Airport - a true story by a well-travelled ex-pat.
Far too long again…
There are no positives to sleeping at an airport. There are definitely no positives to sleeping at an airport when you’re accompanied by a four and a six year old.
Eighteen hours in Isanbul. Eighteen hours on mum duty with two children with a history of wandering.
I should have said no when they booked the flight, should have stood my ground.
Eight hours in and I’d found a secluded area for the children and I to sleep, Amy had her blankets, Olly had my coat. Within minutes they were fast asleep. A few more, I was with them.
Istanbul airport never sleeps. Nothing closes, the lights don't dim, it’s perpetual daytime. I'm awoken to the same blazing light I fell asleep to - a stark reminder of our departure from home.
I stare up at the illuminated ceiling through squinted eyes, I can't move just yet, I've not the energy, nor the will.
I wiggle my toes, stretch out my ankles, tighten my calves and straighten my legs; raising my arms above me, I sigh into the echoes of worldly travellers.
Amy sleeps soundly, lashes kissing her cheeks and thumb in mouth; is there anything more comforting than observing your child sleeping?
Stifling a yawn, I look to my thick aubergine coat, it lies discarded on the navy carpet, Olly’s silhouette distinctly missing.
A breath grapples for release, but it stays, lodged in my oesophagus - fear grips constricts my heart.
there is no real escaping when travelling by plane and through airports. I once was in Rome's airport and just wanted to sip some water. Well, no water fountain was to be found anywhere. With hours of lobby time ahead of me, I bought a small bottle of water for 5 Euros. It tasted probably the same as the sink water in the mens; room. Could have saved me the change.
The best thing about being a cab driver, in Bombayi is the love people have for the heroic king Shivaji. Two airports, (the domestic and international), a major train station, and various other places are named after him. So we generally say, "domestic" or "International" airport, or use the street name, or so when giving directions.
On the eve of my wedding, I had booked two cabs to take me, my brother, and my parents to the domestic airport. My cab arrived at the domestic airport within 15 minutes but there was no sign of my parents. Apparently, the driver decided to travel across the city to the international airport.
I called my folks, and the "confused" driver brought them to the correct departure gate, in time. He looked pretty happy with the fare. I bet this was not the first time he got confused about an airport's name.
Leaving the airport involved escalators, walkways and at last a taxi stand.
"Your flight got canceled?" Seeing my exhaustion, the Sikh driver was all sympathy. "That's terrible!"
"They kept saying it was delayed. I waited all day."
The cab was spacious, air conditioned, immaculately clean. He had a gentle face, with the traditional turban and beard worn by those of his faith. "What airline did this to you, honey?"
"Jet Blue."
"Jet Blue is garbage. Never use it Owned by Jews."
My jaw dropped.
"Those Jews," he began. Then he looked at me, huddled in the back seat, and stopped.
LOL, I'm so thick. I was initially going. Why would the biker use his credit card to eat his takeaway? Surely, there was disposable cutlery there??? Then, I visualised what he was doing and put 2 and 2 together. Duh LOL
Airports are my least favourite place. Last year, my daughter had major spinal surgery, and we had to fly from one side of Australia to the other to get home. She was emaciated from the surgical ordeal, she couldn't walk more than a few steps unaided, and she was obviously a sweet 17-year-old kid who was not at all well. At every airport, she was asked to stand up from the airport-provided wheelchair, have the chair swabbed for drugs as the staff gathered around and read her Drs note, and then looked at her hospital-provided x-ray, making comments on all the metal inside her, check out her Drs script and all her pain meds. All whilst I was standing there holding her up, and others were streaming through security without a second thought. I had holes in my tongue from biting it so hard, and I admit I said to my daughter quite loudly... 'Now they've assured themselves you're not a Columbian drug lord, and you're for real; do you think you'll get the chair back before you collapse? Everyone was very nice and very apologetic.... but.... REALLY!!! Use your brains, people!
So YAY to your contraband! Down with the big money-hungry corporations - VIVA La Revolution - ....., don't say that loudly at an airport, though, cause I've heard body cavity searches are a little bit ouchy!
Sorry this happened to you, but you realize that the process of getting through passenger screening at the airport is not actually up to the people doing the work on the ground, right? There are protocols to follow or they get themselves fired. It sucks though, I get it.
Yes, Hi Terry, of course. I'm very aware of safety protocols; I am aware, like everyone else, why my Australian government and international governments have developed strict airport safety protocols. Like everyone else, I am also aware that those who are employed to carry them out are simply following these set procedures. My response was - apart from having a laugh at the bikie scenario and enjoying Miguel's work.... a simplified recount referring to people not using their common sense when faced with an obviously ill and documented low-risk teenager who was obviously struggling to physically cope! Protocols are there for very good reasons - and so is common sense. My apologies, Miguel.
