Bucket list item, check - sleeping at an airport

Sometimes when I talk to other budget travellers, I find myself creating my own ‘bucket list’ of experiences. It isn’t like a normal person’s bucket list, though, like someone who might have “Climb Eiffel Tower” or “See Niagara Falls.” Instead, my bucket list is filled with the kinds of things that budget travellers endure, like a rite of passage that may not be a good experience but will be a worthwhile experience. I found myself presented with the optimum opportunity to tick off one of these – stay overnight at an airport.

It came about, essentially, after deciding to get the train to Montreal and back from New York City to avoid paying ridiculous flight prices to and from Canada. Originally I figured I’d be heading to the west coast from NYC and so was going to try to book a red eye flight, since the train arrives in the evening. However, this changed to my next stop being Ohio, which meant that I couldn’t get a flight the night that I got the train in, and my flight would be the next morning. Now, hostels and hotels in New York City are so expensive that I seriously couldn’t justify in my brain the cost of accommodation for literally, less than a night’s sleep. It was going to be 10pm at the earliest before I could arrive at accommodation. My flight the next day was from Newark, so if I stayed in the city near where the train came in, I’d be looking at needing to be on the train at 5am to the airport, so therefore waking up at 4am. Ridiculous!

Among travellers, the concept of staying in an airport/bus station/train station for the night isn’t particularly out of the ordinary; however it was something I’d yet to experience. And so with this travel ‘bucket list’ item in mind, plus the monetary factor, I was set on bunking down at Newark for the night.

What I didn’t count on was that I would be absolutely exhausted before the night had even begun. The train trip back down was nowhere near as pleasant as the way up – between losing my phone and being stressed (long story that I’ll save for another entry) and having a seat mate the whole time (on the way up, you may recall, I had a half of a couple who were in the dining car most of the way) which meant I couldn’t get up and stretch and wander as I wanted without disturbing him, and so I only got up twice in 11.5 hours. This in itself is exhausting! A couple of hours before arrival into New York City I was researching options to stay at an airport hotel near Newark and came seriously close to booking before telling myself to harden up and that worst case scenario was that I would be unimaginably tired the next day, but I’d get through.

When the train pulled into New York City, I killed a little time at Penn Station but then decided to get going to Newark. It was probably 10:30pm by the time that I arrived at Terminal A. I’d done my research (thanks, sleepingatairports.net) and knew that Newark Airport was open 24/7 but the actual departures lounge would close after the last flight arrived in for a few hours, so the best place to bunk down is near the check-in counters. ‘Best place’ is relative to... well, not much.

The only accessible sections overnight have horrible plastic or metal chairs that have arm rests so you can’t lie down, the floor is hard, and it just feels kind of dirty. Most of the power outlets don’t work properly. I had to stalk around the area to find an available and working outlet – not near any chairs, so I was going to be relegated to the floor. I paid $9.95 for a month of Boingo internet access (which I have used again in Detroit and suspect I should be able to use again at another airport before I leave so it was worth it). I used the internet for a while and then found myself overcome with a wave of such exhaustion that I thought I might actually be able to sleep, or at least doze. I set up camp, spreading out my blanket I acquired at Wimbledon so I wouldn’t be lying on the floor. I knew that sleep was extremely unlikely but at a minimum I wanted to be reasonably comfortable so that maybe, just maybe, I could make it happen.

Before I could even lie down on my blanket, a fellow in his early twenties came up, asking if I was using the second of the two outlets. I wasn’t, so of course I told him to go ahead. He was sitting just a phone charger cord length away so sleep wasn’t going to happen. He was tipsy and nice so we chatted, mostly small talk. He was from Florida, in New Jersey for a work training event. He seemed genuinely fascinated by my accent and I gather he isn’t the well travelled type, or even really aware of other cultures – he asked me if we have Facebook in Australia, which made me giggle and was taken back to my time in Edinburgh  with my friend Shelle, going out with a group of her friends and being asked that exact same question by one of them.

I was surprised by how many people were around, and especially surprised that they didn’t all have the budget traveller look or feel. There were solo people, some couples, groups, business travellers, plus people in my age bracket. It seems that it is a common opinion that prices in the area are ludicrous and outrageous.

The most surreal encounter of the evening was one with a fellow who was either the world’s greatest actor/con artist; or he’s legitimately got the saddest tale ever. I’d seen him an hour or so earlier, pacing around and swearing about something. He then wound up coming and sitting down nearby me and my Floridian friend. He was probably in his mid twenties. He was of slim build, reasonably strong looking. He carried an army backpack, was wearing boots, basic jeans and a shirt that said ‘army.’ His story was that he’s serving in the army in Afghanistan and that he’s been in transit for two days, rushing back because he got news his mother had passed away. He didn’t even know she was unwell. He gave some elaborate explanation regarding not having access to his bank account and he was trying to get a bus three hours to Pennsylvania for the funeral which was at 9am. His grandmother was apparently waiting at the bus station to pick him up. He was trying to get his seargent on the phone because he was apparently going to call the bus company to see if they could let him on without having the cash to board. In the midst of telling me his story, his phone rings. His voice was low but I could hear a lot of “sir’s” and he was obviously dejected. While army!guy and I are talking, my Floridian friend was half passed out so he didn’t hear any of the story. He woke up, and asked if we knew where the bathroom was. Army!guy knew and said he needed to go too so off the guys went. They came back five minutes later and army!guy tells me that Florida!guy is giving him the cash he needs. Florida!guy doesn’t quite have the whole amount. I’m feeling a bit cynical as to whether this guy is legit so I offer some Canadian money which he accepts – supposedly there’s a cash exchange in Terminal B. He pretty much takes our money and runs – you know, to the bus, to get to his waiting grandmother.

It’s sad that I’m automatically questioning of people, but that’s just this day and age. There ws something off about him that I cannot put my finger on. However, I’d be the worst person in the world if he was for real and I didn’t offer something.

Between all of this, I found myself pretty much awake enough to not actually crash. My Floridian friend took a nap, I watched an episode of Happy Endings, and before I knew it, the action was starting to happen. The terminal opens at about 4am, ready for first flights out at 6am, and people were arriving at about 3:30am. Even if you were able to sleep, you only really have a 3-4 hour window where there are less people around. By 4am, I joined the queue at the Southwest check in counter, which opened at about 4:30am. I took my time after this, getting some breakfast, and for the first time ever I was gladfor a long queue at security because it took at least an hour to get through.

I’d not had a full night’s sleep my last night at Montreal, then spent more than 11 hours on a train, then it was almost 11 hours from arriving at Penn until my flight departed from Newark. Needless to say, I was exhausted, and despite my normal aversion to sleeping on transport, I fell asleep before they did the safety demonstration and woke up after we were in the air – I missed the entirety of take off.

If necessary I would do it again, but I’d avoid doing it at Newark. I’d be more inclined to try to jig my flights. I still don’t see the point in paying for accommodation for literally six hours. But if I was in the economic position where I had the money to throw around, then I can safely say that I would, with protest, give in to the hotel bed and avoid the hard floor. However I survived, and should in my budget travel life I be faced with a similar predicament, I know that I can survive a similar scenario, on the whole, reasonably unharmed. And hey – it’s always nice to tick something off that bucket list!