Trip Reports - If you like Kurá Hulanda, and getting away from the rain... Curaçao in KLM's WBC.

Well, it's three days before my gold-dust time off, I haven't booked anywhere, I'm in Vienna, and my supposedly-cured slipped disc is pinching my sciatic nerve like a literal pain in the arse. Perfect! Well, it's never stopped me before, so I book a flight to a random, sunny country, purely on the basis of upgradeability.

The notoriously unpredictable KLM helpdesk pull off a spectacularly impressive upgrade feat (lowest possible fare, upgrade to C, 40k miles, held while I book) and I spend the rest of the day's meetings grinning to myself. I have booked myself on a KLM flight to Curaçao, knowing nothing about the place other than a 'blue liquor, usually used to clean combs'.

My flight back to LHR is delayed for 2 1/2 hours, but I'm in a good mood, so this is spent having a haircut (very good, as it happens), and waiting in the excellent Senator lounge (with surprisingly nice omelettes in the morning, and pancake soup later). The flight home is operated by Lauda, who appear to be the last bastion of good short-haul catering. Sorry, did I say 'good'? I meant 'stunning'. Pork medallions, in mustard and pepper sauce, with a gratin dauphinois, on crockery, with cutlery, by Do&Co, in Y! I will be going out my way to fly on them again.

But this is incidental. Good, but incidental. I have to concentrate on actually getting myself a holiday sorted. Nowhere in London appears to have anything remotely approaching a Curaçao guidebook, so t'internet is my only friend (as with so much in life...) But I'm demob-happy, and the best I get to do is book myself a hotel. And forget to book a taxi for my flight, due to depart at what is a criminally early hour for a Sunday morning. Phew - found one with cabs still available, and I go out to enjoy food & drinks in Brixton, before returning far too late to catch a couple of hours' sleep.

LHR T4 is one of those places that has so many expectations, and manages to live up to so few of them. The gateway to the world! Umm, but the travelator's broken. And there's a couple of lights gone. And the door's cracked. Oh, and you'll be on a remote stand. And nobody can remember the PIN to open the door. Hmm. I always get the impression that BA looks down on KLM in T4 as an irritating little kid, and treats it accordingly. But I check in quickly enough, and head to relax in my favourite spot: in the Holideck lounge, cup of Earl Grey in hand, upstairs, in the glass-surrounded smoking lounge, overlooking the tarmac, just as the sun is starting to warm the day up. (But sadly, no Concorde out the window any more...) And a special mention must go to the lounge agent (the same one I always see in there - does she ever get a day off?) who, when I asked if they had any copies of the Observer left, dashed out to WHSmith to get me one.

We board from 1a, which is an irritating distance from the lounge (it's usually 15 or 16), and the monitor controller clearly has my fitness in mind, as it goes almost directly to 'gate closing', making me leg it across the terminal, only to find it's only just started boarding. One day, the people will rise against such exploits! But for now, I settle for my old-style (and very nice) business seat in a 739, with a huge continental breakfast. Tee, m'nheer? Ah, you're British! I'll let it infuse a bit longer for you. Ah, it's moments like this that almost make me want to go back to KLM.

Schiphol is still there when I land, which was nice, and we are even treated to the Zwanenburgbaan, and a mere 5 minute taxi to the terminal. The ex Royal Wing lounge is predictably hoaching, so the E/F lounge it is. Until I get bored, and decide to search the terminal for a travel guide to Curaçao. Which proves less fruitful than I'd hoped. Ach, well, the flight's boarding now (and it actually is!) so I head down to the end of F pier where an almighty stramash of eager Dutch holidaymakers awaits. Priority boarding on this flight is not determined by class of service or élite status, but rather rewards those deserving passengers who can spot the one queue that is moving at 10 times the pace of the others. Today, unlike so many miserable afternoons in Sainsbury's, I am blessed with this skill, and so board with the pace I deserve. "Een K!" they say, and direct me up front. Oh, such a rare pleasure for me. My seat awaits, with a fresh glass of orange juice.

