Travel Tip of the Day: Towel Swapping

Do you tire of having to carry around your damp, dirty old towel wherever you go? Is it stinking out the rest of your baggage, making everything smell like damp old fart? 

You wouldn’t want a cow farting in your luggage would you?

Yep, we've all been there, travelling with used towels seems to be one of those unshakable drawbacks of hygienic travel (that is, us travellers who enjoy bathing regularly). But all that is about to change with one simple tip.

Puffy Fresh, Clean Towels Every Time!

Step 1:

Buy a plain white towel.

Step 2:

Bring it with you on your travels.

Step 3: Swap it with the hotel towel, keeping your new clean one in your baggage stopping the maids from taking it away.

Step 4: Always have a clean towel wherever you go!

Well I hope I've been of some help, because that will mean that my life wouldn’t have been for nothing!

This video has nothing to do with the article but it does explain the last line, plus it's very funny, enjoy!

Rant of the Day: Thant Myint-U is a God-damn Idiot!

Last Saturday, I was sitting in the kitchen, eating my breakfast while listening to excess baggage on BBC Radio 4. They had a special feature on Burma, about tourism in the country and how Burma (I'm not going to call Burma, Myanmar because I don't support the military Junta which has tormented a nation for around forty years, and if you use the word Myanmar, you essentially legitimise their criminality). (sorry for the long digression, you probably need to remind yourself where I was). (OK, lets go!) has opened itself up for tourism. 

Burma.

Instead of a mature debate on the morality of visiting Burma. One which took into account the fact that all the big hotels in the country are Junta or Junta crony run, the fact that tourist attractions such as the temples of Pagan are free of people due to brutal state ordered evictions, or a debate which addressed human rights and the environmental impact of tourism, we got a great big pile of donkey poo!

The Temples of Pagan, Burma. The Site of Brutal Evictions!

The BBC had invited the grandson of U Thant, (a Burmese General Secretary of the United Nations) who is often asked to speak on Burma. Unfortunately, despite his eminent lineage Thant Myint-U himself is a braindead sympathiser of the Burmese military dictatorship. Unchallenged by John McCarthy, Thant was free to plug today's Burma. He enthusiastically began lecturing the excess baggage audience about how Burma is a new, vibrant, fun loving, emerging economy, ready for tomorrow's challenges today! 

Thant Myint-U, An Internationally Renowned, Grade A* Idiot

According to Thant, Burma is on the crossroads between India and China, poised for stupendous economic development in the near future. He raved about the fact that the forests have been cut down, the “tigers and snakes” have been cleared and roads and railways have been built. Cutting down pristine rainforests is NEVER a good thing! How can anyone with an ounce of grey matter celebrate infrastructure improvements that come at the expense of unique and fragile environments?

The Beautiful Burmese Rainforest, Which needs to be Protected!

He then started rabbiting on about how free the Burmese people now are. How Military rule has now ended with last years elections. Even a naïve simpleton should understand that Burma's new democratic façade, is just that, a façade! All the parties which compete in Burma's “Democratic” elections are pre approved, run for the junta, by junta cronies. But fear not, even though all residences need to register any visitor who may be staying with them with the state, Thant insists that the Burmese are no more oppressed by an over imposing government than the inhabitants of Laos or Vietnam! What a load of crap!

If people go to Burma on holiday, that's fine, but not if they follow the advice of Thant Myint-U! Don't stay at the 4 and 5 star hotels of Burma's brutal Junta! Stay at the small hotels owned by ordinary people, help the supporters of Aung San Suu Kyi, help the Burmese overcome their government like so many other countries have managed to do this year! 

Aang San Suu Kyi: What a Hero!

 

If you want to hear the nonsense that inspired this rant, go to:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b01508p5#synopsis

And to visit the website of an organisation who know what they’re talking about when it comes to Burma, visit http://www.tourismconcern.org.uk/burma.html

Serious Travel Article (STA) 8: Booking Blind, You Get What you Pay For! A Trip to Hounslow, near Heathrow.

