Whenever I mentioned that our stopover was Singapore airport friends would moan contentedly like someone was scratching their back in exactly the right spot, and then sigh
“Ahh Singapore airport.”

I soon found out why. Whilst plane travel is risky, dirty, squishy and highly inter-personal, Singapore airport is controlled, clean, spacious and impersonal.

We arrived at the airport in the sub-human stupour of ickiness that flying economy class (baaaa/moooo) provides. Unslept, unshowered and groggy we were shoe-horned out of the plane onto kilometres of bright carpet. I think the carpet had been carefully commissioned for the job at hand; its vast acres immediately restored my lost sense of personal space whilst the pattern roused me from my grogginess. We staggered forward, noticing nice big green plants and smiley guards that looked like they had been raiding the wardrobe of a 70’s cop show. Before long signs started appearing as if anticipating our needs: “Toilets,” “Refreshments,” “Showers,” “Restored Humanity”*.

Everything was sparklingly clean. Most shops spared you the agony of having to think too hard whilst sleep-deprived by accepting different kinds of currency. The staff of the coffee shop we chose made international baby cooey noises at Reuben.

Timshel just looked over my shoulder, read this entry, and thinks I am exaggerating.
“You’re making it sound like heaven”.
To which I narrow my eyes, nod sagely and whisper
“Maybe it was, my friend, maybe it was”.

* Ok, I made that last one up.

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