Yeah haha. It was certainly an experience, a lot of them traveled with us and I was sitting next to the 2 biggest of them. Felt a little silly, little ol' me in a button up shirt with glasses print all over it, next to two GIGANTIC bikers in leather jackets lol.
And fuck those people for real. That's such an awful behavior.... Like I understand that they have to be careful, but cmon! My sister has 4 children, the other has 2 and when they were flying together, the officers also stopped them all and searched their bags and everything, like they were some tiny cartel...
I gave up my day job. I quit writing to follow my dream and became an X-Ray operator at the nearby airport. Actually, I do all the tasks required at the passenger screening line: get people to pour shit and lint from their pockets into bins, dig into their bags and cringe at the personal items buried within, and wave them through metal detectors and body scanners. I create anxiety and I sympathize. I hear heckles and disrespect and I wish them a nice day but in my head it’s pronounced “fuck you”.
This airport was once a World War 1 German airfield made famous by Manford Von Richthofen - The Red Baron. Now, the airport was a transportation hub instead of a fledgling airfield where Richthofen revolutionized aerial combat and maximized the effectiveness of his mighty squadron comprised of sturdy aircraft like the Albatros and Fokker Triplanes. His mastery of aerial warfare earned him widespread respect. Richthofen shared: “I’m within forty meters of a French SPAD, knowing I must destroy it. The French aircraft’s guns poured out a stream of hot lead — then they jammed, giving me a position for my next kill.”
Airport - a true story by a well-travelled ex-pat.
Far too long again…
There are no positives to sleeping at an airport. There are definitely no positives to sleeping at an airport when you’re accompanied by a four and a six year old.
Eighteen hours in Isanbul. Eighteen hours on mum duty with two children with a history of wandering.
I should have said no when they booked the flight, should have stood my ground.
Eight hours in and I’d found a secluded area for the children and I to sleep, Amy had her blankets, Olly had my coat. Within minutes they were fast asleep. A few more, I was with them.
Istanbul airport never sleeps. Nothing closes, the lights don't dim, it’s perpetual daytime. I'm awoken to the same blazing light I fell asleep to - a stark reminder of our departure from home.
I stare up at the illuminated ceiling through squinted eyes, I can't move just yet, I've not the energy, nor the will.
I wiggle my toes, stretch out my ankles, tighten my calves and straighten my legs; raising my arms above me, I sigh into the echoes of worldly travellers.
Amy sleeps soundly, lashes kissing her cheeks and thumb in mouth; is there anything more comforting than observing your child sleeping?
Stifling a yawn, I look to my thick aubergine coat, it lies discarded on the navy carpet, Olly’s silhouette distinctly missing.
A breath grapples for release, but it stays, lodged in my oesophagus - fear grips constricts my heart.
Where the hell is Olly?
Tbc - maybe
there is no real escaping when travelling by plane and through airports. I once was in Rome's airport and just wanted to sip some water. Well, no water fountain was to be found anywhere. With hours of lobby time ahead of me, I bought a small bottle of water for 5 Euros. It tasted probably the same as the sink water in the mens; room. Could have saved me the change.
Prompt: Airport
The best thing about being a cab driver, in Bombayi is the love people have for the heroic king Shivaji. Two airports, (the domestic and international), a major train station, and various other places are named after him. So we generally say, "domestic" or "International" airport, or use the street name, or so when giving directions.
On the eve of my wedding, I had booked two cabs to take me, my brother, and my parents to the domestic airport. My cab arrived at the domestic airport within 15 minutes but there was no sign of my parents. Apparently, the driver decided to travel across the city to the international airport.
I called my folks, and the "confused" driver brought them to the correct departure gate, in time. He looked pretty happy with the fare. I bet this was not the first time he got confused about an airport's name.
PROMPT: AIRPORT
THE LANDING
The airport was just coming into view in front of me.
The vastness of the Terminal buildings, and the lights of the runway, guiding me in.
Due to a bird strike that had shut down one of our engines, this was going to be an emergency landing, with little room for error.
But I felt ready for the challenge.
The descent was pretty much perfect, except, under immense pressure, I’d forgotten to lower the landing gear.
We crashed horrifically.
And almost instantly, all I could see was my instructor shaking his head in disgust as he reset the flight simulator… 😎
Leaving the airport involved escalators, walkways and at last a taxi stand.
"Your flight got canceled?" Seeing my exhaustion, the Sikh driver was all sympathy. "That's terrible!"
"They kept saying it was delayed. I waited all day."
The cab was spacious, air conditioned, immaculately clean. He had a gentle face, with the traditional turban and beard worn by those of his faith. "What airline did this to you, honey?"
"Jet Blue."
"Jet Blue is garbage. Never use it Owned by Jews."
My jaw dropped.
"Those Jews," he began. Then he looked at me, huddled in the back seat, and stopped.
