10 Best Carnivals In The World
From Rio's samba spectacle to Venice's masked elegance, explore 10 unique festivals that showcase human creativity, cultural diversity, and the universal spirit of celebration. Uncover…
From windswept coasts to towering peaks, from ultramodern terminals to rustic airstrips, these eight airports push the boundaries of aviation and adventure. Each “extreme” airfield tells a story of geography, engineering, and human daring. They are entry points to wild landscapes or feats of construction, inviting the traveler to begin the journey with heart-pounding excitement.
A tidal airport on the wild Hebrides coast.
Barra Airport sits in Traigh Mhòr bay, literally on the beach, at the northern tip of Scotland’s Barra Island. Here the Atlantic surf alternately creates and destroys the runway: at low tide the sand is firm enough for wheel landings, but when the tide rises the runway vanishes under the sea. Three sandy strips, marked by wooden poles, form a rough triangle on the shore so that aircraft can always land into the wind. Twin Otter turboprops shuttle tourists and locals between Barra and Glasgow, dancing over waves and sand as pilots time each flight to the schedule of low tide. A recent refurbishment modernized the café and terminal, but the airport still dispenses with security checkpoints – passengers simply declare they carry no prohibited items. The airstrip is closed at high tide and at night (only emergency flights land under vehicle headlights), and in summer locals and visitors mingle right on the runway, collecting shellfish or sunbathing when the planes aren’t arriving.
With the rising sun, a tiny Twin Otter swings low toward Barra’s Traigh Mhòr, its landing gear set for sand instead of tarmac. Barra Airport is unique – the only commercial airport on earth where scheduled flights land on a tidal beach. This has been so since 1936, when the islanders sought a way off their remote isle. Sir Denis A. Robertson’s pioneering service to the mainland began with sail-through tidal schedules, and today Loganair’s little plane still arrives in just over an hour from Glasgow. In fact, Barra Airport was voted the world’s number-one “airport approach” in a 2011 poll of private pilots – perhaps unsurprising, since the runway’s smooth hard sand only appears between tides, against a backdrop of crashing waves and the distant Cuillin hills.
Operating this airport demands local knowledge and respect for nature’s rhythms. Flight times vary with the tide, and aircraft must be small enough for short takeoffs and landings on sand. Pilots brief passengers before boarding: no window seats over the wing, and keep out for views of Mull, Coll, and the sunset over the isles on the return flight. The reward is breathtaking – Barra’s approach offers a panorama of cobalt sea and emerald isles. When the beach is exposed, locals walk or swim on the runway just hours away from a landing aircraft, checking the windsock when they gather cockles. In sum, Barra Airport fuses rugged Scottish scenery, community travel, and raw nature into one unforgettable flight experience.
Asia’s mega-hub built on reclaimed islands.
Where the Highlands of Scotland posed natural challenges, Hong Kong’s project was human-scale audacity. In the 1990s Hong Kong outgrew its old Kai Tak Airport, famous for heart-in-mouth downtown approaches. The solution was to build a new airport on Chek Lap Kok, an uninhabited island in western Hong Kong. The brief – won by Foster + Partners – was unprecedented: create a gargantuan new airport terminal and expand the island four-fold by levelling hills and filling sea. This transformational work also required new roads, twin suspension bridges, and even a third cross-harbor tunnel to connect the airport to the city. The result, opening in 1998, was a statement of modernity and efficiency: by far the largest single airport terminal in the world at the time, a sleek 516,000 m² expanse crowned by an arched roof, glowing under Hong Kong’s sun.
Stretching 1.7 km end-to-end, Terminal 1 (designed by Renzo Piano) became an instant landmark – a luminous expanse of glass and steel that epitomized 1990s optimism. On 2 July 1998 the airport was officially opened by PRC President Jiang Zemin (with Air Force One carrying US President Bill Clinton arriving hours later). Yet the colossal construction wasn’t without drama: it cost an eye-watering ~$60 billion over six years to build. The first days saw computer systems fail and flights delayed, prompting a furious outburst by a Hong Kong politician calling it a “laughingstock of the world.” However, by early 1999 these problems were resolved, and HKIA quickly settled into its intended role as an ultra-busy global hub.
In the two decades since opening, Hong Kong Airport has claimed the title of world’s busiest cargo airport an astounding fourteen times. In 2024 it handled about 4.9 million tonnes of freight – more than any other airport on earth. Passenger numbers have soared as well, rebounding strongly after pandemic lows: in a recent twelve-month period HKIA saw roughly 54.5 million passengers and 369,635 flight movements (both up over 20% year-on-year). Even with such traffic, travelers praise the airport’s design and services. Skytrax has certified Hong Kong International as a 5-Star Airport for facilities, comfort, cleanliness, shopping, and staff service. Its vast terminal offers free Wi-Fi, award-winning gardens and lounges, and art installations. Everything is geared to handle flows of people and cargo with clockwork precision.
