Canarsie

...or wait ’til you get home.


Welcome back, Pablo — er...I mean eightblack.

A private message awaits you...

eightblack

While I haven’t lived in MEL in a long long time, it’s still home to me.

The coffee scene, the great restaurants, the multiculturalism, great pubs, cold beer and Aussie Rules Football. And while it might surprise some of you, I still have a lot of friends who live there and who still invite me to dinner.

But the airport is an embarrassment.

It is essentially the same building it was 25 years ago. The airport management will tell you that they have upgraded the joint but trust me, this is where the saying lipstick on a pig came from.

The left hand side of the Qantas domestic terminal is the same dingy low ceiling cesspit it was 25 years ago. And the international terminal in the middle, while it has had some internal mods, is no bigger. They’ve bolted on a couple extra gates but that's about it.

Quite why Melbournians put up with it is beyond me.

The next part of my travels would take me to Auckland.

I had booked Air NZ and as I mentioned, and just for laughs, played around with the upgrade system. You tell them a number you’re prepared to pay and some man who lives in his mother’s basement and drives a Fiat Punto holds the fate of your journey in his hands.

A day before I was to fly, ANZ sent me an email which basically told me that I was a pathetic loser and my bid for an upgrade wasn’t successful.

The bird across the ditch was a 777. And let me tell you, their premium economy product is most excellent.

I had the bulkhead seat on the right hand side of the aircraft. Drinks were served in real glasses. You had a choice of meals. And the service was delivered with that delightful New Zealand “we’re not quite sure what we’re doing but everything will be alright in the end” attitude.

I loved it.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to be in one of those seats all the way to the US. But for 3 hours, it was a piece of cake.

Because Marriott and I are out of sorts, I am pushing hotel stays to Hyatt. So I decided another Park Hyatt was in order.

The Auckland PH is literally brand new. It’s very trendy. While the rooms and structure is probably better than PHS, I’m not convinced the service is better.

I’m not going to bore you with lengthy descriptions or pictures of the rooms and as some of you know, you will rarely see a pic of a bidet or a breakfast buffet in one of my TR’s. I’ll leave that to those slightly offbeat credit card bloggers who like flogging that sort of thing.

A lot of people have a go at me for staying in hotels and eating at the same property. I quite like it.

So that night, I decided to eat at the hotel restaurant. It’s called Onemata.

If I can, I always sit at the bar.

In this case, the counter was directly in front of a very impressive, spotlessly clean and shiny open plan kitchen.

The person who greeted me looked at me weirdly when I asked if I could sit at the counter. It was like I just told her that I had gone on a date with her mother.

So there I sat and had an excellent meal.

The next day I had breakfast in the same restaurant and like all FT’ers, I dont go anywhere without my laptop.

I informed the nice staff person that there was just one. She directed me to a small table set for 2.

I politely declined and said could I sit at the table that was set for 4.

“But that table is set for 4”
“Yes I know”
“But why?”
“I need to take medication and I can’t take it orally”

She did a double take and sensing an arm waving, she scurried to the table and removed 2 place settings and let me sit there.

Here’s the thing.

I hate being cramped at a table. Any table. Maybe it’s my old age. But it wasn’t like the restaurant was screaming busy.

I thought if I wanted to be bossed around by cranky women, I could have stayed in Melbourne where my sister and mother would do this for free.

After breakfast, I asked the same bossy lady if I could grab a coffee and move next door to this wonderful living area space.

“No”
“Excuse me”
“Were all separate, you have to order from them”
“Um ok then”

To me, that's not very Park Hyatt. That's more Motel 6.

Maybe I’m getting grumpier in my old age. Ok scratch that. We know this is true.

So while my PHA visit was short-lived, I did quite like it. I would stay there again. Amazing location, good views and I’m told, some very decent restaurants within spitting distance.

I didn’t want to get to AKL too early because all I had to look forward to was the Air NZ lounge. While it’s perfectly adequate and has some great views of the tarmac, it’s nothing to write home about.

While I won’t admit this publicly - I actually think AKL airport is better than MEL. They’ve actually spent more than $100 on the joint.

It’s been a long time since I have been on an A380. I used to spend half my life on them when I lived in SIN and flew EK every other week.

There a million videos, photos and travel bloggers who will regale you with their epic SQ Suites trips. So I won’t bore you with the details.

All I can say is this. One word.

Footstool.

The suite is a wonderful place to hang out.

