Stuck in Beijing Capital Airport Terminal 3
Finding out the hard way what little food, beverages and facilities are on offer for those trapped in Beijing's Terminal 3.
"Information desk has sent me on a secret mission to find terminal 3C!" read one of a string of messages I sent Zoe over the free airport wifi. They were sent partly in excitement, but mostly to assist investigators, in the event of my mysterious disappearance.
I was three hours in to a nine hour stopover at Beijing Capital Airport's Terminal 3E. A terminal which - at time of writing - is undergoing such serious redevelopments that it has roughly zero restaurants and no way out to find food, no matter how long your flight wait is.
The first time I experienced this living hell was on my way from Auckland to London, at the start of September 2023. Straight off the first flight, I followed the signs, queued wearily for an hour to x-ray my already x-rayed hand luggage, then fell down the escalator into the departures area.
"Restaurants" said the sign, which I duly followed, ending up at a small pop-up Starbucks. A good start, I felt, unaware that this was pretty much the peak. Hiding in plain sight behind it was a Pizza Hut and a KFC. Despite being in a 24 hour international air terminal, they were both yet to open.
After swallowing a Starbucks coffee drink, accompanied by a large bag of lentil chips I had cunningly brought in my luggage, I began to tear around the place on foot, desperate to uncover further catering options. There had to be something, right? The terminal is three-pronged in shape, with a selection of designer shops and a fountain in the centre. Many of the shops were closed, which I presumed was down to it being early on a Sunday morning.
I searched Terminal 3 end-to-end(-to-end - it is three-pronged, after all) and found the following outlets and facilities:
two Pacific Coffees, apparently closed down;
several soon-to-be-opened Costas (open as of end of September 2023);
a couple more Starbucks, with varying opening hours (I understand only one is open 24 hours), offering number of small (non-vegan) bites;
several Chinese gift shops, some stocking premium snacks (intended as gifts, hands off!)
a number of drink vending machines that seem to turn on and off at different times of the day;
one vending machine selling small confectionery packets that look like chocolate pies;
the aforementioned Pizza Hut and KFC;
several airline lounges for paying members etc;
and a large, central area, closed off, behind wooden construction boards, with signs explaining that construction is in progress.
Weary from the flight and having walked several kilometres around the entire terminal, I made peace with the fact lunch was going to be chips from KFC; the same way a carnist has to make peace when they realise lunch is going to be chips from KFC. I wheeled my hand luggage up to the restaurant window and waited for my turn to view the menu. I was behind a couple I had followed for part of my walk, from right down near gate E36. (You know: gate E36, where the lights aren’t on and even Pacific Coffee couldn’t survive!) Presumably, they too had been desperately foraging for options, before making peace with the fact lunch was going to be chips from KFC.
The menu had a variety of wagyu beef burgers, each accompanied by chicken wings: a KFC that had no qualms about dancing in Ronald McDonald’s abatoir.
While waiting for my delicious chips, I quickly queued up again.
“我想买 Coca-Cola,” I stated in basic Mandarin.
“No Coca-Cola. We only have orange juice,” replied the friendly cashier. This really was a strange KFC.
Fast forward three-and-a-bit weeks and there I was again, this time on the return to New Zealand. The KFC closes at 4pm, which coincidentally was the exact time I came down that escalator and found myself back inside that terminal of terminals. They had a rope barrier up across the entrance, to prevent any pesky, hungry travellers entering and doing anything silly, like ordering food.
Pizza Hut was open, so I went in, at least to humour their menu. I greeted a worker: “你好！我想看看菜单” and was given a thick, white book. Inside were pictures of pizzas, each one laden with animal parts. Occasionally, my eyes would land on a dish that looked vegetarian, only for closer inspection to reveal it had something like ‘crab pellets1’ in.
Zoe called, while I sipped a $9 oat flat white from Costa. Amazingly, despite almost everything being blocked on the airport wifi, this WhatsApp voice call worked perfectly.
“Can you get to Terminal 2?” she asked. It had occurred to me, but when I followed the signs it just led to one of the boarded-up construction areas and a window overlooking the runway. Still, I had time to kill, so I decided to try again.