Booking hotels online in a country you are not familiar with can be a dangerous thing, booking your  stay in a town you left three years ago can be even more daunting.

Returning to the UK from a stay in sunny, trouble free, people sparse Queensland was a hard thing to do. Booking an online hotel not far from Heathrow, near to rail and tube was easy. Arriving at 5.30am tired and dirty after the 20 plus hours riding the Airbus A380 I rang my pre booked residence,

“do you have an early check in”?
“Not till 11.30”, was the stern reply.

Heathrow Terminal 3. Britain's favourite purple building.

OK coffee and Danish at the airport lasted a couple of hours, then on the tube to Hounslow central, the smell of the underground hit me like the perfume of a long forgotten girlfriend, I hadn’t realised it before, how the scent of our city’s  public transport system was ingrained on my memory. The sun was shining  as I dragged my case along Lampton road where as a child my father and I treated ourselves at Rossis ice cream parlour at least once a week (without my mothers knowledge). Such guilty pleasures at a very young age!

The once grand buildings of the road were now bulldozed or left to fail in to disrepair by greedy developers desperate to build cheap boxy hotels for the sprawling airport  run-off.

My pre booked hotel was on the Staines Road a 15 minute walk from the station, easy to find but in the morning rush hour, dodging the stream of commuters was getting ever harder with my oversize case.

Hounslow's multicoloured health centre

 

The Shalimar hotel was on the main road with cars parked on the forecourt, a plastic roof was held up by Corinthian coloms under which a grubby red carpet drew you inside. I booked in much earlier than they had said without incident and was shown to my, as requested, "quiet room". It was a fair size with a double bed, TV and en suite. The view from the window was across a concrete court yard strewn with  large empty cans of ghee and damaged dining chairs, not a good look. There were no towels in my room, but I was in no state to use them anyway I just needed sleep I set my alarm for 6 pm and tucked my self under the covers.

The picturesque Shalimar Hotel in Hounslow

Then came the knock on the door...

“Towels here!”, The Ghandiesque old man screeched.
“OK, leave them outside please” I shouted in reply.
“OK lady.”

By 6pm I had been disturbed 3 times with loud banging on the door insisting that I retrieve the towels, my fuzzy jet lagged brain saw the towels making a break for it if I didn’t take control of them!

Unrefreashed by my siesta, I retrieved the lonely towel from outside the door it smelt clean but was stained, I didn’t care. I forced my rather round body into the priest hole size shower, the water was plentiful hot then cold but flowed with gusto, I managed at least a turn of 180 degrees I squeaked across the tiles if I tried to turn all the way. My one towel did the job, just about .

It was then that I noticed the pillows.

Into an old white poly cotton case was squeezed two much used, stained and greasy, grey pillows. I didn’t think I had a pillow phobia until that moment, I have been known in the past to buy a cheap pillow for hotel stays, mostly because of my vibrant red hair and the stain it can leave behind, oh how I wish I had stuffed at least one into my case.

A Filthy, Dirty, Rotten Pillow. Typical of the Shalimar Hotel, Hounslow.

Luckily for me the shops were still open at 7pm unlike the sleepy Brisbane suburb that I had left behind.

Hounslow high street was still full of people and I stopped for a while to eat at one of the many Indian restaurants in the area, a friendly Buffet with a good choice of items. Suitably stuffed I set to walk the 10 minute walk back, the street was silent, all of the bustling families had moved on, the chattering Polish women were gone, even the pub was quiet. It was then I noticed the dark shapes of hooded figures in the doorways, farther along 4 youths were openly dealing drugs as community police cycled past. I was approached by 2 hooded girls about 16 years old asking if I could give them money for cigarettes, I ignored them and walked toward the bright lights of the now closing Chinese buffet. Sirens broke the eerie stillness of the pedestrianised high street, the figures went back to their business and I upped the pace from my meandering to an assertive, positive walk back home.

Modern day Hounslow High Street

Hotel pillows removed to a safe distance and my new clean one on the bed, I settled in for the night with the TV on low so not to disturb the other guests.

