On the day when I find out from Rich that I’m a googlewhack (see Recent Comments in the right sidebar) I go on to find myself stranded in the Bangkok airport.

Why? On a day full of too much running around (with successful shopping, no doubt, but not enough visiting with Ritu and John and Koko, and far too much hurrying about) I got onto the plane with plenty of time; we were all boarded on time, actually, but the plane didn’t budge. We were all wondering, what the hell is up with this. A one-hour delay was announced, and I decided this was the time to ask about my connecting flight.

I got a non-answer, of course, but found a group of young North American travelers congregated in the back and as I passed them to return to my seat one of them recognized me. We’d met in a little diner in Dharamsala called Chuki’s and I’d told her and her brother about Indian movies for a while. She ended up on the same flight as me, which was funny, so we talked a bit and then discovered the one hour delay was a two-and-a-half hour delay. This of course brought up many jokes about the Indian bus and railway system.

Anyway, finally the plane took off. I was certain our connection would be held seeing as there were about 3 dozen Koreans on our plane, but no, they were mostly all flying on some other connection, or else stopping over in Bangkok. Only myself and two other people—two businessmen—were connecting to Korea via Korean Air. So all three of us were told we’d be on the next flight to Korean: check-in at 4am, departure at 6:50am, arrival 3:30-something.

Owch, hell, dammit, I was thinking. This is awful, and we’re being led to a lounge because they won’t give us somewhere to sleep for three hours of course. But lo and behold, they led us a long way and finally we ended up in somewhere with soft chairs and free alcohol and food for the night. (Okay, the internet isn’t so cheap as I thought, $3US for 20 minutes. But it’s alright for one night. I’ll be back in Korea in a few hours, and on a bus to Jeonju, probably sleeping all the way as I don’t trust myself to sleep on the morning flight.

I have in tow lots of Bollywood movies, some music, a few scattered presents for people, some Indian clothing and the prize: a beautiful wooden flute and a wonderful tanpura, the drone instrument of Indian classical music.

And I am going to go read my WIRED magazine—my first in a few years— and sip the worst black russian cocktail I’ve ever had… with the satisfaction of knowing that not only is it free, but I made it myself.

There are worse ways to stay awake all night in an airport. Believe me, I know.