Airport design 101: Make it so they can't find anything.

Killing Time

6pm-ish.  Kuala Lumpur International Airport

Three hours, two movies, and one kid who'll never play the piano (I'm kidding!) later, we finally set down at KLIA.  Our connecting flight to Amsterdam is not for another five and a half hours later so now we get to play the "what shall we do for five hours in an airport to pass the time?" game.  Oh joy.  I love that game.

We circumnavigate the terminal three or four times before we finally decide that the best thing to do in this situation is to find a bar and drink beer.  It's either that or do as Christopher Columbus did when he failed (for the third time) to find the Indies and just call wherever you finally find yourself "America".  Not sure how the locals (or indeed, the Americans) would take that so beer is the only reasonable option left to us.

At the bar, we get chatty with another traveller who we find out is from Grange but is about to up-stumps and take her bat and ball to the south of France.  A tall, slightly mad sort whose lipstick (it's obvious to us) is set to stun.  She's a bit of a lark actually and it's not long before she and Holly decide that enough beer has been consumed and now a massage is in order.

Now, let me give you a little PSA; those little Malaysian masseurs might not look like much but they have hands of iron.  20 minutes later, oiled and wincing we make our way to our departure lounge and stare zombie-eyed at the floor while we sit out the rest of the wait.