And that’s when the party started, I think it was quite a large family do by the noise and calls of “look, Aunty Sanjeeve is drunk!” There was also a lot of drumming, dancing and shaking of the floorboards, but most of all small children were screeching and kicking the empty ghee tins around out side my window.  Around midnight the band had packed up and the disco started,

I fell into a broken sleep, woken again at 2am by the sound of strong Indian accents singing along to Bob Marley's Buffalo Soldier.

I took breakfast the next day in the room where the party was held, under foot were last nights samosas and bargies trodden into the carpet, a strong smell of stale alcohol and curry spices were still fresh in the air. “It was quite some party”, I said to  my bleary eyed host.  He smiled in return.

I returned to my room later that day to find my single towel had been replaced with a fresh pair and a bath mat. All  were stained and damp, upon returning these I was given an excuse that sounded like “we just cant get the staff”, but I expect they said something else. The new towels didn’t smell fresh but at least they were free of the tell tale brown stains .

Towel Cleanliness at the Shalimar Hotel was a bit Dodgey to say the least!

Ready for an early night I got into bed, all was quiet and the rain kept the kids out of the courtyard so I was guaranteed a peaceful night, my only problem was that the sheets on my bed were still wet, too overcome with weariness I assigned my self to a damp cold night.

My last breakfast was shared with  noisy families put up by the council due to the severe housing shortage in the area. There were arguments with the chef about how Halal the sausage really was and why only English bread was served.

Breakfast was minimal and only the cheapest ingredients were used, white bread, watered down juice, cardboard cornflakes, yoghurt from brands unknown to the civilised world and the fattiest of bacon, but Mrs P could fry a pretty mean egg.

This family run hotel is friendly enough, but little concern is given to the guests peace and quiet when functions are held. The pillows need a health and safety warning, the carpets are stained and have retained an odour of long forgotten curries. Getting a clean dry towel is an issue and dry bed linen is surely a basic human right!

I would not want to return here, nor would I wish a stay upon my worst enemy!

Hounslow Really has lost a lot of its Charm since this Photograph was Taken

Hounslow has lost a lot of its charm and even though I was bought up in the area I don’t feel its the same place I that I left all of there years ago.  And as for booking a quiet room over the internet, forget it.

Travel Tip of the Day (TTOTD): Digestive Biscuits

The world is full of colour and variety. One of the great things about being a traveler (not the dirty gypsy kind of course, the filthy middle class kind with a uni education and tuition fees to be avoided*) is eating your way round the world. The exotic spices of Thailand and India, the delicate and fragrant cuisines of France and Japan or the hearty and proto-flatulent dishes served up in Mexico or Poland.

Thai Green Curry, One of My Favouritest Foods in the World! 

But Imagine for a second you happen to be in Mongolia and the only thing on menu is an, on the turn horses head or in Tibet where it's Yak meat for Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner. Maybe you're just a vegetarian outside of Western Europe, North America or India, what do you do? Huh! Gonna indulge in the local cuisine? No of course your not, you might be an open minded adventurous explorer but not when it comes to food! Bad food makes you I'll! Everyone knows that!

Yak Meat in Tibet, Not for Me Thanks!

So what do you do?

Digestive Biscuits, or Cookies for you Yanks and Canucks out there, (I'll explain the real difference between a Biscuit and a Cookie some other time, for now I'll leave you be!) are the answer to all your prayers! They tide you over to the next town where they're bound to have some decent grub, hopefully! And they give you, the traveler the choice, the oppertunity to say the next time an otherwise lovely native offers you that deep fried Camels foot  you've heard so much about!

Digestive biscuits, a traveller's best friend

*Chill out, It's a joke! I'm sure Gypsies have excellent sanitation these days.

