Terminal zero

Iranian exile Merhan Karimi Nasseri has been living in the interzone at Charles de Gaulle International Airport since 1988.

Nasseri, also known as Alfred or "Sir, Alfred" (title and comma appropriated from a mistake in a letter from British immigration), has organized his life's belongings into a half-dozen Lufthansa cargo boxes, various suitcases and unused carry-on luggage. On a nearby coffee table spotted with aluminum ashtrays, Nasseri's universe includes a pair of alarm clocks, an electric shaver, a hand mirror and a collection of press clippings and photographs to establish his present and his recent past. He seems both settled -- and ready to go. [...]

In an eerily Warholian relationship, Nasseri's closest neighbors at the airport are a photo booth and a photocopy machine. Unlike most movie types, Nasseri does not have a cell phone, and he eats regularly at the McDonald's in the food court 100 feet away. ("I like the fish," he says.) The only green in his immediate environment is, ironically, the Sortie (Exit) sign. [...]

Nasseri cannot be forcibly moved or repatriated. He is protected by a number of international refugee statutes. According to Bourguet, he is legally free to leave the airport. All Nasseri has to do is sign the identity papers the French provided him in 1999. But the papers identify him as Iranian and don't recognize his adopted name of Sir, Alfred. And so he can't -or won't- sign them: a testament to either patience, or madness.

- His adopted name (including the comma) taken from the corrupted code of a form letter: a one-man cargo cult, a Ballard story made flesh.

His life follows the quotidian airport cycle. He wakes at 5:30 in order to shave in the men's room before passengers arrive. He reads all day long. At night, he waits until the airport stores are locked before he brushes his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste from a complimentary airline travel kit. Weekly, he rinses out his clothes overnight in the bathroom. [...]

"An airport is kind of a place between heaven and earth," said Danielle Yzerman, spokeswoman for Charles de Gaulle. "He has found a home here."

And now a movie based on the story from Spielberg, starring Hanks.

Are there similar folk, wandering the elevated walkways and yellow lines of the Barbican, free to go, yet lost or afraid to leave?

Updates:

• Matthew Rose's Airport Disease (in Cabinet magazine, which looks rather good) is presumably the original article that his later NYT piece was based on.
• Not the first time it was made into a film: Tombes du ciel (Lost in Transit, 1993).
• RussCoff visited Sir, Alfred, in June
• In the Guardian, (a lot) more on Nasseri: The man who lost his past. And at Gothamist, Terminal Cases.
• See also: The Airport of Crossed Destinies.

Comments

[Phil Gyford]

A few years back I spent a few weeks working at Chello in Amsterdam, out in the uncharted lands beyond Schipol airport. A few friends were working their permanently and it felt like they were living in a future from Wallpaper* magazine, as edited by Ballard.

Living in central Amsterdam (which seemed like an olde theme park in comparison), getting to work involved passing through Schipol with its huge outdoor LED advertising displays, and a minibus through flat business parks to the anonymous office.

After work socialising would involve speeding back to civilisation or going for drinks in one of the airport bars. People would head off from the bar to do their shopping at the airport grocery store, dodging the rucksacks and wheeled suitcases. A peculiar existence.

[Rodcorp]

More on Nasseri at RussCoff's site: http://russcoff.typepad.com/russcoff/2004/08/varia_.html and http://russcoff.typepad.com/russcoff/2004/06/sir_alfred_nass.html