Running the gauntlet of perfume sellers is a hobby for most travellers in the Kuala Lumpur satellite terminal. And I'm no exception. I'm tired after the 10-hour flight from Auckland but the threat of missing the flight home dismisses any chance of catching forty winks. For a minute the thought did cross my mind to go into one of the Muslim prayer rooms and take a kip on a comfortable rug on the floor. Piano music is ringing in my ears, the type that Sam would play at the Casablanca. A fat Asian kid is tugging at his mother's dress and making a feral-type sound (corrected horrible misspelling, I'm truly ashamed). The paging of passengers is endless and the Starbucks coffee tastes off probably due to the rank-tasting milk they use. Few eateries take credit card and the toilets have long hoses in the cubicles that scare me. A meal of fish and chips costs the same as 200 cigarettes and I feel like I need a shower.

Only four more hours to go until gate C19 opens.

Published by Colm.