Have I gone completely mad?

No sooner said than done. A week later we set off. As usual, before the holiday relaxation stood a long and anticipation-filled flight. However, the joy of anticipation soon evaporated after arrival. What I had already experienced in the distant past, in Africa or in other countries "hundreds of thousands of kilometers away", happened: We found us standing at the baggage carousel, yet, our suitcases weren't coming.

We grew tired, as apparently did the airline and airport employees, as none of them came forward to offer solace or even information. A sign simply stated, somewhat brusquely, that we would have to wait somewhat for our luggage.

Thus we spent an entire two hours surrounded by fellow passengers looking around in a dazed manner. We analyzed the wide range of emotions of our fellow passengers with interest. They spanned the entire spectrum between resignation and terror. It was like an El Dorado for psychology students.

Then, horror gripped us all: a man on a cargo bike rolled into the baggage claim with just three suitcases. This couldn't be true! Were the bags of about 180 travelers really being delivered by bike from the plane? Finally, a beacon of relief. The bike rode to the overweights' baggage counter. Overweight suitcases, I mean! And the conveyor belt started to move! After about ten tense minutes of staring at the exit hole of the conveyor belt, it started.

One suitcase came after the other. First the economy suitcases. Then came the crew's suitcases. And 20 minutes later, finally, at the very end, the Business Class priority suitcases, impressively marked with signal-red tags, arrived.

But now, off to the hotel.

Unfortunately, the last shuttle bus to our hotel, which was a western chain with the name “Holiday” in its company name, had already left. A clever and life-experienced driver of another hotel bus saw our desperation and offered us a smart solution: for a reasonable baksheesh, he would give his guests a nice detour and take us first directly to our hotel. That's the wonderful thing about a developing country. With a few dollars in cash, you can arrange many things.

When we arrived at the hotel, we found a reception with exceptionally friendly and smiling receptionists. They immediately started explaining to us which of the room facilities were not working and beaming announced that we would get two bottles of free beer instead. Well, that was already something. It seemed a little strange that when we were heading from the reception to the elevator, we saw people walking in both directions, like an ant trail. Was there a plan behind it? What made people behave like that?

When we arrived at the elevator, we realized the source of the ants’ instincts! Our key cards, which we had to hold up to a card reader in the elevator in order to start the cabin, were of no use. The elevator did not accept them.

So back to reception! There the problem had been well known for a while and we were looked at with some amusement! Only the universal card reader of the reception, so they shared their so far secret knowledge, worked with this elevator. The friendly receptionist accompanied us, touched the reader, enjoying our admiring glances, and off we went to the fifth floor.

I immediately dismissed the thought of what the deeper reason could be for the elevator not being blocked on the ground floor and new arrivals being sent back and forth escorted by the charming receptionist: I wanted it that way. I wanted to go to a developing country again. You don't ask for logic there!

Later, on our way to the bar, where we picked up the two promised free beers, we smirked to ourselves at the continuing procession of ants. We relaxed. Our vacation could begin.

Next morning, an exceptionally friendly driver was waiting for us in an unexpectedly clean minibus, which we had rented for a few days.

“A good decision,” he greeted us, ”that you didn't choose the train.”

He explained that 17 skeletons had been found on the railroad tracks in the last month. The reason for this would be that these people had apparently wanted to commit suicide and therefore laid down on the tracks. However, they starved to death before the expected train arrived with a lengthy delay. I was shocked at first, but then learned with some amazement that the socialist government had presented the people with a firm plan for getting the trains running on time again by 2073. Well, I won't be around to check on it.

Finally, we arrived at the 4-star holiday hotel of another international chain, where we were greeted effusively. We were offered the opportunity to be taken on their 'journey to sustainability'. Therefore, they would be pleased to inform us that our room would only be cleaned every three days for the good of the environment.

I commented somewhat sarcastically that I would then also like to take my morning wee-wee in the middle of the room. This would also serve sustainability by saving rinse water for the toilets. Besides, the dusty carpet fibers may then continue to grow well fertilized. They glanced at me, with looks ranging between uncomprehending and dismissive.

Sitting at the bar with a beer in the evening, I realized that the hotel was not only concerned about sustainability, but also about the shape of its guests. They offered to serve the guests a sachet of peanuts with their beer for the equivalent of a mere 4.50 US dollars. This was obviously intended to help them stick to their diet.

