Confessions of an Airport Stalker

Falling just a little bit in love.

At Gate 17 at Helsinki Airport, an old woman slept on her back across three plastic seats in beige trousers and a brightly-colored knit sweater. Her rainbow stockinged feet were flat on the bench, silver hair fanned out like a curtain over a tightly rolled coat. Two IKEA canvas shopping bags, bursting full, were tucked close. She lay breathlessly still among the hustle of the deal-makers in cheap suits, the sweaty mothers herding children, the digital nomads lost in their phones. Just as I wondered if someone should check on her, she let out a loud snore.

The noise level dropped subtly at the sound of an announcement, our aircraft would be boarding shortly, please wait for your group to be called.

The old woman sat up, immediately glancing at the gate information. Once she'd confirmed she was at the right gate, she stood rather more gracefully, pulling on a pair of grey boots and unrolling her pillow into an ankle-length camel-colored coat. Once she was buttoned up, she drew a lacy scarf over her shoulders and cinched a large belt over the outfit. A quick twisted bun of her grey hair was hidden under a grey hat.

The snoring traveler in bright knit clothes had become a refined and elegant woman before my eyes. No one else had noticed.

I was already a little in love with her.

She quickly grabbed an abandoned trolley for her overflowing bags and strode out of the gate, returning just as the airline staff asked passengers in need of assistance or traveling with young children to come forward for boarding. Her make-up was freshly applied and her hair a little bit more neatly tucked into the hat.

We were allowed two personal items, one bag for overhead and a small personal item. I glanced at her pair of bulging IKEA bags. She waited patiently as the important people were all boarded: elegant among the budget passengers. As the final group was called, she asked a man in trainers and a football jersey to help her with her bags. Momentarily befuddled when she strode towards the gate agent without a backwards glance, he placed the bags behind her when she paused to scan her ticket. Once the gate agent was looking at the next passenger, the elderly woman picked up both bags and carried them through without attracting any questions.

I followed her onto the flight, relieved to see that she was seated in the row behind me. I couldn't bear to lose sight of her. She placed her bags in the aisle in front of the next boarding passenger, who quickly offered to lift them into the overhead compartment for her. Once everything was stowed away, she waved over a cabin crew member, who quickly fetched a blanket at her murmured request. Before we'd reached the runway, I heard a gentle snore.

After we landed, she was one of the first to stand. She tugged at the corner of one of the bags. A young man wrestling with an oversized backpack quickly reached out to help. As he caught her first bag, a small plastic bottle of red wine fell out. With lightning-fast reflexes, she caught it. This time, she caught me watching. She tucked the bottle into a coat pocket and flashed me a fast smile.

I smiled back, utterly charmed.

In careful English with a strong Slavic accent, she asked the young backpacker if he would help her off of the plane. He juggled his backpack with her two IKEA bags as we waited to move. A cabin crew member leaned towards her. "You ordered a wheelchair?"

"Oh yes," she said. "But I am walking OK today, so I will probably be able to walk if there is a problem." She nodded at her young man.

There was no problem. The wheelchair was waiting along with a heavyset man in dark blue work clothes and high-vis vest there to push her through the airport. The woman nodded at her young man holding her bags. She would be fine getting to the wheelchair.

I thought about the ease with which she'd moved in Helsinki and how fast-as-a-snake she'd caught that bottle of red wine. By the time I disembarked, she was being wheeled away at speed.

Utterly obsessed, I sped up to catch up with them, the airport worker overloaded with her IKEA bags as he pushed the wheelchair in which she sat serenely. As they arrived at baggage claim, she quickly pointed out a suitcase, calling out "There's one!"

He somehow maneuvered her and her bags to the carousel. She stood, explaining that she would walk now as he needed to get a trolley to carry her suitcases.

I followed them through customs, which did not give either of us a second glance. The crew member helplessly pushed her trolley as she pointed towards an exit.

They turned right. My bus was left. It was a tight connection, I needed to go now.

I followed her instead.

As they reached the exit, she stopped him. He stepped back, making a move to extricate himself, but she was having none of it. "And now, we wait."

He started to speak but she turned her back on him in the utter certainty that he would wait with her. Of course, he did.

I pulled out my phone to take her photograph from behind at least but then changed my mind. I didn't need her picture. I just needed to write this all down before I forgot. I checked the bus schedule: I'd missed my bus but it was only seventeen minutes to the next one. I had plenty of time.

When I looked up again, she was gone.