The thing about yer Maldives, of course, is that although they are, on the surface, a bucket-list topping chain of islands that have visitors and journalists scrambling for beauty-driven superlatives, they are also a massively controlling Islamic state who barely tolerate visitors.
    Let's cast our minds back to 2010 and that infamous wedding ceremony, where a couple of unwitting newlyweds had a local ceremony to celebrate their nuptials, only to secretly be called 'infidels' and 'swine' in the local tongue. An isolated incident, perhaps, but since 2011 the government has been flexing its censorship muscles as the hardline Ministry of Islamic Affairs takes down dissenting blogs, arrests journalists and generally acts like an insecure bully.
    Having been myself, I can tell you that's a side of the islands that tourists rarely see, being whisked off to their hotel-chain-owned islands (if you don't know, each tourist island is basically run by a different hotel) and there's little need to worry about human rights when you're sitting down to your coconut shrimp starter in the underwater restaurant of the Ritz-Carlton, on the Ritz-Carlton Island. Head to the capital, Malé, and you can see much clearer signs of fundamentalism, in the mosques especially.
    Anyway, the latest reports are that this (from The Guardian): "Poetry and literature will have to be approved by the Maldivian government before they are published in the country, according to new regulations which have been described as a “disaster for freedom of expression” by free speech campaigners."
    It's unclear as yet as to whether the Ministry will go so far as to snatch copies of 50 Shades of Grey from incoming honeymooners (OK, some of them might bring in Tolstoy, I'm not being presumptuous) because heaven forbid they leave a copy lying around for the underpaid hotel staff to glance at. But at best, the national bureau and its role as the enforcement arm of a creeping autocracy are sure to heighten the tense relationship that hardline Islamic countries which depend on western tourism all seem to have. Yes, Dubai, we're looking at you. As usual.

New York, New York...so good they tell you to get off their island multiple times in a really snarky voice. The Manhattan tourism industry received a much-needed shot in the arm from professional curmudgeon Fran Lebowitz who, in an interview with Papermag.com, outlined her multiple objections to people not from New York visiting New York.
    Among the choice comments were:
    - "Tourism as a number-one industry is a terrible, terrible idea for any city, especially New York."
    - "I would like to see fewer and fewer tourists and I'm tired of hearing about how much money they bring to the city             because the kind of jobs the tourists bring to the city are the worst jobs."
    - "I object to Airbnb. I don't want these people to come here; I frankly do not care where they are staying. Stay home."
    - "I would like to stand at the border -- I would volunteer -- and say, "You can come here, but you have to live here. If             you're coming here for four days, you can't come"
Oh my. Here's someone with a little case of the Moan-days. If she sold flowers professionally, she'd be Florist Grump, amiright? The thing is, Ms Lebowitz, who presumably doesn't travel anywhere for less than four days, or anywhere that has a residential centre, is unwittingly making us want to go to Manhattan more than ever.
    Doesn't she realise, half the fun of going to NYC is seeing the most abrasive, pugnacious and outright rude people on earth (outside of Paris, natch) in their natural environment. Every server who overtly belittles me as I very slightly mis-order something from the unnavigable breakfast menu in a diner, I tip with extra gusto just for the typical NYC experience. I figure they get paid to do that by the tourist board, just so we're not disappointed. Going to Manhattan for me is like sneaking back to the haughty mistress who I gladly pay to humiliate me.
    I hate to break this to you, Fran, but if you really want us to stop coming to Manhattan, you're going to have to start being much, much nicer...
(photo via cc, Christopher Macsurak)

If you've ever traveled in London and taken the tube from Leicester Square to Covent Garden, you'll know from bitter experience that you should have walked because of all the locals that will tell you that you should have walked because it's only one stop and it's actually quicker to walk, actually and YOU SHOULD HAVE WALKED YOU KNOW-NOTHING CRETIN. In short: you should have walked. Well, the next time anyone tells you that they got the tube from Mansion House to Canon Street, you can tell them with no small amount of smugness: "Oh, you should have sprinted with such lung-busting effort that you got to the station marginally slower than the tube but with just enough time to collapse through the doors in an exhausted heap YOU REALLY SHOULD HAVE SPRINTED." That said, this is still pretty cool.

Following the announcement that renegade sky profiteers RyanAir are going to launch a Business Class product, including, presumably, free bottled water, unfettered toilet access and use of the, er, airport terminal, rivals EasyJet have entered the fray with some A-list celeb endorsement.

In the flashiest TV star-coup since Premier Inn bagged Lenny Henry to fake contented snoozing for money, the Orange Crusaders of the Air have snapped up none other than Oxbridge funnyman turned US-medical malcontent Hugh Laurie. EasyJet have announced  flexible tickets, allocated seats, fast-track boarding and higher frequencies to "boost its business-friendly credentials", giving RyanAir the biggest budget airline executive class competition since Moses.

