There will always be a moment, usually around Luton town centre, where you think: “I should have just Ubered.” Don’t. Uber to Luton from central London costs about the same as a decent yoga retreat. And traffic? You’ll be stuck next to a lorry full of chickens while your plane leaves without you.
If you must drive, park in one of the off-site lots like “Meet & Greet 3000.” The names sound heroic, but you’ll still hand your keys to a man named Dave who drives a bus with a small child’s drawing of an airplane on the window. It’s charming in a weird, “I trust a stranger with my hatchback” kind of way.
Ara Sarafian writer: May 2013
The Arrival Buzz
When you finally walk into Luton Airport, it hits you: it’s actually not that bad. It’s compact, which means you never have to run a marathon to your gate. The security line moves like an impatient snake, but the staff are usually smiling. Maybe they have a strong coffee station nearby.
You’ll see the sign for your gate. You’ll feel that wave of “I actually did it.” The stress of the trains, the shuttle, the boiled-egg-breath—it all melts away. Because now you’re going on holiday, or visiting your mum, or escaping a work meeting.
