architecture

The TWA Terminal at JFK

Our last stop in New York was the TWA terminal at JFK airport. Getting there was a testament to patience. At Rhinecliff station we arrived with plenty of time for our train only to find it was delayed, and delayed a bit more. Eventually, people at the station started muttering and working out what had happened. A handy Amtrak app showed the train was moving at 1mph and was 18 hours away, so we would be in for a wait. I foolishly assumed another train would come and rescue us but the entire line was buggered, so we got a taxi with a couple who were waiting at the station. They were very modern and suggested we Venmo them the cab fare. I still don’t know what a Venmo is. We took the cab to Poughkeepsie and got the “express” train to New York. It was described as the world’s slowest express train and that was true. It crawled through to Grand Central, sometimes going so slowly it felt like we might be moving backwards, but we got back to the city eventually. 

Far later than planned, we got to our airport hotel and hot footed it to the TWA terminal, which I had become obsessed with. The terminal was built between 1959 and 1962, and had a Jetsons-era feel about it; a future full of grand curving lines and optimism for the future. The terminal’s roof was designed in the shape of a wing and corridors in the terminal were created as dramatic tubes. The terminal was dreamed up by Finnish architect Eero Saarinen with an economy that seems perfectly Scandinavian but also exciting enough to make flying from the terminal seem like an adventure in itself.

All the curves

Everything about the design was entirely perfect, save for one vital detail. The expectation was that the terminal would be used by just over a million people a year, but within a year of the terminal opening, one and a half million people a year used it, turning the flowing space into a jumble. The age of the jumbo jet also made the terminal seem obsolete soon after opening and gradually the terminal became less important, by 2001 it was closed entirely. 

Everything in its right place

Turning the terminal into something magnificent again appeared to be an impossible task; since it closed, the Port Authority asked organisations for proposals to bring the building back to life. Many ideas for hotels, conference centres and the like were suggested, but they kept falling through. Eventually, in 2014 a plan was presented and accepted, and today there’s a 500-room hotel, conference centre and renewed architectural gem in place. Everywhere inside the terminal are references to TWA. Naturally the hotel rooms have branding everywhere, and they don’t come cheap, with the frugal guest shelling out $261 plus the ubiquitous fees and taxes, coming to $364 a night. For this, you do get a room filled with midcentury furniture, the second most soundproof glass in the world, and as many international and national calls as you can do. To make this feel like a bargain, I’d spend the entire time on the blower, whether the recipient of the call liked it or not. 

The sunken lounge

Arriving at the terminal is wonderful, and the elegance of the building shines through the dreck of a busy modern airport. A mixture of people are milling about but my favourite sight of the visit was to see two women in dressing gowns, plastered with the TWA logo, strolling around the terminal, clearly staying at the hotel. They sat near us in the Sunken Lounge bar, reclining in a chair, closing their eyes as if in a spa while surrounded by people using up some spare time before their flight. To their right, a bored kid on his phone. To their left, a family eating food from a plastic container. It immediately showed up the best and most jarring aspects of the TWA terminal. It’s open to the public so anyone can show up but it’s also wildly expensive. And where these two meet up – the whole thing becomes a bit confusing. I am delighted that everything is open to all, but it loses some of the style I was expecting when there. It’s the same on the gorgeous Connie jet, which is now a cocktail bar. The chic style of the jet age, the atmosphere of a Wetherspoons. 

The Connie – with cocktail bar inside

However, it’s an airport, and nobody goes to an airport for the vibes, and I will defend that belief as someone who wishes to spend the absolute minimum amount of time in an airport. I have endured many – far too many – exhausting runs in airports simply because I didn’t want to spend enough time in my personal vision of hell. 

That being said, would I recommend the TWA terminal to a visitor to NYC? Yes. It’s a one of a kind marvel of travel architecture and I am so glad I got to experience it.

Open House London 2017

Open House is the best weekend in the year for the nosey among us and for the curious, it’s a great opportunity to see places you’d normally pay to get in or only get in by evading men with guns. As I didn’t to see Number 10 or the BT tower via the ballots, I plumped for Banqueting House on Whitehall. It is the last remnant of the Palace of Whitehall and has some interesting history behind it. The ceiling of Banqueting Hall was painted by Ruebens, dating back to 1636 and it’s a spectacular sight. Installing the canvasses wasn’t easy – though Belgium and England both used feet as a measurement, there was a difference in how long a foot was. If only there was an Olde EU, we’d have had equal measurements, and the canvass wouldn’t have needed some chopping up to make it fit.

The Great Hall was James I’s main venue for great parties, right in the middle of town. Ideal for showing off, it is said he was well into that and according to some information boards in the hall, he also loved the company of men. Suddenly, the Royal Family seems pretty cool.

Afterwards, sensing there would be queues for many things, if the queues for the Foreign Office were anything to go by, we went to Shakeshack where we got to experience modern architecture and a building too full of people eating quite average burgers. Then, onto Belgrave Square, where we visited the Romanian and Italian cultural institutes and the Argentinian ambassador’s house. The Romanian cultural institute had little in the way of diversions. The interior was grand enough, but when you’ve seen one grand old house, in a way, you’ve seen them all. There was an exhibition of blouses.

The Italian institute’s interior was more interesting, with classrooms full of old desks that reek of the repression of left-handers. There was a library stocked with books about Italy, which you can pop into any time! The library is in a lovely extension with a mezzanine floor.

The highlight was the ambassador’s house. In fact, in terms of what their offer was, they really made the others seem lazy. First of all, there was a doormat saying “beware of the pug”, with attendant pug looking gorgeous in a basket by a table groaning with beautiful flowers. Moving on, every room was full of art from Argentina, colours leaping out at you. It was as if all the excitement, noise and colour of the country was shipped over in diplomatic bags and installed in a London townhouse. Upstairs a band played Argentine jazz. Perhaps it was just jazz. A child danced to the beats, all beneath elaborate chandeliers. The last room was the office of the ambassador, which was a lovely treat; the room was filled with books on all the subjects you’d ever want to know about and a grand desk. As I left, I spotted a picture of the ambassador with the Queen. No Ferrero Rocher was visible.