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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 – and all in a very condensed period of time.
For five hours I sat forlorn and jaded, patiently watching as the flight plan of my Singapore Airlines 777 jet 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. I was sleepless but oddly refreshed.
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. As if the destination always alludes you.
As I set off on the 20 mile trip back to Noibai airport, I was also commencing an elongated odyssey to Sydney. From Hanoi, 3 hours would return me to Singapore, while a further 7 would take me southwards to Australia. The total travel time would be somewhere in the region of 24 hours, but like any long trip across continents, I expected the journey to be as fun as the destination.
As I sat grasping my luggage in the now deserted hostel lobby, everything lay quiet and stagnant. It was still pitch black outside and the streets were finally silent again after another crazy night of partying. This was my time to leave Singapore – but I wasn’t the only one. Suddenly, from around the corner, two fellow travellers appeared – one from England, the other from South Africa.
