A Tale of Two Terminals

We realize we’ve been absent in our postings recently. Apologies for that. We took the past couple weeks off because we’ve been doing some traveling - an activity we once associated with adventure and personal growth. We set out in search of new horizons and old friends, but instead found ourselves trapped in the familiar confines of airport terminals that smelled faintly of hand sanitizer, sadness, and whatever it is they use to mop the floor of Gate 19B.

There’s something uniquely philosophical about airports. They are liminal spaces, in-between places, crossroads for jet-lagged nomads and screaming toddlers. People cry in airports. They propose. They panic about passports. They buy $12 bottles of water and convince themselves it’s part of the “experience.” Time stretches into something abstract, measured not in hours but in Wi-Fi sessions and desperate trips to Hudson News. Time zones blur into a sticky espresso haze. And the human body learns just how long it can remain upright before becoming morally and spiritually bankrupt.  

Still, we convince ourselves this is glamorous. Jet-setting. Continental. There’s a certain romance to it, if, of course, you ignore the TSA fondling and the coffee that tastes like scorched rubber. But like most romances, the details matter - and the setting makes all the difference. A bad airport can unravel your sanity in under twenty minutes, while a good one might just restore your faith in humanity, or at least make you forget you’re about to be stuck in a metal tube with a couple hundred strangers for the next seventeen hours. 

But then, once in a great while, a portal opens. Which brings us to today’s staggering, borderline-unfair airport experience comparisons between two airports that claim to be international gateways: Singapore’s Changi Airport,

a marvel of civility and imagination; and Los Angeles International Airport (LAX),

which is less an airport and more of a bus terminal with delusions of grandeur. What follows is not so much a comparison as a cautionary tale - a chronicle of what happens when one airport is run like a luxury hotel with a butterfly garden, and the other like a parking garage moonlighting as a transportation hub.

Customer Service:

Changi Airport: You’re greeted by staff who are not only awake but appear to enjoy helping people - an unsettling experience if you're used to airports where eye contact is considered an act of aggression. The staff at Changi smile without irony, offer directions without sighing, and occasionally ask you if you need help before you even realize you're lost. It’s almost as if hospitality is a national value and not just a slogan printed on laminated name tags.

Lost something? At Changi, there’s both an efficient online system and, astonishingly, a human who will actually assist you without making you feel like you’ve just asked them to solve the climate crisis. Misplaced items are located and returned with the kind of grace that makes you question how your own country handles found items (answer: a bin labeled “Unclaimed and Suspicious”).

Immigration, a process that usually feels like being cross-examined by a customs officer with a grudge, is disarmingly smooth. For many nationalities, automated biometric gates do the heavy lifting, and for everyone else, there are "Fast and Seamless Travel" (FAST) lanes, which, in a rare feat of truth in advertising, are both fast and seamless.

No barking. No queues curling into infinity. Just efficiency with a side of dignity.

LAX: At LAX, customer service feels like it was designed by a collaboration between Kafka and a DMV intern. From the moment you step off the plane, you're on your own. Confused? Lost? Jet-lagged and weeping? That’s adorable. There might be someone wearing a vest labeled “Customer Experience,” but they’re usually on break - or pretending to be.

Immigration is a test of endurance and faith, with lines that loop and meander like a summertime trip to Disneyland.

Officers tend to speak in monotones best suited for hostage negotiations. Their expressions hover somewhere between “mild irritation” and “open contempt.” Smile at them and they’ll check your passport twice. Ask a question and you may be treated to a stare that suggests you are the reason their lunch was late.

Need help finding a terminal or a gate?

You’ll likely get a shrug, a vague hand gesture, or a deeply unhelpful “it’s over there,” as if “there” isn’t a four-terminal labyrinth journey away that requires a Sherpa and divine intervention. Asking for assistance is often met with the kind of energy people reserve for telemarketers or exes who call at 2 a.m. LAX doesn’t guide you so much as dare you to figure it out.

Terminal Amenities:

Changi: There’s a butterfly garden in Terminal 3. Real butterflies. Not a mural or a sad animatronic version, but an actual lush, temperature-controlled garden where delicate winged creatures flit about like extras in a nature documentary.

