Terminal Identity: 18 Years in an Airport

In this episode we explore the remarkable life of Mehran Karimi Nasseri — born in Iran, studying in England, losing critical documents, and spending 18 years living in Charles de Gaulle Airport. We track how he carved out a life on red plastic benches, declined legal offers, clung to identity, and inspired films like Lost in Transit and The Terminal. What parts of his life became legend, and what remains painful truth? Stay with us for the arc from 1988 to 2022 — the offers, the refusals, the final return. Then we chat with Magician, Joan DuKore. Did you know The Internet Says It’s True is now a book? Get it here: https://amzn.to/4miqLNy

As you may know, I spend a lot of time in airports. I’ve never counted how many airports I’ve been to – maybe one day I’ll do that – but I’ve been to a lot of them. My longest layover was 9 hours in Athens, Greece and I didn’t stay in the airport. I toured around Athens and came back in time for my flight. This story isn’t like that. This story is about someone who stayed in the airport for almost 2 decades. Why? Well we’ll get into that. It’s the story of Mehran Karimi Nasseri.

Before we zero in on Nasseri, there have been others caught in analogous situations — people trapped in airports, stateless, without documents, or in legal limbo. Their stories help us see that while Nasseri’s is extraordinary, it also reflects deeper issues: of nationality, bureaucracy, human dignity, identity.

One often-cited example is the case of Humans being stranded between countries due to visa or passport problems— for example migrants stuck in transit zones because no country will accept them, or because their travel documents are invalid, lost, or conflicting. These transit zone cases have appeared in the news many times — though few endure for years, and almost none have the celebrity or myth-like quality that Nasseri’s did. Statelessness in international law also plays a role: individuals with no recognized nationality may be unable to enter any country’s territory formally, unable to prove identity or accepted documentation, leaving them in limbo. The Universal Declaration of Human Rights asserts everyone has the right to a nationality, but many live without one.

Fictional or semi-fictional accounts in literature describe people who reside in airports because they’ve fled war or persecution, and their papers are lost or rejected. In films, too, airport limbo has been used as motif or plot device: the film Lost in Transit (a.k.a Tombés du ciel) is explicitly inspired by a man losing his passport and spending time in Paris airport.

So: the idea of an airport as sanctuary, prison, home, border, purgatory — it’s part of modern imagination, especially when legal identity fails, or when states’ rules clash.

Now let’s get into Nasseri’s story in full.

Mehran Karimi Nasseri was born in 1945 in the Iranian province of Khuzestan, in a town called Masjed-i-Sulaiman. His father, Abdelkarim, worked as a doctor for the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. Nasseri grew up relatively well off, though his own accounts of family are contradictory in some respects. He claimed, at different times, that his mother was Scottish, or Swedish, or that he had been born as the result of an affair; investigations cannot substantiate these claims. Most credible sources say his mother was Iranian. 

In 1973, at age about 28, Nasseri went to the United Kingdom to study Yugoslav Studies at the University of Bradford. He insisted that the degree was real, and there is documentation supporting that he did in fact spend time in Bradford. 

He later returned to Iran. Here, the stories diverge. Nasseri claimed he’d been expelled from Iran in 1977 for political activism, protests against the Shah. But some investigations find little corroboration — no solid record has emerged confirming that the Iranian authorities officially expelled him or that he was detained, tortured etc. Some claims appear to have been exaggerated or repeated over time, with no third-party confirmation.

In 1981, he was granted refugee status by Belgium. 

The triggering event for his airport residency came in 1988. Nasseri reported that his refugee papers and passport were lost or stolen while he was in Paris, or en route. Another version is that he mailed his refugee documents to Brussels and thus didn’t have them when needed. Because without valid papers he could not board flights, and because entering France without valid identity would lead to detention, he found himself stuck in a sort of legal no-man’s land. 

He attempted to travel to the UK. But upon arrival in Britain, immigration officials refused entry because he lacked proper documentation; he was essentially returned to France. In France, he could not leave the airport’s transit/international zone without papers; he could not be admitted into the country, but he could not travel onward either. Thus began his long period at Charles de Gaulle. The date often given is 26 August 1988 as when he first took up residence in Terminal 1. 

For nearly 18 years, from 1988 until July 2006, Nasseri lived in Terminal 1 at Charles de Gaulle airport. What did that look like, day-to-day, year-to-year?

