When I was a PhD student, I flew standby on Lufthansa via Frankfurt to Seoul Incheon and back 24 hours later. I was on a field trip for my thesis. I had never been to Incheon or South Korea with my own airline. As I had no time and little money for sightseeing, I really only went there to inspect and experience the airport for my research. I had heard and read much about its presumed magnificence.
I spent 24 hours inside Incheon which until then had consecutively won the most awards as the world’s most beautiful airport. What did I do there during 24 hours? Field research, of course. And I took a pottery class, a handcraft class, saw an exhibition on traditional Korean wood carving and art, participated in a dance class, had kimchi in three different restaurants, had bubble tea in a few outlets, drank way too much coffee to keep me going, took in a classical concert, experienced a live show about the Korean Royal Family, learned about Korean landscaping, visited a Buddhist temple, took a nap in a nice room I rented for a few hours at the Transit Hotel in Terminal 1 – inside the airport of course – and I simply strolled and dwelled there for the rest of the time. (I’m getting a red warning showing up in this blog’s settings, telling me that this sentence is absurdly long, but there’s no other way to describe the insane amount of experiences I had there)
Incheon is an ephemeral experience of home and anthropological place, intended to pass the time in transit feeling safe and entertained. An experience upon which more and more importance is being laid, as airport operators and retailers have understood the interconnection of “people experience” and consumption.
There is such a thing as an international airport awards circuit by the way. It’s usually by the same magazines and portals which rate airlines for their private cabanas and butlers and beauticians and physical therapists and chefs (that is per First Class passenger); oftentimes the same airports are awarded that are home base for these floating-cabana-with-private-pool airlines, because where the money is, there are also new and glorious airports.
Incheon Airport, home of Korean Airlines, is not such a private cabana airline base. It’s not powered by oil, but by steel. Or rather engineering, the pillar of South Korean economy. Incheon Airport was completed in 2001 by Fentress Architects and presents a small-scale Korea inside the airport.
When I interviewed Curtis Fentress for my thesis, he drew me a sketch of the catenary curve, which defines Korean architecture. Also called catenary arch, this structural motif is formed by a chain suspended between two points. The catenary has defined the rooflines of countless structures in Korea and has been employed as a building element for centuries. In the abstracted version inside Incheon Airport, the arc is braced by cables spanning the roof with a skin of aluminum stretched between structural beams, creating the effects of weightlessness and tension.
Vertically straight and horizontally curving elements recall traditional Korean architecture. The planting of forty thousand trees native to Korea plus six hundred thousand flowering plants are part of its landscaping design. The unique roof structure incorporates local materials, namely steel – the Korean steel industry is the largest and most sophisticated in the world. Curt Fentress approached this airport with the belief that it should serve as a regional signature, as a branding device.
Incheon Airport was masterplanned to be the prototype of an Aerotropolis around the area of Songdo, 65 km south of Seoul – a planned city built around a planned airport to perform as an urban mobility concept. A quarter of the world’s population lies within 3 1/2 hours flight of Incheon’s periphery. While construction on the various economic, commercial, and entertainment infrastructure in Songdo is still underway, with the economic crisis of 2008 putting a damper on the development, the airport caters to 62 million visitors per year.
What is exceptional about Incheon Airport – and the reason I was completely, utterly exhausted after taking it in as a flâneur – is its cultural abundance. Meaning its museum- and event- style cultural entertainment with the specific intention of inviting the passenger to “experience” the culture and architecture by participating in cultural performances and craft-works.
The Incheon International Airport Traditional Culture Workshops and Cultural Performance Centers situated within the terminal (behind security and customs) are exhibition areas where traditional Korean culture experiential programs are being offered for passengers awaiting departing international or connecting flights. Participants can learn how to make jewelry boxes out of hanji (traditional Korean paper) or make cell phone straps using traditional sewing techniques that were used to make clothing and accessories.
The aptly named Korean Cultural Street (located in the central area of the 4th floor Passenger Terminal) is lined with Korean traditional architecture including Giwa (tiled roof) houses, Jeongja (pavilion), the Namdaemun and the afore mentioned catenary line motifs of Korean architecture, allowing visitors to uniquely enjoy Korean architectural traditions in Incheon Airport. Traditional Events, such as Korean classical chamber concerts as well as the Royal Family’s procession are regularly held at the Cultural Street.
The idea here is to enhance the passenger experience of the sense of place by pulling Walter Benjamin’s flâneur and present-day passenger into an activity of leisure and culture, to help de-stress the traveler and ultimately and most probably, make him consume more within the airport retail shops. Airport architects and authorities like the term “humanizing”; I use the term auratic to describe this sensation.
Zen-Gardens, scheduled classical concert performances and dances throughout the day round up the sensual experience of the flâneur-traveller. Contemplation and sublime seduction to linger create the foremost effect on the viewing traveler/spectator.
Despite this abundance of culture and activity, Incheon Airport does not feel artificial to me. Within this all, I did sense some authenticity. There are other airports that have more of a Potemkin village feeling.
Sources:
Interviews with Curtis Fentress, architect
Catalogue Now Boarding: Fentress Airports and the Architecture of Flight, ed. Christoph Heinrich and Curtis W. Fentress, Denver 2012.
John Kasarda and Greg Lindsay. Aerotropolis: The Way we’ll live next. 2010.
Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Project, 1928-1983.
Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Its Technological Reproducibility, and Other Writings on Media. 1935 & 2008.
Categories: Airports
