Amazingly I’ve made it to my check-in desk early. There’s still plenty of time for unexpected setbacks. While I’m looking forward to the time-difference and the culture shock with some trepidation, this brief pause has given me a moment to reflect on this broken country, more specifically this broken airport.

The train arrived on time but the doors only opened part way until the guy at the front of the queue kicked them. The information screen has “doctor watson for windows NT” up and a windows desktop. The first self-opening door I tried didn’t, nor did the first lift. The first sign to Terminal 3 is side-on to the entrance from the trains, so is invisible until you’ve tried another direction then turned around. The trolleys have all four wheels as casters causing unnecessary strain on the back just to make them go straight, and lack the elementary safety feature of a brake that goes on when you let go of the handle. The trolleys come with built-in van de graaf generators and don’t go on the escalators, which is an odd decision since the airport is full of escalators. The general air is of a place that has been refitted in the last couple of months, and determinedly worn out in the intervening weeks. Even the poor souls in the coffee place had to contend with a temperamental water supply playing havoc with their italian coffee machine.

Well. Time to polish of this mocha and go through the scary SECURITY desk at american airlines checkin. My addled brain suggested that “hey, my girlfriend’s jewish you know!” might be a good get-out-of-jail card should any misunderstandings arise.