After a few good beers and an equally good pizza, but without peanuts, we were ready for bed. When we arrived in our room, we activated the air conditioning by inserting our room card. At just over 0°C outside, this would make our room cozy and warm.

At least that's what I thought. But I was way off!

Probably to make our journey into sustainability even more exciting, the heating couldn't be set above 18°. Coming from warm Thailand, this was quite a challenge. My hitherto patient wife muttered something about “cultural appropriation of the Eskimos” as she wrapped herself, giving me a somewhat angry look, in two thick blankets. That's right: in two blankets. There was no blanket left for me. I had asked for it, she grumbled at me briefly and fell asleep.

I shivered.

On the third morning, the day the hotel was cleaned, I woke up and felt completely confused! I was sure I was in New Zealand. After a short knock, three people entered our room and were talking to me, gesticulating and rolling their eyes.

‘Chula’, I called my wife, come here! Quick! It's all been just a nightmare so far. We're in New Zealand.’

I explained breathlessly, There are three Māori here who are performing the famous ’Haka' welcome dance. You know, the one with the rolling eyes and the threatening grimaces.” Great, I loved those shows. But my enthusiasm was abruptly dampened when reality in the form of these three people surrounded me. It wasn't the “Haka” dance that had made the New Zealand national football team, the “All Blacks”, famous worldwide.

Rather, it was the cleaning staff trying to make us understand that the three-day cleaning was due. After a short conversation with hand signals and different language variations, we understood we should now vacate the room to make way for the cleaning team.

At the reception, people regretted the action and promised, this time, not two bottles of beer, but extra points for collecting miles from the hotel chain. Well. We waived the offer.

Unfortunately, the entire vacation was less appealing than hoped for, even in culinary terms. In the evenings, most bars and restaurants that did not belong to the red light district closed between six and nine o'clock. “Staff shortage” was heard everywhere. People lived, we learned, on welfare or did not want to work. Those who did work had no money to go out or emigrated.

And so, after days of blaming myself for my travel decision, a reproachfully silent wife and battling with the third world chaos, it was time to start the journey back home. The friendly driver dropped us off at the airport in good time and we were at the gate on time. We couldn't wait to be on our way home.

At departure time, already buckled up for takeoff, the tray table folded up and the cell phone switched off as instructed, the pilot then informed us that the airport management had probably not expected so many planes at once. Therefore, it would take a while before we could take off.

I wondered. Could all these planes arrive here quite unexpectedly and unannounced? Well, you never know. Some fellow passengers, and we in particular, became more and more nervous. We were heading to a transfer airport, and the transfer time to Bangkok was already quite short with a regular arrival. The charming flight attendant probably knew about this as well and spoke to the pilot after departure. He also showed his sympathy and shortly before landing, all passengers were asked by the Persian woman to pray for us.

It went like this: “Now let's cross our fingers for those among us who need to reach a connection flight!”

We were touched by so much loyalty and support. It sounded like the foreboding plea at a funeral to pray for the one who was next among the mourners that the Lord would call to Himself. But that was where the sympathy ended. Once we landed, small electric vehicles were buzzing around with guests, but the proud national, blue and yellow airline of our choice had not even considered providing one for the late arrivals. Nor could they provide information on which gate we had to rush to.

“Sorry,” the pretty stewardess explained, “but I don't know my way around here either”. Instead, she gave us a firm thumbs-up and an encouraging look.

A friendly airport official then at least told us the proper gate and called out to us in perfect English:” It’s a long way. About 1,800 meters to walk, and you still have to go through security!”

We ran! We pushed aside two officers armed with machine guns who were trying to direct us to the end of the queue in front of passport control, and showed them our passports. I'm not sure if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard bursts of machine gun fire.

The understanding passport control officers, on the other hand, cheered us on! “Run, you can make it. There are only 700 meters to go!”

And we ran! with about 15 kg of hand luggage allowed. Myself at 73 years old and showing signs of a heart attack. People around us applauded and threw us water bottles.

Finally! The finish line. A flight attendant from the connecting Thai International flight waved us off with a checkered flag and led us to the plane. We hurried on board, took seats 16 E and F and seconds later the plane taxied. Thai International, champagne, snacks, friendly flight attendants... we were at home. At Bangkok airport, our suitcases were already on the belt in front of us. Great. Everything was fine.

Sorry, Germany, but I'm really too old to travel to developing countries more often.

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