Serious Travel Article (STA) 7: Ein Maβ Bitte - Drinking in the Beerhalls of Munich

If you were to visit Theresienwiese, a 42 hectare park, just south west of Munich’s city centre, on a normal day, you might find yourself rather bored. Unless you happen to be a connoisseur of urban parks (and let’s be honest, who would admit to that) the only interesting thing in Theresienwiese is the 60ft high, climbable “Bavaria statue” which overlooks the park and central Munich. But despite laying dormant for most of the year, Theresienwiese, for the last 200 years, has been one of the most important places in the world. For one simple fact, it’s the location of Oktoberfest, by far the greatest beer festival the world has ever seen, indeed, with six million people visiting it every year, it’s considered to be the world’s largest fair of any kind. Cavernous tents filled with drunken Bavarians in this seasons lederhosen dominate this simple park in Munich for the 16 days leading up to the first weekend in October. 

 

But fear not, for all its hype and fame, Oktoberfest in reality is just an excuse to pack out Munich with millions of tourists, charge them top dollar (usually around €9 a mass) for special strength beer and an open season for hoteliers with Euros in their eyes to part unsuspecting tourists from their hard earned cash. 

The Grand Old Buildings of Central Munich

 

When Oktoberfest ends, the grand, colossal buildings of central München remain. Wandering around the CBD, it would be easy to believe that nothing has touched them since their construction, many centuries ago. It’s almost impossible to believe, that this city was bombed to the edge of the abyss a mere 70 years ago. Destroyed by the very ideology that was sparked in its own beer halls just 20 years before. In fact, it was only recently, that some of the last remnants of Nazism were removed from the Hofbräuhaus, the swastika tiles which had controversially adorned its floors and the photograph of Hitler as a baby were finally trashed in 2006. But despite its shadowy past, Hitler’s local, is a fantastic place to visit. Supposedly the biggest pub in the world, the interior of the Hofbräuhaus seemed, to me, to be disappointingly small. But this initial disappointment was instantly quelled at the sight of a round of masses (the standard litre of lager served in beer halls all across Bavaria, in my opinion, the perfect sized glass).

Be warned, if you think that Carling and Stella are good lagers, don't go to Munich, in fact it’s probably wise for you to avoid Germany altogether. After tasting this golden ambrosia, a Pandora’s Box will be opened inside your mouth, thrusting upon you an insatiable lust for the best Bavarian lager, never again will you be satisfied by the piβ water that passes for lager in most British pubs. But it isn’t the beer that makes the Hofbräuhaus unique and special, the beer served here is average on Bavarian standards. Better beer is served at the Augustiner Grossgaststätten, the Weisses Brauhaus and the Lowenbrau Haus, hell, even the airport bar serves liquid heaven, Airbrau, only available at Munich airport. No, what makes the Hofbräuhaus a sacred shrine and a monument to drunkenness is the atmosphere. Whether you’re in a three way Maβ downing contest against a group of locals and a gaggle of Americans, with the entire Hofbräuhaus cheering you on (a contest in which we, the England and Wales drinking board won), or making friends with some Bavarian teenagers who wondered why you poured pepper in your beer, you’ll always make some friends or enemies during your time in the Hofbräuhaus. 

The Hofbräuhaus in Munich.

The morning after hitting the beer halls, passing out in the gutter, falling over invisible wires in a phantom park and projectile vomiting straight into your own face, and then sleeping in it (yes, that actually happened), it’s unlikely that you’ll want to return to the scene of the crime right away. Luckily, you can enjoy yourself in Munich without becoming hopelessly squiffy. About a 40 minutes train ride out of the city is the Allianz Arena, this multi coloured, squashed bubble of a stadium is the home of 1860 München and its minnow of a rival, FC Bayern Munich. Even if there isn’t a match on, the Allianz Arena is worth a visit simply for a wonder round and a trip to the mega stores.

The Allianz Arena, home of 1860 Munchen and not much else.

If football’s really not your thing, Munich is full of exquisite architecture, some of which dates back to the 13^th century, including Munich’s most imposing landmark, the Frauenkirche. A 20,000 seat cathedral, build when the population of Munich was 17,000. The 99m south tower can be climbed by members of the public and offers unique views of Munich and the distant Bavarian Alps to the south. Munich offers so much to see and do, that it’s the perfect trip for even the non drinker among us, but don’t go for Oktoberfest, go for the real thing.