Closer investigation - AKA actually having the guts to sidle through the gap between the construction and the window - revealed a lift promising transit to Terminal 2. I pressed the button and the lift quickly arrived. Nervous I could be entering a one-way system, I confirmed the lift had a button to return to the floor I was on, then hopped in. It dropped down a floor and the door opened, revealing a darkened room. My heart thumped - I probably wasn’t supposed to be here!
I poked my neck out of the lift and saw a huge window, looking out onto the runway, beneath the terminal. There was a small operator’s desk, with microphones, next to which was a door, leading out to the tarmac. It was locked. A CCTV camera in the corner sat, patiently capturing everything.
Certain this room did not lead to a feed, I hopped back in the lift and returned to the main level. As the doors opened, I was half expecting to come face-to-face with a disgruntled airport security officer, but, similar to the offerings of this airport: nothing.
Zoe had also suggested I ask someone if there’s a way to Terminal 2, so I did.
“There is a Terminal 3C,” said the lady on the central information desk. “This is Terminal 3E. You have to find a way to get to Terminal 3C.” Her words sounded more akin to something from a fantasy novel, than an airport information desk.
Fortunately, the lady provided me with instructions to find the hallowed Terminal 3C. She pointed to a very subtle corridor, across the concourse from the desk. The sign above it read ‘Hong Kong and Macau ticket rebooking only’.
“Go down that corridor, take the lift at the end up one floor, walk to the glass door and press the button to ask if you may exit here and enter Terminal 3C. Good luck!” Her tone and delivery had shifted from Gandalf to M from James Bond.
With purpose, I walked confidently down the corridor. Inside it, I saw a closed down security scanner area on the right, but remained left and found the lift. Up a floor, I turned around and walked towards the glass door. It was actually a large glass screen, with a door at one end. Beyond it, I could see a row of passport scanners and the concourse I had come from below.
I pressed the bell by the glass door once and waited. After 30 seconds or so, I pressed it again, this time doing that “oh, you must have not heard me” longer press. I then waited an unspecified time, which I feel was at least five minutes, and during which nothing happened. Okay, I sent Zoe the message at the top of this piece and a lady staff member walked up to a door beside me and went in without acknowledging me, but otherwise nothing happened.
“I rang the bell, but no one came!” I informed my guide at the information desk.
“Let me try,” she replied, picking up the phone. She called somebody, somewhere and they spoke for around two minutes, while I just stood there, dreaming of my layover in Hong Kong Airport, 2019. She hung up the phone.
“They said no,” she informed me.
With the change of scenery denied, my mind set about making a plan. I still had a chocolate flapjack my friend Debbie had handed me for my 60km walk and half a slab of vegan Galaxy from Pete, post-walk. That would do for dinner. Now, I just had to find a drink.
Earlier on, I had noticed the vending machines around the terminal were offering cans of Tsingtao beer for just ¥6 - roughly $1.40 New Zealand. If I couldn’t have a meal, I was at least going to drown my anguish with a nice, cold beer!
No, I wasn’t. For some reason, all of the vending machines that were earlier on and offering beer, were now the only ones switched off. Someone was messing with me! I walked the entire airport, again, trying to find a machine doing beer, eventually settling for a Pepsi. Even then, the machine didn’t accept my ¥10 note, so I had to accept a passing stranger’s kind offer to use his Alipay.
After several hours spent scouring for food and beer, I slumped down in a chair at my gate and dined on what ten-year-old me would have deemed a perfect meal: Pepsi and chocolate!
All in all, a disappointing airport transit.
I made this up, as I can’t remember exactly what my bleary eyes read.
June 2025 and it is the same. It is cazy that there are such limited food and drink options in a giant international airport.
I wonder if the Chinease way is to eat before security?? There were a range of restaurants above check in. (I know you were transferring - I wasn't)
My most fun was a flight to a work-related conference in New Orleans. Booked flights to arrive the day before, planning a lazy start the next day prior to the afternoon conference start.
I got to L.A. OK but thunderstorms in Dallas (my ticketed hub change) meant a delay which stretched to 12 hours (rather than the expected 4), cancelled flights, an unplanned diversion to Miami, 9 hours sitting there (in the middle of the night with nothing open in a terminal being rebuilt, familiar!?) then back to New Orleans.
Could have been worse, at one stage I was going via San Francisco, Washington DC & Orlando... or not till Saturday when the conference was over!
I finally got to the hotel at 14:00, the conference started at 15:00!