Heathrow - How I Came to Hate Airports

I held her in my arms, her tears wet against my neck. The year had come full circle in our embrace begun with a hello and ending with a goodbye. I'm coming to believe that all our journeys are shaped like hugs.


I remember watching the movie 'Love, Actually' and thinking Hugh Grant's line about loving airports was bollocks. No one likes airports, in the same way that no one likes waiting rooms, doner kebabs or hangovers.

All airports seem to be cut from the same cloth. They're decked out in mud brown, hospital white and sludge grey. The size of them also defies description. It's as though someone with too much time on their hands had planned endless passages that twisted and turned pointlessly just to fill up space. The automated walkways make the going easier with the heavy baggage, but the experience still feels superfluous.

Customs s always a cheery experience, being grilled by people whose only joy in life is to inflict their misery on others. They're all very suspicious of the man with a South African passport, never mind his crisp accent. I was surprised to find there was no access test or Gordian knot to unravel, but it seems that staring at my visa long enough made it melt into a shape they found acceptable.

Then I was out through the last set of double doors. There were a few people waiting, eagerly looking to see when their relatives, spouses and globe-trotting children would come on through with sleepy eyes, smelly breath and stories to tell. Expectant faces were wide as people rushed to embrace each other. I searched the throng, looking into each person's face as I pushed myself out of the limelight. It was uncomfortable having so many eyes on me, all of them quickly dismissing me as someone unimportant. Once I got out I found myself in a room smaller and dirtier than I'd imagined. This area, too, had been structured like a long, dingy passage with a few vending machines and pay phones. My welcome comittee was absent.

I waited, deciding to be patient. I'd quite had my full of airports, planes, and cramped spaces in general. When no one arrived, I started to panic that perhaps I'd ended up in the wrong departure point. After all, Heathrow was big. It's possible I got lost. The I got irritated. I decided that the airport was hot and stuffy, so I took a step outside into the chill

This was the first time I was impressed with the airport. It was just past Christmas, and the lights were still up. The buildings on all sides were made of glass, and the courtyard was paved. Taxis and cars drove off down the nearvy roads and people bustled out in the wind. Clouds were overhead, lit from beneath by the lights of London. No rain, but a slight moisture in the air.

I won't lie when I say there was a feeling of promise. I also wouldn't be lying if I said I didn't suspect this was something I was telling myself to calm the nerves. I'd never been overseas before. Of course I'd travelled outside my own country, but those trips were all confined to Africa. This was my first flight by myself across international boundaries, with changeovers. And now I was alone in a foreign country. At least they could all speak English.

I went back inside and used some change to make a call from a payphone. My girlfriend didn't pick up. I waited, and then called again. Still no pick-up. The third time I called, getting more annoyed by the minute, she picked up and breathlessly announced that they her and her sister were on their way and had run into some traffic

It was another ten minutes before they arrived, and by now my arms were aching and my feet were sore. It was a strange moment, because that was the first uncertainty I experienced since getting off the plane. Though she smiled, she looked at me like she didn't know who I was, hugging me like a stranger.