Archive for hotels

flights and cheap hotels 2

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on 30th October, 2009 by kal

as i walked across the threshold, i was overwhelmed by a strange cocktail of smells: cheap perfume lazily hung around in the air, unable to disguise the obvious stench of reflux. next, my eyes took a moment to adjust to the creatures lurking within the building.

the company i had on the plane was unusual to say the least. with my hat that’s shaped like a banana peel, i’m a shoo-in for ‘most-weirdly-dressed-person’ in any sort of gathering; here, i found that i wouldn’t have made it to the qualifiers. for starters, we had the fantastic four family: a dad in his oldest half-shirt and english mustard coloured pants, his wife in a bright pink and gold wrap-around with a matching blouse and platinum blonde hair in an afro do, their 7 year old obese boy wonder with an electric blue sleeveless vest a few sizes too small for him (and a beret to boot), and their precious 10 year old daughter in something terribly inappropriate. how do i mean? picture a little girl, barely clothed. a few fig leaves here and there. tattoo the rest of her, in psychedelically distracting patterns. remove fig leaves. 10 years old. I call her Negative Girl.

but the fashionless four, the rest of our copassengers — who came in all imaginable shapes, sizes, and halloween costumes — and me in my banana-peel hat couldn’t hold a candle to spectacle that awaited us inside the airport building. some of us who could comprehend the scenario suddenly felt like a child’s sketch hung in a room full of monets, rembrandts, van goghs, and da vincis: out of place because of our ¬†sheer unimpressiveness, and utterly humiliated by it.


flights and cheap hotels 1

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , on 29th October, 2009 by kal

i got off the ATR sweaty, grimy, hungry, and alone, but my first action was to sigh in relief that the dilapidated machine successfully completed what i had no doubt was going to be one of its last journeys.

i can never get used to arriving at an unknown airport. even on family vacations, where my child/tween/teen self would have been handed no responsibility except keeping to myself and not causing a mini-riot (after the pet-gerbil-in-my-handbag incident of ’93), i would feel a sense of apprehension, of burden. here was me, in a unknown ¬†land. can i indulge in my regular childish habits and run across a road dogding cars? my mother’s firm grasp on my tiny wrist served as a not-so-subtle hint that i could not. with such conditioning have i grown. perennially in fear of making a mistake, and often without the tools to understand how not to.

at this tiny wayside excuse, we, paying passengers, were made to walk to the airport building. where were the 4-seater electric carts, or even a frigging bus? i thought it best not to ask; didn’t want to offend the locals so soon. i was here, after all, to examine the effects of improper disposal of chewing gum on the environment of this dustbowl (by order of the Supreme Ruler), with power to ban the chewing and spitting of all items not meant to be swallowed. and i suspected that should i recommend this, i would be offending a lot more people than one airport officer, and hopefully would be really, really far away at the time.

one consolation was that we were not made to carry our own suitcases from the aircraft, just our handbags. if i haven’t already told you that i regretted going on this journey, allow me to inform you that i regretted going on this journey the moment i sat in the damn ATR. tray tables that wouldn’t shut fell out at odd angles, poking poor passengers. seat cushions, where present, were in a state of disrepair. the smell of stale cigarette smoke lingered in the air. the skimpily-clad oh-so-sexy stewardess mentioned that there may not be a floatation device under our seats, so in event of a emergency landing over water, could you please share with your copassengers, tee hee! the whole scene resembled an airline uniform strip poker racket that had just been busted up a few hours earlier.

but even if i wasn’t entirely loathing the entire experience (thanks to the fact that nobody talked to me the entire flight, ah what bliss!), this quickly changed once i entered the airport building. the plane wasn’t even the tip of iceberg; what i beheld inside was nothing short of a liveried brothel of tease.

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