As you would expect the service is impeccable SQ. Faultless to a tee.

A gaggle of FA’s come by and introduce themselves warmly to you. They bring you pajamas, slippers, wash bag, show you how to use the B&O headphones, show you how the suite works and then tell you that they are literally at your beck and call for the whole flight.

Then the Cabin Service Manager comes by, introduces himself and casually says that if his team doesn’t deliver the service I expect, he will give them a damn good thrashing.

Ok I might have made that part up.

If I’m honest, the actual chair in the suite is slightly flawed and the screen is placed just a whisker too high.

There is a dining table in a credenza to the right and when you are ready to eat, there is a lot of pomp and ceremony and literally 3 crew members show up to get it ready for you.

When you take off, the chair, which is on a swivel, points forward. When you are cruising, you swivel the chair towards the door, the screen is on an electric motor and you face that towards you. And then you raise the leg rest on the chair and get comfortable.

Except the leg rest doesn’t come up all the way.

I thought maybe the button was stuck.

I tried repeatedly to get comfortable.

It was like going to a strip club and then finding out the girls keep their tops on. Close. But no cigar. Not that I have ever been to a mens establishment mind you. I just read about it.

But here’s the thing and this is what sets SQ into the next universe.

SQ realized, that despite spending a bazillion dollars on the Suite, they sort of cocked it up and some really rich people were complaining.

So instead of hiring a gaggle of MBA weenies and refusing to be subjected to a 436 page powerpoint presentation, they went out and bought some decent looking footstools on Amazon and voila, problem solved.

I wasn’t sure quite what was happening because the Krug had started to kick in - but all of a sudden, there was a crew member at my door and pushing the stool under my weary feet.

I smiled and said to myself “this is why people rave about SQ”

And it is.

Attention to detail like no other.

janehoya

I think our mothers may be related. Speaking as a daughter and a mother, I'm sure she was over the moon on your trip.

eightblack

I left Singapore 12 years ago.

At the time I was consulting to a German company and while I was a contractor, I was treated like a German employee.

Which meant, as an expat, they paid for my housing, car, kids school fees. And taxes. Pretty straight forward in the corporate world. No big deal.

I landed in the evening and had only one night there. I had an all day meeting with some folks the next day and then my trek home would start via a Scoot to Jakarta, and then EK’s ships back to the US, via the sandpit (aka Dubai).

The marvel about Singapore is their adoption of tech. They are seriously smart. And Changi doesn’t earn the world’s best airport award year after year because it has better looking pot plants than Atlanta.

You have to fill out some online arrival thing before you get to the island. No worries. Done.

I walked up to the eGate thing and pushed my passport into the slot.
Light turned green.
Gate opened.
Walk forward and stand in front of the camera and waited. Light didn’t turn green. Long pause.

A man finally ambles towards me and says “you need to follow me”

Anytime you enter a country and the immigration/customs folks ask you to follow them, is not a good sign.

So I walk over to a counter and there were 3 or 4 government people talking to people from all walks of life.

I was assuming there was a minor glitch. Nothing could be further from the truth.

About 10 mins go by and a remarkably polite man beckons me and says…

“Mr Eightblack, there seems to be a problem with unpaid taxes from when you were here in 2012”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, you need to call this number tomorrow and take care of it, otherwise there could be a problem”

I lived in Singapore for 7 years and whenever you hear “there could be a problem” come from a government employees mouth, you know to pay attention.

I was wracking my brain.

How could this have happened? How was I let to leave in the first place if there was a tax issue?

I was picturing the scene of being in a dark, un air-conditioned dingy prison cell at Changi and calling my mother, telling her I was detained for tax evasion.

You would hear her screaming from your place.

The Singapore government are more than very smart. The immigration man was beyond polite. And courteous. He didn’t reach for his gun once.

In fact he encouraged me to come in and said I was free to enter.

This is because if you don’t pay the tax, they simply won’t let you leave.

In essence, they have you by the proverbial short and curlies.

He assured me everything was going to be alright. And to not worry. Much. He was about as reassuring as my gastroenterologist when she says “you won’t feel a thing”

Yeah right…

So my drive to the Andaz hotel was filled with reflection.

I suppose I was relatively calm because this tax thing was something I literally knew nothing about.

We have come to a point where it’s probably relevant that I tell you what I do for a living. After all, 2 mins on the Google and you will see for yourself.

I run a ground transportation and security business. I don’t have a lot to do with the transportation side of things. But I am actively involved in our security business.

