Purgatory, We Meet Again

Stuck in transit hell. Cheap flights come with cheap experiences. A 15 hour layover in Hong Kong, to be exact. And not even an overnight one where I could just book a ridiculously overpriced room! A 6am landing for a 9pm ride home, utter joy.

I managed to spot a NZ passport in the hands of another passenger disembarking, and hope flooded me that maybe he had a lifetime of purgatory waiting ahead of him, too. Alas, he was on an earlier flight to Melbourne, but he helped kill the first four hours.

Then I wandered, looking around for some thing to buy. My pattern for the better part of 3 hours was walking to the end of one terminal, resting my shoulders cause damn my 7KG bag + 1000KG “little handbag” carrying all the actual heavy stuff like magnets and keychains and spoons (don’t ask).

At 1pm, I found a little collection of chairs, hidden at the end of a terminal, behind some potted plants. I say chairs but I mean loungers. I nestled into one, wrapping myself around my bags, and promptly slept for 2 hours.

My nap gave me the refreshment needed to make it to boarding, and I headed out in search of sustenance.

I ended up fawning over a bag that had a really pretty print, but the practicality issues were eating away at me. I tried it in this way and that and looked inside it 100 times, but I just knew that the size wasn’t practical or functional for me, and I’d never end up using it. The girls at the store didn’t seem too disappointed though, they got cuddles with my new Lotso-Huggin-Bear I picked up at the Disney store.

How I managed to refrain from buying 101 Star Wars magnets, pens, plush toys, I’ll never know.

I continued my world of shopping, complaining to mum about my itch to buy something since deciding against The Bag. She suggests some perfume (ehh…) and then a watch. A watch! I’ve been using the same one for years, and it’s gone through a reconstruction and many, many battery replacements, but I love that thing.

So I go on a hunt, remembering a whole isle of watches in the more centralised shopping network of the airport. I end up asking help narrowing down between three, and buy two of the same but in different colours because I couldn’t make up my mind. Thank you aunties and uncle who contributed to this delectable purchase.

With this, I figure it was time to give my flight a check to see if they’d announced the departure gate. Nope, 2 hours to go and no gate.

I depart to get a tea, and wait in line at the overburdened-as-usual-starbucks for about 30 minutes. I get back and there’s still not a gate listed. I make a pact that if it’s not there by 8pm, I’ll go talk to airport information. So far, I had counted 11 earlier delays on the board 

Meanwhile, I’m chatting about the whole ordeal with Erica, who tells me she expects a blog update about the tea obsessed departure board goblin, so here it is. 

While writing this, a gate has been allocated to my flight, with 7 minutes to spare. So off I go, to the land of departure gate waiting areas, and 11 hours away from home.

See ya soon, folks.

Regards,

Alex

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