Yet the airport never forgot its link to the city. A 24-minute Airport Express train whisks passengers from downtown to the terminal – which is framed by green hills on one side and the South China Sea on the other. Inside, high ceilings flood the concourses with natural light, and travelers enjoy one of the world’s richest arrays of retail and dining options, a reflection of Hong Kong’s position as a shopping mecca. In winter, the wide concrete runway also exposes aircraft to fierce jet-stream winds; in summer typhoons can batter the region, but HKIA’s sturdy design has weathered it all. With a third parallel runway now in operation (commissioned November 2024) and ongoing expansion plans, Hong Kong’s giant hub continues to epitomize aviation prowess and traveler convenience.
Engineering wonder on an artificial island.
Osaka wanted to escape its crowded inland runway (Itami Airport), so planners again went offshore – this time into the typhoon-prone waters of Osaka Bay. Kansai International Airport (KIX) was built atop a man-made island created by moving millions of cubic meters of earth. Work began in 1987: by blasting away three mountains, building a sea wall of 48,000 concrete tetrapods, then pouring 21 million m³ of landfill to make a 4 × 2.5 km island. From 1987 to 1994, some 10,000 workers and 80 ships layered rock and sand until the island rose 30–40 m above the sea floor. A 3.75 km causeway bridge (costing about $1 billion) then linked the island to the mainland at Rinku Town. Remarkably, this entire undertaking anticipated two scary Japanese forces: earthquakes and typhoons. Engineers built over a million sand-drains into the soft clay seabed to drain and solidify it, designing the foundation to handle ground shaking and 3 m storm surges. In January 1995 – just months after opening – the Great Hanshin earthquake (magnitude 7.2) struck 20 km away, devastating Kobe. KIX survived without damage: the runway stayed intact and even the terminal’s glass windows did not shatter. A few years later, on 22 September 1998, an 130 mph typhoon howled through the bay. Again, Kansai’s sturdy design prevailed – neither wind nor water breached the airstrip itself. For these feats it was declared a “Civil Engineering Monument of the Millennium” in 2001.
The airport’s centerpiece terminal – designed by Renzo Piano – opened on 4 September 1994. At that point, it was the world’s longest airport terminal (1.7 km end to end, or about 1⅛ miles). Its gently curved, airfoil-shaped roof and vast spans were meant to accommodate large numbers and to protect against snow. The runway itself originally spanned 3,000 m, but was quickly upgraded: a second 4,000 m runway opened in August 2007 to boost capacity. Even so, this airport’s drama is in its context. When landing, pilots must descend between shipping lanes and over the calm bay into a gap next to Mt. Rokkō to the north. The flight path is clear of skyscrapers, but low clouds and high winds channel through the bay like a funnel in winter.
Kansai has struggled with costs and sinking, too. By 2008 the $20+ billion project (including runways and land reclamation) had left huge debt. Builders knew the reclaimed island would settle over time, and indeed it sank about 50 cm (20 in) per year in 1994 – though specialized pile foundations slowed that to just 7 cm per year by 2008. In recent years the airport has stabilized to roughly break-even and even turned a profit. It serves as the international gateway for the Kansai region (Osaka-Kyoto-Kobe) with about 30 million annual passengers (as of 2019). Major carriers like All Nippon, Japan Airlines, and Nippon Cargo make it a hub, and even FedEx uses KIX as its North Pacific freight hub. In 2019 Kansai handled roughly 31.9 million travelers (making it the third-busiest airport in Japan) and about 800,000 tonnes of cargo.
Today Kansai’s extremes are part of its brand. It is still regarded as one of the most extreme airports globally: short final approaches, an uphill runway (if landing on 06) with no go-around, and a reputation for corporate contrast (cheap terminal rents attracting low-cost carriers, but high landing fees that once kept some airlines away). A low-cost terminal (Terminal 2) opened in 2012 with a no-frills single-story design to keep costs down, reflecting the mountain austerity outside. For travelers, the airport offers stunning views of Osaka Bay and Mt. Kōyasan. In good weather you can see the glittering Osaka skyline to the northeast. Kansai International is a high-stakes engineering masterpiece – an entire floating airport that channels nature’s fury into something safe and sublime.
Colorado’s dizzying alpine landing.
