On every trip there is usually an occasion when you’ll be at the airport at some ungodly hour; either from delay, a cheap ticket or bad transport. Spending your shoestring budget on a hostel for a few hours is a waste (what about the looks you’ll get when you wake up a dorm full of sleeping travellers). Airport hotels are overpriced, making it more wasteful to check in for less than a night’s stay. Sometimes it’s easier and less expensive to lay your head wherever you are. Usually that’s closest to the check-in line, on the most comfortable seat.
While many may find themselves in this situation, I thought I’d force it upon myself in the name of research (and budgeting).
A 6:00 a.m. departure time is not pleasant, but the good price made me catch the last bus to the airport the night before my flight. I arrived at the weary hour of 2:00 a.m. Not only did I get a bus that was on time, but it arrived at my destination early when I would have preferred it to be late.
Leaving from Terminal 2, I thought this would be the natural place to spend the night, so I headed to the seating area on the first floor; bodies covered every seat, table and floor space; the terminal resembled a church hall during a natural disaster. I immediately gave up on the idea of sleeping there that night. The departure area below had only a few seats, all taken, so I took the underground walkway (which was delightfully quiet but devoid of any comfort) to Terminal 3 arrivals.
A few people had caught onto the idea, but there were plenty of seats. I could not find the kind with full arms, those diagonal ones bend into the seat back. I was able to lie down forcing half my body against the small space between the arms while the rest teetered over the arrival floor. I didn’t sleep – not at all.
Only when I went to the bathroom did I find a long, free seat down a quiet corridor. I lay down, in comfort and warmth, only to notice that it was 4:00 a.m., time to check in. The perfect seat had eluded me for the night, I was red eyed and tired. I slept all the way to New York, missing the in-flight movie, meal AND ice cream. Losing my sleeping-in-airports virginity had been disappointing and irritating.
A few days later, determined to revolutionise my travels and accommodation bill, I found myself back in the airport in New York. I was a little concerned about sleeping in JFK as I had met some less-than- savoury characters there in the past. I certainly didn’t want to wake up next to one. Nonetheless, I was glad to see there were plenty of people in Terminal Four – a clean and modern hall resembling a green house. As if on cue, a rather large security lady started clapping her hands over the sleeping punters screaming, "get up and get out". I went back the way I came, towards JFK’s new and expensive terminal shuttle – the Airtrain.
JFK has nine terminals, ranging from the warm and modern to rundown and dodgy. I didn’t like going there during the day. I made my way to Terminal Six, which is where I’d be leaving from the next morning, but the handful of seats that were there had already been taken. A few people were also asleep in the check-in line. This was not uncommon as it often took an eternity to check in with JetBlue.
I was desperate. I’d finished my book with the prospect of dying of boredom if I couldn’t find somewhere to sleep. (It is more a case of passing the time than actually sleeping, but at 3:00 in the morning, you don’t feel like catching up on the latest novel, do you?). I was contemplating going to an all night diner in Queens, but I stopped at Terminal 8 – an ancient terminal that has an arrival area the size of a shoe box.
Success! Few people wandered and there were many seats free, all without armrests, not exactly padded, but what could I expect. I put my bag under my head and closed my eyes.
I had hardly closed my eyes when I heard, "Sir, this terminal is closed." A beefed-up security guard stood before me.
"Sorry," I said as I noticed a group of people still there. "What about them?"
"They’re waiting for people."
"So am I."
The guard smiled at me, one of those, Do you think I was born yesterday smiles?
"I’ll let you stay with the rest, but you can’t lie down."
"I can’t lie down?"
"It’s not permitted in the airport, sir."
"Is that for security reasons?" I asked, but he’d turned his back and was busying himself.
I sat back down and noticed an abandoned novel under the chair in front. It had a watercolour picture of a couple kissing on the front cover. It was either that or watching the arrival screen for entertainment. I bought coffee from the vending machine and started reading.
At 5:00 a.m., I woke up. My neck was contorted around the seat back and I had dribbled the remaining coffee down my T-shirt unto the book. I picked up my stuff, head still askew and checked in for my flight. reeking of coffee.
So far – sleepless nights, a sore neck, too much coffee – not good, but I had saved around $80.00.
My next early morning connection was in Las Vegas. I arrived with a thumping headache and a hatred for everything travel related – one of those days. Before settling down, $8.00 was prized form my wallet for the privilege of eating a cold sausage in a stale roll – the only thing available at midnight that didn’t come out in the form of quarters. With a little indigestion I settled down to the sound of dropping coins, screaming grannies and the alarm bells of jackpots. Within the hour, I was on the way to a cheap hotel with a large vein in my head for company.
I consoled myself on the price of the hotel by paying $2.00 for an early bird steak and eggs breakfast.
I found a website that had comments on almost every airport in the world, advising the cash strapped and stranded where they can, and cannot lay their hat for the night. I glanced over the information on JFK to find it full of references to "does not permit lying down", then searched for Salt Lake, my next early morning stop. One entry – "The women’s restroom has a separate lounge. There’s a long couch with a pillow, several comfy chairs and a changing table. It’s quiet too. I don’t know if the men’s restroom has the same facilities."
It was almost 1:00 a.m. when I arrived in Salt Lake City, to discover that the men’s room has no such luxurious facilities. The arrival terminal was deserted, though, (great for a night’s sleep but bad for getting my bag stolen). There were also armrests on the chairs. Why do airports do this?
After I’d put my bag under the seat and shuffled around for the least uncomfortable position, I noticed the seats moved. I manoeuvred (or to be more accurate, dragged them screeching across the floor) three benches to have a head and feet rest and extra back support. Just as I was getting comfortable, a cleaner made her way over with a floor cleaner. Looking over at me she said, "You sleepin’ hon? I’ll do this area later," and off she went.
At 8:30 I woke up and stretched. As I did, I knocked a young lady in the face with my arm. The arrival area was packed. I was practically resting on the shoulder of an old woman, a young girl was staring over the back of her chair. I ignored everyone and closed my eyes.
An hour later, after a short snooze, I woke up to find the girl had been joined by a friend. Both were staring at me. "You need coffee," one said, as I wiped a small drip of spittle from my cheek. She was right. I gathered my stuff, waved to the young girl and fed the vending machine before heading off into the city.
Success – Sleep at last.
Cheap Flights to New York | JFK Airport Parking | New York Travel | Cheap Hotels in New York
