In an epic odyssey yet to fail last week, I had a revelation. Sprinting for 40 minutes at the disembarkation, through the arrivals, along the travelators, through the giant car park, to the bus, on the highway to the other terminal and the new plane of departure, on the connecting train further, through the duty-free shop and down the interminable corridor to find that I already, sadly, and two minutes, missed the next connection, I came to this conclusion. Madrid-Barajas is the worst Airport in the World.
It is not a fact that the separate terminals are approximately as handily located as the planets in the solar system, so to go from one to another in a timely fashion you need to break the speed of light. Also, the social engineers who designed the powerful architecture created a winding road to ensure passengers are directed through every little dispensary and retail opportunity to direct you further away from your flight.
No, it was the lack of signage that completely mystified me. Not even in Spain. There was no clue in sight. Travelers will probably know that Terminal “4S” is an extension of Terminal 4 accessed via a secret train that can only be found by using Spidey’s senses.
Flailing around, yelping at various people wearing tabards, I felt like Anneka Rice Treasure Hunt, an ancient television game show where they travel the country using cryptic clues and local knowledge to find the winning loot. At one point, just like on the TV show, I was joined by an enthusiastic member of staff who jogged along with me to demonstrate a faster route. Or at least that’s what he told me as we raced into an empty concrete parking lot where I couldn’t see another soul. whatever. . . he wears a lanyard and apparently has insider knowledge of the plot.
Everyone has a trophy when it comes to airports. British airports are frustrated by forcing us to use prissy little plastic bags to pile up our toiletries, like some cosmetic Tetris game where we have to choose between deodorant or maintain some follicle control. Anxious players have problems with airports that have short runways – such as Courchevel – or dangerous ones, such as Vágar in the Faroe Islands (which like to sit on the edge of a cliff and get hit by high winds and heavy fog). Personally, I would rather trade the risk of danger when weighing my options than have to walk through a US hangar where everything is filled with computers and the food looks like the undigested remains found on a dead body.
Commercial airports give the lie to the idea that there is still glamor in modern travel. For many people, it’s just a sweaty, schlep smell. (Actually, private airports aren’t much better – only commercial airports with big white leather sofas and beanbag classrooms are better.) However, the more unpleasant journeys, the more I try to avoid them.
This week, Ryanair reported its most profitable December quarter on record, pulling in some €211 million, and stated a profit forecast of between €1.325bn and €1.425bn this financial year. The airline has recovered from the pandemic, filling 93 percent of its seats. According to chief executive Michael O’Leary, the cost of living crisis only makes people more determined to make the holiday. It is determined, of course, that passengers will reject the fact that the airlines are so eager to make a profit that they regularly charge a fee to select a seat, in addition to a ticket that we can foolishly assume will be enough to allow us to get it. on the plane. But Ryanair is only partially responsible for the culture of screwing passengers. From bloated lounges and endless queues to lost luggage (lost luggage!) and expensive extras, almost every feature of the aeronautical experience is now a big bore.
So why fly, say those who, considering the melting ice, would rather get to their destination by unicycle or something else worthy, less carbon burning? Here again, the experience is quite appalling: even Eurostar, once a portal to total chicness, has been reduced to a shabby simulacrum of its splendid self. The enforcement of new border controls after Brexit has turned departures into cattle stations where passengers are gathered in amorphous queues. The trains were packed to full capacity as they had to cancel much of the service to allow the officers to stamp the paper.
On the flip side, crappy travel expectations make it all the more fun when you finally get somewhere where everything just works. Having only been to Antwerp for a work trip, I am considering revisiting for a holiday based on the ease of travel and the calm that we all come. And the opportunity to visit Copenhagen is one that I will seize. The airport is preposterously gigantic, but jammed with Scandinavian obscenely attractive, serves delicious pastries at meter intervals and an array of retail shops in which to dawdle while you wait for your delay. Most importantly, and magically, there are signs that can be found from Mars.
Jo’s email at jo.ellison@ft.com
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