Published on September 28, 2006 - The Nation’s Kavi Chongkittavorn bids farewell to Bangkok’s old airport, which seemed like a gateway to his career and a fond ‘second home’ to return to
The departure of Flight TG683 from Hanoi to Bangkok on February 23, 1991, was unexpectedly delayed. When it came time to board at 11.10am, it was announced there had been a technical problem at Don Muang airport. After a 70-minute delay, the plane took off for Bangkok.
The flight was brief, just 90 minutes. At Don Muang, we realised that the National Peace Keeping Council headed by General Sunthorn Kongsom-pong had seized power and dislodged then prime minister Chatichai Choonhavan.
It was the day I was supposed to meet the parents of my future wife.
It was a nerve-wracking landing because I was afraid I might not be able to see her parents as promised and might miss the opportunity to marry her. I did not want Don Muang to come between us at this critical moment.
For over two decades, Don Muang was like my second home. To cover news in the region, it is the best gateway to all Asean capitals.
My first assignment overseas was in the early 1980s when the airport had only one main building, which is now deserted. Incoming visitors had to queue at immigration desks displaying the huge word “aliens”.
At that time, waiting at the airport to check in was dreadful for everyone because the areas for resting and waiting were small, dull and unpleasant. There were no flashy restaurants or fast-food chains, massage parlours or barbershops.
In recent years, Don Muang has turned into a food-court paradise, with all kinds of restaurants and places to hang out. One can go to the airport three or four hours before a flight and relax.
During the Cambodian conflict, journalists used to wait for hours at a VIP lounge to interview mercurial Prince Norodom Sihanouk on his return from Beijing.
At that time, the VIP lounges were the most active places for journalists because of the parade of incoming regional and world leaders trying to resolve the Cambodian conflict. One day it could be Indonesian foreign minister Mochtar Kusumaat-madja, the next Vietnam’s
foreign minister Nguyen
Co Thach.
Thach was the most frequent visitor to Thailand because at the height of the Cambodian conflict he was in constant contact with Thailand’s foreign minister, Air Chief Marshal Siddhi Savetsila. Sometimes they met in the VIP room then left for their next destinations.
In April 1988, I flew to Bangkok from Vientiane in Laos with two senior Cambodian officials, deputy prime minister Kong Som-ol and deputy foreign minister Sok An.
At that time, it was illegal for the two politicians to travel here because the Thai government did not recognise the Phnom Penh regime. However, Chatichai gave permission for them to visit Bangkok temporarily to attend a seminar on Indochina organised by The Nation at the Dusit Thani Hotel.
Before the flight landed, there were two police officers waiting on the tarmac and, as soon
as the aircraft’s door opened, they rushed to arrest the three of us.
Only after a flurry of panicked telephone calls and assurances from the PM’s Office were we allowed to enter. We were ushered in through the VIP entrance. At the hotel, we had to dodge police guarding the front entrance.
As always, Don Muang was trying to improve its image and strove to be visitor-friendly as it sought to compete with other regional airports, particularly Singapore.
The “Amazing Thailand” tourist campaign saw Don Muang “beautified” with huge greeting signs in English and Thai.
In 1996, as part of the campaign to promote Thailand as a regional hub, Don Muang became the first airport in the region to set up special lanes to welcome visitors from Asean capitals.
It was a well-meaning plan to promote solidarity among Asean people.
After Asean leaders met in Bangkok in December 1995, they agreed that only people-to-people contact could strengthen the grouping’s solidarity.
Unfortunately, almost all the visitors using the airport’s Asean lanes were non-Asean foreign tourists.
They thought these lanes were for them as part of the tourism campaign. Asean visitors lacked an identity when they travelled through Asia.
An Asean passport-holder waiting in the lane for European Union (EU) passengers at EU airports would be immediately asked to return to the non-EU lane.
The experiment lasted more than seven years, until the airport ended Asean and Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (Apec) lanes.
To stay ahead of other airports, Don Muang installed two special walk-in e-passport machines.
Before my flight on September 6 to Beijing, I tried to pass through them. But there was a huge sign saying they did not work, even though an announcement nearby claimed that they were the most sophisticated machines of their kind in the world.
I remembered that the e-passport scheme was under investigation by the Office of the Auditor-General.
“The passport sting!” I said to myself. “Soon I’ll find out who’s behind it all.”
Five years ago, when I walked through the green lane (nothing to declare) after a Thai Airways flight from Johannesburg, I was stopped by a customs officer.
“May I see your luggage?” the cynical-looking, middle-aged official asked.
“I have nothing to declare,” I replied.
“You have a lot because your bag is fully packed,” he said.
“They are books,” I insisted. He managed to check my luggage and the books.
“Sometimes, there are diamonds hidden inside books,” he told me. I was surprised that I looked like a person who carried diamonds.
The episode reminded me of a robbery in Saudi Arabia in 1989 when a Thai housekeeper stole boxes of diamonds and jewellery from a Saudi family with royal connections.
He fled to Thailand, where he was asked about the stolen goods by customs officers.
“It’s fake jewellery,” the man replied, then was allowed to go through without any difficulty.
Over the next 10 years, that theft led to several murders, with diplomats among the victims.
The story is still unfolding.
I will miss Don Muang, the gateway to my career. It was coincidental that when I returned to Bangkok on flight TG931 from Paris in the early hours of September 20, my wife told me over the phone there had been a coup several hours earlier.
We have been married for
15 years and my mind flashed back to that flight from Hanoi in 1991. As I walked through the green lane at the customs
checkpoint, I bid “adieu” to
my second home.