It’s serene, leafy, and smells refreshingly like greenery instead of recycled air and burnt coffee. You come for the flight, you stay for the emotional reset.

Feeling grimy after your flight? Head to the rooftop pool and jacuzzi - yes, jacuzzi - where you can sip a cocktail from the bar while watching planes take off like you’re in some kind of glamorous spy thriller. It’s less “airport layover” and more “accidental resort day,” which raises uncomfortable questions about why more airports can’t manage this level of foresight (or soap for that matter).

If you’re exhausted, no need to fold yourself into a chair shaped like a medieval punishment device. Changi offers designated rest zones with reclining chairs, mood lighting, and actual peace and quiet. Or, if you like your naps with a side of privacy and climate control, you can check into YotelAir, a sleek, in-terminal capsule hotel that proves you can rest on the road without needing an Ambien and a neck brace.

Hungry? Prepare to feel overwhelmed in the best possible way. You can go from a Michelin-starred hawker stall to a French patisserie to a ramen joint without breaking a sweat or a hundred-dollar bill. There’s sushi. There’s dim sum. There’s food that tastes like someone cared. This is not just “grab a snack before boarding” - it’s a food tour with a boarding pass.

And then, of course, there’s the Jewel - Changi’s $1.25 billion answer to the question, “What if an airport also made you believe in the future?” The centerpiece is the world’s tallest indoor waterfall, surrounded by a forest canopy, walking trails, and enough luxury shopping to bankrupt a royal.

It’s not merely a terminal - it’s a destination. People go there without flying anywhere. Imagine that.

LAX: There’s a Starbucks. Maybe two. Possibly a Shake Shack, if you’ve achieved enlightenment or have two hours to spare for the line. Yes, there is a food court. But the hungry travelers outnumber the options - and available seats - until the whole thing feels less like dining and more like a survival-themed game show.

Otherwise, you’re looking at a selection of vaguely edible options that all taste like disappointment and come wrapped in crinkly plastic. Nutrition is theoretical. Flavor is optional.

Want to lie down? Your best bet is to stake out a stretch of floor near Gate 42B and hope it hasn’t recently been mopped with something lemon-scented and ominous. There are chairs, yes - but they’re designed to repel the human spine and discourage rest, lest anyone accidentally experience comfort on airport property.

Entertainment options are limited to watching fellow passengers lose their minds in slow motion. You’ll see interpretive dance performances as people struggle with the body scanner.

You’ll hear improvised monologues from confused tourists being told to “remove all items” for the third time. Or you can play the unofficial LAX game: “Will My Flight Board From a Gate on My Boarding Pass, or a Secret One Announced via Whisper?”

And if you need anything - food, water, the will to live - prepare to hike. Terminals are disconnected, signage is vague, and escalators routinely stop working mid-sentence. LAX is less an airport and more an escape room designed by people who hate you and also don’t believe in air conditioning.

Efficiency:

Changi: Baggage reclaim in under 10 minutes. Every time. No dramatic pauses, no forlorn carousel staring contests, and no slow trickle of someone else’s suitcase taunting you with its punctuality. Your bag shows up almost as soon as you do, which suggests either advanced logistics or mild sorcery.

Automated check-in, bag drop, and boarding gates actually work as intended - imagine that. Machines scan your passport, print your tag, swallow your luggage, and smile (figuratively) as they send you on your way. It’s self-service without the rage, confusion, or growing suspicion that you’ve accidentally deleted your identity in the process.

Need to get to the city? Just stroll downstairs and hop on the MRT, Singapore’s pristine, punctual, and refreshingly air-conditioned metro system.

You’ll be downtown in under 30 minutes, without needing to haggle, guess, or Google “is this taxi a scam.” And yes, the train comes more often than a text from your emotionally unavailable ex.

LAX: Getting from curb to gate is less of a commute and more of a saga. First, you enter ride-share purgatory, a maze of orange cones and honking that ends in either a curbside pickup or an existential crisis. From there, you battle through TSA lines moving at geological speeds, only to be herded onto a shuttle that hasn’t seen daylight or accurate timing since 2017.