We look after a lot of bored billionaires and their families. So we work for family offices and Heads of Security. Two percent of what we do might be considered interesting and the other 98 per cent is a lot of logistics, ego management, and waiting around. But we do travel a ton. Hence this trip.

And the next morning I was meeting with a local Singapore security company who we wanted to partner with on some stuff. The 2 guys who ran it were ex Sing police and one of them was on the Prime Ministers protection detail.

I was trying to figure out what I was going to tell them because they had arranged a car and a CPO (Close Protection Officer) for me for the next day and we were going to go around the island checking things out and for me to see how they operated.

So 9am the next morning, I go downstairs to the lobby and sure enough there is a car waiting with a driver and a well dressed man in a suit.

We handle the introductions and then I tell them that I need to go to IRAS (which is the Internal Revenue Authority Of Singapore)

They sort of look at me weirdly, then look at each other and then we drive literally no more than 10 mins to a place called Revenue House.

On the outside this looks like a regular government building.

But on the inside - it is this calm oasis of efficiency. There are mission statements on the walls, orchids in planter boxes everywhere, piped music coming from all corners of the lobby and a swarm of smiling faces, ready to help you and wanting you to remember that same smiling face and the sultry tones of Clay Aitken before you are thrown into a white collar detention center for tax evasion.

I sheepishly explain to a nice lady that I needed to talk to someone about a tax matter.

She beamed. And took the letter from me and read it twice.

“I need to look up you FIN number”
“My what”
“Your FIN…”

And she scurried off, tapped away at a computer and came back within minutes.

A FIN is similar to a social security number.

She smiles again and then tells me we need to talk with someone in Enforcements.

This is where it’s pucker time.

“Um ok, what floor are they located on?”

I was thinking to myself there won’t be piped music on that floor, no smiling faces and certainly the only mission statement on the wall probably reads “Were About To Singapore Sling Your ... Into Jail”

Or something like this.

“Oh no you can’t see them, we have to call them on the phone”

The nice lady then directs me to a bank of cubicles against a wall and she proceeds to dial a number, barks down the line at someone, turns to me, beaming from ear to ear and hands me the phone.

“Um yes, this is Mr Eightblack, I need to talk to someone about a supposed tax matter”
“Yes you bolted 12 years ago and didn’t pay your departure tax”
“No I didn’t”
“Yes you did”
“No matter lah, how you want to pay?”
“Pay what” I sheepishly say
“Your tax”
“Well, can you tell me what it’s for?”
“Yes, 2012 tax year”
“Can I get a copy of it?”
“No”

I then proceed to tell the not so nice man that the company I worked for back in 2012 no longer exists.

“No problem, you can pay and then argue with them later”
He continued…
“How much cash do you have on you?
“What?”
“Yes how much cash you have?”
“Why, how much do I owe?”
“$10,851”

This is where it clearly gets amusing. For them. Not me. After I explained to the man in enforcements that I don’t typically carry around 10 large in my wallet, I asked for other options.

“Can I pay by credit card?”
“No only as a last resort”

I was thinking aren’t we already there..

“You can wire the money to us?”
“But its Sunday in the US and the banks are closed”

He then proceeded…

“Yes, set the wire up and take a screen shot and email it to us and we will see about letting you go”
“But I have to fly out to Indonesia this afternoon” I quipped
“That's what you think…”

And the man then promptly hung up the phone, the nice lady from reception came back over to me and asked how had everything gone.

Not as well as I had hoped if I’m honest.

She patted me on the head the same way my mom did when we were in Sydney and when she had decided that I had become a reputable drug dealer…

So that was it then. I set up the wire, sent the Singapore IRAS a screen shot and hoped for the best.

The rest of the day in Singapore went well.

My flight out to CGK wasn’t until 6pm but I thought I had better get to Changi plenty early because departing could be an issue. I didn’t really want to spend the rest of the year here.

So I get to the airport around 2pm and we start the dance again.

Passport into the first slot.
Green light. Move forward. All good so far.
Watch the camera.
Red light starts to flash, some AI voice starts blurting from a cheap speaker “Code 4, Code 4”

A wee little man appears from nowhere, and by his demeanor, this happens quite frequently and he beckons me over to a wall of customs and immigration people all perched up high behind an ominous counter.

A man smiles at me and we start off again…

“Mr Eightblack this is about your tax matter”
“Yes yes, I have it all taken care of - see this email and the screen shot and everything else”

He peers over the counter, and looks down on me with trepidation and pity - you just know he’s heard it all before.

