Layover

A couple of weeks ago I decided to revisit my itinerary to make sure I hadn’t missed some major detail. I was reading my flights out loud to my mum over speakerphone, when I realised that there was a whopping 16 hour gap between my arrival in Bangkok and my departure to Zürich. 

Crap! How did I miss that? I booked a room at the airport hotel and started coming up with all the possible scenarios of how this could go wrong. I’ll miss my flight. I’ll get tricked into taking the wrong shuttle. I’ll get malaria. Someone will steal all my bags. Somehow my anxiety transformed a simple stopover into some kind of odyssey. And like any odyssey, it turns out it was the best thing for me.

The hotel was absolutely magnificent. Maybe it was just the jetlag, but I felt so tiny walking into the massive lobby. 

When I got to my room I was met with the sight of a marble bathroom. Most importantly there was a lovely bath, which curiously ran water at the perfect temperature. I stripped off, had a bath, and crawled into to bed. 

Unsurprisingly, I had trouble sleeping properly. It was hot, I had jetlag, and there were some very excited birds just outside my window. In the early morning, I just sat on the chair and read Murakami.

I needed this layover. I don’t want to know how sweaty and smelly and exhausted I would be if I had had to jump straight on another plane. None of my worries came true, and I got more shut-eye than I ever would have on a plane. Now I can just quietly relax and wait for the second leg of my trip with Murakami and an apricot danish. 

S

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