Two o’clock in the morning and I am standing at the crossroads of the modern world. Like a pinball machine, the arrivals-and-departures board clicks off the names of international cities—Dhaka, Colombo, Damascus, Male, Perth, Manchester, New York, Bangkok, Ho Chi Minh City—and wave after wave of citizens of the 21st century move this way and that through this massive marble-and-glass terminal.
One can’t help staring in wonder. Denim-clad construction workers from the Indian subcontinent are slumped over seats waiting for their flights to be called; Armani-draped businessmen carrying Gucci leather briefcases head for the first-class lounges; young, loving couples sleep entwined on the sofas that line the walkways. The final call for the Emirates flight to Jidda summons a posse of women in burkas, who scurry to the gate. Walking in strict formation in the opposite direction, behind a young man hoisting a yellow flag, is a group of neatly dressed, middle-aged Japanese women.
The only near-stationary beings in this enormous cavern of activity are the shoppers poring over items in 100 or so stores that run the length of the terminal, stacked with everything from the usual electronic gizmos and perfumes to $11,000 bottles of 1947 Cheval Blanc. (At Le Clos fine wines, the salesperson tells me she has already taken in $100,000—in a single sale—that evening.) Read more..