“Ok hang tight let me check”

Over to the right, there was a very well dressed European lady and her daughter. She was having a similar issue and there was a lot of minor arm waving going on talking about her case.

But her issue seemed to progress quickly because within minutes, she had whipped out a credit card, paid some ungodly fee while cussing in Russian and telling her daughter that her father was about to have a vasectomy without an anesthetic.

I will say this. Everyone I interacted with was the politest, nicest, friendliest person I have ever met.

The man behind the counter came back over to me and handed me a cordless phone.

It was another man from IRAS, who repeated the whole sordid ordeal…

“Why did you runaway in 2012 without paying your departure tax”
“I didn’t run away”
“Yes you did”“Have you seen me try to run, I move about as quickly as a drunk turtle”
“A what?”
“Nevermind”
“Look, I set up the wire and emailed a screenshot to someone in your office at 1030am this morning”
“Ok you wait lah”

Then what felt like an eternity was in fact only about 5 mins…

“Ok give the phone back to man at airport”

There was a lot of nodding and the man at the airport, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to get the chance to throw a tourist in jail, hung up the phone, handed me my passport and said the sweetest words I have ever heard

“You’re free to go”

I let out a quiet shriek and then kissed the ground.

Just as I did this, 2 young Singapore police walked past, with their MP5’s slung across their kevlar vests.

They look at each other, smile and say “must be another tax runner”

According to the man at the airport, this is happening literally every hour of every day at Changi.

I’m just glad I didn’t end up on FT’s Most Wanted list…

PLeblond

Ahh..memories of my first trip to Changi.

Deplane head to immigration. The lady at Immigration says with a smile "Welcome to Singapore, would you like a candy" as she gestures towards a small bowl of individually wrapped candy on her desk while she processes me. 28 seconds later I'm off.

Reach baggage carousel as it starts turning, my bags pop out #2 & #3. Grab them hardly breaking stride, breeze through customs and get to the taxi stand where there's a line of taxis in those 45 degree lanes ready to leave.

Plane door opening to taxi door closing in less that 15 minutes.

Brilliant

eightblack

Yep the serious people who run Changi Airport require all baggage to be on the belts within 20 mins of every flight gating...

eightblack

What was worse than all of the tax stuff is that when I got to Changi, I had to check in at T1 at the Scoot counter. This is quite the process.

Basically, Scoot is a LCC (Low Cost Carrier). It might be owned by a rich uncle (SQ) but its processes are basic at best.

First you tag your own bags.

Then you have to get some sort of stamp on your boarding pass. Then you drop your bag off somewhere. And then walk to farthest end of the airport where Scoot have taken over the joint and you proceed to be barked instructions by a lot of people who look no older than 16 and who are dressed like jelly beans.

More worrying is that now I had around 3 hours to kill. My tax ordeal actually didn’t take more than 15 whole minutes.

Then I gasped.

I realized I didn’t have lounge access to anything.

*Gold doesn’t work if you’re flying Scoot. No dice there. Amex card doesn’t work with Priority Pass. No dice here. Couldn’t get into the Qantas or BA lounge for obvious reasons. And I didn’t want to pay for a pass at whatever was left.

And I didn’t want to go to T2 or T3.

So there I was. Homeless in Changi.

What was clear is that I needed a Heineken. So I found an outlet and asked another bossy woman for a beer.

“I’ll take a Heineken please”
“Ok what size?”
“What size do you have?”
“Only big one”

Instead of argue with the woman as to why did she ask me what size drink I wanted when she clearly only wanted to serve me one type I sighed and agreed to the biggest pint glass I have ever seen.

“$23” she barked
“For what?”
“Beer. You pay now”

I decided to cut my losses, reflect at my 24 hours in Changi while slowly making my way to the Scoot gate.

A while back, that slightly annoying travel blogger called Ben over at a site that will not be mentioned wrote about an ordeal he had while transiting from one airline to another at Jakarta Airport.

I know this will impress some of you, but I actually decided to read his article and actually pay attention.

I didn’t have the energy to wave my arms at a swarm of airport officials because quite frankly my Bahasa is quite rusty and didn’t want to lose the will to live.

So I actually checked my bag to Jakarta, and made peace with the fact that I would enter the country, and re enter the country a few minutes later to check in for my EK flight to Dubai and beyond.