He carved out a space between a pizzeria and an electronics store. Two red plastic benches pushed together to sleep on. Luggage always by his side. He kept a journal. Sometimes he wrote. He listened to the radio. He smoked a gold pipe. Meals were sometimes bought for him by strangers or donated by airport staff. He was, in effect, homeless but in a place full of people always coming and going. His “home” was publicly accessible yet unreachable by law. He could access food (fast food restaurants in the terminal), people would occasionally give him toiletries or leave food, and airport staff became aware of him, young and old, sometimes offering small help. He avoided accepting some forms of help, though: he declined donations, except in special cases; he reportedly rejected paperwork offered by Belgium or France because of how that paperwork labelled him, or because it didn’t match his preferred identity (his insistence on being “Sir Alfred Mehran” for example).

Over time, he became something of a known figure, nicknamed “Sir Alfred” by immigration or airport staff (a miswriting or misunderstanding of his preferred identity, which he embraced). He was treated with varying degrees of sympathy and frustration by bureaucrats. Sometimes people remarked that he was “fossilizing” at his bench, or that he was unable to live outside again; one of his friends or acquaintances said worrying things about whether he could survive the outside world. 

Authorities in France, Belgium, and sometimes the UK debated what to do. Both France and Belgium offered him residency at times. But the problem was often paperwork, identity, his refusal to sign certain forms, or to accept the nationality as labeled in the paperwork. For example, the documents offered often listed him as Iranian rather than British. At one point Belgian authorities offered him entry under supervision of a social worker, but he refused because he didn’t want those terms. 

In 1992, a French court ruled that Nasseri had entered the airport legal as a refugee and so could not be expelled from the airport. 

Nasseri’s life inspired at least two films directly. The French film Lost in Transit (original title Tombés du ciel), directed by Philippe Lioret in 1993, is about a man who loses his passport and spends time in a Paris airport, where he meets others in similar situations. That film is explicitly inspired by Nasseri’s predicament. 

Then there is The Terminal (2004), directed by Steven Spielberg, starring Tom Hanks. It is often cited as being loosely based on Nasseri’s story; DreamWorks bought rights in 2003. In The Terminal, fictional Viktor Navorski arrives at JFK airport after his country undergoes a political coup; his passport becomes invalid, and he cannot enter the U.S. nor return home, so he lives in the airport terminal. While the basic premise resembles Nasseri’s situation, many details diverge — the characters, settings, motivations are shifted for dramatic and comedic effect. For example, Viktor is fictional, his home country is fictional, and the legal and emotional journey is compressed. Nasseri reportedly was paid for rights, though according to some sources Spielberg’s film does not mention Nasseri directly in the credits or publicity.

So the mythic version — bench, airport employees befriending him, the spectacle, the internal monologue, the waiting — has entered public imagination. But the truth is often harder: long wait, legal entanglements, identity claims that are ambiguous, health issues, offers rejected, conflict with authorities, then eventual hospitalisation, shelter, a return to some airport presence.

In July 2006, Nasseri’s 18-year stay at the airport officially ended when he was hospitalized. He had developed health problems. His “bench” living arrangements were dismantled. After some time in hospital, he was looked after by the French Red Cross, lodged temporarily in a hotel near the airport, and then eventually transferred to a charity reception centre in Paris. 

From about 2008 onwards, he lived in a shelter in Paris. But later in life, in 2022, he returned to the airport. The last weeks before his death were reportedly spent again in or around Charles de Gaulle. On 12 November 2022, he died of a heart attack inside the airport (Terminal 2F), at age 77. 

Throughout his time, Nasseri often expressed that he rejected forms of identity or nationality that didn’t match what he believed to be true. He insisted on the name “Sir Alfred Mehran.” He refused certain documents because they identified him as Iranian when he believed (or claimed) he was British or born somewhere else. 

When asked whether he regretted the years lost in an airport terminal, he reportedly said (in 2003) something like “No angry. I just want to know who my parents are.” It’s a striking sentiment — less about bitterness, more about identity, belonging. 

Nasseri’s story raises many questions: what does it mean to be stateless; what responsibility do states have to persons without papers; how human dignity perseveres (or at least tries) under limbo; what role mytholgy and storytelling play in shaping such a life. The airport, as neutral space, becomes a kind of microcosm for borders, law, identity, the passing of time.

At the time of death, observers noted that despite fame, his situation remained complicated. Though he inspired movies, documentaries, an opera, autobiography, his identity remained contested; the name, the nationality, and his legal status were never fully settled in a way that seemed to satisfy him. His story is both extraordinary and tragic: extraordinary for the endurance, the human character, the public attention; tragic for the years lost, the cold bureaucratic structures, and the solitude of legal statelessness.

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