We wander slowly up the tunnel. Part of me is wondering whether or not I’ll get searched again — after all, I’d already been x-rayed twice before we boarded this morning.
So this is the mighty America then. The famous J.F.K. It looks just like the airport we left, an anonymous windowless tunnel all the way into customs. It doesn’t seem as clean as Heathrow. Maybe this one’s just older.
Except for the toilets, that is. These ones are spotless, which is a marked contrast to the blocked up crap we had to endure back in good ol’ blighty.
There’s a security officer guarding a puddle on the floor and guiding people around it, while he waits for a cleaner to arrive. I guess thats just in case someone slips and sues the airport to hell and back.
Customs amuses me. Every officer at every desk seems to fit the stereotypes that we get to see on things like LAPD Blue. I get a large bearded older bloke. He clearly can’t wait for home-time to come along. They take my fingerprints and a cheap-looking camera takes a snap of my face. We’re straight through without a hitch.
Airports really are the same everywhere aren’t they? Heathrow, Geneva, Lyon, Gatwick, JFK. Big, dull and anonymous. Long tunnels plastered with adverts for things I probably won’t buy and services I’m unlikely to t use. All they are is a great big bus terminal, and they’re never the most exciting places in the world are they? Nope, they’re just a way into the city. In this case, that really is quite an exciting place to be.
[Inspired by Stuart’s First Impressions of the same place.]