What’s the best and worst airport you’ve been to?
I cannot name the best or worst airport I have been to—but I can readily recall my best and most unsettling memories within them.
An airport, to me—and, I suspect, to many—is a threshold for farewells and a gateway for welcomes; a stage where we part from those we cherish and embrace them anew. Sending young children abroad to boarding school, leaving family for a long-term overseas contract, or migrating permanently—the scene of parting at the departure hall cuts deepest. Yet joy finds its rebirth the moment one steps out of the restricted zone into the arrival hall, where tear-streaked faces beam with happiness.
Years ago, I saw my brother’s family off to Australia with my father and other siblings. As we photographed them before the departure gate, sadness hung thick in the air—especially in my father’s eyes, for he would not watch his beloved grandchildren grow up beside him. A few years later, when they returned for a short stay, their appearance in the arrival hall was met with nothing but laughing faces and open arms.
Another memory, far more frightening, takes me back to Sri Lanka’s airport in the 1980s. A curfew had been imposed against recent terrorist attacks, and the terminal bristled with security forces. The atmosphere was so tense that every hair on my body stood on end. Thankfully, as tourists, we were properly shielded and everything proceeded in order.
Most travellers judge an airport by efficiency, friendliness, facilities, and clearance—scoring check-in counters, immigration queues, duty-free shops, and how swiftly delays are resolved. Yet they rarely see, or care to see, what lies beneath: the security protocols, the silent coordination, and the collective heartbeat of an entire workforce. Given my experience in Sri Lanka, I have always held a quiet tribute for all those who labour behind the scenes.
Thus, when judging the best or worst airport, the visible surface should never outweigh the invisible depths—together, they make aviation safe and the journey pleasant. Machines are cold, but humanity is warm; the finest hardware works only as well as its software—the attitude and skill of the people. Just as water tempers all things, love softens and overrides every unpleasant experience. Ultimately, it matters less whether an airport is rated best or worst at any given moment; what matters is that we never let our own best attitude fail to shine and improve.
Forty years ago, not a single white hair crowned my head—but my nerves could make it stand on end at the slightest alarm. Today, silver outnumbers black, yet wisdom and stillness remain my steadfast companions even when turbulence looms. Glamorous hair or a wise heart—which would I choose? The answer, for me, is unmistakably clear. Love tempers all experience, just as wisdom tempers age (Proverbs 10:12 & 16:31).
And that is the quiet truth this little verse seeks to echo:
—
“White Hair, a Crown”
White hair—a crown of wisdom’s grace,
Yet few will love its silver trace.
To shun that crown is common plight,
To seek no wisdom—human right.
We chase the gloss of crafted skin,
Not the clear light that glows within.
Artificial sheen—a fleeting show;
Artificial minds—how fast they go.
But clarity of heart is taste,
And service true—a steady base.
To dye the white betrays the soul,
Yet wisdom stays—and makes us whole.
—
en yan hua fang 