Why I love airports

Airports are anticipatory, whether it’s excitement for a trip to come, eagerness to see loved ones, or apprehension of the foils of flying.

It’s a melange of emotions, and I love it.

I have traveled across the US with only a carry-on shoulder bag that I use daily for work, I’ve traveled with nothing in my hands but the items in my pocket, and I’ve traveled way overpacked with clothing and items that were never used.

For every indignity of carrying a bunch of crap and finding a place to put it in airport restaurants and restrooms, I am glad I have honed my packing list down to essentials. This has made me appreciate airport bathroom designs more than anything: a hook in a stall or a shelf above a urinal alleviates some minor stress as the traveler alleviates themself.

Mix the minor (major?) predations of airport pricing with the heightened emotions and these thoughtful details become welcomed distractions.

This is the first early morning travel in years that did not include a Bloody Mary or airport beer because I boarded before the bars opened. It’s a good thing for my health and sleep, but it felt like a step in the ritual was skipped. Airports are the only area where imbibing at odd hours is not only allowed but encouraged.

I love the tingle of excitement, the whiff of nostalgia and homesickness, and the lingering resentment of minor roadblocks. When folks are rushing through an airport I tend to think “get here earlier!” then have to remind myself that everyone has exigencies that necessitate their exuberant haste. Flights get delayed, gates change, traffic snarls, loved ones cannot say goodbye, a critical document is misplaced… I give grace to those who feel the need to push between others. I also chuckle softly to myself when we still end up at the same place at similar times without me pushing.

This may be a symptom of me being a “big guy”. I am constantly aware of and apologizing for taking space from others. Yet I learned long ago that I, at 6’1”, cannot truly “duck” between people. While I still fight that urge to accommodate others, that urge has greatly diminished at home, at work, and in social circles, but at the airport… ah, the airport, where I apologize to and thank everyone in sight, possibly with a mad gleam in my eye as I chortle silently to myself at my own foolishness.

Ah, the airport. I am waiting for the second leg of my journey to Italy. So far I’d guess that half the flight is Italians returning home, and half is US tourists. In scanning my compatriot travelers at JFK I don’t see anyone emblazoned with the Slow Food snail or Terra Madre shirt. My own logoed shirts are safely stored in my checked Luggage somewhere, and I trust that it’ll find its way home to me by the time I land. We will see who else ends up in Turin for Terra Madre (though I’ll likely never know).

And it’s that which ultimately makes airports special. Trust. Despite removing shoes, bringing sample sized toiletries, and continual announcements to watch your stuff, travelets and employees alike trust that the physics of flying will work, that the industrial organization of flight control, airlines, and airport personnel work, that folks will not mess with your stuff, and that the middle seat deserves both armrests.

I miss family and friends being able to greet travelers at the gate with balloons and signs, which heightened the joy and excitement of travel instead of weariness and wariness. I also miss the smell of stale cigarettes and spilled beer mixed with lane oil at bowling alleys, and like smoking, I understand the need to change with the times.

I love airports. I just wish airplanes had a little more legroom so my knees don’t need to be akimbo. But it’s better than yesteryear where flights cost a saved-up annual salary. So minor indignities to indulge in extravagant excursions make it all worthwhile. ¡Viva Los Aeropuertos!