High altitude cross cultural encounters

I'm in Singapore. Recovering from a culinary feast with 10 other people around a lazy susan.

Feeling a little knackered, as I took the scenic route to get here: Hong Kong - Bankok - Singapore. 8 hours. In Bankok, the people next to me were changed from a large family of Indians with screaming babies to Mr. Lee, a skinny middle aged Thai with longish hair, covered from head to toe in black and red tattoos and sporting white shorts and t-shirt.

Mr Lee spent most of his flight drinking beer and wine (at the same time). While the parents of the screaming baby spent most of their flight trying to quieten the little thing by shouting "chips! chips!" and when that didn't work "chocolate!".

Upon arrival, I was then hassled by a 2 metre tall guy from Mali, for whom, in a moment of blind generosity, I agreed to fill out his immigration form and then found myself with a new 'friend' who defriending was a lot harder than it is on Facebook.

Now settled into the hotel, where I have a very pretty duplex room with high high ceilings and duvets under and over me. I feel like I'm suspended on a cloud. Going to sleep off that peppered crab...