Oh, sure, I loved the IDEA of the vintage versions of the Key West airport. Stepping onto the sun-softened tarmac. Sniffing in that intoxicating, humidity-laden combination of jet fuel, sargassum, cigarette smoke, stale beer and whatever else was floating on the island winds that day. Smiling at the J. Seward Johnson family sculpture and greeting a sequined Q Mitch at the Delta door.

I didn’t so much love the reality. Walking in the rain. Sitting on a plane for two hours in soaking wet clothes. Wrestling a recalcitrant carry-on up steps with an annoying tourist huffing and puffing because I was too slow for him. Trying not to interfere inappropriately when a friend who’d had a stroke tried to manage the slippery, tri-level ramp. Sitting on the floor in a corner in the departure area because there wasn’t a square inch to spare.

Fact is, commercial air travel is a beast. It’s a purgatory of howling humanity, noise, congestion and wildly changing patterns, instructions and plans gone awry. We mitigate as best we can: noise-canceling ear buds; TSA PreCheck; first flight out and next-to-last home; car left behind to avoid parking; an app or two to track flights and map nearby food vendors. Its redeeming quality is that it (usually) gets you to and from quicker than, say, driving.

Regardless of what U.S. Transportation Secretary Sean P. Duffy thinks, “The Golden Age of Travel Starts With You” marketing ain’t gonna make commercial air travel a pleasure. On Nov. 19, 2025, Duffy rolled out this laughable advice with a straight face: Are you helping others place their bags in the overhead bin? Are you dressing with respect (i.e., have you got your church clothes on)? Are you keeping control of your children? Are you saying thank you to your flight attendants? Are you saying please and thank you in general?

Don’t get me wrong. I do all those things because, well, my momma raised me right. But as an antidote to air travel hassles? I’d rather he spend our money on air traffic controllers, mechanical inspections and manufacturing regulations. Otherwise I’ll be thanking the crew for my cookies and plastic cup of water as the wings fall off.

I flew often during Duffy’s so-called “golden age of flying.” It was merely less chaotic, primarily because there were fewer travelers, kids and carry-on luggage and no security checkpoints. Trust me when I say that dressing in church clothes and business suits did absolutely nothing to assuage the irritable grumbling among tired and frustrated passengers. Unless you go back to the 1950s and ’60s, travel then, as now, looked little like the advertising.

Key West airport | It’s no longer quaint, but it’s more efficient

Key West International Airport’s $130 million facilities overhaul has tamed the worst things about flying into and out of the island. Opened in May 2025, Concourse A has eight air-conditioned jet bridges that mean no more long, wet, hot tarmac walks. No more struggling with stairs and ramps. In the sprawling departure area you’re practically guaranteed a decent seat and a charging station, the bathrooms are big, bright and clean and the view of the tarmac and surrounding island is breathtaking.

Later this year, when the new two-carousel baggage claim area comes on line and the new TSA screening systems are fully operational, the last vestiges of the old Key West airport will disappear into the fog of old-timer memory. Well, that is, and let’s be real here, if the airlines and Homeland Security can hire enough employees to schlep those bags onto the carousels and staff the glowing scanners.

If you’re a-hankering for memories of the olden days, best get in a trip soon so you can experience the fits and starts of the one remaining carousel as travelers push and shove to retrieve luggage in the cramped, gloomy and tattered arrivals space. It’s a bit like stepping through a science-fiction portal. On one side is soaring glass and steel. On the other, it’s 1970 only grittier. You do you, of course, but I’m losing no sleep over the passing of that mess.

Ranger Ed and I did one of our visit-the-kids-in-Atlanta runs last week and though it wasn’t our first time with the new concourse, there are a couple of things no multimillion-dollar renovation can fix. It can’t fix stupid. Some careless traveler punched a hole in a gate seat and proceeded to rip out the stuffing. It’s gonna need duct tape.

And it can’t fix the parking. Demand exceeds spaces and rate hikes are unlikely to make much of a dent. Daily parking at EYW ($22) rivals daily parking at Miami International ($25). I’m grateful I can still park free for 30 minutes in the “big lot” when I pick up friends. So, yeah, leave the car behind.

(By the way, we went from home to gate in 45 minutes and from landing to home, unpacked, put away and sitting on the sofa in 60. And, in case you’re wondering: We also returned with two 5-pound bags of White Lily flour. You can read a previous column if that makes no sense.)