Nestled amidst the San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado, Telluride Regional Airport (KTEX) is a heart-in-throat experience for pilots and passengers alike. At 9,078 feet (2,767 m) above sea level, it stands among the highest commercial airports in the United States. For years, it held the title of the highest U.S. airfield with scheduled flights; only Leadville (10,152 ft) is higher in the Rockies. The single asphalt runway (designated 9/27) is 7,111 ft (2,167 m) long and perched on a sunlit mesa above the town of Telluride. Crucially, runway 9 (east-facing) has a gentle downward slope for takeoff, but runway 27 (landing direction) has an uphill slope of about 3.2%. The runway’s ends are dramatic: on both ends the ground drops off steeply – more than 1,000 ft (300 m) down to the San Miguel River valley. In practical terms, this means landings must almost always be made uphill (on 27) and takeoffs downhill (on 9) – a one-way in, one-way out routine.
Surrounded by peaks often topping 14,000 ft, Telluride’s approach is every bit as scenic as it is challenging. On a clear day the panorama of jagged summits and aspen forests is breathtaking. But the thin mountain air also saps aircraft performance. Pilots must carefully account for density altitude (which on summer afternoons can effectively be 12,000 ft or higher). Most flights to Telluride involve specialized aircraft: the local airline uses Dornier 328JET turboprops, one of the few jets certified for such altitude. Even with that equipment, weather closes the airport often – low clouds or high winds can shut down the field half the time, especially in winter. Nearly 20% of winter commuter flights to Telluride were historically diverted because of turbulence and downdrafts.
Pilot blogs and flying guides emphasize the mental imagery: as you descend through the valley, the runway seems impossibly close to the rim of a cliff. Experienced instructors advise against novices flying in alone, for illusions abound. Modern safety aids help a bit – there are medium-precision approaches and engineered runaway arrestor systems (EMAS) at the ends – but in low visibility this airport is effectively closed.
Yet precisely because of these challenges, the airport has a cult status among thrill-seeking aviators. The FAA counts it as one of the most difficult approaches in the country. Commercially, Telluride serves the ski resort and remote mountain communities, carrying about 25,000 passengers a year in recent seasons. Most visitors arrive in late afternoons with clear skies; then the airport often closes by evening as the winds pick up. Those who time it right are rewarded: stepping off the jet onto the runway at sunset gives a panoramic view of the Rockies’ grandest summits. For passengers, the arrival is as much the adventure as the destination. Telluride’s runway is the very definition of a high-altitude gateway, where each landing feels like an expedition.
“The most dangerous airport in the world.”
Few airstrips are as renowned in aviation lore as Lukla’s. Officially named Tenzing–Hillary Airport in 2008 (to honor Sir Edmund Hillary and Sherpa Tenzing Norgay, the first to summit Everest), this tiny mountain airport serves as the starting point for nearly every trek to Everest Base Camp. Carved into the Himalaya in 1964 under the supervision of Edmund Hillary, Lukla is a feat of local determination: Hillary bought farmland from Sherpas and even reportedly had them perform a folk “land-flattening” dance to compact the dirt runway before it was ever paved. Today the strip is paved, but it remains one of the most daunting landing zones on Earth. The single asphalt runway is a mere 527 m (1,729 ft) long, with a formidable 11.7% uphill gradient. It runs between the village of Lukla (to the northeast) and a sheer drop-off to the Dhudh Kosi Valley (to the southwest).
Wake-up calls at Lukla come before dawn, as pilots race clouds and winds. In the clear morning air, a plane approaches runway 06 (landing uphill); if the wind shifts after, departures are made on runway 24 (downhill). This one-way ritual means that arriving and departing traffic never conflict on the short strip – there is no “go-around” procedure if you miss the approach. Safety margins are razor-thin: an abrupt drop-off sits at the end of the runway, and a sheer mountainside looms on the other end. The airstrip ascends 150 ft along its length, meaning a perfectly calibrated touchdown is mandatory. Lukla’s elevation is 9,334 ft (2,845 m), so engine power is already reduced. Combine that with swirling winds off the peaks, and you have what one travel report calls “a surprisingly short runway with an abrupt drop-off at one end and a sheer mountain face at the other.”
