You might hope that this columnist would travel by leisurely boat through the Panama Canal but he, too, wings it, when work calls, over the great circles close to the melting poles. Aircraft and airports are a part of life even in the slow lane at the moment, pretty much unavoidable for transatlantic travel. At some point we may be faced with the rationing of air miles; in the meantime, instead of following the unthinking imperative to expand (more runways, more terminals), could we not help to set a limit on demand by insisting on a certain quality of airport experience?

Arriving early for a flight at San Francisco airport (SFO), I found I had, as the expression goes, "time to kill". At Heathrow or any other airport run by the Mammon-driven British Airports Authority, that would mean a choice between various unappetising cafés and bars, shopping in characterless chain stores and reading in an overcrowded waiting area designed to lower the spirits.

Even decent café chains seem to slip in quality at Heathrow: in a café boastfully advertising "the best espresso this side of Milan", I had to complain about two undrinkable lattes, tasting of stale dregs rather than freshly ground beans. A woman who witnessed my complaint asked: "How can you tell if it's stale or not? For me it's just caffeine."

I can guarantee you would never have such a dismal experience at Emporio Rulli, the excellent small Bay Area coffee and pastry chain that has the franchise for SFO's cappuccino scene. San Franciscan Gary Rulli trained as a pastry chef in Italy before setting up shop in Larkspur, north of San Francisco, and the city itself. The three Rulli cafés in the airport sparkle with pride; a coffee and cake taken in one of them will be not just delicious but soul-uplifting. Why on earth can we in Britain, 5,000 miles closer to Italy, not attract comparable quality, family-run enterprises to our airports?

Something similar happens with books. All bookshops in British airports are faceless chains: mere "outlets" on the model of a factory or production line. But at SFO you have Hudson Booksellers and Boule Café; a miniatureversion of one of those grand West Coast bookshops, Powell's of Portland or Elliott Bay Books of Seattle. Here you feel welcomed as a book-loving customer; attracted by a display of handpicked, often beautiful and unusual volumes, rather than piles of "three for two" offers prioritising quantity rather than quality.

But I do not write to praise the shopping opportunities at SFO. What struck me most was how much of this exemplary public space was devoted to the cultivation of the mind. SFO has a rather impressive museum and library of the history of aviation, from the Sopwith Camel to the latest Airbus. How enriching to take a step back from the frenetic present of security checks (even at this civilised place, the announcement says: "Welcome to San Francisco airport. We are currently at security level orange") into a more risky but less paranoid past.

Even better for me than the museum of aviation was the Henry E Berman meditation room. For years I have been arguing that airports should have meditation rooms rather than caviar emporiums and car showrooms but I felt more like a surrealist dreamer than a sober policymaker. Sure, some airports have "chapels" but these are usually dismal, airless places, suggesting one of those brands of Christianity that has estranged so many from institutional religion.

The Henry E Berman meditation room is nothing like that. It is a beautifully designed space in the heart of the airport, with louvered windows giving fine views across to the hills. You are greeted by a Renaissance-inspired compass floor design, plants and comfortable seating; also by signs that encourage you not to talk, eat, sleep or use mobile phones.

Not perfect, but all I can say is that after half an hour of not eating, drinking or aimlessly shopping, I felt mysteriously restored. No one said meditation was easy, especially not my own meditation teacher, who calls it the most difficult thing in the world. But Henry E Berman (president of the San Francisco Airport Commission, by the way) has set an inspiring precedent. Our public spaces need not always bow to the relentless pressure of getting and spending; they can promote what we in the 21st century need more than anything, a sense of the sacred without dogmatic religion.

你或许希望这篇文章的专栏作家能悠闲地坐着轮船穿越巴拿马运河。不过，当工作召唤之时，他却生出双翼，绕很一大圈来到了冰雪融化的极点。即使在当前的慢车道上，飞机和机场也已是生活的一部分，对于跨大西洋的旅行而言实在是无可避免。在某个时间节点上，我们也许将面临航空里程的定量供应；与此同时，除了服从训令进行盲目扩张外（扩建更多跑道，更多航空终端），我们能否避免刻意限定需求，转而执着于特定品质的机场体验呢？

