Here I am in KLIA in the middle of the night, a place I’ve passed through many, many times at this hour, when the flights from Pakistan typically arrive. This time I’ve made my way to the lounge as my connecting flight is several hours away, and am just about to doze.
I wore a mask for my flight from Lahore to KL and loathe it immensely. One of the least pleasant things about it, well, this is rather gross, is that one can smell one’s own breath which is rarely pleasant on a long flight, even if one brushed ones teeth before boarding the plane. Well, I had best get used to it.
My luggage was over the limit in Lahore and I’m afraid I behaved very badly. I took out a bunch of heavy things (mostly toiletries but also my boots) and then one of the inevitable crooked porters sidled up saying he’d collect my luggage tag and I should sneak the stuff back in. I sneaked my boots back in and felt terrible, even more so as I was then obliged to ‘tip’ the fellow.
An excellent meal before leaving, as our cook had made some superb pilau with the fatty bits of goat and chana ki daal. If he were less disorganised I would urge him to open a restaurant.
And so I leave Lahore again. This was the longest I’ve been here since my mother died, and before her death most of my time was spent caring for her. So in some ways the longest trip I’ve had since my first return after marrying and leaving for London, about 10 years. I wonder, as I always do, if on my next return all the people will still be there. They are dropping like flies, first the people who formed the background of my youth, and then the people who formed the foreground.