Plane travel woes

It is said that life should be about the journey, not the destination. If this is the case, there are some journeys best kept to a minimum, the most notable being air travel. Three important criteria pertain to your decision to fly to foreign climes: 1. Don't go for the cheapest ticket. 2. Travel at night. 3. Take as much snack food as you can to tide you over in an emergency.
When I booked my ticket to Paris, the cheapest flight was via Ataturk, Istanbul. Failing to take sufficient care in calculating the flying hours, I duly booked and paid, only to find once the ticket had been issued that there was a sneaked-in stopover at Johannesburg on both outgoing and incoming flights. It was then revealed that a 9-hour layover at Ataturk lay ahead, which would take away half a day in Paris. The return flight had a 6-hour layover from 7pm to 1am. All of this excitement without the advantage of lounge access for this pleb (you have to be special to get this - paying 40 euros was not an appealing option).
Gathering advice from seasoned travellers, I thought I had a plan to pass the time, but as always, the best laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley. Turns out there was no free wi-fi (not accessible on my tablet); this in itself was of no consequence, as the mind can occupy itself without continual external stimuli. Access to food was expensive and not to my taste and the coffee was appalling. Having already spent 12 hours in the company of the gentleman seated next to me on the plane, another five hours (one of which was spent sitting at a plastic table while he had a sleep on his folded arms (people must have thought we were together!) took the cake and I scuttled off to explore and people-watch for the final four. He was by no means unpleasant company, but I am a fairly solitary person and can deal with long periods in my own company and a great deal of silence.
As planes landed and took off in a continuous stream broken only by 30-second intervals, you can imagine that the airport had quite a bit of foot traffic. While passing the time standing under the Departures board, waiting for the Gate number to roll up from position 40 in line, my sandalled foot was ridden over by the luggage wheel of a Middle Eastern gentleman who took my hand and apologised profusely. I said it was fine, I had another foot and presumed he didn't speak English!
The return trip involved a two-hour delay at Charles de Gaulle, and a six-hour stay at Ataturk, by which time I had it all sussed and bought a bottle of water, parked myself at the boarding gate and read a book!
A detailed report on my travelling, which, like the curate's egg, was good in parts, will doubtless follow ad nauseam. Fortunately, the actual time spent in France was all that I hoped it would be and more, but I could have done without the airports!