It is no exaggeration that Lukla has long been dubbed “the most dangerous airport in the world.” Pilots typically fly in small STOL aircraft – Twin Otters, Dornier 228s, Let L-410s – chosen for short-takeoff performance. Flights are scheduled only in good conditions; by mid-morning southwest winds usually force a shutdown of Lukla’s runway. Mountain fog and cloud banks (especially monsoon season) close the field roughly half the year. This is not a routine commercial hop but a calculated risk each trip. When everything aligns – weather clear, winds calm – the views are spectacular: ancient Himalayas, prayer flags fluttering, Everest visible to the north on a perfect day. Pilgrims to Everest cheer when their flight actually makes the airport; missing Lukla means a long diversion to Ramechhap or Kathmandu.
Despite the danger, the airlink is a critical lifeline. Every year hundreds of trekkers begin their journey at Tenzing-Hillary Airport, sharing the strip with cargo planes that bring in supplies (no roads reach these altitudes). The airport’s short runway, extreme slope, and unforgiving terrain collectively embody the blend of natural grandeur and risk that is Everest itself. Stepping off the Twin Otter into the crisp mountain air, adventurers feel they have truly entered a realm beyond the ordinary – Lukla is not just an airport, but a rite of passage on the way to the world’s highest peaks.
Crossroads of continent and runway.
On the southern tip of the Iberian Peninsula, Gibraltar Airport is famed not for mountains or engineering, but for one of the world’s most unusual runways – and its confluence of geopolitics. Operated by the RAF but serving a British Overseas Territory, this airfield sits on the coast of the Bay of Gibraltar and straddles an international border. Its single 09/27 runway is only 1,776 m (5,827 ft) long, cut into a narrow strip of land beside the iconic Rock of Gibraltar. To the north, it abuts the fortress city; to the south, it nearly touches the Spanish border at La Línea.
The airport’s most distinctive feature is that its runway literally crosses a major road. Winston Churchill Avenue, which leads to the land border with Spain, once ran straight over the runway. Every time a plane landed or took off, traffic would stop – the airport had to lower barriers on the road for aviation safety. In March 2023 a solution was opened: a newly completed tunnel now carries vehicles and pedestrians under the runway, finally ending decades of traffic jams whenever jets are due. Pedestrians, however, can still cross on the surface when the road is open, taking the shortest path between the Rock and the border.
Gibraltar’s runway also fronts one of Europe’s busiest shipping lanes, so arriving planes often duck under trade jets before skimming along the water toward the runway. Crosswinds add to the drama: winter storms funnel across the bay and around the Rock, making landings tricky even for experienced pilots. The approach can involve a sharp 90-degree turn around the Rock; the departure in the opposite direction climbs over Spanish terrain and the Mediterranean. In short, each landing here feels like threading a needle between mountains, sea, and roads.
Beyond theatrics, Gibraltar Airport serves as a vital link for travelers to both Gibraltar and southern Spain. In 2024 it handled roughly 424,000 passengers despite its short runway. Airlines like easyJet and British Airways fly to London and other European destinations, and charter flights serve the Costa del Sol tourist trail. Since Gibraltar belongs to the U.K. while Spain does not recognize British sovereignty, the airport is also at the heart of a long-running diplomacy: EU aviation law doesn’t apply here, which has been a point of contention. In practical terms, one can arrive in Gibraltar, walk across a moving border, and within minutes be on Spanish soil – all while watching planes take off beside you. This intersection of land, sea, and runway – combined with a tunnel under the runway and the Rock looming overhead – makes Gibraltar Airport a living metaphor for “where land meets sky.”
The steepest paved runway on earth.
Tucked in the French Alps ski resort of Courchevel is an airstrip built for the bold. Courchevel Altiport was carved into the slopes of the Tarentaise Valley in 1961–62, opening as the first in Europe for ski-mountain flying. Its elevation (2,008 m or 6,588 ft) is high by European standards, but the real stunt is the runway itself. It is only 537 m (1,762 ft) long, and it rises steeply uphill along its length – the runway’s gradient is a breathtaking 18.6%. Pilots landing on runway 22 face a nearly vertical approach; landing on runway 04 requires a 16-degree slope climb-up. Effectively there is no flat surface: touchdown must be precise and immediately followed by a maximum stop. The airport has no instrument approaches or runway lights – in fog or clouds it is simply unusable.
Despite these perils, Courchevel sees regular traffic. During ski season, small planes (Caravans, Pilatus PC-12s, helicopters) bring wealthy skiers and tourists to the mountain. Experienced pilots joke that the runway’s slope is like landing on a ramp. The only way in is downhill toward the village; takeoffs go uphill toward the peaks. This asymmetry means nearly all operations are one-way pattern: land 22, take off 04. In fact, French law bans landings on 04, so aircraft land uphill and then taxi downhill for the return departure. Given the gradients, a pilot who misjudges the approach has essentially no room to abort or go around – hence the airport’s banner warnings that go-arounds are impossible.
