Charlotte, N.C.: Expect the unexpected

“Peculiar traveling suggestions are dancing lessons from God.”

That notion (from Kurt Vonnegut's novel 'Cat's Cradle') sums up my state of mind as U.S. Airways flight from Washington, D.C. arrives at the B concourse at Douglas International Airport in Charlotte, N.C. – a place I hadn't expected to visit as late as noon this very day.

So what happened? It was Wednesday, Feb. 22 and I was headed to Kansas City, but my connecting flight out of Reagan National Airport included a surprise (to me) stop in Charlotte. So I didn't know where we were flying to until I boarded the plane. (There's something that doesn't happen too often.)

But we had an hour, and I'd never been to Charlotte, so off I went to take a quick look at an airport, home to the largest hub for U.S. Airways. It turned out to be a pretty exciting place. The reason? Because, I think, it's a classic example of where the real action takes place in modern commercial aviation. Here we are, venturing into the largest hub of a major U.S. carrier – nearly a hundred gates, hundreds of flights, day in and day out, with tens of thousands of passengers changing planes from all parts of the nation and the rest of the world.


This is where the real action is. It's like a lot of America. New York and Los Angeles are the two cities the world knows about. But where's the busiest airport of all? Atlanta. Where's the biggest railyard? North Platte, Neb. It's the middle of the nation where the real business of America takes place. (In fact, in 2010, Charlotte was the 6th busiest airport in the world, based on traffic movements.)

In Charlotte, my first impression was: Yuck! Strolling off the plane and wading into plane-change pandemonium, the first thing I noticed was the dirt on the low white ceilings. Note to airport officials: for those arriving in the B Concourse, the first impression of Charlotte is provided by grimy low-hanging ceiling tiles. The effect is uninspiring. Looks like they haven't been cleaned since the days when smoking was allowed in airports. I know North Carolina is tobacco country, but even so. Look below: are we in an airport, or the world's longest luggage store?


Slogging to the main terminal, the low ceilings continued, but I was impressed by the sheer activity. With a hundred late-afternoon flights exchanging passengers, the place was just teeming, but no bottlenecks and enough room for the crowds to keep moving. Charlotte is an airport that works. (And what a contrast to Pittsburgh, the hub that U.S. Airways abandoned in 2004 and now looks like a ghost town.)

Things quickly improved as I left the B Concourse, turned right, then hiked up a short ramp that opened up onto the “gallery,” the airport's generously-sized multi-level main hall.


Located behind security, the space acts as a focal point for connecting passengers, with passageways leading out to all five concourses.


Stores and restaurants line the terminal side, while the opposite wall boasts an immense floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the tarmac between the B and C concourses. (From a distance, it vaguely resembles a gigantic jukebox.) Outside was a beehive of ramp activity, with multiple aircraft coming in and pushing back amid a forest of moving tails and take-off rolls on the runways beyond. It's a busy place.


But not too busy. Even as the plane change ballet reached its height, the gallery had a relaxed, calm atmosphere. Everyone seemed clear about where he or she was going. Things moved, even with the place teeming. A shoeshine stand in the passageway to the D and E concourses was the busiest one I think I've seen anywhere, including New York City. It being Ash Wednesday, a Catholic priest was prowling the main terminal, dispensing ashes to travelers between flights. At a mid-terminal bar, toy aircraft circled overheard while a pianist played a jazzed up version of Dave Brubeck's 'Take Five.' Despite the crowds, it wasn't noisy, and so the piano music really carried over the quiet hum.

And here's something you don't see any day. Bathrooms with personal attendants who keep the area clean, dispense sanitizing gel, and even give you little cups of mouthwash or breathmints. Talk about Southern hospitality!


The place is huge, and the concourses were developed in stages, so each has its own character. On a quick trip through the place, I thought the B & C piers, where U.S. Airways mainline flights pull up, seemed the oldest and least ambitious, with their limited views and worn-out interiors. (But with the heavy use they get, I'm surprised that they don't look worse.)

The D Concourse, home of international flights, ends in a cavernous (and surprisingly dark) gate area that tries hard, but has all the ambiance of a bulk shopping club. What saves it somewhat, I think, is the playful gesture of a vintage plane hanging from the rafters right near the gate doors. Now that's the way to arrive or depart in style!


And then there's the E Concourse, where the E apparently stands for 'Endless.' Home to no less than 50 gates and handling U.S. Airways regional service, it snakes on and on at ground level through several lobbies and sub-lobbies, like this one here:


You make a dramatic entrance, descending from the main terminal underneath a replica of a Wright Brothers flying machine. (Kitty Hawk, site of the first powered flight, isn't too far from here.)