The plane is clean, the departure on time, the view of the cliffs of Southern England perfect, and the nuts cashew-heavy. My mood is good, so I can even tolerate my neighbour's constant 'seat-goes-up-seat-goes-down' treatment. A new KLM toiletry tin to replace the rusting one that serves as my travel toiletry kit (they're great wee things), and some patented, mis-shaped socks, with some kind of extra itchiness as standard, are handed out, and I even put them on, so as not to subject my cabin-mates to smell produced by feet that have been in walking boots since very early that morning.

I can't fault KLM on this leg. Now I have finally discovered the secret to making the WBC seat comfortable (the little hidden lever on the legrest), the flight is very pleasant indeed. The food is salmon with tarragon (passable, but forgettable), but, as usual, KLM do far better with desserts than main courses. The dessert trolley is a nice touch, and the passion fruit cake is gorgeous. I lost count of the drinks round on this flight, and the extra rounds with the box of chocolates. The service is extremely friendly and attentive throughout. 1K is a good seat, too - you get the privacy and view (actually almost forward, given the curvature) of a window seat, but the extra space means you have full accessibility, and are given a nice bit of privacy. I watch Lost in Translation for the nth time (I still think it's a fantastic film), and some straight-to-inflight romantic comedy featuring someone off friends. 'Diverting' is probably the best damning-with-faint-praise comment I can give it.

A second, light meal is served a little way into the flight. Prawn salad, and the dessert trolley again. I pick a nice warehouse-style block for my Delft house (I swear it's modelled on the one round the corner from my friend's house in Amsterdam) and before I know it, we're treated to a view of the Windwards and Leewards, as we make our descent towards the Lesser Antilles. I'm slightly disappointed not to have one of those ridiculous straight-over-the-beach descents, but can live with this one. You see the whole island when you come in to land, and the 747 feels almost stationary by the time you touch down.

We're invited to disembark first, and the cabin crew do a embarrassed yet admirable job of holding back Economy passengers to let us off first... For which I am very grateful. Hato airport really isn't geared up to handling a 747 load of passengers. The immigration queues progress at a decidedly relaxed pace, and the luggage takes an age. And then, one of my most hated parts of landing at airports like this, you are thrown from customs straight outside into a sweltering, chaotic throng of people.

I do my usual trick. Walk a little away, sit down, have a cigarette, and figure out what's going on, while taking some time for people-watching. It's familiar yet unfamiliar. This kind of scene usually greets me in the kind of place where the last thing you want to do is jump into a taxi and head to an expensive hotel. But this isn't like that. People are just sitting around, waiting. Nobody has approached me. The taxi queue is empty. Eventually, I decide just to saunter up to the head of the queue, and ask how much for a taxi to my hotel. Fl.35, it turns out, exactly the advice t'internet gave me. That never happens either! So there I am, in the sun at last, heading across the island to Willemstad, where my hotel awaits...

Not what I expected, this. Not that I really expected any particular thing, having managed to find precious little information about the island anywhere. But we're heading to a huge bridge over an oil refinery, just after the desalination plant, then head a sharp right.

I'm at the Kurá Hulanda Hotel, highly recommended from all I'd read, and at a very good price, thanks to Expedia. The complex is a hotel, a cultural centre, museum, conference centre and several restaurants and cafés all in an area of town that was up until recently derelict, but renovated by a man called Jacob Gelt Dekker. It is pristine and stunning. The low, colonial-style buildings are painted in bright colours, and the exceptionally friendly staff give my jetlagged self the grand tour before settling me in. I'm impressed! The room itself is also done out in colonial style (although thankfully without colonial bathroom facilities) in cool, dark shades, with what I assume is antique-style, rather than antique, furniture. I don't think the Dutch of the 19 century built television cabinets. I could be wrong though, they're a forward-thinking people.

It's about time for sleep, and sleep I do, in the huge bed, chilled by the wonderful air-conditioning...

There's too much to give details of the 6 days I spent in Curaçao, but I can summarise.