Serious Travel Article (STA) 6: Tenby

Here's a funny old article I wrote when I was studying in Swansea, Wales. Many many years ago.

 Here in South West Wales, we're spoiled with some of the most stunning landscapes in the UK. A large number of students are only going to be living here for three years, and need to make the most of it! No Swansea University experience is complete without a trip to Tenby. Probably most famous for being home to Robert Recorde, the man who invented the equals sign, Tenby has a lot more to offer than one quirky fact. It is undoubtedly one of Britain's most exquisite sea side towns, wedged between two of the best beaches in Wales and bulging with picturesque, pastel coloured, grand Georgian and Victorian houses. But more importantly than any of this, its easy to get to being only 33 miles away from Swansea, or a 1½ hour train ride, making it a perfect place for a day out.

Hot, tropical Tenby

Tenby is a walled town dating back to the Norman Conquest, its walls which have survived intact until the present day were built to repel the Welsh in 1264, thankfully these days, the Welsh are very welcome in Tenby. Despite Tenby's long and rich history, it relatively isolated location meant it didn't become popular as a tourist resort until the Victorian era, with rich industrialists from Swansea taking advantage of the majestic cliffs, shimmering blue seas and golden, sandy beaches that Tenby has to offer.

Ariel view of Tenby

There are 4 beaches in Tenby, North Beach, overlooked by the promenade and by the town of Tenby itself, North Beach offers spectacular views over Carmarthen Bay and the Gower in the Distance. North Beach has also been awarded a Blue Flag for its crystal clear waters and impeccable sands. Be warned however, North Beach can get very busy during the summer, not surprising considering all the cafés, shops and hire shops offered on the beach or in the nearby town. Just to the south of North Beach is Harbour Beach, a small and sheltered beach surrounded by cobbled streets and colourful buildings. From the Harbour you can catch a ferry to Caldey Island.

Pastel coloured houses around the harbour in Tenby

Owned and run by the Reformed Order of Cistercian monks, the Island is dominated by and imposing monastery and is famous for selling its own, home-made chocolate and ice cream. A short hop from Harbour Beach is Castle Beach, another access point for Caldey Island, Castle Beach is patrolled by a lifeguard during the summer if you're feeling brave enough for a dip. At low tide you can walk over to St Catherine's Island, but be careful you don't get stranded! Stretching the 2km between St Catherine's Island and Giltar Point are the expansive and vast golden sands of South Beach. Backed by sand dunes, this beach is much less commercialised that Tenby's other beaches and is a lot less crowded.

A Monk having a nice sit down after a hard day down pit on Caldey Island

Away from the beaches, Tenby boasts an array of Pubs, Restaurants and shops, all hiding away, waiting to be discovered along the narrow, cobbled streets of the Town Centre. Well worth a visit is Upper Frog Street, with its indoor market and many craft stores and gift shops. Tenby has a lot to offer and you might not be able to pack everything you want to do into one day trip, but you can always go back.   

New Country of the Day: Filettino

Move over South Sudan, we have a new, new kid on the block! The worlds new, newest country is The Principality of Filettino! With a population of just 542, the townsfolk of Filettino were evidently pretty pissed off when the Italian government tried to merge them with a neighboring municipality to cut costs. The Principality joins an entire array of unrecognized states including Somaliland, Abkahzia, Transnistria and South Ossetia.

Filettino in Italy. The world most widely ignored independent" country.

Only time will tell whether this is just a gimmick, a way of scoring political points against Great Grandfather Berlusconi; or whether Filettoni will become a household name like San Marino, and like its city state comrade, a force to be reckoned with on the world stage!

On the other hand, we may have a massacre on our hands......

Lets Hope Not!

Serious Travel Article (STA) 5: 24 Hours of Seoul

Like many former university students, I used to have to make a long commute back to uni every September. But unlike most other students, last September, I came back via Korea.

