VEGAS INC coverage
There’s a moment in the middle of my air travel routine that I look forward to with genuine anticipation. Precisely 30 minutes before boarding, not a moment sooner, I sit perfectly still in the airline’s lounge and do nothing. Nothing. I don’t read a magazine. I don’t check my email. I don’t utter a single word. There I sit, alone with my thoughts, and I let my mind take me where it wants to go.
For a decade and a half, I had ample opportunity to fine-tune my silent airport exercise because if there was one constant thing I did as the longtime editor in chief of national magazines, it was travel. A lot. Most years I wasn’t home a full 50 percent of the time. And as glamorous as this quasi jet-set existence seemed to some—cover photo shoots, exclusive interviews, can’t-miss soirees—don’t let anyone tell you otherwise: Traveling is hard work no matter how many warm hand towels the flight attendant may bring you.
I have a curious relationship with air travel and everything connected to that experience. A true Virgo, I much prefer structure, a game plan, and thus I’m not a fan of the unexpected. Want to obliterate the joy from a birthday celebration? Throw me a surprise party. So, I have the whole leaving town routine down to a science—packing and unpacking, to be sure—but the key to a less than horrifying trek remains navigating through the airport maze. That’s where it gets tricky.
Like most travelers, I have my favorite everything: Hotel (Chateau Marmont, Los Angeles), airline lounge (United Airlines international first class, John F. Kennedy Airport, New York City); travel destination (Sydney); weekend getaway (The Parker Palm Springs) and, yes, airport (McCarran International, Las Vegas). The surprise to me isn’t that I truly believe McCarran is a world-class airport, it’s that it provides the most seamless, least disruptive experience from ticket counter to airplane by a country mile. Though not an expert, per se, I’ve been in my fair share of airports. No doubt about it, McCarran does it right.
For any of you who have endured the Hell-on-Earth otherwise known as Miami International, you can certainly appreciate Las Vegas’ keep-the-people-moving airport. But Miami isn’t alone. Dallas-Fort Worth (I’m not exaggerating when I say I walk more than a mile every single time I’m there); Atlanta (the so-called world’s busiest airport also employs the world’s rudest workers); Chicago’s O’Hare (holds the distinction of being the only airport that made me miss my connecting flight due to the TSA’s less-than-strenuous work ethic) and then there’s Lucifer’s favorite landing spot, New York’s LaGuardia (the nation’s most horrific excuse for an airport). Internationally, Sydney, Amsterdam and London’s Heathrow are relatively pleasant transition points, whereas Madrid’s Barajas, Mexico City and Paris’ Orly are relatively not. But, Nassau’s (Bahamas) airport trumps anything anyone in this hemisphere should ever have to endure. There are simply no words.
For massive US airports, Los Angeles (LAX) and Newark, NJ, are well-oiled machines, too, but McCarran excels despite lacking two huge amenities most great airports have: An abundance of airline lounges and easy-to-hop-on mass transit to and from the airport. Think about it, even without these two fundamental attributes, McCarran manages to make the to and fro of travel painless for Las Vegas.
My one legitimate complaint about McCarran—and it’s so easy to remedy, I still can’t believe they haven’t done it—is having arguably the worst signage leading up to an airport in modern history. Seriously. For the uninitiated, what does “Terminal 2” even mean? What a major, major flaw. On the flip side, after landing, we’re about ten minutes from the center of fabulosity. Now, that’s pretty damn cool.
When I first discovered that McCarran didn’t have airline lounges I could escape to, I thought my meditation exercise would be completely compromised. But, no, happily, I’ve been able to find a semi-quiet spot where I can be left alone with my thoughts—smack in the middle of the slot machines in Terminal C. Believe it. No one’s making sudden movements. Everything there is shockingly calm. And, as it should be, my perfect spot at McCarran International Airport is where all the action is. Now you tell me, how Vegas is that?