This turned out to be a piece of cake.

And the Indonesians who are actually much cannier than the Singaporeans, have perfected the art of fleecing unsuspecting tourists and have this whole process down to a fine art.

You do everything online via barcode. You even pay the “entry” tax online. It’s literally painless.

No questions were asked as I entered the country. And none were asked when I left 5 mins later.

And thankfully I didn’t owe the Indonesian Tax Man any money.

About the only hassle is working out how to get from one terminal to the other. You have to catch the air train. And the entrance to that is about as easy to find as the Titanic.

But I did figure it out. I had to wait a bit for the EK counters to open, but no matter I found a wonderful satay restaurant close by and had dinner.

Check in was a breeze, the nice lady gave me both passes for both flights and then directed me to some lounge that EK people can use. Plaza Premium I think it was.

It was very pleasant and given that I had about 2+ hours to kill, decide to accept their offer of a massage before the flight.

The fleecing continued and I paid another trunkful of Indonesian rupees which turned out to be a pittance.

Some nice lady who called herself Daisy directed me to a quiet room and told me to get undressed and lie on the table. Now I may be ignorant of many things, but getting a massage in Asia is not one of them. I have been living and working all over the region for the better part of 25 years.

So I strip down to my birthday suit, and before I could grab the towel, Daisy lets out a shriek.

I was thinking “But I haven’t turned around yet”

She said “keep underwear on, keep underwear on”

I was thinking…actually never mind.

Daisy, the masseuse then proceeds to give me the toughest massage I have ever received in my life. I thought I was going to need a shot from an EPI pen to get me off the table.

In all the massage commotion, I never got to see the inside of the Plaza lounge. Someone let me know if it’s any good.

Finally, it was time to board the 777 to the sandpit.

And to say I wasn’t looking forward to it was an understatement…

Here we go then.

eightblack

EK has actually freshened up First on many of its aircraft. I personally can’t tell the difference. There’s only so much bling you can add. The first class cabin looks like a cross between Liberace’s bedroom and the Penthouse at Trumps hotel in Vegas.

My first leg though was on a 777. Which only had 6 seats in F. To be honest, this rig was a bit tired.

But do not worry, with EK, there is an army of people to help make your flight be as smooth as a baby’s bum. On the 380’s, there’s even a “Spa Attendant” whose sole job it is to clean both bathrooms and to handle your shower reservations.

EK’s seat is 10 times more comfortable than the SQ seat (even the OG version). And the bedding is top notch. There’s not a lot in it between the tech on board. SQ has Krisworld and EK has ICE. Both are staggeringly impressive. And both carriers provide free wifi for people up the sharp end.

Food and wine. Again, hardly anything in it.

Suffice to say you will never go hungry, someone will make your bed at the slightest hint of you becoming sleepy and if you want, you could wash your hands in Dom. Or Krug. Take your pick.

I slept like a bear. Probably due to the massage I received from Attila the Hun in Jakarta.

I thought I would sleep for as long as I can on the first flight and then enjoy the almost all daylight flight from Dubai to Houston.

When I arrived in DXB, I was first off.

There was an EK man holding a sign with my name on it.

My heart sank for a bit as I thought maybe the Singapore Tax Office wasn’t yet done with me.

The EK man beamed from ear to ear and said “Mr Eight Black I am here to escort you to the First Class lounge”

I thought how nice. But I was familiar with the Sandpit having been here countless times.

Apparently, Meet And Greet is a newish service EK has been offering to F customers. So the EK man barks at another man, who is the golf cart driver and we hoof it to another part of the terminal where we jump on a train, go to another terminal and then clear security.

Security was no more than theater as the EK man boomed in Arabic that he was not to be messed with. So I grabbed my bag off the conveyer and yet another golf cart ride to the F lounge.

The charming M&G man literally handed me off to the Front desk person. It was both a slightly amusing experience and also a little embarrassing but it happens so frequently that no one blinks an eye.

I am no stranger to the EK first lounge in Dubai.

In fact, one year I even arranged something called the Dubai Do and a gaggle of FT’ers were treated like royalty as we toured EK’s catering facility, jumped out of an A380 upper deck door onto an escape slide and all had breakfast and copious amounts of Moet in the F lounge.

It was a cracker of an event. We should do it again.

