Airport Stories Part I

Airports belong in that category of places that includes Starbucks, IKEA, McDonalds and the internet. You know, the places that have lost all but the faintest semblance of local flavour and customs, thanks to globalization or some such thing. You can walk in and follow the same steps to get where you're going, whether you're in California or Calcutta. But what makes airports unique is that they're the great mixing places of people from all walks of life from around the world. Within any given international airport, you can find people coming from or going to any corner of the earth, in varying depths of jetlag and/or sleeping pill induced stupors.

Whenever I'm travelling long distance and have a few hours to spare at an airport between flights, I like to head to the bar (or nearest equivalent), have a beer and start a little thing I call weirdo watch: looking out for interesting characters to make the time pass a little more quickly. Amongst others encountered while on weirdo watch, I've met Mexican lesbians, Korean 7th Day adventists and a couple of Swedish coworkers returning from a 3 month stint on an oil-tanker in Saudi Arabia. The latter were getting drunk at 6 AM at Frankfurt airport, with the noble justification that this was the first chance they had to enjoy ice-cold draught lager in over 100 days.

Sometimes airports reveal surprising things about countries. I once spent a couple hours at Manilla's Ninoy Aquino airport in the Philippines. I didn't set foot outside the complex, but if the airport's employees reflected the demographics of rest of the country, one could easily surmise that the vast majority of Filipino males must be gay. Upon leaving the plane, a couple skinny men with bug eyes and plucked eyebrows hopped up and down and greeted passengers with 'Welcome to the feeleepeeeens!' Perusing the airport shop for some snacks, a young man in make up and a tank top approached and recommended the dried papaya, licking his lips. 'It's super, I eat it all the time.' As I drank a local San Miguel Brew in the lounge, Filipino x-factor blared on a huge tv from the 70s, rigged up on a rickety looking ceiling bracket. A handful of male airline workers on a break sat beneath, mouthing the lyrics and casting their misty eyes up at the latest budding star, a young man in tight jeans. Some stewardesses and cleaning ladies congregated in another corner of the room, looking glum. After my short visit to the country, I have a little more understanding for why so many women have decided to leave and work abroad.

But sometimes confirm one's suspicions about a country. A layover at Paris' Charles De Gaulle airport confirmed that oft repeated sterotype: French people are arrogant bastards. I was hungry and looking for some tasty French cuisine, but the three hours I had between flights didnt allow me to venture into the city. I decided to enquire at the info-booth.

'Bonjour, do you speak English?'

'Sometimes.'

'Can you help me?'

'Maybe.'

'I'm looking for a good place to eat. Where's there a nice restaurant around here?'

'For you? You... go to McDonalds, it is that way, ten minute.'

Asshole. Eventually, I found an outlet of a local steakhouse chain called Hippopotamus, where I had a half decent porterhouse. A funny name for a place serving beef, non?

Incidentally, I was once asked my own opinion on the best place to eat at an airport. While walking to my gate down the main concourse at Detroit Metro Aiport (the new McNamara Terminal is the finest place in the city by the way, which isn't too tricky) I was confronted by an obese woman with her fat kids. With a look of desperation in her eyes, she demanded:

'I need FOOD!'

This was slightly startling. She wasn't exactly starving. I asked her what she meant.

'Look, I've got a 45 minute flight over to Milwaukee, and I'm gonna get a bag of peanuts. Me and my kids can't wait that long! I need FOOD!'

Inspired by my French experience, I suggested McDonalds. Her eyes lit up and she demanded to know where it was, then thanked me profusely and waddled off with her plump little family.