Running fast

Train stations, airport terminals, subway stops: soulless spaces full of distracted, stressed zombies, or magical sets for fleeting, interlocking human stories?

Running as fast as I can is what it comes to my mind first when I think on airport terminals. This is what happened to me most of the times I had to take a plane. People use to talk about long waiting times. Well, not my case. I have flown often to Croatia to see my family there, stopping off in Frankfurt, a huge airport, the biggest in Europe. I always arrived with almost no time and a lot of distance to make to find my boarding gate. No time to meet people nor to visit the shops, only to run with my hand bag from one gate to another.

One year I took a flight stopping off in Paris (Charles De Gaulle Airport). I thought that being smaller, I would have fewer difficulties than in Frankfurt, but I was wrong. It was chaotic. I got disoriented. There was no way to find the right gate for my flight to Zagreb. Plus, the security measures stopped me a lot of time. All because of a can with sweets I had bought in Spain as a gift to my cousins. I heard how they called my name through the speakers. And I saw how they were about to close the door, when the police stopped me again because of the damned can of sweets. Thanks God, the attendant saw me and waited for me with the door open a few moments and I was able to enter the plane. Of course I was the last passenger.

I’ve never came back to that airport.

 

 

In Transit.

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