提早来到旧金山国际机场（SFO）搭乘航班后，我发觉自己有了"需要打发的时间"。要是在希斯罗机场，或任何其他由视钱如命的英国机场管理局（British Airports Authority）所运营的机场，这都意味着在口味欠佳的各色咖啡馆和酒吧间进行选择，在毫无品位的连锁店中购物，以及在过于拥挤，令你垂头丧气的等候区域中阅读。

在希斯罗机场，即便是体面的咖啡连锁店，在品质上似乎也出现了沉沦：一家自我标榜为"米兰（Milan）最棒的意式浓缩咖啡（espresso）"，我禁不住对两杯难以下咽的拿铁咖啡（latte）抱怨不休，他们哪里是新鲜可口的咖啡豆啊，简直是无法下咽的垃圾。一位瞧见我抱怨的女子问道："你怎么判断它新不新鲜呢？对我而言，它只不过是咖啡因。"

我能向你保证，你永远不会在旧金山湾区（Bay Area）品质优良的Emporio Rulli咖啡馆和点心连锁店中遭遇类似令人沮丧的经历。这家咖啡馆拥有在旧金山机场售卖卡布基诺的专营权。

旧金山的加里•鲁里（Gary Rulli）在意大利受训为点心厨师，之后他在旧金山北面的拉克斯博（Larkspur）及旧金山城中开起了店铺。飞机场中的三家Rulli咖啡馆交映生辉；在其中任何一家品尝咖啡和蛋糕，都不仅是美味的体验，而且还能陶冶心智。而英国距离意大利近了5000英里，却没有吸引到相同品质的家族企业到我们的机场运营，这到底是为什么呢？

类似情形也出现在书店方面。英国机场中的所有书店都是毫无特质的连锁店：只不过是工厂或流水线模式的"门面"罢了。但在旧金山国际机场，你就能找到哈德逊书店（Hudson Booksellers）和Boule咖啡店；或那些大型书店的微缩版本，比如西海岸书店（West Coast）、波特兰的鲍威尔书店（Powell's Books）或是西雅图的Elliott Bay书店。

在这里，你会感觉到自己作为一名爱书人而受到欢迎；手工挑选、装潢精美、非同寻常的书籍将使你眼前一亮，这可不是数量优于质量、"买三送二"的书籍大卖场。

不过，我并非专为赞美旧金山国际机场的购物环境而写作。最打动我的地方是，这类堪称典范的公共空间是专为陶冶心灵而设计的。旧金山国际机场有家相当不错的航空历史博物馆和图书馆，展品包含了从索普威思骆驼型（Sopwith Camel）战机到最新空客（Airbus）在内的各类飞机。假如能从充斥着安全检查的"当下"回到从前（即便是这个文明的所在，也能看到如下标语："欢迎来到旧金山机场。我们现在的安全级别是橙色"），回到更富冒险精神，少些妄想狂倾向的从前，那该是多么地令人心旷神怡啊。

对我而言，比航空博物馆更具吸引力的是，亨利•E•博曼冥想室。多年以来，我一直在探讨应该在机场设立冥想室，取代鱼子酱商店和汽车展示厅，但我感觉自己更象是超现实主义的梦想家，而非清醒冷静的决策者。诚然，某些机场的确有"小教堂"，但它们通常都是乏味而憋闷的所在，与机构齐全的宗教相比，只不过是基督教林林总总品牌衍生出来的品种罢了。

虽然这看起来带有些许苦修的意味，多数进入房间的人却没太把它当回事：一个家伙正在啃着个苹果，还故意发出咀嚼的声响；一名女子正在睡觉；两名航空公司的员工正在急促地交谈着。另一名女子则以半莲花姿态坐在地板上--毫无疑问，她正纠缠于菩萨有关行善积德的训诫之中--而我自己，则正在记着笔记（或许这也不符合冥想室的氛围）。

虽然结果还不尽完美，但我要说的是，在半个小时不吃不喝，也不盲目购物之后，我感觉到自己的精力出人意料地复原了。没人说过，冥想是轻松的事情，我的冥想老师尤其如此，他将其看作是世界上最难的工作。不过，亨利•E•博曼（顺便提一句，他是旧金山市机场管理委员会的主席）则创立了一个令人鼓舞的先例。我们的公共空间并不需要总是屈从于持续不断的索取和花销压力；他们也可以推广我们在21世纪最需要的东西：一种不受宗教教条束缚的神圣感。
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