For Rs. 500, at the visitor’s lounge in the departure area of the Bandaranaike International Airport, you can purchase a few more minutes with a loved one about to leave the country. At the security barrier that divides the travellers from the left-behinds, a security guard can be coaxed to let the traveller return to the barrier after they’ve checked in their luggage and borrow time with their loved ones just before they part ways. Every interaction at this barrier is painfully public and is corralled by time.
My family and I spent four decades in the desert sands of Arabia which gave us a mutitude of ins and outs of airports, customs checks, immigration desks, waiting lounges, and plenty of drama. One interesting event that always plays out at the departure lounge in Riyadh are the lone wolves, with their boarding pass tightly held between their fingers, roaming the aisles looking for cute fodder to whet their appetites from young vixen returning home after a long, tiring, and loney sojourn, working as house help in Arab homes. We sit in our own row at the back, watch and smile, as the opera plays out. "Where are you from?" is the first hitting line. "Anuradhapura", she responds with a blush. "I am going to Kandy", the predator displays his teeth wide, trying to offer some form of camaraderie in a bid to get comfy. "Whats your seat number", he asks as if to show concern for her comfort on the ride in the metal cylinder. "May I get you a cuppa tea", he offers an olive branch trying to seal the deal tighter. She accepts. The first lap has been run successfully. The boarding call comes up. The line is long. Our wolf has already made his number at the head of the queue and invites the young lady to join him in order to ease her of the long wait at the end of the line. After they are all seated inside the aircraft the next lap begins when the wolf appproaches the person seated next to her to swap seats. Once successful the game is on. I leave the last lap to your lubricious imagination. There's more to relate, but I think this should suffice for now.
When J was finally able to come visit me in Sri Lanka after the pandemic restrictions were lifted, he arrived on a late night/early morning flight. I purchased the Rs. 500 ticket so I could sit on one of those cold, silver chairs and watch a glitchy screen for arrivals. It was one of the first flights since the airports closed down. Everything smelled musky, stale, and dystopian. We were all masked; I didn't see J's full face until we were back in the vehicle driving home. It was heartbreaking.
Less than a year later, I was leaving to be with J, and my parents have had to stay their goodbyes at home because fuel crisis meant that they couldn't come to the airport. There weren't as many goodbyes in the airport, then, but a lot of people leaving alone. The airport still smelled dystopian, but like the aftermath of a lost battle.
This essay reminded me of my love-hate relationship with airports. Thank you for this.
Lately those parting scenes at airports have me welling up with tears. By the time I reach check-in, my eyes are red and my face is wet. There was a family of five locked in a long group hug recently that broke me, and I couldn't muster the energy in my wrists to lift up my bags. I find myself getting preoccupied with process re-engineering the airport so that we can move quicker through it, stop stalling at multiple points to have the same documents glanced at by multiple disdainful officials. But what you write made me think - the sheer obtuseness of the airport design, the inability to swiftly sail through it, the layers of the airport that you mentioned - unlike many things in Sri Lanka where indifference and neglect are the main determinants of spatial design, perhaps in this case, it isn't such a bad thing - being able to slip back through the nets of a badly designed space for a few more minutes with the people you love.
This is why i love reading Adilah's writing it just take you down the memory lane.
I remember my first trip,yes i did convert £,€ and franks into Rs in my mind before every little transactions.
In my first trip to London as a student i had excess luggage of 5kg's(mostly mum's devilef beef and juggery cake) but the check in lady just smiled and let me go,exactly same as Adilah's experience.
I guess goodbyes are always hard and i hate them but that's part of the life we live in.
Thank you for this,it brought back loads of memories.
Most people go to the cinema to watch a thriller. I enjoy evening dropping and picking up friends and family from airports to get that thrill of life back.
Nice piece, GF.
My family and I spent four decades in the desert sands of Arabia which gave us a mutitude of ins and outs of airports, customs checks, immigration desks, waiting lounges, and plenty of drama. One interesting event that always plays out at the departure lounge in Riyadh are the lone wolves, with their boarding pass tightly held between their fingers, roaming the aisles looking for cute fodder to whet their appetites from young vixen returning home after a long, tiring, and loney sojourn, working as house help in Arab homes. We sit in our own row at the back, watch and smile, as the opera plays out. "Where are you from?" is the first hitting line. "Anuradhapura", she responds with a blush. "I am going to Kandy", the predator displays his teeth wide, trying to offer some form of camaraderie in a bid to get comfy. "Whats your seat number", he asks as if to show concern for her comfort on the ride in the metal cylinder. "May I get you a cuppa tea", he offers an olive branch trying to seal the deal tighter. She accepts. The first lap has been run successfully. The boarding call comes up. The line is long. Our wolf has already made his number at the head of the queue and invites the young lady to join him in order to ease her of the long wait at the end of the line. After they are all seated inside the aircraft the next lap begins when the wolf appproaches the person seated next to her to swap seats. Once successful the game is on. I leave the last lap to your lubricious imagination. There's more to relate, but I think this should suffice for now.
This really hit home.
When J was finally able to come visit me in Sri Lanka after the pandemic restrictions were lifted, he arrived on a late night/early morning flight. I purchased the Rs. 500 ticket so I could sit on one of those cold, silver chairs and watch a glitchy screen for arrivals. It was one of the first flights since the airports closed down. Everything smelled musky, stale, and dystopian. We were all masked; I didn't see J's full face until we were back in the vehicle driving home. It was heartbreaking.
Less than a year later, I was leaving to be with J, and my parents have had to stay their goodbyes at home because fuel crisis meant that they couldn't come to the airport. There weren't as many goodbyes in the airport, then, but a lot of people leaving alone. The airport still smelled dystopian, but like the aftermath of a lost battle.
This essay reminded me of my love-hate relationship with airports. Thank you for this.
Lately those parting scenes at airports have me welling up with tears. By the time I reach check-in, my eyes are red and my face is wet. There was a family of five locked in a long group hug recently that broke me, and I couldn't muster the energy in my wrists to lift up my bags. I find myself getting preoccupied with process re-engineering the airport so that we can move quicker through it, stop stalling at multiple points to have the same documents glanced at by multiple disdainful officials. But what you write made me think - the sheer obtuseness of the airport design, the inability to swiftly sail through it, the layers of the airport that you mentioned - unlike many things in Sri Lanka where indifference and neglect are the main determinants of spatial design, perhaps in this case, it isn't such a bad thing - being able to slip back through the nets of a badly designed space for a few more minutes with the people you love.
Love that this showed up a day before I fly, and will be going to Bangalore as well!
This is why i love reading Adilah's writing it just take you down the memory lane.
I remember my first trip,yes i did convert £,€ and franks into Rs in my mind before every little transactions.
In my first trip to London as a student i had excess luggage of 5kg's(mostly mum's devilef beef and juggery cake) but the check in lady just smiled and let me go,exactly same as Adilah's experience.
I guess goodbyes are always hard and i hate them but that's part of the life we live in.
Thank you for this,it brought back loads of memories.
Keep up the good work.
as a person who has spent a fair amount of time either side of that silver barrier, this evoked a lot of memories. great work.
Most people go to the cinema to watch a thriller. I enjoy evening dropping and picking up friends and family from airports to get that thrill of life back.