Public transport technically exists in Los Angeles, but it functions more as a rumor than a reliable option. The Metro Bus does go to LAX, but good luck navigating that with a suitcase and a will to live. The FlyAway shuttle service is L.A.’s closest attempt at airport civility.

And yet even it manages to feel like a long-haul Greyhound with delusions of grandeur.

As for your luggage? It may arrive eventually, usually after you’ve begun to question whether you ever packed a bag at all. The delay could be caused by mechanical issues, union rules, moon phases, or simply a deep metaphysical reluctance to reunite you with your belongings. The carousel groans. You wait. Somewhere, a single sock spins endlessly.

Cleanliness and Design:

Changi: You could eat off the floor - though why would you when there’s an actual food court that doesn’t smell like fryer grease and compromise? The floors gleam, the walls sparkle, and even the escalators seem to hum contentedly as they glide you toward yet another calming atrium.

Restrooms are cleaned every 30 minutes, which is either an operational miracle or a sign that Singapore has perfected time management down to the molecular level. Some even feature touchscreen feedback panels, so you can rate the cleanliness like you’re reviewing a fine dining experience.

It’s participatory hygiene - and it works. You leave refreshed, not traumatized.

The design is a masterclass in how to make a building whisper “breathe”. Natural light pours through skylights. Indoor gardens flourish. Water features murmur soothingly. Changi doesn’t just move you from one plane to another - it gently cradles your jet-lagged soul and offers you a moment of Zen between duty-free splurges.

LAX: The restrooms at LAX, by contrast, are an “enter at your own peril” experience. The floors are wet, the stalls are suspiciously sticky, and the general vibe hovers somewhere between “gas station on a desert highway” and “post-apocalyptic truck stop.” If there’s a cleaning schedule, it was clearly written in invisible ink.

Seating is both scarce and strangely grimy, as if the chairs themselves have grown weary of the chaos and have stopped resisting the entropy. And should you wish to plug something in, prepare to stalk the terminal like a power-hungry predator. Outlets are few, awkwardly placed, and usually claimed by someone charging not just their phone, but a tangle of devices that suggests they're running a cryptocurrency farm out of Terminal 5.

As for the design - well, calling it “design” may be generous. LAX appears to have been assembled in phases, each with its own aesthetic philosophy and complete disregard for the human experience. Signage is cryptic. Terminals are fragmented. If joy once visited, it didn’t stay. The overall effect is less international gateway and more “mall renovation paused due to lack of funding and hope.”

Things to Do During a Layover:

Changi: If you’ve got a few hours to kill at Changi, congratulations - you’re not stuck in transit, you’re on a mini holiday. First stop: the free movie theaters. Yes, plural. With actual cinema seats, surround sound, and rotating selections of blockbusters,

it’s not just “something to do,” it’s a real cinematic experience. All without that sticky multiplex carpet smell.

Feeling active? Try the indoor slides (the tallest airport slide in the world, naturally), or wander through interactive art installations that don’t just sit there - they light up, react, and occasionally surprise you into thinking the airport itself might be sentient.

There are also VR gaming pods, Xbox zones, and enough digital distractions to make you forget your gate even exists.

And if your layover stretches into “I might actually grow old here” territory, Singapore literally rolls out the red carpet. The Free Singapore Tour, offered in partnership with the tourism board, whisks you out of the airport and into the city. Yes, Singapore’s tourism board literally wants you to leave the airport and come back. And they do it - on time, no stress, no missed connections. Just free sightseeing like it’s a casual favor.

LAX: Meanwhile, at LAX, a layover is less “bonus vacation” and more “test of emotional fortitude.” The entertainment offerings are limited to CNN on mute in the gate area, with captions that lag three sentences behind and only half make sense. It's like trying to read the news in a fever dream.

If you’re feeling adventurous, you can play everyone’s favorite air travel survival game: “How Long Can I Hold It?” - a bladder-based sport inspired by the state of the restrooms and the existential dread of using them. It's part Olympic discipline, part psychological thriller.

And if your connection requires moving to another terminal, brace yourself. There’s no proper train, no indoor connectors in most cases - just a shuttle bus that arrives somewhere between “soon” and “eventually,”

and a brisk outdoor walk where you can contemplate your life choices, the structural decay of American infrastructure, and whether your flight will leave without you.

