I shouldn't really complain. Sure, the ticket didn't cost very much, but being forced to spend nine months in the crash-land position and fed the same monotonous food is no party, believe me.
Then, passing through immigration took nearly two days – it seemed like that – out of darkness into a big bright interrogation room where they strip-searched me, weighed me, and took all sorts of "measurements".
You wonder why I'm crying now? All I want is a little food and some sleep. And while we're at it, can anyone direct me to a toilet?
Ah, sorry, too late.