Worst airport in the world?
Somebody posed a question recently - which is the worst airport in the world? They were on the money suggesting Charles de Gaulle in Paris, but I have a great contender too – Atlanta Hartsfield, USA. I love Atlanta, I really do, but its bright and shiny airport was the place of nightmares for me. When I used to travel regularly for business, it was so bad I even wrote about it once. I don't travel like I did, so I don't know if things have changed in the last 6 or 7 years – but I hope for the sanity of a million international travellers that they have. Here were my thoughts at the time:
Well, I did it! I finally escaped... It took nearly 2½ hours, but at last I'm out! I’m free!
It's Atlanta airport, it killed me! It’s like no other airport on the planet. It's hard enough that you have to squeeze all your jollups into little bottles these days and carry them around in a plastic bag. It's hard enough that the flight is a crushing 9 hours in the cheap-seats. But then you have those incomprehensible forms to fill in for Immigration, and woe-betide you if you get something wrong! Those guys at the desks are truly intimidating... And they get you when you're at your weakest too – you've run, yes, literally, run to the queue, to try and get towards the front, yet somehow there are already more than 100 tired and fretful fellow passengers lined up in front of you. The endless snake-queue moves so slowly, and don't step out of line, whatever you do, or they'll be at you!
It's bad enough that you end up feeling like a criminal under interrogation. I'm only here for two pitiful days... please, just let me in so I can get on with my business and get home again! I'm not even going to alter my watch, I'm here for such a lightning-quick visit.
But then Atlanta Hartsfield International really gets its claws into you... Don't get me wrong, I'm sure if you’re on an internal flight, you have it really easy here. It's a light, modern airport with loads of facilities – thanks in no small measure to the Olympics a few years back, I'm sure. But if you're arriving into the International terminal, and you managed to get through Immigration without being turned around or clapped in irons, you're not home-and-dry – don't even think it. Your stress is only just beginning!
You were in the queue for an hour. They've kept you long enough – surely – for your luggage to be offloaded and ready for you. Ah. No. There's just a little more waiting time before you see your possessions again. (OK, so I'm a girl, I can't manage for two days on hand-luggage and there's the ever-present two-ton laptop as well, of course). But that's not it. Hartsfield is a huge airport – so big it's got its own mini railway with, oh, maybe six stops – one for each terminal. Yes, and they're not on top of each other either – if you’re ever there and think of walking, think again. That's a mile or more and – yes, of course – the International terminal is right down at the tail end.
To get on the train – to get to the exit - you have to re-check your baggage. Yes, you heard me right. But before you do, you’ve got to open that bursting suitcase (OK... so I couldn't decide what to wear – a girl's gotta keep her options open) and squeeze into it that little plastic bag of jollups you’ve been carrying (and you better pray they don't leak on your new suit). Then, having abandoned your luggage for a second time – and almost weeping with exhaustion by now – you have to do security again. Yes ... take your coat off. Take your shoes off. Just one more security arch in the great scheme of international airport security. So now everybody's happy you’re not packing something dodgy in your loafers and you get to take the little train. It’s a neat arrangement, but by then, you're way too tired to care. You climb off at the far end of the track around 12 minutes later and – wait – where's the luggage now?
As you emerge into the concourse you meet a scene of Armageddon-like chaos. Well, it's a busy airport, what do you expect? But there in the distance, right by the exit doors, are a couple more baggage claim belts. But these are for everybody - every international flight – so it's anybody’s guess which one will yield your bag. So you wait and watch. And you watch and wait. And you dance backwards and forwards between the belts. And you look around, in case there's anybody off your flight that you recognise. But since you watched the movies all the way over, you probably wouldn't recognise them even if they were there, would you? Hopefully too, nobody is making for the exit, just a few feet away, with your bag. The exit.... so near, yet so far.
OK, so I'm just about holding it together. I can see it's beginning to get dark outside already and for me it's already close to 11pm in my head. I wait a full 40 more minutes before my bag finally arrives and I can go find the courtesy bus for my hotel. There are two dozen courtesy buses outside and I'm losing the will to live, but then somebody takes pity and I get some good directions and at last the bus is away and at last, I'm stepping off at the fabulous Westin Buckhead, ready for the heavenly bed...
20th Sept 2010