Thoughtfulness:

Changi: Changi doesn’t just provide amenities - it preempts your suffering. Every seating area is equipped with USB ports and universal power outlets, so you’re not crawling under benches like a tech-deprived raccoon. Need a nap? There are quiet zones with reclining loungers and soft lighting that whisper, “It’s okay, just close your eyes. The airport’s got this.”

Traveling with kids? There are dedicated play areas where the little ones can burn off sugar and airplane fidgets without terrorizing the gate area.

Need a break from humanity? Slip into one of the meditation rooms or the tranquility zones, where even the air seems better behaved. Traveling with a baby? There are parent lounges with feeding areas, warm water dispensers, and private nursing rooms - proof that someone in airport design asked, “What would make this whole experience less awful for everyone?” and then actually followed through.

The signage is a lesson in multilingual clarity - English, Mandarin, Malay, Tamil, and most importantly, common sense. It’s abundant, consistent, and placed where your eyes actually go. Even better, the Changi App is your pocket concierge: real-time gate changes, restroom locations, restaurant hours, crowd-level heat maps.

It’s not just helpful - it’s borderline intimate. You start to wonder if it knows your shoe size.

LAX: At LAX, thoughtfulness is more of an afterthought. Power outlets exist in theory, but in practice, you’ll find two of them tucked behind a vending machine in Terminal 6, both occupied by someone charging a phone and a vaporizer from 2012. Need help? Best consult your inner compass, because signage is sparse, contradictory, or cruelly ambiguous - often pointing you toward a gate that hasn’t existed since the Cold War.

As for the LAX app... let’s just say it’s there, like a ghost in the machine.

It offers gate info that’s either wildly outdated or so vague it might as well say, “Try asking someone.” The terminal maps appear to have been designed during a power outage and then faxed in. Your best bet? Budget an extra hour to get lost, and possibly come to terms with who you’ve become as a person.

At Changi, the airport anticipates your needs. At LAX, you are the problem, and the infrastructure exists to cope with you just well enough to avoid a lawsuit.

So what have we learned in this, a tale of two terminals? That not all airports are created equal - some are lovingly engineered utopias, while others are loosely managed experiments in human frustration. Changi is what happens when a nation decides its airport should be a source of pride. LAX is what happens when it feels like everyone involved gave up years ago.

In the end, airports are cathedrals of movement - temples to the modern pilgrimage of getting the hell out of wherever you were.

And like all places of worship, they reflect the values of the cultures that built them. Changi whispers: We thought about you. We planned for you. We want you to be okay. LAX, on the other hand, mumbles: You’ll survive. Probably. Good luck. One is an experience. The other is an ordeal with jet fuel and a Cinnabon.

The real tragedy isn’t that LAX is bad - it’s that we’ve decided bad is just how airports work. That sticky floors, passive-aggressive signage, and the ambient hum of despair are the standard price of global travel. We’ve come to expect so little from travel that a working bathroom feels like a luxury and a smile from staff might qualify as an out-of-body experience. And then you land somewhere like Singapore and realize: it doesn’t have to be this way. Airports can be clean. They can be efficient. They can give you butterflies - literally, in Changi’s case.

Now, we’re not asking every airport to have a waterfall and a Michelin-starred dumpling stall (though we’d like to formally request this, yes, please). But a chair you can sit in without questioning your life choices? An outlet that works? A bathroom that doesn’t feel like a crime scene? These are not impossible dreams. They are, in fact, minimum standards. Or should be. Travel should do more than deliver you from point A to point B. It should offer a glimpse of what humanity can be when we give a damn. Changi does that. It makes you believe, just for a moment, that the world isn’t broken. That maybe, just maybe, efficiency and kindness aren’t mutually exclusive.

So, the next time you’re laying on the floor at LAX, trying to siphon 3% battery from a suspiciously buzzing wall socket while the gate agent mumbles about another delay - close your eyes. Picture koi ponds, velvet lounges, robot bartenders, and restrooms that actually ask you to rate your experience. And know that somewhere, far from this chaos, such a place exists. It’s called Changi. And yes, it’s always open.

Do you have a favorite airport experience? Tell us about it in the comments section below.

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