Japan, The Hombu and all that Stuff (Part Three)
8th February, 2007

October 2006, the diary of a simple ninja.

Thursday 12th

You cannot think of it as an airport. Just like the road outside my house where I park my car is not a car park. You must think of it as a community or a commune where the members live, work, eat and sleep within the confines of its perimeter. The members all beaver away each and everyday on the production line and us, me and you, the fare paying passengers on various airlines are the mere commodities or widgets produced.  

Colombo airport does have a ‘restaurant' and it is easy to find, you cannot miss it just look for the NO SPITTING sign. I say ‘restaurant' because this particular establishment brings to mind more of a rundown 70's factory cafeteria complete with Formica tables and mismatched plastic chairs than any Home Counties eatery. 

This we already knew as we trudged along its surprisingly clean and shiny floors. Just in front of Michelle and I was a sight that looked a little odd… there was an Asian mother, no bigger than Michelle say, about five feet tall and young daughter who looked about the same size as an average British eight year old girl carrying her young brother who looked about two years old, a heavy weight for such a tiny child. They were just in front walking in the same direction as us so as we passed Michelle and I both looked back and saw that what we thought was an eight year old child was in fact a grown woman at least in her mid twenties, that was weird but it was about to get a whole lot weirder. 

We arrived in the dark. It was night time in Shri Lanka and we were all a little tired but were buoyed up by the Airlines promise of FREE overnight accommodation. We had seen rooms on our inward flight, the type of rooms that you can hire by the hour and we all thought that these would be for us but no that would be far too simple and easy. Instead after several discussions with a gaggle of friendly but bemused airport staff we discovered that we would be staying in a hotel just outside Colombo itself. Against my better judgement but with the promise of an exotic and cool stamp on all our passports we went for the swanky hotel option. Because of our collective tiredness we had all conveniently forgotten that there was pretty much a civil war going on with the Tamil Tigers but we all suddenly remembered when we stepped out into the black hellish humidity, the kind that is like walking fully clothed through a gentle warm shower. We were not on the whole prepared for that drenching neither were we particularly prepared for the sight of an army of uniformed teenage boys all armed to the teeth with machine guns of various weights and calibre. If you really want to feel uneasy near a group of teenage boys don't give them hoodies instead dress them in smart uniforms and offer them their personal choice of lethal firearm and you will find in all probability that that will do the trick. 

I thought I was scared then, that had nothing on our hand picked driver. Maybe he was picked because our accidental deaths would have been far easier to explain to the British Embassy than five bullet riddled corpses. Luckily for us he failed in his mission but God knows how as appeared to be relishing the opportunity to get one of the best seats in heaven as a suicide Taxi driver. Another fully armed crater faced youth who appeared out of his security shack to unlock the heavy iron gates marked the fact that we had indeed reached the relative safety of our security conscious hotel. We were now fatigued beyond measure so much so that we did not in the least bit mind the huge globules of hot rain hitting us like out of date paintballs or the over eager lizards that hung to the walls and appeared to be skateboarding at will across the reception floor.  

As promised we got our alarm call and we all managed the maximum three hour sleep to gird us onward back to the airport. A different suicide driver this time as the other one was probably promptly shot for ineptitude, this chap tried a different strategy he just stayed in the middle of the road the entire journey back thus causing other road users including the odd cow to veer alarmingly out of our way, thankfully none stood their ground. I did offer some conciliatory advice to our youthful madcap chauffer and it was that in conditions such as complete darkness and driving rain that turning on his wipers and lights from time to time would settle the nerve of his passengers somewhat. 

We needed as a group no reminder that our early morning alarm call was a little over eager. We were now back in Colombo airport with still at least three hours to slash and burn and it was still only three am. Now, I have travelled quite extensively and I have spent some time in the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps but I had never been in a proper twenty four hour airport, an airport that never sleeps. With time on our hands we decided to investigate the rundown deserted indoor market which sadly for Michelle turned out to be Colombo's much vaunted Duty Free shopping experience. As we ventured to within ten feet of any door or stall instantly what sprang up was a bleary eyed beckoning Shri Lankan capitalist shop keeper as if from nowhere but had in actual fact been fast asleep under the nearest counter, this happened time and time again until we played the eternal children's game of statues in the departure lounge and then into the Hangover Bar for one last punt at some dreadful tinned beer. Yes! Colombo is truly a twenty four hour airport but sadly twenty four minutes is more than enough time to sample its delights. 

October 2007 back to Japan but a more direct route next time please!