The hotel surpassed my expectations on every count. The food (particularly at the Astrolab Observatory restaurant) was excellent, and not too badly priced by local standards. The star, food-wise, however, was the restaurant opposite the hotel, the Gouverneur de Rouville, which served me a red snapper in thyme and rosemary (with some roast vegetables and a gratin dauphinois) that had me licking my lips for the rest of the holiday. The staff at the hotel had that rare skill that I appreciate so much, which is the ability to judge the level of familiarity it is appropriate to take with a person. I'm Scottish, I'm hardly one for formality. After a couple of days, it went from 'sir' to 'Mr xxxxxxx' to 'Hey, Stut, how are you!', which was just right for me ;)

They sorted out diving and car hire for me with no effort at all, despite the difficulties in getting something for the next day when it was all booked out. Basically, they did everything they could to make my stay fantastic. I could go on lavishing praise on this hotel, but I think you get the gist by now.

The diving, well, it was my first time. At their recommendation, I went to Ocean Encounters (who seem to be the big boys on the island) who were very good. They sorted out a medical consultation for my back problems (no problem), I did the introduction dive, and loved it, despite a bit of claustrophobia. Judging from what I saw underwater, it must be a great place for diving. Then, when the others from the introduction dive dropped out, they were happy to give me one-to-one tuition at the same price. They were friendly, sociable and patient, and even made a point of undercharging me when my claustrophobia prevented me from going to any depth and completing the course. Yup, I got a little uncomfortable underwater, but it's an experience I'm really glad to have had. I'm going to work on that claustrophobia: I want to do this again!

Willemstad is a sprawling town, with the centre commonly known by its two parts: Punda and Otrobanda. It's the kind of place that looks like it's faded grandeur is back on the up again. Punda features some find Dutch colonial buildings (the waterfront looking more like Amsterdam than the Caribbean), and the two sides are linked by a bizarre and wonderful floating bridge. There's good (and cheap) shopping to be done here. It has it's seedy side, but, for what it's worth, that's not a bad thing. This is a real, working town. It's not there for the tourists. Curaçao has its industry and its culture and to me, that makes it far more interesting than a resort destination.

Beaches, well, I'm no big fan of beaches. Billy Connolly once did a whole long routine on why Scottish people hate beaches, and I have to say, I agree with him. I couldn't put it as well as he did, but the gist is this: look into any Scot's family photo album, and you'll see a picture of them all, huddled under a blanket, on the beach, in the driving rain and bitter cold, with Dad, who'd insisted you were all going there and were going to enjoy yourselves, struggling to take the photo before the lens mists up. Well, maybe I'm not that bad, but I can't sit still on a beach all day. It took all the effort I could muster to stay on one island for 6 days. But it's not really and island for beaches. Yes, there's some beautiful little coves, where I went, drank some ice tea and relaxed with a book for a couple of hours. But it's not surrounded by pearly white sand. Which is probably why I liked it. There are some lovely places to be seen around the island, and hiring a car to explore it is definitely worthwhile. I spent a lovely couple of days, just driving from place to place, stopping for a drink and a read, and driving on... And one rather bizarre moment being driven by a typically sociable Curaçaoan woman to an out-of-town children's bookshop to buy a map.

I also had the pleasure of being there for the dia di banda, the 20th anniversary of the Curaçao flag. There were celebrations all day, starting off with a suitably pompous ceremony, and ending up with live music, food and drink everywhere. The whole island was in Otrobanda, and it was great.

I don't think the island could have entertained me for more than a week, given my nature, but 6 days was perfect. I left for the airport with a big smile and deep sense of relaxation...

An enduring memory? Driving along a coast road through a suburb of brightly-painted, cheerful yet ramshackle houses, as the sun set in brilliant red, listening to the local radio station segue strangely from it's Latino-Caribbean music into 'Oranje is, Oranje blijft'...

Check-in at CUR is busy, but efficient, and I'm given my BP for 1K yet again, and told to be through security before 18.00. This seemed bizarre, as the flight is at 19.30. I pop outside for a last ciggie before the flight, and head through. Now I start to understand why. Security checks are thorough, but not too slow. And then come the questions. And the 'can you come and wait in this room, please, sir'. And the waiting. And then watching every young, lone, male traveller join me. I, any my hand luggage, are thoroughly searched, and I am asked to give permission to have my stomach X-rayed. Hmm. Caribbean to Amsterdam? Ah, yes, drugs. Now I understand.

