Otahuhuman
Jan 5, 09, 4:58 am
17 December 2008
I arrived at LAX by cab, and as we passed T1 I was saddened to see a line of pax out in the street, in the steady rain, stretching halfway to T2. I was pleased to find a dedicated entry for Business Class. In the past there has been quite a scrum out on the sidewalk. There was 2½ hours to take off, and already a bit of a queue, and only one official. After a while 3 more arrived. I took my checked luggage over to the giant xray machine and reflected that the place looks a bit calmer than it has these last few years. I stood outside and finished off some juice I had, and breathed in my last, petrol-laden, American air. The poor pax at T1 were still standing forlornly in the rain - the queue didn’t seem to have diminished at all. Feeling suitably calmed, I then flung myself into the turmoil that came next and headed up the escalators to Security. This place is not for sissies. While waiting to have my bag and myself xrayed, I noticed several people ahead of me who had, apparently, ignored all the instructive notices, and had to be asked to remove their coats, their shoes, to take the loose change out of their pockets, to take out their laptops, to hang on to their boarding pass, &c. I guess that if you are an official and this happens all day every day, you could become a bit irritated with the customers. Safely through I felt relieved to have made it, but experienced that loss of dignity that senior citizens get when they have to put their shoes on, standing up, in public.
To the NZ Lounge, which was very pleasing as always. Not too hot today because of the rain. A very pleasant selection of salads and cold meats; soup; and snacks. There was hardly anyone there. I checked my emails, and watched NZ2 arrive from AKL. A handful of transiters arrived about 35 minutes later, looking for the most part, remarkably fit. One chap, however, collapsed onto a sofa and sank immediately into a deep power nap which lasted for about half an hour.
I nipped downstairs to purchase some Duty Free at the only, not very big, DF shop. There used to be a time when I never frequented this shop because it was far cheaper to buy the stuff at Trader Joe’s but the new regulations have made this impossible. I could have, of course, packed a bottle in my hold luggage, but there was an unfortunate incident of the bottle of sticky pungent liqueur breaking in my bag.
Back in the lounge, the staff came round offering pavlova. How very ethnic! Each individual pav was about the size of a tin of beans, lightly crunchy on the outside, delightfully soft and sticky on the inside (not too sweet) and topped with whipped cream and passionfruit. Excellent. The FSM announced that he was ‘looking out for us’ and would ‘shortly be coming to see us’. (He must have lost his way, because he never showed up.) I have one trivial niggle about the lounge. When I am in the shower, I lock the door. However, I can’t be sure if the door is locked because there is not a separate lever for the lock, it is incorporated into the door handle, and when I try it, to check that it is locked, it opens. I wonder if anyone else feels insecure in the shower there?
We were summoned to the boarding gate so I bade a reluctant farewell to this pleasant place, and headed downstairs. As I picked up my DF I looked into the dreadful lock-down pen for those in transit and gazed in pity on the poor sufferers inside. On board I got the warmest welcome so far on this trip. An FA introduced herself, shook my hand, and asked me what my Christian name was. Welcoming or what?
I had supped my champagne; put on my inflite-stockings; we had all got settled; were preparing for take-off; when there was a slight commotion as a group of passengers arrived - David Beckham and his wife and three children and a small entourage. My heart sank when I saw them, not because I have anything against the famous Beckhams, but I have flown with Royalty before, and seeing this group brought back a traumatic memory which, over the years I have tried to suppress. If I may insert a flight report into this flight report, it all came flooding back - RAF troop carrier - heading for an extremely hot outpost of the former Empire - up the front, behind curtains, HRH Princess Margaret and boyfriend / bodyguard? (lurid suggestions were rife) and female companion / maid - on arrival at RAF station the plane lands and taxis to very very far corner of airfield - engines stop - HRH and entourage disembark and get into large black Daimler which has just drawn up - luggage unpacked and loaded into car which sweeps off - it is generally agreed that their aircon is probably going full blast - aircraft turns into oven as we sit in the intense midday heat - announcement finally made that for technical and security reasons, the aircraft will be parking on this spot - all pax (we had hand luggage only) disembark - Station Admin building could just be seen through the heat haze, at the far end of the runway - long walk as blazing sun beats down - many of the soldiers in severely weakened condition on account of having just been on R&R - nightmare ordeal.
Despite my unhappy memories, this brush with Royalty wasn’t at all upsetting. Mrs B walked around looking cheerful and chatting to the FAs and her assistants; David had that slightly worried look that a father always has when travelling with children; he read them stories and they were as good as gold. Their presence added a certain something to the flight. We took off at 1635 and the captain said the flight would take only 9 hours 30 minutes because of strong jet stream tail winds.
This flight usually takes off out to sea and does a big turn and heads back towards the North East, but today we headed East and took off over the city and were soon into the cloud over those vast mountains. With nothing to see I concentrated on my G&T and my IFE. An extremely hot towel (it came with a warning) was dished out. We were given a nice dish of nuts with olives &c and a starter of Salmon. There were then some big decisions to be made about the bread and olive oil and so on. As I started on the starter I looked around and saw that everyone else had wine. In the excitement of the bread-choosing I had been overlooked! Just as well I was on a 777. Had I been in the front cabin of a 747, tucked away by the galley, I might not have noticed. A contrite FA swiftly brought me copious supplies of NZL white and I enjoyed the halibut, which was followed by a creme brulee tart. A Grand Marnier ensured that I had an excellent sleep. Though not a very long one. If the flight is only 9 hours and a bit, and it takes 2 hours to serve up the meal and then they wake you up 2 hours before landing, it doesn’t leave all that long for sleeping.
