Ten hours flying west with the ever rising sun, my body fooled into thinking there was no need for sleep. Layover in Tokyo, my first footing onto the Asian continent. Lingering through the airport, kiosks filled with tentacled squid cellophaned for quick take out, boxes of green tea mochi, cafe sushi and crazy electronic bubble wrap items, a fav with the local girls. Tokyo, another journey for another time.
Little time between stops, we were ushered onto the next jet destined for Bangkok. Finding 18J, I wedged myself near the window and immediately dosed off into a glorious slumber. Darkness had finally overtaken 18 hours of sunlight as I wondered from customs, 10:15pm Thai time. Tired, my body moved toward the easiest solution a bright, yellow Kiosk offering local taxi and hotel services. I realize I am no longer the young, I can handle anything resilient hippie chick I thought I once was, rather an aged, quasi-resilient hippie chick, weary-eyed traveler seeking trouble-free accommodations.
Bellies rumbling at 1:30am, a venture into the cooled midnight air finds eateries encased only by aluminum roofs, scattered tables and chairs, families sharing meals, local police sipping rum. Crossing the street is akin to a successful game of Frogger, there I find an elder man standing behind his delicacies beckoning a look, recognizing only fresh fish amongst the gastronomic art display, I smile, anchor to a table and reassure my belly. King Fisher beer was ordered, anxious to try the local beer I ordered “the same,” and instead got a bottle of “Beer Chang.” Satiated yet exhausted, I fell into a slumber.