Overcrowded. Heavy smoke. A long queue to get a small cup of crappy coffee. Loud music from cheap speakers, even louder chats as people are trying to shout down the speakers. I don’t understand a word. The smoking terrace at the airport is a beautiful place. It resembles a bazaar, and I immediately have fallen in love with this place. Thirsty after the flight where they didn’t serve drinks, I’m standing in the line. It’s difficult to stay focused because of the roaring noises, bright lights and people elbowing their way to bar tables.
‘I’d like a bottle of still water, please,’ I say when it’s finally my turn.
I handle a one hundred dollar bill.
‘Sorry, no change.’
I don’t have other cash either.
‘Okay, sorry,’ I say and leave, thinking that at Duty Free there might be change.
‘Excuse me,’ a voice behind my back.
I turn around, and there’s a young woman with a baby in a stroll standing.
‘Sorry, I’ve overhead you, you want to buy water?’
‘Yeah, but they don’t have change, it’s fine, I’ll find Duty Free or something.’
‘I have cash,’ the woman says with a heartwarming smile.
‘It’s okay, thank you, don’t bother.’
‘No problem,’ she says and asks me to hold her cup of coffee.
She opens her bag, gets her wallet.
‘I only have euros,’ she says.
‘Oh, sorry, I’ve got dollars,’ I apologise.
‘No problem, just take two euros, it’s enough to buy water,’ she handles me a coin.
‘No, really, thank you, no need.’
‘It’s nothing,’ she insists with a bright smile.
‘Thank you so much,’ I take the coin.
And I went back to the smoking terrace, stood in the queue again, and got a bottle of still water for 1.5$. That beautiful woman has restored by faith in humanity.