From Leipzig/Halle World Airport to Taipei – Province with parking position vs. metropolis of technology

Once almost around the globe, please! But only if the plane leaves at all. Welcome to the “world airport” Leipzig/Halle, a place that once harbored big dreams: of wanderlust, global connections and direct flights to all continents. Today, however, the whole thing feels more like the cautious flapping of wings of a jackdaw imagining itself to be an albatross. Good. Marabu Airlines still exists there. The typical vacation bombers for Gerd and Gisela.

What was once intended as a springboard into the big wide world is now more of a gently springing transfer stool – without a backrest and with a wobbly leg. The loss of the direct flight to Munich, the southern German gateway to the world that once gave Leipzig a little boost, is particularly painful. Now you have to fly via Frankfurt, this juggernaut in terminal form, the reincarnation of logistical evil with its conveyor belt charm and security checks that make you brush your teeth for your passport.

Yet everything could be so beautiful: Leipzig/Halle has long runways, more freight than passengers (a real export hit!) and a train station directly below the terminal. The only thing missing is the little detail that usually defines airports – taking off for distant lands.

So there it is, the big little airport, waiting. For passengers like me. And while the cargo planes keep humming along at night, hauling tons of parcels through the night, the check-in desk for the big journey into adventure often remains lonely. Or as an airport employee at check-in said to me with a sigh: “We fly everywhere too. The main thing is that it goes via Frankfurt first.”

Speaking of Frankfurt, the involuntary boot camp for transfer passengers from Leipzig. As soon as you get off the plane, the adventure begins: the connecting flight is of course waiting in Terminal D, which translates as “take the train, run like a madman and hope your circulation plays along”. So into the Sky Line train, past Terminal A, B, C to D and E – always with the feeling that you have landed in a badly programmed open-world game.

But that’s not all: at your destination, the next security check awaits – everything out again, everything through again, this time with a particularly fierce look from the inspectors. And as you fight your way to the next boarding zone, all you can do is silently hope that your suitcase is as ambitious as you are. In Frankfurt, anything is possible – except relaxation.

And then – after all the trains, checks, kilometers of walking and prayers for your suitcase – you are finally seated. The big, silver bird taxis in and takes off, and with it a certain relief that covers the journey like a warm blanket. For many, a 13-hour flight sounds like a test of physical and mental endurance, but sometimes it’s just that: quiet, comfortable and surprisingly pleasant.

Sure, the price of a little more legroom, a reclining seat back and maybe even a glass of real juice without having to pay extra is a real pinch on the wallet. But there comes a point when your own back counts more than your bank balance. And when you’ve landed in the “more comfortable half” of the cabin, you wonder why you never used to treat yourself to that.

The flight itself? Almost meditative. Hardly any turbulence, a quiet hum, a sunrise over the clouds that will make even the toughest jetlag sufferer feel better. The cabin crew are experienced and friendly, the food is tasty, the movies are not all bad. And best of all: no crowds, no shoving, no running to the gate. Just sit, switch off, enjoy flying – as if it were 1998 and flying was still an experience.

This makes the long-haul flight a reward after the chaos in Frankfurt. And as you glide slowly towards your destination, you think with a quiet smile: It was expensive. But it was worth it. You always arrive, but this time pain-free and well-rested. Early in the morning, 07:12 in Taipei.

Arrival shortly after seven, the day still young, the body somewhere between time zones and coffee thirst – but the city welcomes you with surprising mildness. Instead of honking rush-hour traffic and tough stop-and-go choreography, today there was: flowing traffic, almost empty streets and a driver who glided through the half-awake metropolis with a relaxed matter-of-factness, as if you were in a commercial for Asian serenity.

Normally, the journey from the airport to Taipei City can easily turn into an hour-long test of patience – but not today. No traffic jams, no tough slip roads, no risky lane changes. Just the quiet hum of the engine, the glowing display with the navigation system and the morning sun slowly making its presence felt over the rooftops of the city.

And then the hotel. Before nine. You don’t expect much, perhaps a room for temporary luggage storage, a coffee or at best the wait for housekeeping. Instead: a smile at reception, a quick look at the computer, then the sentence that makes every frequent traveler happy: “You can go straight to your room – and thank you for your tenth stay.”

Ten times here. A small anniversary that suddenly feels like a piece of home away from home. While others are still sweating in the cab or waiting in the lobby, you’re already lying in your freshly made bed and realize that you’ve not only arrived – you’ve almost become part of it.

The new day begins with a little culture shock in can form. Still slightly contaminated from getting up early on the plane, jetlagged but at least freshly showered, I’m drawn to the nearest 7-Eleven to find something liquid to combat the inner dust of the journey. My goal: something refreshing, sparkling, preferably Zero, but without a twist, please.

But Taiwan loves efficiency, even on the shelves. There they are: cans lined up in rows, all equally elegant, all labeled “Zero”. But while I’m still imagining that I can make a clever distinction between draft, Pilsener and “Zero”, I realize too late that a knowledge of Chinese would be very helpful here. Because some sadistic logistician has placed “Zero (Alcohol)” and “Zero (Sugar)” right next to each other, as if he wanted to set a little trap for Western optimists. After all, 0.0 is a small guide.

So back at the hotel, can opened, first sip – and bang, the realization hits like a sober thunderstorm: alcohol. Not a lot, but definitely. Briefly irritated, then slightly annoyed, and finally: consistent. The sink gets the rest. I really like drinking, a lot in fact, but no more alcohol. Never. Period.

But at least the trend towards alcohol-free refreshment has arrived in Taiwan, which gives me hope. And the next attempt will work. Maybe. Hopefully.

So the day can begin, for real. It’s going to be busy from today – lots of appointments, conversations, impressions, stimuli. Vacation? Not really. Perhaps in footnote form at most, between two appointments or in a quiet moment looking out of the hotel window. But who says that’s not enough? A bit of everyday life with a jetlag glow.

The rest will come to you in video form, because videos of Computex are not only a modern form of reporting, they are simply the better medium for capturing the atmosphere, technology and people in their entirety. While a hastily written text with a single still image often remains just a frozen section of reality, a video provides the necessary context, movement and the feeling of actually being there. You can immediately see how crowded it is, how visitors and exhibitors behave and how products appear in real light, not just as sterile rendered graphics or in a carefully composed PR production.

Especially at Computex, where it’s all about design, feel, light, sound and interaction, moving images tell far more than any overloaded press release. You can immediately see whether RGB lighting pulsates harmoniously or flickers frantically, whether a case rattles, a keyboard sounds hollow or a fan revs up unpleasantly. All of this can not only be documented in a video, but also commented on in real time, supplemented by an immediate classification, irony or clear criticism, which often loses its effect in written format.

Then there is the speed. A video conveys a feeling, an observation or an insight within seconds. There is no need to think long and hard about wording, no digressions or stylistic compromises. You see what happens and you can tell straight away what works and what doesn’t.

At a time when many manufacturers are trying to stage their trade fair appearances down to the smallest detail, it is precisely this direct and unembellished format that is needed. Videos are not a mere supplement, but an essential tool for communicating technical developments, trends and missteps in a transparent and comprehensible way. If you really want to understand what is happening at Computex, you should watch, not just read. So this time everything is exactly the same as last year.