Chasing the sun

I spend two or three hours in the airport in Istanbul waiting for my flight during which I meet a Sudanese family. They sit down next to me outside the duty free and the young son breaks in to fits of laughter every time I make the noises to go with the actions he is producing with his little toy aeroplane. I had been listening to the young daughter speaking to her father in English with what I think is an Irish accent. I ask the father where he is from, guessing correctly he is Sudanese. He explains that the family has lived in Ireland for 14 years, and all the kids were born there. They were on the way to Sudan for a holiday. I ask the daughter whether she likes Ireland more than Sudan. She tells me she does because it is too hot in Sudan !!!

I walk out on the tarmac and as I ascend to stairs to get on the plane I look out to the west and see the sun's last gasp of light as t falls below the horizon for another day. I get on the plane and somehow find myself in a drinking competition with the middle aged father sitting next to his son opposite me; he got two bottles of wine when dinner came around, so I do my best to catch up.

Halfway through the second bottle I suddenly notice that the Finair flight attendants are middle aged women, without copious amounts of make-up on, dressed in rather drab uniforms that are a pale blue colour best described as 60's pale blue.

By bottle number three the man and his son are making paper planes, and one of them lands on my tray table so I throw it back to the son when the father isn't looking - the alcohol seems to be effecting my aim though.

By the time I start the fourth bottle I look out the window and the flickering glow of sulphur orange street lights below which pierce the darkness of the night down below give way to a layer of dark grey thunder clouds which in turn on the horizon give way to the faintest light blue sky as the sun hovers just below the horizon refusing valiantly to give in to the night. The light is so weak that above he horizon their grow darkening layers of black - the absence of light. By the time the fourth bottle is finished we are getting close to Helsinki and the sun has managed to push its way high enough up to make it look like the end of the long twilight on a summers' day.

Fortunately the father seems content with only four bottles of wine and we call it a draw, so that I am able to walk off the plane. The Finnish immigration officer asks me how long I plan to stay in Finland, "Just a week or two" I say, "You know you can stay for ninety days" ,he replies, stamps my passport and waves me through. If only he knew.

When I step out of the airport building it is about 12.30 in the morning, the sun isn't visible but it is bright enough to stand outside and read a book - much more light than when I stepped on to the plane in Istanbul at 8 pm. I think to myself I have managed to outrun the sun.