Nostalgia in Jakarta Airport

Sitting here in Terminal 3 with a bit of awe, shock, and nostalgia.

This new terminal is now ultra-modern. Not the chaotic smoky mass of disorganized humanity I first encountered 20ish years ago on my first excursion into the archipelago.

98% of the hominids sitting here are staring at smallish rectangular devices. Heads down. Fixated.

Me too, except I am periodically looking up to take it all in to observe and drink in the scene.

Tiny well dressed guys in Segways ripped by. Silently.

Understandably so, I am certain I walked 2km from the immigration checkpoint to the gate. No joke. All ultra-shiny, nice white tile, and ultra-modern crispy clean architecture.

Monstrous.

The first sign of distress I received was when I went to the toilet and it was clean. Smelled nice and the floor was dry. The old porcelain squatter with its own population of benthic flora and fauna all cozied up multiplying on the concrete floors of old was absent.

The new toilets smelled like Singapore.

In fact, that thought did cross my mind.

I could be in Singapore, Bangkok, or Kuala Lumpur. All those airports are interchangeable now. The same new commercial character that has no distinct or unique character. All the shops are the same. And that is the point.

Shopping.

I also miss the hordes of men sitting on the ground smoking kretek cigarettes by the dozen inhaling the sweet smell of cloves, sometimes even picnicking with a blanket spread and their families in tow.

Yes. Picnics on the grass in the parking lot used to be a thing for Indonesian families if someone was traveling. The airport was a destination. A family outing.

I do indeed miss those good ole bad days. Because that’s what they were. Chaos, smokey, smelly, and disordered. So much so that you grew to love it. Back when no one spoke English. The signs were all wrong. They never announced gate changes or if they did it was in rapid-fire Indonesian and was often ill information anyways.

And no one had a phone.

But you somehow managed to find your way and have a serendipitous adventure.

Now that I think of it. That’s it. The serendipity. Missed busses. Misdirections. Miscalculations. But we survived. More than that. We had unplanned escapades with a side order of misadventure.

No google maps with planned routes and directions. No booking a place to sleep ahead of time. No looking up the best eats. Back then you just stumbled around, asked around, and wandered around.

Times have changed. Nostalgia and memories flooded my mind. Smiles. Memories.

I started to wonder if my nostalgia will be transformed into my daughter’s nostalgia in about 20 years. When she looks back at the time that people actually had to carry those smallish rectangular devices in their pockets.

Before they were chipped and neural linked in with direct access to our organic synapses via electronic 0s & 1s and instant cognitive access to The Universal Global Web of all human knowledge.

You know? Will she look back on those days when the phone was still an external device before it became an implant? Much like I look back on the days when I actually had to get up and walk across the room to change the channel on the TV that had 3 channels 3, 5 & 11.

Whatever the case, I surely hope there will always be hordes of guys sitting on the grass smoking clove cigarettes, eating bakso with their families, and contributing to the chaos, disorder, and most of all local character and local color.

If not at the airport. Somewhere, at least.

Now I am just starting to remember back when the airport in Bali was more like that and they had some local spots just out of sight at the Domestic Terminal. A little known spot where you could get a cheap nasi campur in a grungy old food stall out back of the domestic terminal parking lot.

I wonder if it’s still there?

When I landed in Bali I check. YES! It’s still there albeit with a new shiny sign, a bit more well-known, and a smidgeon cleaner than I remember.