Bee Travel
Loving the layover
CHRISTINE HICKS-USTA

Call me crazy, but I love airports. I love waiting in them. I like arriving early and having long layovers. When I don't fly as frequently as I'd like, I miss it. Like I said - call me crazy.

I realized this as I was on my way to Louisville, Ky., last weekend. In an effort to dovetail arrivals and departures for five of us, I ended up waiting. A lot. Coming and going.

I don't espouse a love for flight plans that have disintegrated into contests of rerouting and jockeying for places to sleep. That's not the kind of time I like to spend at airports.

Still, when skies are blue where I'm from and where I'm headed and nothing stands between me and my destination, I love the wide open luxury of time spent waiting. My boarding pass is in my hand, I've entrusted my heavier bags to the airline, the front door and car are locked, the oven is off, the water not running. I've gotten my passport and everything I could possibly need for the next few hours in my hands, and everything is right in my world.

My head is most often tucked into a newly cracked book. I require chunks of time if I'm going to read. While some time is given over to airport exploration (keeping sleep cobwebs at bay), the rest of the time is spent reading and observing. I tend to eschew food and drink, except under extenuating circumstances. It's not (for me) an airport pastime, though (as evidenced on my recent journey), some favor the mid-morning beer.

So, when I checked in with only one hour to spare on the outbound leg, I nearly felt cheated. We boarded sooner than I wanted, though perfectly on time. And a 45-minute flight felt strangely unsatisfying, too. An hour in between to change planes is too short, too. For a meaningful layover, you need at least 90 minutes. But my ace

in the hole was waiting for me in Louisville. "The Others" (a family euphemism for relatives not in one's immediate company) weren't arriving until one hour and 55 minutes after I arrived. And I was going to wait. Another hundred pages of "In the Company of the Courtesan" (Sarah Dunant) sang like a siren to me ... and if my lids faltered, there was an information counter on Louisville begging my attention. And for all this, I had time.

Undoing all this travel two days later, we left the inn at 4:30 a.m. Oh, I could have rolled over and returned to sleep for another four or five hours. But I would have missed the ride back to the airport with "The Others" and paid a taxi for such lethargy. And I wouldn't have escaped back into that wonderful world of time that waits for me there ... for my flight wasn't until 11:10 a.m. Now, you must think I'm crazy. And perhaps so. For some, the expanse of a fluffy five hours to do nothing but read, wander and wait would prove a burden.

To me, it's a gift.

(Christine Hicks-Usta has enjoyed more than 30 years of globe-trotting as a member of the travel industry. Direct questions to her at Bee Group Newspapers, P.O. Box 150, Buffalo, NY 14231-0150.)