I am quickly shoved out of another room towards a woman and told to report to her. But it's not an X-ray, it's just boarding pass collection. No X-ray. Probably a good thing. Now, once again, this airport shows its lack of ability to cope with a 747-load, as the transit passengers from SXM (the origination of the AMS flight) pile in, along with other pax heading to Aruba, Bonaire, Port-au-Prince, Havana and Caracas on other airlines. I have an invitation in my hand to the Plesman Lounge, which I decide to visit. Decidedly not worth it. It's a very basic lounge. Not unpleasant, but even busier than downstairs, with basic snacks and drinks. I fill up on those two, and go for a wander downstairs instead.

The KLM 747 looks impressive outside, freshly painted, standing proud on the tarmac next to the DC9 and assorted props there. People are still scurrying out the several loads of steps beside it. I lean, watch, and buy duty free.

They board transit passengers first, as a form of compensation for making them get off in the first place, I s'pose. After that, and despite the different coloured cards everyone else has, it's an almighty everyone-for-themselves surge forward. Once again, priority is given to those gifted with supernatural queue selection qualities. And I haven't lost my touch since the outbound flight.

I board, and am greeted by "1K, sir? OK, 2K". I ask why. The FA rather brusquely explains that a woman who had a 'sore leg' had asked to be seated there so 'she could stretch out'. Hmm, a likely story. I'm not impressed by this. However, the purser overhears this, and quickly runs over with a far more pleasing explanation. "Sir, we have a lot of families on this flight today. What we've tried to do is to keep them together, and to keep upstairs free from children so that our élites can have a quieter flight back. There is an aisle seat for you upstairs, if you'd like." I'd like. I don't know which statement is truer, but I know which I prefer. I admire the purser's attitude, and head upstairs which is, indeed, childless, and which has, indeed, an aisle seat waiting for me.

We leave a little late (late inbound from SXM), and the usual nuts and drinks are served, this time by a very friendly, chatty FA. For dinner, I opt for chicken with shiitake mushrooms and an asparagus risotto. The sauce is foul, almost inedible. However, the meat and risotto are rather nice, so a bit of scraping (which, really, shouldn't be necessary) and it's a passable meal. Once, again, though, the dessert (baked cheesecake with strawberry coulis) is out of this world, and seconds are readily dished out!

The leg-lever coming into play again, I settle back. For a non lie-flat seat, this is very comfortable. I am instantly sleepy, but a nagging noise keeps me awake. The children (probably all asleep already downstairs) are absent, but there's one guy who keep rattling on and on... The FA seems to note several irritated turned heads, and politely asks him to wander down towards the galley to continue any conversation, to allow people to sleep. This guy, however, seems to feel the need to make his voice heard at all costs, and keeps going, even louder now. He does eventually pipe down, as one of the other pax asks him to keep it down. Phew...

And then, I wake up 6 hours later. Ladies and Gentlemen, that is a new record for my sleep on a plane! I give hearty congratulations to KLM. NZ come second at 5.5 hours (in Y!), and BA at 5 hours in NCW. I do have a sneaking suspicion, though, that BA would have scored higher if the flight had been longer... But nonetheless, this is great! Breakfast is a rather rubbery omelette, which I leave, but the usual continental stuff is there, and does this trick nicely. And they keep the strong tea flowing, which is as good praise as you can get for breakfast service in my book.

Before I know it, we're landing, and... Oh, arse. It's the Polderbaan. We land. And taxi. And taxi. And taxi. And wait a bit. And then taxi a bit more. Several announcements come over about not standing up just yet, no really, we are actually still taxiing, yes, we know it's a long way. And then a rather ominous one. WBC passengers will disembark first. Yes, that's usual. Then Tourist class. Yup, par for the course. But, "as there will be a special arrivals procedure, we would ask you to have all your documents ready for leaving the aircraft, and would ask you to allow passengers with connections to disembark first." (As if that ever happens). Oh dear, this sounds irritating.

It isn't too bad, as it turns out, but then, I was about 10th off the plane. I am asked for my passport. I walk past 3 or 4 sniffer dogs. I am asked about my stay. I have to show my e-ticket receipts and hotel confirmation and bill. My hand luggage is then x-rayed. Drugs, perchance? This leaves little time to make my connecting flight, which is, naturally, at the tail-end of D pier, which is an almighty schlep to follow a red-eye.

