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Tired, hurried and lacking enough limbs for our ever expanding luggage, there’s also a feeling of excitement as we take a morning rush hour subway train from KLCC across the city to Sentral. That’s because we’re at the precipice of a transforming moment on this trip, as company, emphasis and continents are about to shift.
For five hours I sat forlorn and jaded, patiently watching as the flight plan showed our slow progress over the Indian Subcontinent, the Bay of Bengal, the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, and finally towards the Malacca Strait and Peninsular Malaysia. Disembarkation in Singapore couldn’t come soon enough.
Navigating from one point on the globe to another sparks quiet satisfaction, but the journey itself kindles a series of other odd side effects, too. You feel in a condition of eternal transit – as if you belong no where but the mid reaches of the atmosphere with ambient music droning quietly into your semi-receptible, often half-deaf ears.
A full day of travelling lies before me on what is really an elongated journey to Sydney. It begins with a 20 mile trip from Hanoi back to Noibai airport. From here, 3 hours sees me return southwards to Singapore – where heavy thunderstorms close in as we approach, looking more black and angry with each drop in altitude. We do, however, touch down safely in pelting rain.
It’s pitch black outside and the streets are finally quiet after another night of partying. This is the morning I leave Singapore – and apparently i’m not the only one. A South African and English girl from my hostel are heading off to Indonesia and Australia respectively, so we all share a white knuckle taxi ride to Changi Airport. Where is it I’m going? The Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
