!
It was quite a journey. Gibralter, Alexandria, the Suez, Bombay, Colombo, Freemantle, Melbourne, Sydney. Views of the harbour bridge. No opera house then. The man wittered on to the woman opposite.
- Suppose they are a tour group.
He wondered how else he would fill his time at the gate. Kindle? toilet? sleep?
- All three?
- Still and hour to go
The woman took over from the man, on and on about her family. Mmm...Mmm were his replies. He acknowledged her. Then a plane arrived at the gate and the conversation ended.
Not enough seats at gate 91. In Beijing.
He peed and moved seats.
There was little comfort now. People had to stand.
- Down to my last napkin.
- 3 flights to go before mine.
- This waiting is reminiscent of Riyadh.
Two women gabbled. Strangers who had got talking opposite him. One was American, blonde, older, experienced. He guessed from California, at least he wanted to imagine that and her accent let him. She's cute. The other was younger, he guess she was an Aussie.
- They were sheep in a pen at the this gate. Surround and enclosed.
- They enjoyed their natter.
- A direct flight might have been better. Oh well. Better for the body but maybe not for the mind.
He knew he would get home eventually, but would still be happy when he sunk into his seat on the next plane.
He supposed he was an expert on such things and readily disapproved of the methods on the communists.
Already he had settled in the departure lounge for the flight to Istanbul. 2 hours early.
A gate with no shops of cafe.
He had survived the rigorous security process.
The silly questioning, the silly poking.
- Evidently not good enough to be allowed near the new terminal.
Airports can give away something of a country's culture, to some extent.
In China they are pretty rough around the edges.
Plenty of stares from the security staff, eyes of suspicion, suspicious minds, or so it seemed.
- Are you done yet?
He could help but wonder how much time was needed to check him over for hidden illegal items.
Over zealous body searcher by the x-ray machine drew out the anti-climax of accessing the rubbish gate.
- Uh! Weary!
He had slept quite well on the flight from Beijing, but it was only short.
The run around in the airport in Beijing had eroded some of the gains though.
Behind him sat a group of aged Australians. They talked about their travels and the number of times their bags were searched. A subject finding common ground among them. He listened.
- It's good listening to old people sometimes.
A woman talked about visiting Spain in the 1970s.
Fasting for a few hours would do him some good.
He was distracted by the conversation of the men behind him. They were older than him, bearded and grey, party of a tour group it seemed. One of the men talked about his trip from the UK to Australia when he was a child.
He travelled by boat when he was 7.
- What an adventure! Not easy to remember much though!
It was quite a journey. Gibralter, Alexandria, the Suez, Bombay, Colombo, Freemantle, Melbourne, Sydney. Views of the harbour bridge. No opera house then. The man wittered on to the woman opposite.
- Suppose they are a tour group.
He wondered how else he would fill his time at the gate. Kindle? toilet? sleep?
- All three?
- Still and hour to go
The woman took over from the man, on and on about her family. Mmm...Mmm were his replies. He acknowledged her. Then a plane arrived at the gate and the conversation ended.
Not enough seats at gate 91. In Beijing.
He peed and moved seats.
There was little comfort now. People had to stand.
- Down to my last napkin.
- 3 flights to go before mine.
- This waiting is reminiscent of Riyadh.
Two women gabbled. Strangers who had got talking opposite him. One was American, blonde, older, experienced. He guessed from California, at least he wanted to imagine that and her accent let him. She's cute. The other was younger, he guess she was an Aussie.
- They were sheep in a pen at the this gate. Surround and enclosed.
- They enjoyed their natter.
- A direct flight might have been better. Oh well. Better for the body but maybe not for the mind.
He knew he would get home eventually, but would still be happy when he sunk into his seat on the next plane.
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