You then enter a chain of long corridors that do go on and on. There's apparently a new terminal being built as part of this complex, but I only got as far as a sub-lobby with two further concourses branching off it before it was time to turn back. The signage is unrivaled for clarity:


While there, I stumbled across one of the most delightful scenes I've seen in a U.S. airport. How about this for a great place to watch planes and inspire wonder in flight?


The white rocking chairs were all over the terminal, actually, and I think they do serve to humanize the experience of traveling, even if you don't personally use them.

Weird E Concourse scene: What's with the low suspended ceiling over the walkways, but the open ceiling over the gate areas?


So as I wandered the concourses, I got increasingly positive about Charlotte. Some of it was the details: no loud TVs blasting in gate areas, the right-shaped windows (no dreaded and imprisoning horizontal bars), interesting art, the impressive but not oppressive “gallery” – it all contributed. But it was also the bigness of the place – the crowds, the movement, the sense of being at a true modern crossroads – that lent a lot of energy to the scene. This is where it happens, folks. It's state-of-the-art in modern aviation. These are the turnstyles through which pass the nation. Look at this impressive curved ceiling, with windows providing views to the sky above, at the C Concourse entrance:


And they're not standing still. A fourth runway opened in 2010, and construction of a new international terminal will start this year. The long E concourse will be "disconnected" from the terminal and linked instead by underground walkways and, later, a light rail system.

So those are things to look forward to. In the meantime, how about a few more views of the Gallery area?




And just as I take pleasure in seeing a piece of theater that's done well, I take pleasure with seeing an airline hub that functions as intended, day in and day out, and in a facility that at least makes some gestures to its status as a modern-day cathedral.

London Heathrow Terminal 5: Feeling like a steel ball

We raced through the new Terminal 5 at London's Heathrow Airport on Sunday, Feb. 19, so I'm not in a position to make a thorough report. However, I can say that the place reminded me of the gigantic warehouse in Charlie Kaufmann's film 'Synecdoche, New York' -- the one in which a theater director builds a full-scale model of Manhattan as his set. Terminal 5, with its enormous curving roof, seemed to have room for all that and more.

Here's the movie set, followed by the terminal's interior.



I know the long-awaited Terminal 5 (opened in 2008, but in the works since 1982) is a marvel of modernity. I know it was built to help Heathrow maintain its position as a leading international air hub. I know it was intended to be a worthy home base for British Airways, the sole tenant. I know architect Richard Rogers is the most popular designer in London since Christopher Wren. I know it's the largest free-standing structure in Britain, and that the much-vaunted curving roof covers more ground than five football pitches.


I know all that. But the thing is, Terminal 5 left me cold.

Perhaps it's too big -- maybe there's a difference between creating a cathedral to coming and going to celebrate travel, and making a traveler feel insignificant by dwarfing him or her.


Or maybe it's a lack of integrity. In an attempt to be "international" (and keep up with the zippy designs sprouting at airports in Hong Kong, Dubai, Bangkok, and so on) Rogers created something that's shiny and new, yes, but completely devoid of anything that feels...well, British.

Really. Once we stepped off the Underground (the Piccadilly Line runs right into the lower level, £5, an hour from central London, a great deal), we were captives of some glass-and-steel-tube future that was without warmth or charm. Look up, and the only human element in this scene is, strangely, someone's feet on a glass walkway, making you feel like an insect about to be squashed as you enter this facility.


I'm not saying Terminal 5 should look like the Houses of Parliament or Westminster Abby. I'm not really sure what might have worked, but then I'm not a brilliant architect. I do know that Terminal 5, at least from the inside, might have been an airport anywhere in the world, duty-free shops and all. And what a wasted opportunity.


Okay, back to the Underground. Put aside that "squashed bug" imagery. As I experienced Terminal 5, it made me feel like a steel ball in an arcade game. We started at the very bottom, and then in one go a glass elevator pushed us all the way to the very top level, where check-in took place. Here we are tottering out of the elevator and suddenly traversing a great chasm to reach the counters.


After check-in, We then went down to a massive Duty Free shopping area. Here it is in all its glory. Quick, what country are we in? Taiwan? Vancouver?


Then, when our gate was announced, we went down again to another level. It started to feel like parts of Tokyo, which are so built up that you're never quite sure where solid ground really is.


Conspicuous in the waiting lounge were oversized (and over-designed) sofas, which, like everything else in Terminal 5, made one feel small: yes, like a steel ball in a pinball machine.


Too much technology department: I was surprised to see that at Terminal 5, the plastic bins for loose items going through security were controlled by a remote-controlled belt system -- not just for going through the machine itself, but for their entire journey. So after your stuff comes out, you might be putting on your belt, and suddenly your bin (with all your stuff in it) goes racing along the belt and in front of someone else. This made me feel a bit like Lucille Ball trying to keep up with the chocolate assembly line, and contributed to the terminal's cold feeling.


