A grid of brilliant appears below me, the shores recently past over, yet nearly forgotten in the constant surge forward into the unexplored. With night fallen the ground looks more like an on going game played on grid paper where each play may choose to draw on line. When a box is formed, they mark their initial within. One by one a new light appears, cold – bright white – an urban centre, not soft and welcoming like that which came before, save for the fiery glow of two near the perceived horizon. I wonder a bout them, unable to discern anything fro high above, with details lacking.
Soon they too are behind me.
But here, now, I will be met within the airport – at the baggage collection belt of all places – by she who will be my host for the week. Once, I showed her hospitality in Northern Ontario (or what we from Toronto like to call the North, it being far south of most of our country, and some of America as well. When I began travelling I had no intention of coming to this country – but when the offer was put forward, well how could I refuse?
And there in lies the fear – who knows what else. What laws might be broken without even being aware of them existing? Ignorance, as they say, is no excuse. Some I have met have had little problem here – others have been arrested for short periods of time. I look forward to having no problems, nor do I expect any. Still – there is the unknown.
But I will have my host to guide me through these perils. And as we gain slightly in elevation, brining to view the stars above, a perfect match for those below, I have no thoughts of anything but that which is to come. Something new, something beautiful, and something to be appreciated free of fear and doubt.
Touching down it became obvious that the lights I looked down upon in my own Peter Pan-esque way could not have been Singapore, not that long ago for a country as small as this. But what land, between China, and here, it was, I do not know.
Customs was quick and painless (running ahead of all the sick, young and old, to the front of the line will do that. Having the man working your line move to deal with a woman whose card wouldn't scan, thus putting up a closed sign causing a few people in front of you to leave – but not you as you held out hope – only to have him come back a minute later, also helps.
My plane was an hour late, despite only being fifteen minutes late off the ground. Apparently the turbulence we hit was worse than I thought. Or maybe it was the turbulence we avoided.
A bus and short walk later and we were at her place, where I threw down my bags, before heading out to an Indian restaurant right behind her house. And I mean right behind – were she to have had a back yard, it would have been a small hop over the fence. But there was no back yard, and the small fence was a large fence, and it required walking down the street, turning a corner, and walking back up to get to.
Flyng all tuckers me out. Even if it's during normal hours, the time zones never change, and I slept well. I blame the low relative humidity, but when I'm contrasted with such a high one, can that be it? Sure – for now anyway.
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