Sitting on yet another cold floor of an airport, I had hoped for the best and expected the worst. Kuala Lumpur International Airport, the “other” terminal is the middle man between the two.
Leaving Manila via Clarke Airbase this morning was bittersweet. My stomach in knots, my heart beatin irrythmically from coffee and my eyes puffy from too little sleep, I said bye to mom and Hannah with a feeling of anticipation and insecurity. Almost a year since the idea formed in my head, suddenly D-day had arrived and I wasn’t and still am not 100% sure if I’m sufficiently prepared in heart, body and mind to embark on this adventure. But the closer I get to setting foot on Aussie soil, the more I am getting back into my DIY-mindset. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home in the Philippines and the time I spend there is and will always be cherished, but there is just something about being back home that jostles my independence and makes me want to lean back and enjoy (more than jump up and go go gadget go). On the other hand, after 4 years of vacations that feel too short and scheduling skype-dates, it was relaxing and comforting to be surrounded by family again.
Before being able to board the bright red airplane, I was asked to pay a travel tax nobody could really explain to me, but apparently it is not always an advantage to have dual citizenship (or to be honest about this and show the passport-checking airport employee both the red and the green). Air Asia flight AK663 departed on-filipino-time, meaning just a tad bit late. This gave a small group of Malasian gentlemen the chance to interrogate me on my heritage, my travel plans, my places of residence and my red blotches on my hand (which are still very itchy remnants of a collision with a soft coral diving in Puerto Galera a few weeks back). I guess the preassumption of meeting lots of people during my journey decided to come true early on in the game.
The flight itself was uneventful. For the first time in my history of travelling, I did not insist on having an aisle seat – a tick I developed after too many flights caged in, prohibited from peeing, by very deeply sleeping fellow travellers. This time, I was quite thankful for the window, a place to rest my head and catch up on the missed hours of sleep the night before, which I rather spent talking to home, a place and person starting to seem further and further away by the minute. Waking up a bit disoriented, I tried to estimate how long we had already been in the air and if it made sense to try to go back to sleep again. And although, after short contemplation, I decided that more shut eye really couldn’t hurt, I was not granted this wish, thanks to a surround sound chorus of snoring. Instead, as hinted by that familiar in my ear, I watched as we descended onto Malasian ground. The coast lined with brown murky water, as if it had just rained. The fields below us looking like giant thumbprints and microchips. I followed the winding roads into mountainous territories and watched them snake towards the sea. The lower we went, the wider the patches of rich dark green became and by the time the wheels of the plane were released, we were flying above hectars and hectars of palm tree plantations (bananas possibly?). Shortly after landing, the usual ground temperature, local time and “Thank you for flying Air Asia”s were announced, followed by an important announcement:”Bringing dangerous drugs into Malaysia is prohibited and will be followed with mandatory death sentence”. Silence. “You may now disembark the aircraft.”
Outside my window stood rows upon rows of bright red airplanes and I must admitt, I was impressed by the size of this budget airline’s fleet. Flights from all corners of Asia and the Pacific were landing and disembarking and the sea of people became more and more colorful as I walked along the terminal building trying to find the entrance and get out of the heat. I was less impressed by the immigration hall of the “other” terminal, over crowded, hot and sticky. All of a sudden, the colorful crowd turned into a blurr of faces, families and patterns. And of course, I should have known that Lady Luck would lead me to the one immigration counter that was the equivalent to good ol’ fashioned mail in this high bit email-world – efficiant but very demaning of your patience. I couldn’t decide if the immigrations officer, a beautiful young woman, was new on the job or couldn’t get off her high horse and felt the need to interrogate every poor traveller standing in front of her aquarium. Of course it didn’t help that a family with shaved heads and orange robes very serenely cut the line (or that Miss Immigration Officer decided to take an extra long look at their passports), that the indian group of travellers in front of me kept recruiting more and more members as we waited or that the line next to us just seemed to be rolling on steadliy, like the steam engine you just missed and have to watch as it leaves you behind. Following me in line, a large and loud French family made me curse the fact that I understand this language of romance, as I had to listen to them lovingly complain about the flight, the airport, the immigration hall, Miss Immigration Officer, the backpackers next to them, the heat, the country, Asia in general and finally about each other. And just when I thought it was finally over, they started an argument about their many vacations, which , in my opinion, they couldn’t have been on together, because none of them could seem to agree on what year they did the bike tour and how many years ago they had spent that week in Bali (during which more issues to complain about arose). In short, I wanted to fall on my knees and thank Miss Immigration Officer after she stamped my passport and waved me onwards with a half-hearted smile. My luggage was already lying next to the belt, as I seemed to be the only one held up after dismbarking and the belt was much needed for the constant stream of bright red airplanes landing between the palm trees. After being greeted by Barney’s big purple face (Toy Land) and the oh-so-familiar green symbol indicating that the all time favorite icy cold sweet coffee drinks can be purchased during my 7h (after immigration reduced to 6h) layover, I have found a spot on yet another cold airport floor and have finally started writing again.
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All in all, my layover in KL consisted mainly of walking about outside, back and forth, through the little arcade of stores and cafes and back on the outside, having a cigarette, checking if my check-in counter is finally open and calculating if I really want to spend my 5Euro bill on a sandwich – the choices being between a soggy Starbucks sandwich, a soggy Coffeebean&Tealeaf sandwich, a soggy Deli France sandwich and McDonalds. I saved the 5Euro bill.
After finally getting rid of my big fat bag and going through immigration and security, I am pleasantly surprized about the airport. It is bigger than I thought it could be and colder too.
I’ve decided to play a little game on this trip called “Just guess”. Although I have only been on the road for just about 9h, I have already been asked three times where I’m from. And I’m pretty sure this question just might come up every once in a while during my journey. So instead of spilling the beans on my colorful heritage right away, I ask where they think I am from. Yes, I have gotten strange looks after giving this answer –looks of puzzlement and confusion, one that likes the idea of a challenge and one that says “I’m really not in the mood for games”. But so far, I have registered the following guesses – Malaysian, Fil-Am (but only because I was on a flight from Manila) and “uh, something Asian and something else”. So no real winner so far (the latter not being counted because of vagueness).
Note: There are times when dual citizenship is expensive. If no personal entertainment system is available, sleeping is your best bet on a plane. Don’t bring dangerous drugs into Malaysia. Don’t get in line behind a travel group from India or in front of a large French family.
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