What is it about Jakarta's international airport?

What is it about Jakarta's international airport?

By Michael Upton

JAKARTA (JP): Unlike some people, I quite enjoy traveling by
air. I generally find the cabin crew helpful and friendly, I like
the in-flight magazines, the uninterrupted supply of drinks and I
quite like the food too, if I try not to expect anything better
than your average Jakarta food court.

And I like the films. I use the opportunity to watch the
American movie industry in silent action, because I never use the
headphones. I got into this habit in an attempt to avoid sound
effects such as the tearing of human tendons, the rattle of
automatic gunfire and the gratuitous oft-repeated use of the f-
word, which seem to occupy long sections of many films on the
popular circuit. These devices are used by moviemakers to render
the story (usually suitable for an audience with the mental age
of six) appealing to a more mature audience. Perhaps I'm just not
mature enough.

But I digress. What I'm trying to get round to is the
fact that however good your flight is, even if you're traveling
business class, you're never in a fit state to enjoy it because
of the horrors of passing through Soekarno-Hatta International
Airport before you board the plane.

This time you have an economy ticket. Here's what happens.
You enter the automatic doors and pass a crowd of men blowing
smoke at the THIS IS A NO SMOKING AIRPORT sign. You can't read
the departure information because there's a blindingly
illuminated Passengers Only sign just below it. You struggle
through the semicircle of people blocking the doors to the check
in hall and load your bags on to the X-ray machine wondering if
the tired old thing is capable of distinguishing between a hand
grenade and a kiwi fruit.

Once you've collected your full set of stickers, you make
you way to the check in where the queue is longer than you
expected and the air seems to be rather muggy. Then you recall
that the air-conditioning wasn't working last time you used
Soekarno-Hatta and you resign yourself to a sweaty hour or two
before takeoff.

At the check in, there's an old guy in front of you who
keeps looking nervously over his shoulder and you begin to get
suspicious and yes, sure enough, just as he's about to step up to
the desk, four other elderly travelers teeter forward and join
him with seven, or is it eight, suitcases. The two ancient ladies
in the group are identically dressed twins whose tracksuit tops
declare them to be Asian Bags. You're in no mood to disagree.

While they load their luggage on to the scale, then take it
off again and put it back on in a different order, you slouch
sweatily wondering if the trip is really worthwhile. Why not just
stay in Jakarta? Finally you get to the check in desk and you
can't get the aisle seat you wanted in the center bank of seats,
you have to take one on the window side which means two people
will be disturbing you when they want to go to the washroom
instead of one. And you know that after the first has returned,
the second will wait till you've got settled again before asking
to get out.

But you still have that to look forward to. For now, you have
the Fiskal(departure tax) to pay. Why? Every time you fly, you
ask the same question. No other country levies such a tax. If
everyone refused to pay it, the authorities would soon back down,
just like they did over the State Security bill.

But you grudgingly part with another one million Rupiah,
suspecting that most of it will go towards a new car for an
undeserving official rather than to a useful purpose like books
for a school or new condensers for the airport air conditioning
system. The effects of the faulty system are by now visible down
the back of your shirt and in two football-sized patches under
your arms and you're kicking yourself for wearing a blue shirt
that shows the sweat so badly.

Then you try to find a seat where you can fill in your
immigration form, but the nearest row of eight is taken up by two
people, three large bags and three stains so horrible-looking you
can't possible sit on them. So you have to stand at the writing
carrels whose slope has been carefully calculated to allow your
passport and document folder to slide on to the floor and there's
no light over the writing surface and now you seem to have
mislaid your pen anyway.

So you feel irritated when the immigration officer asks to see
your boarding pass when you're not yet boarding but you restrain
yourself and wander through meekly with a hoarse Terima
kasih(Thank you).

Then when you get past the gauntlet-run of the duty-free shops
attractively stuffed full of things you don't want, you can't
decide whether to wait on a seat watching the world's slowest
travelators squeaking past, or go straight through to the
satellite lounge. It's a hard choice because there's a chance the
air conditioning may be working in the boarding area. On the
other hand, the TV's in there will be churning out a truly
mindless game show and the picture will be so fuzzy, the
colors so garish, you wonder why Panasonic are so keen to display
their name above the sets in letters larger than the screens.

Whichever option you choose, it'll be a relief to board
the plane and get into your meanly proportioned economy seat, and
suffer the inane conversation of the very generously proportioned
person you expect to find nominally in the next seat but
overflowing well into yours, because it's been that kind of a
day.

You can't help wondering if the New Order deliberately
kept the airport badly managed as an impolite gesture to the
memory of the two Old Order gentlemen it commemorates. If that's
so, then Indonesia's new Reform government will have two choices:
revamp the airport, improve it and set up effective procedures to
ensure the facilities reach and maintain international standards.
Then the name could be retained as a genuine tribute to two men
who despite their faults were giant figures in the founding of
the Republik Indonesia.

Alternatively, things could be left as they are and the
airport renamed Soeharto-Habibie International Airport.

They wouldn't even need to change the initials.