I landed at 7.00ish; we had to circle for an hour because of a thunderstorm.
The immigration man looked like someone from
Sons of Anarchy and the stamp on
my customs form was all smudged.
"What the heck," he said, and waved me on.
When I went through customs I thought
they were going to send me back to have it redone.
It took me ages to get a response from the hotel and I was getting worried.
Eventually someone answered and sent the bus.
Everyone talks so fast over here or maybe I'm jet-lagged;
it is 3.15 a.m. and I've been up since 7.00 a.m.
The driver was a mad man; speed limit was 45 - he was doing at least 60.
Then I thought, "The maniac - he's overtaking everyone on the inside!"
Oops . . . I forgot that's what you do over here.
Just as well I'm riding and not driving.
The ROOM . . .
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