A fictionalization of the bridge linking Incheon International Airport to the South Korean Mainland. It's one hell of a bridge!

Sitting on the plane (I hate planes), I decided that I would explore until I collapsed to make up for only having a day there. My first experience of Korean cuisine came on the plane, a bowl of rice, pickled something, meat, vegetables and hot chilli sauce. All in tightly sealed packages, and separate from one another. I opened the first package but before I knew it, the Korean lady sitting next to me decided I needed help, she mixed all the ingredients together along with the meat (which thrilled me as a vegetarian), handing it back to me with a big cheesy grin on her face. I took one bite (I was really hungry) and retched, still starving I drank my seaweed soup (surprisingly nice) and tried to eat my salad. As much as I wanted to eat it the lettuce and cheese was stuck to a thick slice of moist ham. Undeterred I wrangled with my salad, trying to prize the cheese from the ham, but as much as I pulled and strained, it was to no avail, the ham and cheese had fused into some sort of salad goblin, I gave my full tray back to the trolley dolly and went back yo trying to learn some Korean. Five hours later I had managed to memorise 3 phrases, Gamsa Hamnida (Thank you), Anneyong Asaeyo (Hello) and Anneyong Gasaeyo (Goodbye).

 Armed with these and a map of the Seoul Tube system, I escaped the clutches of my over controlling hoteliers and headed for central Incheon, the Croydon of South Korea. My tube stop was an ultra modern underground labyrinth, complete with travelators, chrome fittings and cavernous chambers. It was also totally empty. This part of Incheon was like an ultra modern ghost town, complete with concrete and steel monoliths, and underground realms, the pace of development in the far east seems worlds away from the recession of the west. The train was as ultra modern as the station, flashier than a bag of dead mice, faster too. I was soon in Incheon's city centre. It had all the neon excitement you would imagine in a far eastern city, but unexpectedly it had large perpendicular poles with speakers at the top, all blasting out Barry White songs. Perplexed, I continued on to the city, there were piles of garbage everywhere, I had always imagined South Korea as a vary clean country, but here I was walking around what was essentially a tip in a modern cosmopolitan city with strip bars named Boobi Boobi and Manchester United mega stores. 

Hills in Seoul at dusk

I later worked out the Barry White poles were air raid sirens, to be used just in case North Korea decided to flatten its southern neighbour. Bored of Incheon, I decided to head into Seoul proper, I left behind ultra modern Incheon and climbed aboard the ageing transport network of Seoul. I was starting to arouse suspicions, people started to ask if I needed any help, whether I was lost. I was delighted to go along with it, I got a free tour guide to an alien city.

 I got off In the middle of Seoul, with the intention of finding some disgusting Korean food, cat juice, tightly caged dog steak or the holy grail, sannakji. Sannakji is possibly the most awful food ever conceived, live octopuses are served on a plate while a chef cuts off the tentacles, the customer eats the tentacles while still moving. I guess PETA aren’t a big force in Korea, although apparently a lot of people die eating Sannakji due to the suckers affixing themselves in the throat. Its quite nice to see a fairer fight when it comes to dinner. In my vein attempt to find some crazy Korean cuisine, I stumbled upon a bunch of drunken teenagers, I decided to join them. They spoke surprisingly good English for a bunch of random drunks, they wondered why I was there, I must have been the only Caucasian outside the airport. 

Seriously Korean's, why cant you kill your food before you eat it? Cultural sensitivity can lick my balls, Sannakji is Fucked!

For a nation technically still at war, the people I met didn’t seem too concerned about their paranoid nuclear neighbour. At any moment Kim Jong Il and his team of super friends could shell some part of the South. I doubt the bunch of drunkards I met last night aren’t as laid back about the future of the Korean Peninsula with the shelling of Yeonpyeong Island. I wish I could have stayed longer in this friendly city of 20 million people. I only hope next time I visit Korea, Seoul wont be a war ravaged relic.  

