This is 99% Invisible. I'm Roman Mars. For the most part, I try to spend as little time as possible

in airports. They are loud and crowded and littered with the crumbs of way too many blueberry

muffins and chicken Caesar wraps. But I will say that I have one very positive airport memory

from my childhood.

I grew up mostly in Ohio, and every year I would travel by myself to visit my aunt in Memphis, Tennessee.

And to get there, I would always fly through Chicago.

And at the O'Hare Airport in Terminal 1, there is this tunnel that connects concourses B and C. When I stepped into this tunnel,

it was like I entered a wormhole into another universe. I was surrounded on all sides by a mosaic

of pulsing neon lights. George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue was playing. It was transportive and calming, and I loved it.

I think it was one of the first moments in my life where I actively appreciated the design of a space.

I also have a weirdly meaningful attachment to this tunnel. I was born in Chicago. My family still lives half an hour from O'Hare.

That is reporter Jasper Davidoff. And for me, what really makes this tunnel of light so special

and otherworldly is that as you travel through it, the ground beneath your feet is moving.

All right, here we go.

When you go down the escalator into the tunnel,

you step onto a metal conveyor belt.

And from there, you float through this mystical,

colorful portal on the way to your gate.

And I'm starting to hear the opening sounds of Rhapsody and blue.

Oh my God.

And the lights, they're just flashing above me.

Even if you've never flown through O'Hare, the odds are pretty good that you've experienced this feeling of drifting slowly through a concourse with your suitcase, because the tunnel of light is a dramatic setting for a pretty

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