Bangkok pt. 3 - Day 19.

My first flight left BKK at half past nine. I didn't want to leave and my head started aching as soon as I thought about the eight hour over-night transfer in DXB. The flight was alright, except for the guy to my left whose face I could have punched on a regular basis. He was rude like a little child, wanted food they don't have and complained about everything loudly to the screen in front of him. The chicken dinner was nice and I watched a quiet movie.

The plane arrived on time and I was expecting the horror of a stop-over. I had no Dubai money and it was almost one at night. I started checking out the airport and at one fifteen I lost interest in it and decided to find the gate that I had to be at in the morning. On the way there I got tired walking and looked for possible spots to spend the night. Alongside the moving walkway they had nice benches. The arm rests made it impossible to lie down horizontally, but the carpeted floor behind them was just as inviting.

The wifi was free, but not really working. They always do that at airports. I set the alarm on my phone and put it in the chest pocket of my shirt. My shoes and a jacket became a fluffy pillow, my backpack was converted into a comfortable foot rest and the stolen Emirates blanket also did its job. I pulled my beanie over my eyes, put some tunes in my ears, and suddenly my situation didn't look all that bad anymore. In fact, I had a halfway decent sleep.

How often do you look up in the sky? Not too often anymore, I guess. When somebody in Baghdad would've looked up after his breakfast he might have seen a plane. And not just any plane, but a white and silver B777-300ER, and to be precise one with the flight number EK045 from Dubai to Frankfurt. And if he would have chinked his eyes a little to see through the windows up at thirty-six thousand feet he might have seen me sitting there, in aisle seat no. 46D.

Somewhere over Budapest I asked for a cup of black coffee, please. And with the dark tasty liquid the good woman brought me crackers, too. I opened the transparent package and while chewing on the crumbly thing I read the name of the treat. Rich Shorties. I thought Danny DeVito, Kylie Minogue, maybe Tom Cruise. My second thought was, rich, okay maybe in taste or something, but why would they call them short? They're round bisquits, they don't have any end to be short at.

At the end of that thought the crackers were all gone and the plane started its landing procedure. The seatbelt signs came on and everybody took their seats. The mashine slowly started shifting and the plane landed safe and sound. And so did my luggage. I picked it up, got through passport control and customs, got a train ticket and finally got home. It's crazy, everything's German. There's sidewalks, there's bread, there's Umlaute. I have to admit, it feels kinda nice to be back.