Priorities straight, I get a double espresso and cigarette in before heading to the gate. Gate gaat dicht! Already! Hmm, this sounds fishy... There's a load of weekenders heading to the end of D, who are obviously bound for London, and is the gate gaating dicht? Is it bolax. We have to endure 5 minutes in an overfilled holding pen before a brave woman holds the crowd back and shouts "any Europe Select passengers? Any Gold or Platinum Élite?" I'm not in C for this flight, but I am PE. I start to make my way to the front. Nobody comes forward. She tries again. "Come on, there must be someone with a Gold card here!" I wave my BP and she ushers me forwards.

The plane is a 738, which has now had all of the formerly excellent C seats ripped out and replaced by new, rather uncomfortable Economy seats. I am in Y here, at the front, and it feels very cramped. OK, I've just come off WBC, but even compared to LH or BD in Y, this is tight. We take off (not the Polderbaan, thankfully), and, after 40 minutes of North Sea bumpiness and 15 minutes circling the picturesque delights of North-East London (hmm), we do my favourite along-the-Thames descent into LHR (I wave at my flat on the way past, and smile). We land 10 minutes early, the FO boldly announces. And then queue for 20 minutes to cross the South runway. And then park on a remote stand. And then wait 5 minutes for a bus to turn up. And then get sent to the wrong gate. And then arrive at the transit doors and wait for someone to open them. And then walk past a broken travelator. And then wait 15 minutes in the EEA passport queue, as they've only got 2 immigration officers on for the 3 747-loads that have just arrived alongside us. On the up side, the luggage was already there...

So, the summary?

The FD Élite Helpdesk were outstanding. This is often the luck of the draw, but I drew well.

LHR-AMS was the good old days of KLM, as it used to be. This was why I started flying with them.

Priority boarding at AMS needs sorely sorting out. If they're going to announce it as part of the product, then enforce it!

AMS-CUR-AMS were excellent flights. The crew were mostly good, but the pursers outstanding. The one disappointment was the main courses served. They really should be far better in their flagship product. If they can make desserts as good as they do, why can't they make main courses to match?

The Kurá Hulanda was a wonderful hotel, worthy of its designation as one of the island's top hotels, and far better, in my view, than the chain hotels on their artificial beaches.

Curaçao was a fascinating, sunny, friendly little island. I'm not sure it could keep me entertained for longer than I was there for, but I'm not the 'sunning myself' type. If I took the the diving more, though, I'm sure I could stay there for weeks.

AMS-LHR, however, reminded me why I stopped flying on KLM. Europe Select is a joke, and there are far better Y classes out there, even for this short flight. LHR isn't great at the best of times, but I still far prefer BD ex-T1 than the mess that is KLM at T4. T4 was always like this on arrival, and it's just a pain.

I had a wonderful holiday, and thought WBC was at its best on these flights. Plus, a fare of under £300 which I can upgrade to with 40k miles (earning over half of them back) is quite an achievement. I wonder if this will stay through the AF integration? Hmm. The experience would make me glad to fly in WBC again, but I could not return to KLM short-haul (the majority of my flights). It's just no longer the pleasant experience it used to be.

And now, I must find my friend I promised to give the 'comb-cleaning liquor' to...

thanks for an excellent and entertaining report. ^

As usual for a stut report, this was entertaining and a joy to read - thank you. :)

Does anyone actually drink Curaçao on Curaçao?

A very enjoyable read. ^ Still, can anyone shed some light on what pancake soup is? Not something I am familiar with. :)

Does anyone actually drink Curaçao on Curaçao?

Why, Dutch tourists, of course :)

And it's not just blue Curaçao either. There's green, orange, white... The orange was getting heavily knocked back during the football for some reason :)

Still, can anyone shed some light on what pancake soup is?

Seems to be an Austrian staple. It's a broth with strips of shredded pancake in. Pretty tasty.

stut, fab report ^ Would never have considered Curacao for holiday, but now will definitely look into it

(Also good to hear some positive KLM comments! ;) )

Excellent ... and detailed! KLM seems to get a pretty bad rap these days, so it's nice to hear someone actually enjoying their time aboard!