Airport experience

“Enjoying every trip from the beginning until its end... ”

The fact that the 2016 coup attempt in Turkey happened hours before my return to Buenos Aires was a blow for me... but a lucky one.

The flight cancellation saved me from being stranded at Istanbul's Ataturk International Airport, one of the main sites affected by that contingency.

My connection was departing from Moscú-Vnúkovo, one of the oldest airports in the Russian capital. It may seem strange that a giant carrier like Turkish Airlines would operate out of a secondary terminal; however, if you consider the historical tensions between the two countries, it is easy to decode the dilemma.

Arriving at the "retro" aerostation late at night, I found it strange that the counters were closed. After a while and after insisting to the flight agents, with signs -more like an energetic movement of the arms in the shape of an x- and in deplorable English, an employee warned me that the flight had been cancelled.  

Helplessly, as Turkish's customer service office was still closed, I looked for a bar where I could connect to the internet to find information to understand what was going on.

The web reported events that gave me chills.

However, the company responded and, after an hour's cab ride through colossal Moscow to another airport, the modern Sheremétievo, an Aeroflot plane took me to Paris.

That rescheduling included a twelve-hour wait in one of the nicest terminals I have ever seen, París-Charles de Gaulle.

Although the unplanned stop over did not look very attractive at first, it turned out to be one of the most enjoyable days possible for me, in which I felt like Tom Hanks' character in the movie The Terminal.

I took that opportunity to check out every luxury brand store, try on everything I felt like and test all the creams and perfumes in the free shop.

Big airports are fantastic underworlds, where there is no difference between day and night, where the hours seem to float waiting for the boarding call.

The "airport experience" begins once you have passed Migrations. The stress of the previous, the trance of the check in, the suitcases, the controls, all this is like a necessary bad swallow for the following enjoyment. Anything can happen before entering the universe of long corridors that smell of fragrances everywhere, set with screens with names of cities that serve as a geography test and exotic characters that never cease to amaze.

It is impossible for me to forget the despair when my father could not find our passports in the hall of Ezeiza, before a trip to South Africa. Or the pleas made at so many airports to keep our bags within the allowed limit. Or, on a quick trip from Buenos Aires to Punta del Este, the petrifying cold that invaded me when the boarding staff informed me that my identity card had expired and how I managed to get my valid passport in time.

Therefore, the beginning of vacations happens at that exact moment when the passport gets its stamp and you enter the terminals.

In the case of my stay at Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport, the time I spent there was memorable.

My visit to the Dior store deserves special mention, because not only did I try on the iconic Lady Dior (a lamb nappa leather bag designed by Christian for Diana of Wales), but the fanatical salesman described me with fascination the history of the great couturier. He told me about his obsession with the color black and about his superstitions, such as the ever-present red dress designed for each fashion show.

The crowning moment was to acquire the French delicacies known as macarons at the official Ladurée store and taste them -one by one- my favorites (caramel, raspberry, lemon, chocolate and pistachio) along with a Kusmi Tea, while I watched one and another plane take off and land behind a gigantic window, almost as if I were in front of the projection of a singular drive-in movie.