But what really surprised me about Terminal 5 was that for all its brand-spanking-new modernity, to get to reach our flight to Boston, we actually had to board buses, ride way out on the tarmac, and then all clamber up stairs to our plane as if we were in New York's Idlewild Airport and it was 1959. All that money and effort, and passengers on a trans-Atlantic flight start their journey standing on a bus!

I didn't really mind, as the tarmac ride (a lengthy one) produced low-level close encounters with some big birds:


But passengers seemed non-plussed, to say the least, to be boarding a trans-Atlantic flight as if it were a regional jet flight from, say, Manchester, N.H. to Cleveland. Here we are, scrambling up a mobile staircase with a plastic weather covering that was absolutely filthy.





How about a picture of the majestic machine that will transport us across the ocean in a matter of hours?


So much for the magic of air transport, at least as experienced via British Airways at Terminal 5. All I can assume is that the facility is already suffering capacity issues, even with two mid-field concourses now open. So don't be surprised if your British Airways flight out of London begins with a long bus ride out to some remote corner of Heathrow. Dress accordingly, and also be at the gate at least an hour before departure so you don't miss the bus.

Boston's Logan Airport, Terminal B: Saved by neon

I remember when Logan Airport's Terminal B, originally the "South Terminal," opened in 1978. I was 14, and fascinated by the gradual replacement of the old U-shaped ground-level concourse with a brand new complex. I was too young to realize how dull it all was -- the low ceilings, the narrow corridors, the complete lack of imagination. It was all concrete and compromises, typical of a lot of structures built during the energy crisis of the 1970s.

American Airlines and the old Allegheny Airlines (now U.S. Airways) were the main tenants, one airline on each side, and in a rare display of continuity, they're still in the same spaces nearly 35 years later. And to their credit, over the years they've both made efforts to retrofit their gate concourses with a few improvements to lend them at least some distinction.

But alas, there's not that can be done with the cramped Terminal B check-in spaces, which I was reminded of on Wednesday, Feb. 15, when my wife and I and a friend flew American out of Boston to London Heathrow. Designed for the rarefied pre-deregulation era of travel (when American was the "businessman's airline"), the ticket counter area is simply not equipped to handle the much greater volume of passengers now flying. Check out this scene from the late afternoon, which wasn't even rush hour.


With its low ceilings, snaking lines, heavy concrete pillars, in-your-face noise level, and complete lack of natural lighting, the place is a claustrophobic's nightmare. The only possible benefit of this situation is that it will at least reveal if a passenger has problems with confined spaces before he or she boards an airplane.

And security is no picnic, either. While Logan's Terminal C has undergone a recent reboot to create one effective and centralized security point for all gates, no such luck at Terminal B, with its concourses extending from opposite sides of a five-level parking garage. So at American, they've made do with just cramming it all into a narrow hallway leading to the gates, still with the low ceilings.

And it's all just a little tense, I think, because one of the planes that struck the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001 departed from this very concourse. (It's Gate B32, marked only with an American flag.) There's nothing anyone can do about that, but it's worth noting, I think.

But just past security, things improve quite a bit. While nothing much can be done with the ticket counter area, the gate area is another story. American has succeeded in turning what was originally another uninspired space (a low-ceilinged extension of the check-in area) into a zippy place that makes an effort to create some excitement.

Check it out: The first thing you see is a gate area backed up by an oversized window framing the American tarmac and all the activity on the field beyond. Wonder of wonders, the panes are vertical, as they should be, rather than the soul-crushing view-blocking horizontal banding that's afflicted so many modern structures.


And here's a nifty detail. At certain times of the day (such as dusk, when we were there), the window also carries the reflection of a neon American Airlines logo, as if it's floating in the air beyond the glass. Huh? Here's the best photo I could get of this...


What's this all about? Well, turn around, and you'll see up above you is an oversized rendering of the old AA logo in hot neon -- a vibrant and wonderful celebration of the airline's long presence in Beantown. In a clever stroke, it announces that American is an airline with history, folks, but at the same time also electrifies the space. I love it.


And that's not all. Look down, and you'll see a floor done in wonderful swooping patterns that provide a classy maroon accent to all the button-down blue and gray.


Alas, they can't leave well enough alone. Whose decision was it to destroy the floor with this cheap commercial add-on? Get rid of it, and fast!


A modest food court is positioned just before the concourse curves out onto the field...


...at which I notice the arrivals/departures are shown on displays mounted sideways, of all things -- something I never noticed until now, but which I'm seeing quite often, actually.


The concourse itself is modest but handsome, with a small barrel vault roof...


...but the big surprise is the pod at the end, which boasts an impressive high ceiling, great views all around through huge windows, and yet another oversized AA logo in neon.

Both this one and the other are highly visible from planes taxiing around the runway, giving traveler the impression that American is a big player in Boston, even though Jet Blue next door is eating its lunch.