Apparently Mr Laurie will be playing some kind of white rabbit-wrangler, a shame than EasyJet didn't have the wherewithal to have him reprise his role as Stuart Marsh, Executive Firebrand and the turbo-charged son of a mass retailer.

Cut to: INTERIOR, EASYJET CHECK-IN DESK.
Stuart: So it's straight through to the Executive Passenger Lounge?
Check-in attendant: There's only one passenger lounge, sir.
Stuart: Yes, and it's the EXECUTIVE check-in lounge...

Can we please just take a minute today to remember? One minute out of our busy lives? To remember one small act, one gesture that tried to make sense of it all?

Everyone surely knows where they were, what they were doing or who they were with when they heard that this Marriott hotel in announced free coffee and muffins to commemorate the victims of the terrible events of the 11th September, 2001. For thirty minutes. And the muffins are mini. Regular sized muffins would seem somehow...I don't know...ostentatious on a day like this. Miniature confectionery. That's corporate sensitivity in action right there.

Hard to believe but it's only one year ago. I know, the pain and anger is still there. Time eventually heals all wounds, but there are no short cuts. I wonder if there are mini muffins in heaven? Let's never forget, Marriott.

In 1978, Brian Eno invented ambient music as a direct result of a particularly inconvenient layover at Cologne-Bonn Airport. It is still today heralded as a seminal work, using looping techniques that were ahead of their time (at the time) and generally being so artistic as to be installed at New York La Guardia Airport for a short but progressive time during the 1980s. This is possibly the last time that La Guardia has been associated with avant-garde music.  The album is minimalist and soporific, and though beautiful, it doesn't really evoke the airport experience very accurately, unless there's an airport somewhere that hands out Ambien at check in and is populated by gentle, smiling crowds all dressed in white leisure wear. Take a listen:

Fast forward 30 years and the climate has changed. Pioneering electronica group The Black Dog release a riposte, Music for Real Airports. The band themselves mark the differences: ""Airports have some of the glossiest surfaces in modern culture, but the fear underneath remains. Hence this record is not a utilitarian accompaniment to airports, in the sense of reinforcing the false utopia and fake idealism of air travel. Unlike Eno's Music for Airports, this is not a record to be used by airport authorities to lull their customers." The album is borne out of 200 hours of field recordings, much of it mixed in actual airports as the artists wait for their flights. Instead of a calming, dream-like experience, the composition titles hint at edgier experiences: Empty Seat Calculations, Strip Light Hate, Sleep Deprivation. Compare and contrast...a little more like a recognisable airport experience? :

It’s a Sunday afternoon and my friend meets me at the Ratchatewi Sky Train stop. She wants to take me to this novelty café she’d heard about – “It’s meant to be super cute!” she tells me.

I’m not someone who is regularly swayed by public displays of wanton cuteness, but I was going to keep an open mind. As we got to the café, there were some clues as to what lay inside – plastic, manga-style cat models, walls full of child-like doodles and excited squeals coming from inside.

I peeked through the window, and even my jaded, seen-it-all, post-modern, end of times western eyes found it hard not to be completely charmed. Inside the café were these enchanting little creatures, running around, eating from bowls, preening themselves and generally being as adorable as you can imagine. I watched them play and eat and show off their multi-coloured coats and revel in their little toys and accessories. I couldn’t wait to get inside and among them, and a minute later, we were called in to be seated.

As we walked through the dining room, they shifted and stirred, some of them curling their legs up, squirming around, making way for us to sit down. Some of them were close up to our table, some in far corners...basically everywhere you looked, there was yet another and another, each more outlandishly adorable than the last. It was hard to know where to look. They made the sweetest little noises as their food came out, and I just wanted to take them all home with me, pinch their cute little ears, have them nibble on my fingers, and watch them as they ate their kibble with heartbreaking delicacy.

It’s no wonder they’re so universally loved, with their endearingly aloof air, their loveably quirky behaviour and unknowable ways – awwww, wook at you, sidling up to the table….what’s that you’re trying to say to me? Awwwwww…I don’t know what you want, I REALLY DON’T, but you look as cute as hell trying to tell me. What is it you want, you adorable little creature, you? What is it? Whadda ya waaaaaant? Is it this toy? Is it? Do you want to play? Do you? What’s that? Oh, you want to take my order? Fair enough.

Yes, there really should be more cafes full of Asian people. I could stay all day just watching them interact and play with cats. Oh yeah, there are cats in this café. I forgot to mention that. They were pretty cool too. Not sure how hygienic that can be, but they served decent coffee, I guess.