Travel disrupts routine and forces a person to let go of so many things: daily habits, routines, preconceived notions, prejudices. It challenges, opens, and expands one’s mind. A person is thrust into engagements outside their comfort zone; they must adapt to new rules. I’ve found the challenge of travel simultaneously exciting and exhausting. But more than anything, I have found the in-between moments most tedious. By in-between moments, I mean those empty stretches of time between travel, from waiting to board, flying or riding, arriving at the destination, and the spaces they encompass. I loathed this time because it felt wasted. Only in recent years have I come to enjoy them for what they can become: time to reflect, learn, relax, take notice. It’s in these in-between moments, waiting for transit, in transit, at airport gates, trains and bus stations, in lounges, ports, and ferry terminals, that I’ve started to collect some of my most memorable stories.
In the past, I found it easy to neglect these transitional spaces, spaces that function as hubs for constant movement. I would get caught up in the motion so that when it was time to stop or pause, I found it difficult to relax. I wanted to be anywhere but there, preferably at my destination. AMS, CDG, CGN, DEN, DUB, KEF, PHX, LAX, LGA, every Union or Central Station from New York to Berlin to Tallinn and Prague, and all the smaller hubs in between. Places I have little memory of either because I was moving too fast or failed to be mindful. I’ve learned and practiced the things that ground me in the present and bring my awareness to the fore (beyond meditation). Active listening and consciously creating connections with people in conversation, sketching, and walking have heightened my self-awareness. I almost always have a notebook or sketchbook on my person. They act as a kind of appendage. The places I’ve sketched stand out in memory and hold importance over others, especially in the in-between spaces.
Walking has also played an important role in these moments. By walking and wandering through terminals, I have found places I would not have otherwise discovered. Wandering, by design, puts me in a mode of creative play and exploration. A physical seek and find that forces me to focus on what is (or is not) around me. I’ve chanced upon galleries, displays, cozy bars, and quiet cafes. Places like La Vie in Terminal 5 at JFK airport in New York. And people, like the sassy bartender who’s been working for the airport’s service industry company for well over 10 years. “It used to be a great company. I’ve worked in this bar a few years”. The bar is small, with a large selection of alcohol. It wraps around in an L shape, there are a few tables up front. It’s an easy place to walk in and take a seat. I hop up onto a barstool facing the bar, so I have a view of the counter and the terminal hallway. There’s an espresso machine on the back counter, with cups and saucers stacked high next to it. “Oh, there’s no espresso. The coffee machine is just for show”, the bartender says, tracking my eyes to the machine. The sign on the wall outside the entrance advertises fresh, specialty coffee, but not today. Not ever. The bartender assures me that he can get coffee from next door, “And Starbucks is to the right”. In the first 20 minutes we talk, he turns away multiple people, repeating the line like a mantra, “The machine is broken, it’s just for show. And no tea”, he adds. It’s routine non-service at this point. I tell him I’m looking for scotch whiskey, anyway. “Lagavulin, if you have it?” He informs me that every bar has the same options because it’s all owned by the same company, so “You won’t find anything different”. Besides, he adds, “You don’t want the scotch. It’s 40 dollars a shot”. I ask him what he can make, any classics. “Anything on the online menu with some variation”.
The menu, accessed via QR code, is the bane of the bartenders’ existence. And another thing that turns potential customers away. We talk drinks, while he works to bring the price down. Finally, “I make a great old fashioned, it’s my go-to drink. Although, I don’t really drink anymore”. I order online, but he’s already made the drink before I can put my card information in. The drink is well-mixed and strong. While I sip, the bartender waxes on about the QR code, “Nobody tips more than 18% because it’s the highest offered option on-screen, and there are few cash transactions”. He has to go next door to break a bill for a cash tip. We talk the city and small towns, Upstate. He tells me about the porn stars who’ve come through the terminal, minor celebrities, and the infinite number of cup-of-coffee baseball players to stars of the game. I’m at the airport early to catch a flight out to Costa Rica, and my time winds down with my drink. Before I leave, I calculate a 20% tip. I make my way to way to the gate, take a seat, and pull out my notebook to write while I wait out the final 30 minutes to boarding time.
