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Delightful Ning Back In Farangland 1 – Arrival 1



There she iiiiiiiiiis — not yet…

The THAI jumbo definitely arrived 60 minutes ago. It's on the billboard. And the gate spits out tanned holidayers in their best florals, solo males in cowboy boots, mixed Thai-Farang couples with and without sweet mixed kids in tow.

My Ning is not there.

You remember Ning? She's already been to Old Europe once (here and here). A bit to our own surprise, we now have another three-month-date in Farangland. Or so I thought.

— Arrival Hall —

While the crowds get thinner at the gate, my Ning doesn't materialize. Do you think she missed the plane? She isn't that kind of person, and she would have called me. Did she voluntarily stay at home? I don't believe it, our relationship seemed harmonious, and last time on satellite she sounded confident.

So where is she now?

The very last THAI passengers spill into the arrival hall. Next to me stands a trembling 90ish senior wth a few white hairs, obviously also waiting for a THAI passenger. And see, there comes a 30ish dark-bronze lady wrapped in leopard Gucci patterns. They give each other one short cynical grin. "You still not dead", she seems to think? Then he turns around and they simply walk off behind me – on parallel routes, but as if they belonged to different parties. They don't even touch on their airport welcome.

Still no Ning around.

Is that what marriage is all about, I wonder? Should I ever go for THAT? A relationship routine that makes you vomit? At that moment, marriage seems to be the least attractive option in the world. No, I think, better keep up my old life: Roam the SE Asian playgrounds in winter; enjoy delightful Old Europe with imported black-haired girlfriends in summer; always only on tourist visas.

Oh, there she is – finally!

No, it's not her, it's just somebody.

Maybe she's not been on the plane? If she were still inside, by now she would have called me on the mobile.

One last group of drunk male holidayers tumbles into arrival hall. They look like they all had a jolly good time in Phuket or Pattaya. Now their doughy wives take them back into their cares.

But where is my slim sweet soft summer girlfriend?

— Information Desk —

"MR. POTHOLE RESEARCH, PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEXT INFORMATION DESK. MR. POTHOLE RESEARCH, YOU ARE REQUESTED TO PROCEED TO THE NEXT INFORMATION DESK."

What?? Was that my name on the PA?

"MR. POTHOLE RESEARCH, PLEASE PROCEED TO THE NEXT INFORMATION DESK. MR. POTHOLE RESEARCH, YOU ARE REQUESTED TO PROCEED TO THE NEXT INFORMATION DESK."

That's ME! They are paging ME! I have to find an information desk QUICKLY! I dash around the hall, into another hall, and I see an INFORMATION sign, I run there, but it's only an information board, not a manned desk. Over there, INFORMATION again, but it's just another board with nobody there to help me. Out of my breath, I finally arrive at a real information *counter*.

"Good morning, my name is Pothole Research."

"Ah, so, aha?"

"Ehm, oh, sorry. But you had been paging my name on the PA, is it something about my Ning on TG?"

"Oh, ok, one moment please."

The smart uniformed lady chirps into her thick black bakelite airport phone. She mentions my name, listens, then makes a concerned face. "Mr. Pothole, please proceed to the National Border Police."

"Oh my god, is it about Ning?"

"I don't know, but you are asked to go there."

"So how do I find the National Border Police?"

"That's easy. You walk down that corridor there for about 400 meters. Then you take the escalator to the right – not to the left – to arrive at the airport's administration level. There you walk another 600 meters straight eastward, along to the cargo offices. There should be a revolving door taking you out to a parking lot reserved to airport staff. There you turn left and walk along the building. Then you see the door to the National Border Police on your left."

"Oh, that's really easy." I jog off.

The first 400 meters are easy, and there is the escalator up to the administrative level, where of course I get lost in a miles of aisles. Luckily I run into an official who is disgusted to meet economy class me up there, but he condescends to deliver a description towards the National Border Police. And see, finally I do arrive at the aforementioned revolving door. I step out on to the parking lot, where my handphone rings once and falls back into silence – no number to be seen on the display. I turn left, I hike down the asphalt and there it is, on a big impressive sign: The

N A T I O N A L
B O R D E R
P O L I C E

Stickman's thoughts:

GREAT start to a story….now I am going to read part 2 now, cos you sent them both to me at the same time…but readers will have to wait 2-3 days for the next part. Ha!