Some gates in Terminal 5 feel like they were designed by someone who hates windows. They’re deep, windowless tunnels where the only light comes from a flickering sign for “Duty Free: Like a discount store, but for perfumes and regret.” You will walk for 12 minutes and find yourself in a room with 50 seats, all occupied by one guy using an outlet to charge three phones.
Conversely, there’s the “New” International Arrivals Hall, which opened a few years back and looks like a sterile spaceship. It has high ceilings, fake plants, and a silence so profound you can hear your own bladder complain. It’s luxurious, but it lacks the terminal’s original charm: the chaos of a thousand people trying to show their passports to one grumpy officer.
