Chiang Mai airport isn't much bigger than the one back home. But it's way more crowded. What scares me is that everyone in here knows exactly what they're doing and where to go.
Not me! I need to find something to do. I need to shake this abandoned-kid vibe. It pisses me off.
I get in line at the currency exchange counter. It takes about ten minutes to exchange a hundred dollars. In return, I get about three thousand Thai baht, rustling nicely in my palm.
The five-hundred-baht bills are pink. On them there's some guy staring at me--glasses, side part. I can't tell who he is, but I assume he's one of their big shots. Thai writing looks like worms mating, and I think it would take me ten years just to learn their alphabet.
Anyway, enough daydreaming! Courage, Tiberiu! Do something.
I see a guy in uniform nearby, and I ask him where I need to go and whose ass I need to kiss to get into Thailand. He points me to a counter.
Another counter? Is everything here done at a counter?
But I got scared for nothing, because it's simple! I fill out the form. Luckily, it's not written in worms.
"Welcome to Thailand!"
The smiling guy reads the form, compares my data with what's in my passport, and in less than two minutes I get a nice stamp in my passport. It doesn't hurt, but on this occasion the Thai government relieves me of two of my pink bills.
After that, I truly have no clue what I'm supposed to do. I've already exhausted all my ideas.
I go outside. This swarming mess of people and cars has a way of scaring me. In front of the airport there are a million flags in every color. Horns in a hundred different pitches and a language that's straight-up Chinese. Here and there, I also hear a bit of French, but I can't pinpoint exactly where it's coming from.
It's horrible! It feels like some goofy aliens grabbed all these people, stuck a chip in each of their heads, and now they're controlling them remotely.
"Either it's an alien chip," I mutter thoughtfully, "or it's some hot pepper shoved somewhere. This isn't good, man! What kind of madhouse did you just arrive in?"
In this country it looks like everybody's either coming from somewhere or going somewhere. Movement! Movement! More movement! Everyone's plugged in. I think I'm the only European parasite who's got all the time in the world. I've got free time coming out of my ears. Minutes pass without me noticing. I don't even have a cell phone.
My fingers are shaking. My knees are shaking. What a man I am... Actually, I'm not scared, I'm nauseous. Maybe I should eat something.
I go back inside and head for the information counter. Hmm... counters!
I find out the first flight home is only tomorrow around noon. Damn it! What am I supposed to do here until tomorrow at noon? I want home! I want it now! What do you mean "tomorrow, at noon"?
Looks like I've got enough time to investigate this airport until there's nothing left of it.
I scarf down a hot dog and a coffee. I buy a pack of Thai cigarettes and a lighter, then I go outside again and admire the flags. Why the hell did they put them there?
I smoke. The nicotine numbs me. Nicotine is good! Now I don't feel scared anymore. I've just got this vague feeling of unease.
I blow out the smoke slowly and try to cobble together an action plan.
Thai cigarettes are the same as every cigarette I've smoked in the last thirty years. Trash!
In the shop it was the same brands, the same packs... even the lighters are still "Made in China." There's no difference. It still says "Marlboro" on my pack. The scary pictures on the packs are about the same. The picture on my pack is a doctor operating on a cancer tumor.
I sigh and shove the pack into my pocket.
God, if you love me, leave me alone in a room with the sadist who decided to put pictures like these on cigarette packs. Just five minutes, God, and let the room be padded so no sound gets out. Am I asking too much?
I smoke another cigarette, annoyed, and suddenly realize how hot it is outside. I take off my scarf and stuff it into my pocket, then I take off my leather jacket. Then the sweater. I'm left in just my shirt, jeans and, of course, winter boots.
I'm starting to understand why everyone was looking at me weirdly.
What am I going to do in Thailand until tomorrow at noon in these clothes? I'm going to cook! It's only ten in the morning and I'm already melting. Sweat is pouring off me.
I left at minus 25°C. Here it's at least 25. What's the difference?
I wake up. I feel like myself again. The fear is gone.
"So what do you say, kid?" I argue with myself out loud. "Look at the sun. Look at the warmth you've been craving. Isn't it a pleasure to be here? God... These Thais are so damn lucky and they have no idea! You really want to go back to the North Pole? Seriously? And what are you going to find there? Hotels? You've got hotels here too! Taxis? There are plenty here. If you go back home, you're making a huge mistake. That fag, the bartender, was smarter than you. At least he stayed ten days in the warmth, on a beach. Why can't you? You can catch a flight back next week too. And next month. What's the rush?"
I sit on the curb and think hard. Minutes drip by, and I'm sweating from every pore. So I decide.
"I'm staying! Whatever happens!"
Once the decision's made, I start walking through the airport like everybody else. I'm on autopilot.
First thing: I buy a T-shirt, swim briefs, flip-flops, and shorts. And a fanny pack.
Second thing: I go to the bathroom and change fast. I make a fat bundle out of my old clothes and abandon it in a corner of the bathroom. If some Thai guy is ever crazy enough to go to Europe, he can take them.
Done! Case closed.
From now on... beach time!