LOL, I'm so thick. I was initially going. Why would the biker use his credit card to eat his takeaway? Surely, there was disposable cutlery there??? Then, I visualised what he was doing and put 2 and 2 together. Duh LOL
Airports are my least favourite place. Last year, my daughter had major spinal surgery, and we had to fly from one side of Australia to the other to get home. She was emaciated from the surgical ordeal, she couldn't walk more than a few steps unaided, and she was obviously a sweet 17-year-old kid who was not at all well. At every airport, she was asked to stand up from the airport-provided wheelchair, have the chair swabbed for drugs as the staff gathered around and read her Drs note, and then looked at her hospital-provided x-ray, making comments on all the metal inside her, check out her Drs script and all her pain meds. All whilst I was standing there holding her up, and others were streaming through security without a second thought. I had holes in my tongue from biting it so hard, and I admit I said to my daughter quite loudly... 'Now they've assured themselves you're not a Columbian drug lord, and you're for real; do you think you'll get the chair back before you collapse? Everyone was very nice and very apologetic.... but.... REALLY!!! Use your brains, people!
So YAY to your contraband! Down with the big money-hungry corporations - VIVA La Revolution - ....., don't say that loudly at an airport, though, cause I've heard body cavity searches are a little bit ouchy!
Sorry this happened to you, but you realize that the process of getting through passenger screening at the airport is not actually up to the people doing the work on the ground, right? There are protocols to follow or they get themselves fired. It sucks though, I get it.
Yes, Hi Terry, of course. I'm very aware of safety protocols; I am aware, like everyone else, why my Australian government and international governments have developed strict airport safety protocols. Like everyone else, I am also aware that those who are employed to carry them out are simply following these set procedures. My response was - apart from having a laugh at the bikie scenario and enjoying Miguel's work.... a simplified recount referring to people not using their common sense when faced with an obviously ill and documented low-risk teenager who was obviously struggling to physically cope! Protocols are there for very good reasons - and so is common sense. My apologies, Miguel.
Yeah haha. It was certainly an experience, a lot of them traveled with us and I was sitting next to the 2 biggest of them. Felt a little silly, little ol' me in a button up shirt with glasses print all over it, next to two GIGANTIC bikers in leather jackets lol.
And fuck those people for real. That's such an awful behavior.... Like I understand that they have to be careful, but cmon! My sister has 4 children, the other has 2 and when they were flying together, the officers also stopped them all and searched their bags and everything, like they were some tiny cartel...
I hope your daughter is feeling better now!
Yes, she is doing amazingly well. Thanks
The imagery of the two bikers... LOL
Sorry to hear about that you went to all that trouble V Kelly Sibley. Airports are one of my least favourite places...
I love this...so relatable!!! Fun story Miguel.
I gave up my day job. I quit writing to follow my dream and became an X-Ray operator at the nearby airport. Actually, I do all the tasks required at the passenger screening line: get people to pour shit and lint from their pockets into bins, dig into their bags and cringe at the personal items buried within, and wave them through metal detectors and body scanners. I create anxiety and I sympathize. I hear heckles and disrespect and I wish them a nice day but in my head it’s pronounced “fuck you”.
The book made me want to fly.
I close my eyes remembering a glorious first day.
Dials, numbers, floating images, lift this, twist those, handles. Flight in my hands.
Going up is easy, coming home is the skill.
From small tail draggers to jets, the principles stay true.
A push of the pedal, turn the nose and spin up.
First solo was such freedom.
Clouds sweeping my wings, watch ahead for terrain.
Once I got lost, the tower led me home.
Lining up with the numbers, cross winds buffet my wings
No longer afraid since I know how to land
This airport was once a World War 1 German airfield made famous by Manford Von Richthofen - The Red Baron. Now, the airport was a transportation hub instead of a fledgling airfield where Richthofen revolutionized aerial combat and maximized the effectiveness of his mighty squadron comprised of sturdy aircraft like the Albatros and Fokker Triplanes. His mastery of aerial warfare earned him widespread respect. Richthofen shared: “I’m within forty meters of a French SPAD, knowing I must destroy it. The French aircraft’s guns poured out a stream of hot lead — then they jammed, giving me a position for my next kill.”
Our flight was delayed because of weather. Act of God, no compensation claimable. Settle in, it’s been pushed back two hours. Groans all round.
Next day a traffic controllers’ strike. Day after, baggage handlers. Day after that, the plane needed replacing because a piece fell off.
Been two months now; each day there’s a new reason to stay one more day. Can’t leave or we’ll miss our flight.
Thing is, I can’t remember where we were flying to, nor the reason. Vacation? Family celebration?
Is that kid one of mine? Tell her to shut up, I’m trying to sleep here.
The amount of times I spent more than 5€ buying a Coke at airports🥲😅
😂