Our journey to Thailand began, as many first of January journeys do, through hell, heartbreak, and hangover.

I’d gigged the night before (New Year’s Eve), and we’d got home, somewhat exhausted, at around 2.30am. Our flights, on 2 January, would have required a 3am train, so we’d decided to snatch a few hours sleep, head down to Sydney a day early and stay in an an airport hotel. Dalma hadn’t slept well after the gig, so she was a bit groggy. We wandered vaguely around the airport, and found rather nice Indian restaurant, which seemed appropriate after Two Wheels In Rajasthan. We dined on curries and gulab jamun and dishes that we remembered from Bikaner.

We woke the next morning at 5am and made our way to the airport. I don’t know why, but we always seem to leave far too much time to get to the airport. I guess it’s “just in case”, but we always end up sitting around waiting for something to happen, sipping on inferior, overpriced coffee and watching the clock. Dalma was still tired. A notification on her phone roused us with a text containing the unnerving words “three hour delay”. We looked at each other a little alarmed as our flight involved a three-and-a-half hour connection In Singapore. This was the first time we’d flown with Singapore Airline’s budget offering, Scoot. We’d researched and while most reviews were vaguely positive, a few people railed against the airline. We shrugged. What else could we do?

Hopeful David and Dalma

We got to our gate at the designated 10.50 departure. A crone with a clipboard and limited authority kept shrieking “No, not Singapore! Manila! Philippines Airlines! Sit down!” The minutes ticked by, and we realised we were in some trouble. The crone finally grudgingly gave permission to board airport buses (always a joyous method of transportation) and we hunkered down in our rear seats. We finally took off at midday, nearly four hours late.

We read and dozed fitfully, as you do when you’re traveling tired. Scoot gave us no information, so we didn’t know what would be waiting for us in Singapore. We were greeted at the top of the air bridge by several efficient women with hotel bookings and a male manager who was an asshole. They’d made bookings for us at a fairly nice hotel in town. Singapore, for those who don’t know, is 30 minutes from the airport and Scoot, give them their credit, covered everything: dinner, accommodation, taxis. It did occur to me that, although it was kind of them to let us see the city, it would have been easier for everyone if they’d used one of Singapore’s many transit hotels. Still, we gathered our carryons and headed for immigration.

If you remember traveling in the 90s and the 2000s, you might remember the long queues, the stamps in the passport, the taciturn immigration officials, the heat. Many of those still exist at land borders, but all of those things seem to be of the past in the gleaming Starship Enterprises of modern arrival halls. Place your passport here, look at the camera, put your thumb here, and you’re through. It took no time at all. We had a very passable meal, and went to bed.

We again fell for our too much time trap. The hotel had insisted we returned at 4.30am for our 6.50am flight, so we woke up at 3.30, dutifully got to the airport at 4.30, and were through by 4.40am. Fuck. We found a Starbucks — my least favourite coffee shop, but what were you going to do? — and waited for a few hours. Dalma was now beyond exhausted, but I was ok.

We arrived in Bangkok. Immigration was quick. We collected our bags, and headed for the exit. We’d organised a car for our missed connection, but this time, we decided to use the local version of Uber called Grab. Well, it was fantastic. We went to the meeting point, ordered the car, it was there in ten minutes, and we arrived at our hotel in half an hour. We sank into the beds of the quaintly blue sheep themed Kokotel and slept for a few hours.

And so, the journey itself contained those requisites for a first of January trip, hell, heartbreak, and hangover. But we’re here now, and Bangkok is as joyous as I remember it.

Blue sheep in the heart of On Nut.