Airport Diaries

the things you see in an airport

An airport is a whole different world.

A place where thousands of lives intertwine, even if just for a split second.

It’s acceptable, normal even, to have an alcoholic drink at 5am or eat KFC for breakfast.

The four walls of an airport experience every feeling and emotion, all at the same time.

A child screaming with excitement, going on their first holiday.

A mother saying goodbye to her daughter who is leaving to travel and find herself for a few years.

Lovers’ soft kisses of goodbye as they resume their long-distance relationship.

A son coming home to bury his father who has passed away while he was living on the other side of the world.

An airport sees all.

When I went to Budapest last week our flight was delayed. Only by an hour – but it meant an extra hour of people watching.

I watched a mother and father cry while hugging their son as he descended onto the escalator to go through security and they couldn’t go any further. The father wrapped an arm around the mothers’ shoulder while the son didn’t dare look back, a lump in his throat.

I smiled watching a group of girls’ celebrating a hen party (bachelorette party), most likely heading to a hot country. They were all dressed in white with pink cowboy hats, gin & tonics in hand and hair rollers in. I hope they had so much fun.

While queuing to board our plane, there was a boy behind us, probably aged 21 maybe 22. I could smell the whiskey before I seen it, and he confirmed my suspicions when he raised a brown paper bag to his lips. My first instinct was to judge, it was 9am after all. I myself have indulged in the obligatory ‘airport’ drink, but have never necked raw whiskey in the queue to board the flight. The more I thought about it, I reined in my judgement. I have no idea what was going through his head. Perhaps he was traveling to attend a funeral? Maybe he was going through a breakup and just needed to get away. I guess I’ll never know, but whatever his reason.. I hope he is okay.

Landing in Budapest airport the people watching wasn’t a priority as it was a quick grab your bags and go, excited to begin the holiday.

However, I did notice the vast number of important looking men in suits, holding signs with various names on them and wondered of what importance one must be to have a transfer in a suit waiting for them on arrival.

The way home is always a different story.

Your spirits are low, your holiday is over, but the people watching is always the same.

I watched as a girl slept on a table, her friend or possibly girlfriend stroking her hair, both of them looking exhausted and maybe hungover.

A young couple walked ahead of us in the queue, she was wearing an oversized hoodie while he carried and duffle bag with her heels tied around the handle. Both of them looked like zombies and most definitely partied a little too hard wherever they had been.

As we boarded our flight, a couple were walking up the steps ahead of us. She was foreign but he was definitely Irish (us Irish can spot each other a mile away). She was carrying the smallest, most beautiful baby who couldn’t have been more than a couple of months old. My heart fluttered. I imagine that this was the first time they’ve travelled to Ireland with her. The excitement and nervousness of it all, and a set of Irish grandparents waiting at the airport to meet their grandbaby for the very first time.

The beauty and pain of having family living abroad.

I would have loved to have seen their faces and the emotion of them meeting that baby for the first time.

We landed back in Ireland and collected our bags.

The sliding doors opened and the sweet smell of fresh air seeped in.

A large sign overhead, “Fáilte Abhaile”

Welcome Home

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