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.