Small but perfectly formed

by dixie

I grew up thinking airports were gigantic things, self-contained cities in their own right, whirling and spinning, the equivalent of a class 5 white water rapid in the river of moving humanity. I eventually discovered this was not the case, though it wasn’t until my first trip to Italy to really appreciate how small an airport can be. I was leery of these tiny airports with nothing in them.

I am convinced now that small airports (provided they are not running over capacity) are infinitely preferable to giant ones. I do not need fifteen different restaurants serving the same kinds of overpriced food and desperately sad fruit, nor do I need cookie-cutter newsagents brimming with chocolate and roasted/salted legumes. I need minimal drama, and barring that, I need a place to sit, a cup of decaf coffee, and a power outlet. Extra points if there’s also free wifi. Small airports, where you can be at your gate within ten easy minutes of walking in the front door, nearly always delivered this for me while I was travelling North America.

The Asheville airport is not the kind of place you’d want to be stuck in for a long time unless you’d brought your own entertainment, but it’s a perfect, tiny gem of an airport. I knew it was something special when I went through security. Not only did it forego the obnoxious milliwave scanners in favour of the more traditional metal detectors, but the TSA agents were genuinely friendly. The woman who checked my ID complimented my passport cover, and we chatted for a few moments about holders and packing and travel documents. The guy who waved me through the metal detector complimented my hair, and we talked about the trials and tribulations of having very long hair (which he did, at one point in his life).

Asheville really digs its craft beer scene.

Asheville really digs its craft beer scene.

Once I got through security, I browsed the one shop there, which featured pint glasses branded with logos for many of the local craft beers. You get a discount if you buy one of those glasses and fill it with the indicated beer at the shop’s bar. I realized then that the shop was, in fact, more of a bar that has a shop attached.

I declined the beer in favour of the usual cup of decaf coffee and made my way to the gate. The Asheville airport has rocking chairs, which always wins my heart. (The Charlotte airport is my favourite for this; I’ve watched several spectacular sunrises from the east-facing windows, nestled comfortably in a rocking chair.) As you settle into one of the rocking chairs to enjoy the fast, free wifi and plentiful power outlets, you might notice that the walls are faced with stone. This combines with the rocking chairs to create an atmosphere that might allow you to believe, especially if you are fuzzy with travel-tiredness, that you are in a cabin in the mountains rather than an airport.

Rocking chairs for the win.

Rocking chairs for the win.

It’s true that there’s a reason why no language has produced the phrase “As pretty as an airport,” but if more airports were like AVL that might be different.