A terminal case | 36 hours in… Newark Airport

I mean, who wouldn’t want to spend 36 hours in an airport? I chose Newark, New Jersey, or rather it chose me. On landing from Tennessee I didn’t even know I was going to be staying the day, never mind the weekend! But all those English schoolchildren practising their shouting, and those sports teams with their XXXL kitbags. And those krrrrazee Homeland Security Guys! Who could resist?

Newark is edgier than JFK, more upscale than “third world” La Guardia

Newark is edgier than JFK, more upscale than “third world” La Guardia (I just love a mall that doubles as an airport!), and has great views over industrial New Jersey plus a whole range of nearby car parks and oil termini. Occasionally, from a shuttlebus, you can glimpse the sparkle of Jersey City. You could catch a cab there.

So next time your flight’s “oversold” and you didn’t really want to go anywhere anyway (remember, DELTA stands for Doesn’t Ever Leave The Airport), here’s a few tips.

What to take with you

A little wheelie case with a broken wheel is best as clack-clickety-clack breaks the clack-clack-clack monotony of the 100,000 fully functioning wheelies you’ll be hearing for two days.

And if you’re going to Africa, remember to completely disregard the luggage weight allowance and bring as many elephant trunks (ha!) as you like. Don’t worry about ripping it all open at check-in to do a little repacking. Nobody minds.

What to do

Well, talk to the locals, obviously. They may call you “walking freight” behind your back but the important thing is a good catchphrase. “Have a nice day” is so old hat now; I much prefer “Is there anything else I can do for you today?”, particularly after your fifteenth failed conversation about getting on one of those four oversold flights to London. I like to spend time on payphones too, calling super-sophisticated automated reservations voicemail systems which normally can’t understand my accent but this time couldn’t even hear me. It’s novel when a recorded voice menu starts to get all itchy and scratchy with you because it “can’t quite hear” what you’re saying. Everyone else in the terminal could.

What to read

USA Today, duh! Since you’re preoccupied listening to tannoy announcements making last calls for Mr Garble, anything that has more than single-para stories is a waste of time. Although on the Sunday, the airline lounge I was in shipped in the Sunday Star-Ledger, brimming with Jersey news and four solid pages of “funnies”. None of that New York Times bahooey here thank you.

Oh, and your phone – don’t forget its entertainment potential. The man sitting opposite me had the courtesy to use an earpiece as he shrieked and bawled with thigh-slapping mirth at whatever he was watching on his. If I appeared testy, sir, I apologise. It’s just that you were only there for an hour of cackling hysteria, while I was but halfway through a two-day break.

Where to stay

The choice is yours. By all means bed down in the airport terminal, as I was offered, although the caring lady got a bit confused with her phrasing. What she actually said was: “You can sleep here for all I care”, but I knew what she meant.

Otherwise, there’s a plethora of airport options, easily reached by courtesy coach through the newly arrived winter wind and rain. We took the scenic route to the Wyndham Garden but, being dark, all we could make out was a half-lit “Wyn Gard” every so often as we flashed by on the other side of yet another freeway sliproad.

It was surprisingly good. Neat, clean, with giant cookies and miniatures of wine still on sale at reception; I also got free wifi and a coffee machine that didn’t work. I wasn’t bothered: the sachets of coffee and “creamier creamer” were from Wolfgang Puck, whose fine dining establishments in Los Angeles and London aren’t to my taste so the coffee probably sucked.

The only thing I missed out on was the solitude of the terminal at midnight. It would have been a good place to rest my head and have a moment of solitude to reflect on how well my day had gone, and contemplate what the morrow might bring.

What to eat

This is where airports score. Being the Christmas season when I was there (October), every concession in the airport was fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon. “Mmmm!”

My airline lounge contained a cornucopia of miniature sliced cheeses (three), processed and super-wrapped for freshness. The only one that entirely defeated me was the Tillabrook Pepperjack which seemed to have been hermetically fusion-sealed. This was my only complaint of the stay. I could also have had a small packet of carrot batons with ranch dressing (I happen to love ranch dressing, so took two sachets) or some novelty pretzels.

What to drink

Some airport lounges charge you $12 for a small plastic glass of wine so I stuck to “apple cider” and coffee from the machines, which suited me just fine for the whole 36 hours.

What to watch on TV in the giant lounge with the tiered seating and comfortable looking sofas.

Sport.

I’d particularly like to thank one gentleman I encountered at Newark. Just as I seemed to be making progress in accessing the last flight of the day, a breathless loon barged up to check-in, waving a scrap of paper at the attendant. “My daughter’s left her phone on the plane. Where is it?” he yelled.

“Which? The plane or the phone?”

He looked flummoxed. “The plane! The plane!”

“I have no idea. Please wait a moment.”

But he was already off, haring across the empty hallway looking for a plane, any plane, with my attendant in hot pursuit, never to be seen again. C