Courchevel’s dramatic layout makes it one of the world’s top “extreme” airfields. Surrounded by 10,000-ft peaks, wind conditions can be violent. Pilots often describe the landing as a moment of zen: at the last minute they pitch the plane up to touch the threshold, then pray and brake. The upside for passengers is an astonishing view: from the cockpit you see snow-clad summits rising steeply on all sides, and passengers arriving can take off their skis mere meters after stepping off the plane. The airport’s modest terminal (a chalet-like alpine lodge) only reinforces the sensation of traveling to a mountaintop village by private air. Courchevel Altiport encapsulates the romance of skiing and flying – you feel perched on a knife-edge of air and ice, yet somehow it all comes together to whisk you directly onto the slopes.
A unique Kiwi intersection.
On New Zealand’s isolated East Coast lies an airport full of local quirk: Gisborne Airport. It is not the altitude or slope that makes this strip special, but rather its intersection with another form of transportation. Gisborne is one of the very few airports in the world where a railway line crosses the active runway. The Palmerston North–Gisborne rail line literally bisects the main asphalt runway (14/32) about halfway along its 1,310 m length. When a train approaches, the runway must be temporarily closed to air traffic, and vice versa – a rarity in civil aviation. For most of the day (roughly 06:30 to 20:30), both trains and planes share this crossing. The airport even locks out other aircraft overnight, because after hours the tracks remain active for late freights. Managing this demands careful coordination: pilots and train crews use radio to clear the line, and ground staff raise barriers.
In this unusual scene, a vintage steam locomotive inches across Gisborne’s runway while a small plane idles nearby. The sight exemplifies Gisborne Airport’s blend of rural charm and adventurous logistics. With the Victorian-era railway snaking in from the west, trains rumble across the tarmac just a few feet from landing gear. The Kiwis handle it pragmatically: the airport’s published procedures require runway closing times when trains pass. Locals take it in stride, and photographers come to watch a baby plane taxi around a gleaming rail engine. This railway intersection is a living museum piece – nearly all other examples worldwide have now ceased railway operations.
Despite the novelty, Gisborne Airport is a fully functional regional hub. It handled about 228,000 passengers in 2022 and still serves flights from major cities. The terminal is modest, but in 2018 the New Zealand government gave it a $5.5 million makeover aimed at celebrating local culture. The redesign wove Māori navigation motifs into the new terminal architecture – a nod to Gisborne’s Pacific heritage and “the region’s navigation-themed tourism initiative.” Planes here connect not just destinations but also ideas: the history of Polynesian seafaring that discovered these shores is echoed by modern aircraft and trains arriving and departing under the same sunset.
A visit to Gisborne Airport thus feels whimsical and distinctly Kiwi. Few travelers will board a jet or a train at such close quarters elsewhere. It’s emblematic of the region’s laid-back spirit: nothing about this runway is taken for granted. Each landing here has the rail line in view, a reminder that we can build airports in harmony with their surroundings. In the end, Gisborne offers adventure in its own way – not through sheer altitude or danger, but through the sheer oddity of it: where steel tracks and runways coexist in daily rhythm.
These eight airports share a common thread: each is a place where geography and innovation forge an extraordinary experience. From sandbars to bridges to high plateaus, they demand ingenuity of both designers and pilots. Travelers who pass through them become part of the story: feeling sand under wheels at Barra, gazing at Hong Kong’s skyline from a mile-high runway, or hiking Everest knowing the journey began with a heartbeat at Lukla. In every case, concrete and tarmac are secondary to the drama of place. These runways are arenas for nature’s extremes – tides, mountains, wind, and rain – and yet they have been tamed (just enough) to let us explore beyond ordinary horizons. For the adventurous at heart, they remind us that even the journey there can be the thrill of a lifetime.
From Rio's samba spectacle to Venice's masked elegance, explore 10 unique festivals that showcase human creativity, cultural diversity, and the universal spirit of celebration. Uncover…
Boat travel—especially on a cruise—offers a distinctive and all-inclusive vacation. Still, there are benefits and drawbacks to take into account, much as with any kind…
France is recognized for its significant cultural heritage, exceptional cuisine, and attractive landscapes, making it the most visited country in the world. From seeing old…
From Alexander the Great's inception to its modern form, the city has stayed a lighthouse of knowledge, variety, and beauty. Its ageless appeal stems from…
Greece is a popular destination for those seeking a more liberated beach vacation, thanks to its abundance of coastal treasures and world-famous historical sites, fascinating…
