Landing in Kuala Lumpur International Airport, I was greeted by a huge toxic-green banner that says "World's Best Airport". Having been hailed by Airports Council International as World's Best Airport three years in a row, if I was Malaysian I would boast about it too, though maybe not in the form of a toxic-green giant banner
Make me think wryly of our very own airport. As Bangkok and KL built theirs to look like a structure from a grand sci-fi movie, and Singapore continues to sprinkle fairy dust on their beloved Changi, Soekarno-Hatta remains.well shall we call it, *festive'?
With Balinese inspired architecture, using red bricks and exposed concrete, it should have been quite charming had it been done properly. But as you know, Indonesian government officials tend to be a tad aesthetically challenged. Just look at all your nearby government offices, with their plastic flowers, and furniture from 1982. Even their attempts to redecorate often give an even sadder result.
Aesthetic aspects aside, I'd like to share with you, my own action-packed day, at Soekarno-Hatta Airport. It was Friday, and the drive could be anywhere between 30 to 120 minutes from where I live, so I opted to leave early. Entering the airport premises, I was greeted by a hoarse voice coming from a broken speaker, repeatedly telling people not to park their car at the drop off area. Meanwhile, a dozen security guards are still having a hard time shooing off cars that stopped literally in the middle of the road.
The drop off area was so packed it's hard to walk. In Indonesia, it's common to see one person leaving on a plane and about 25 family members coming to the airport to see them off. I finally got to the line where airport staffs check IDs and tickets by the door, but it wasn't moving. Apparently, a woman, who was not a passenger, insisted on getting in to assist her twenty-something daughter.
Check in went on as usual. On my way to the gates, I passed another counter where six girls in yellow uniforms are yelling simultaneously "Insurance!! Get your insurance, maa'm!!" Gee, Talk about hard sell. But every time I travel, people actually stopped at these insurance counters thinking it was mandatory.
The second floor was another world of disarray. Bad restaurants serve expensive food. Bookshops that only sell horoscope paperbacks and self help books that were best sellers when I was in high school.
On either side of the hallway, were rows of chairs filled with mothers and their screaming babies, and dodgy middle aged men that always seem to roam these certain areas of the airport.
The kind of men that gives you nasty looks and says, "Where're you going?" to every slightly attractive woman he sees like its reflex motion. Gross.
I arrived at my gate a little early and found a nice corner to sit. They had new aluminum chairs that clash badly with the ethnic themed architecture. A chatty man wearing way too much perfume sat next to me, bragging about being a *caleg', so I moved to another chair. Just then, an airline staff announced their quite routine 45-minute delay due to technical problems. So I went outside for a smoke in the hallway plastered with no smoking signs where everybody smokes anyway.
I bought a loaf of bread and came back to the gate to find everybody have boarded the aircraft. I was outside 20 minutes at the very most, and they said the delay was 45 minutes, so I wasn't exatcly late, was I? Their excuse; the technical problem got fixed faster then predicted. "So can I get in the plane, now?" I asked. "No" she said. "Why? The plane is right there." I asked. "The flight is full. We have no room to seat you".
So within the twenty minutes that I went outside for a cigarette I didn't even finished and lousy bread, only heaven knows how my seat was given to another passenger. They put me on another flight, supposedly boarding two hours later. But of course, there was another 45-minute delay.
And during the hours of being strayed at the airport, I became intrigued by little bits and pieces of Soekarno Hatta's unsolved riddles. For example, I don't think those dodgy middle-aged men were there to catch a flight at all. I saw the same men when I walked in at 1.30 and they were still at that very spot as I finally boarded at 6.00.
And the mystery of the missing restrooms. Urban legend has it; some restrooms never got built in the construction of the airport in 1984, although it clearly was in the blueprint. And then of course, there's the riddle of the Rp 30, 000/passenger *airport fee'. O wise one, where do they go?
--Kartika Jahja
