Why I spent hours at an airport...

The elderly gentleman hurries over to the boarding desk. Even before he gets to it, he’s waving his boarding pass. Just as he reaches the desk, an aircraft passes the window on the runway. The lady at the desk laughs: “Unfortunately you’re too late” and takes the ticket. The would-be passenger laughs too - trial operations are still ongoing at the new Berlin Airport, BER.

There are still a good four months before the new airport opens. To ensure the airport opens without a hitch, around 10,000 volunteers are practicing routine and emergency scenarios at the airport. And I’m one of them today. At a wintery -14 °C and in glorious sunshine, I’ve made my way to the airport construction site.

Incognito and with someone else’s luggage

A brief introduction, a green helmet and a glowing green bib are all it takes to transform me into an acceptable airport tester. Just a few minutes later, I make my way to the departure hall with my ticket as Mr Oliver Lodiga, booked onto a flight to Oslo. My task and that of the other 150 or so volunteers today is, just as we do in real life, to hand in our luggage, pass through the security checks and find our way to the gate. The exercise is finished when our boarding passes are scanned at the gate.

In the cavernous, light-flooded departure hall, my first stop is in front of a huge mountain of cases. I choose a turquoise trolley suitcase and a dented black monstrosity of a bag and dutifully queue up at the check-in desk. Today is also the first trial day at the new airport for the airline staff at check-in. The counter is still wrapped in plastic. While the enthusiastic employees battle with their unfamiliar technology, the test passengers are having a great deal of fun: “Hey, we’re here together,” whispers the lady in front of me to her companion, “so let’s say we want to sit next to each other, too!”

I don’t have any special requests and my alter ego, Oliver, can soon look forward to a window seat in row 9. During check-in, I wonder what exactly is in my luggage. “Real things!” answers the stewardess: “They’re all items of luggage from the Lost & Found throughout Germany!”

Desperately seeking B15!

The next port of call is the security check. The extra layers are now stripped off: bags, reflective vests, jackets, scarves and pullovers end up in black crates and are x-rayed. I manage to get through the detector without setting off the alarm and embark on my search for gate B15. It starts off so simply: traffic cones line the route. Deviating from them can be fatal.

It gets more difficult later on. There is the turn-off to B15 - but you can only get there using the lift - and that’s not working yet. So I walk on. At the end of the corridor, I’m baffled: I can see B22 and 23 - but where is 15? No signs anywhere to be seen - but that’s not really a problem: there is an incredible number of people all around the construction site: builders, electricians, fire watches, architects. The one of them who smiled at me first affably points me in the right directions: “You’ve come too far! How could that have happened?”

And then, like an aircraft finding the runway, I find my destination: the sought-after gate B15. It’s at ground level, at a pleasant temperature and already equipped with a functioning display showing all the departures. I stand in front of it and read names like Miami, London and Dnepropetrovsk. Why does Mr Oliver Lodiga actually have to go to Oslo when there are plenty of other far-flung, much more exotic destinations? But Olli doesn’t care. While I give the friendly stewardess my ticket to tear up, he gets on board. I stay behind. The capital’s new airport, BER, has passed my test.