I decided to freshen up in the lounge, take a shower and have something to eat. I didn’t want to offend the wonderful Indian staff member who insisted I have a champagne. I kept saying yes because I just wanted his head to stop going from side to side. His smile was as wide as the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

When I got there the lounge was practically deserted and most of the staff looked bored out of their minds. They are practically begging you for something to do.

You could literally say…

“I’ll have 2 boiled eggs, freshly scrambled eggs, a side of baked beans, some New Zealand lamb chops and 18 pieces of toast with marmalade”

And someone would run to the kitchen, much arm waving would ensue and within minutes everything would be served in front of you.

The trip from DXB to IAH is a serious haul. 15 hours and change.

Man, that Superjumbo must be loaded to the brim with fuel and as it barrels down the runway, its 4 massive Rolls Royce Trent engines screaming and howling in an effort to lift the overweight quad jet into the sky. It’s still a technical marvel if you ask me.

I didn’t sleep a whole lot on this flight. But I had a great time. Probably one of my best flights ever. I did some work. Went to the bar at the back and had a wonderful conversation with an Indian businessman who lived in Houston. Turns out he owns a seriously large amount of hotels.

For some weird reason we get to talking about politics. Something I rarely do. His wife later joins us, figures out what we’re talking about and proceeds to tell me that she married an idiot and promptly walks off in disgust. We both loved it.

There is a bit of a weird thing that happens if F customers go to the bar though. One of the First Class flight attendants follows you, and then proceeds to tell whoever is on bar duty that you are a F customer and to pour the good stuff when it comes to champagne and not the dogwash Moet they normally serve.

Always made me feel slightly uncomfortable if I’m honest.

And I will admit something. I had a shower for the first time on an A380.

In all the times I have flown that thing, I was always hesitant. And since it’s just the 2 of us chatting, I have a thing about using bathrooms in general on aircraft.

I’ll tell you why…

I don’t want to be that person they can’t identify in a plane crash.

Imagine this. There’s a terrible accident and everyone onboard perishes. The NTSB comb through the wreckage and identify every person. But there’s one missing.

That unlucky sod was sitting on the throne, minding his own business and all of a sudden the plane plummets to earth like a dart.

Because aircraft don’t do well when they hit a hard object (like the ground) gravity takes effect and the poor person on the crapper ends up being sucked into the plumbing.

While I realize this is a tad bit morbid, I’m sorry but thats the way my gin fused brain thinks…

And thats what I love about travel to this day.

No, not the thought of perishing in an aircraft toilet…

It’s the whole journey. The unpredictability of it all.

Sure it’s fun flying up the front. I get that I am quite lucky to be able to do it. I don’t have to fill in any forms. I don’t have to ask anyone for permission.

But it’s the people you meet along the way.

One of my good friends to this day is a Qantas pilot. We met onboard a flight between SIN and SYD more than 20 years ago.

I feel for people who don’t want to travel, don’t want to see the world, don’t want to smell something new, drink something weird, taste something crazy. Or nearly get thrown into jail in a foreign country.

I love people watching at airports - largely because most people think that when they step foot inside an airport, any airport, that they are still largely in control of their lives.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I wish you many upgrades for the remainder of 2024.

And given that I am the Mod now of this quirky little forum, if anyone has any issues with any part of this TR, then the complaints department will be open from 3am to 303am on Xmas Eve 2026.

Go forth and travel my pathetic friends.

I hope our paths cross soon…

stevie

Man, I enjoyed that TR. Your last few sentences were poignant as we are probably of a similar age and travel experience. I also love the the fluid motion of the 'travel' experience.

SKT-DK

Brilliant read until the very end! Greetings from HK this weekend

wakesetter93

Poured a glass of Kentucky's finest and read the whole thing up until this point. Enjoying it so far!

eightblack

Thank you stevie , appreciate it. I'll look forward to buying you a drink one day soon...

Thank you SKT-DK , I haven't been to HKG in ages. One of my favorite places. Dim sum is on me next time I visit

I tip my glass to you wakesetter93 Travel well my friend...

injian

What a way to end this TR - sensational!

I do hope I am lucky to cross paths with you someday and listen to your stories. Cheers to you!

estnet

There aren't many things that I like so much that I can't find a substitute for - but your TR - well, there just isn't anything close. Have really missed them. Thanks for this - I just smile (and wince) inside when I think about Scoot and EK F in the same trip and enjoyt your adept capture of the contrasting experience!

PLeblond

I can confirm from a similar past experience that it's a lot better to go from TR;Y --> EK;F in the same day than EK;F-->TR;Y in the same day.