I yawn. Outside, the Belgian countryside whizzes past in a blurry pre-dawn image. Beside me, my companion is asleep and I am not too far away from joining her in the land of Nod. We are on the shuttle bus to Charleroi airport for an early morning flight.
As we reach the airport which Ryanair craftily calls “Brussels Charleroi” even though it’s pretty far away, there is a little more light around and I can see that there is not much activity around the airport building.
We grab our bags and join the sleepy masses in the security queue inside. The building is a little too cheerful for my liking and the hyperactive family of four to my left have more energy than a family of four should be legally allowed to have at 06:30 in the morning.
We do the airport security shuffle for fifteen minutes or so and have our documents inspected and glared at by a burly uniformed official. After this, we are shoe-horned down a narrow corridor. Forced to merge with three other queues, we politely smile at one another as we make our way in.
On my right, a large sign announces the “Rules of Brussels Charleroi Airport.” I’m tempted to crack a joke about them but it is a little too early for my brain to function properly. Then I look at it closely:
Thank goodness we left all the wild animals at home today.
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