For veterans of the trans-Pacific crossing, Los Angeles International Airport is synonymous with pain. It evokes the maddening limbo of the grey customs hall and the excruciating procession of baggage recheck.

It conjures the haunting scowls of so-called customer service agents and remorseless queues that squander every spare minute you ever had. It is a symbol of hostility and sheer ugliness, the incongruous entry mat to a country whose economic dynamism, ironically, was built upon immigration.