Rant of the Day: Why Planes Suck (Without Resorting to Environmentalism)

I used to love flying on Airplanes, the anticipation you felt waiting at the airport. The Thrill of takes off, fighting against those lateral Gs.  Watching the ground get further and further away and trying to spot your road from cloud level (I grew up next to Heathrow Airport). I loved Flying across the empty wastes of Siberia on my way to the far east in the summer time. Seeing the Midnight Sun setting the sky ablaze and making the great rivers and lakes of the far north glow with the same intensity as the sky above.

A plane landing over a busy beach

I even loved the in flight entertainment, I caught up with all those crappy looking movies I was too miserable to see in the cinema, you could get away with watching animated movies like Bolt, How to Train your Dragon, and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs without feeling like you're being judged. (I almost added Up to that list but I love that film and I couldn’t betray that movie, not to say I don't like those other films). I even used to tolerate the food, so long the butt of unimaginative stand up jokes, I looked forward to being fed like a geriatric. The certainty that came with knowing that my pre-packaged meal that I had specially ordered to fit my dietary requirements would soon be coming was reassuring and although it would lock me in my seat for the next forty minutes, somehow, I didn’t care.

The Rare Green Air New Zealand Plane Escapes from its Only Natural Predator, the Hovercraft

But that was the past, when I was young and naïve. The countless flights to and from Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Seoul, Brunei, Dubai, Munich, Sharm El Sheik, London, New York, Eindhoven and even Newquay have jaded me.

Commuter flying is a mugs game, and I'll tell you why. You pay hundreds of pounds to have some random airline fly you half way around the world. Your going to some exotic land far far away and your imagination runs wild. All the while you're standing in a security line while being frisked by an overweight woman called Carol who hates her job. Although your pretty good at not beeping you arouse suspicion, hence your current predicament. Pat down finished you have three hours to kill in a duty free shopping center. Whoopee!!! Anyway, ten minutes later and you're bored, seriously bored.
“Flight GH586 to Nairobi is now Boarding from Gate 67”,
“Final Boarding call for all passengers on Singapore Airlines SQ121 to Mumbai”
“Would Peter File please report to gate number 12, your flight to Bangkok is about to depart”.

The Great Sprawl of Incheon International Airport, South Korea

After 2 hours of this in six languages your flight is finally ready for boarding. Naturally you've booked your seat in advance and if its a long flight it counts to be on the Aisle, otherwise in 4 hours time you'll be in the awful situation of having an obese Saudi couple sitting next to you with bladders of steel, and no grasp of English.

“Please can I get past, I really need a poo!”
    -“Sorry, no understand!”
“My arse will make little brown fish in toilet”
    -”Ke?”
“Its an emergency! I’ve been waiting for six hours! Why don’t you need the toilet!?!”
    -”Nii hue sure Po Tong Hua Ma?”
“Too late”

Aisle seat taken, you wait to see who you’ve got next to you, and its OK, they’re not fat and they don’t even smell, who knows you might even have a nice chat with them, doesn’t matter they’ve shut the window, there goes your fun, may as well just look at the plane with the red line coming out of its arse now.

What you're yearning for

“Ooh, I'm over Kazakhstan, fancy that!”
Ok, so Kazakhstan doesn’t seem that interesting (I'd love to go there but I can understand that being odd) but on your flight, you'll be flying over loads of interesting places, you could have 50 holidays over the distance you will fly to get to your package arranged tour. Doesn’t it just depress you that you never get to go to any of these countries, you're just passing them by, just a fleeting thought in a monotonous journey. It depresses me. And that really is my main point, flying is so cumbersome, so anti social and so against the true idea of traveling and the discovery of strange new civilizations beyond your own. If you travel over land, you get to see the world change, from something you consider normal, change gradually into something strange, something, other and unique. If you fly you miss all of that.

What you're missing, The Landscape of Central Asia

I could go on, but if you're still reading this then I thank you and will let you get on with your day, my rantings and ravings have held you up for long enough.

By the way, I'm a total hypocrite, I fly all the time.