A reasonably hot towel and a strawberry smoothie led to a pleasing breakfast of Skippy cornflakes and an omelette. this has been my usual breakfast on this trip. NZ38 from HKG has a delicious Chinese option, but usually there seems to be only pancakes or omelettes. Noodles for breakfast on every flight would go down well with me. Because of the Jet Stream, our flight path took us over Chicago and then we crossed Ireland flying just north of Dublin and then flew over the Principality, crossing near Anglesey. When we got close to LHR we were so early that we had to go round once. Nothing to be seen but cloud. Boiled sweets were handed out for the descent.
I made my way into T1, past the photographers who were waiting for our VIPs. At Immigration I whipped out my British passport, joined the appropriate (short) queue, and was soon through. At the carousel I looked out for David but he didn’t seem to be waiting with the rest of us. For the senior citizen, this is a time of great danger - retrieving one’s bag can be a very strenuous and difficult manouevre. I no longer behave gallantly and assist little old ladies or lovely young ladies with their baggage, because I am becoming totally selfish about the welfare of my back. Happily, my bag was waiting for me and I plunged into England. Landing at LHR wasn’t as much fun for me as when I reached the other landfalls on my journey. No one to meet me here, no nice lounge to go to, I raced towards the bus station. There was a bit of a wait there for the bus to Milton Keynes. This was crowded and hot, even though the outside temperature was only about 5. The driver turned on the air-conditioning, but it was a dreary two-hour journey, via Hemel Hemstead, Luton, and Luton Airport. The coach arrived at Milton Keynes on time, and that was that.
I really enjoyed my journey. I was annoyed that my IFE didn’t always work. I thought the food was terrific, and the lounges were comfortable and relaxing. What is it about the confectionery given out for the descent? None from the NZL-based crews. Despite this lapse, all the FAs were consistently helpful, polite, and, above all, cheerful. I’ll probably stick with NZ in the future.
I arrived at LAX by cab, and as we passed T1 I was saddened to see a line of pax out in the street, in the steady rain, stretching halfway to T2. I was pleased to find a dedicated entry for Business Class. In the past there has been quite a scrum out on the sidewalk. There was 2½ hours to take off, and already a bit of a queue, and only one official. After a while 3 more arrived. I took my checked luggage over to the giant xray machine and reflected that the place looks a bit calmer than it has these last few years. I stood outside and finished off some juice I had, and breathed in my last, petrol-laden, American air. The poor pax at T1 were still standing forlornly in the rain - the queue didn’t seem to have diminished at all. Feeling suitably calmed, I then flung myself into the turmoil that came next and headed up the escalators to Security. This place is not for sissies. While waiting to have my bag and myself xrayed, I noticed several people ahead of me who had, apparently, ignored all the instructive notices, and had to be asked to remove their coats, their shoes, to take the loose change out of their pockets, to take out their laptops, to hang on to their boarding pass, &c. I guess that if you are an official and this happens all day every day, you could become a bit irritated with the customers. Safely through I felt relieved to have made it, but experienced that loss of dignity that senior citizens get when they have to put their shoes on, standing up, in public.
To the NZ Lounge, which was very pleasing as always. Not too hot today because of the rain. A very pleasant selection of salads and cold meats; soup; and snacks. There was hardly anyone there. I checked my emails, and watched NZ2 arrive from AKL. A handful of transiters arrived about 35 minutes later, looking for the most part, remarkably fit. One chap, however, collapsed onto a sofa and sank immediately into a deep power nap which lasted for about half an hour.
I nipped downstairs to purchase some Duty Free at the only, not very big, DF shop. There used to be a time when I never frequented this shop because it was far cheaper to buy the stuff at Trader Joe’s but the new regulations have made this impossible. I could have, of course, packed a bottle in my hold luggage, but there was an unfortunate incident of the bottle of sticky pungent liqueur breaking in my bag.
Back in the lounge, the staff came round offering pavlova. How very ethnic! Each individual pav was about the size of a tin of beans, lightly crunchy on the outside, delightfully soft and sticky on the inside (not too sweet) and topped with whipped cream and passionfruit. Excellent. The FSM announced that he was ‘looking out for us’ and would ‘shortly be coming to see us’. (He must have lost his way, because he never showed up.) I have one trivial niggle about the lounge. When I am in the shower, I lock the door. However, I can’t be sure if the door is locked because there is not a separate lever for the lock, it is incorporated into the door handle, and when I try it, to check that it is locked, it opens. I wonder if anyone else feels insecure in the shower there?
We were summoned to the boarding gate so I bade a reluctant farewell to this pleasant place, and headed downstairs. As I picked up my DF I looked into the dreadful lock-down pen for those in transit and gazed in pity on the poor sufferers inside. On board I got the warmest welcome so far on this trip. An FA introduced herself, shook my hand, and asked me what my Christian name was. Welcoming or what?
I had supped my champagne; put on my inflite-stockings; we had all got settled; were preparing for take-off; when there was a slight commotion as a group of passengers arrived - David Beckham and his wife and three children and a small entourage. My heart sank when I saw them, not because I have anything against the famous Beckhams, but I have flown with Royalty before, and seeing this group brought back a traumatic memory which, over the years I have tried to suppress. If I may insert a flight report into this flight report, it all came flooding back - RAF troop carrier - heading for an extremely hot outpost of the former Empire - up the front, behind curtains, HRH Princess Margaret and boyfriend / bodyguard? (lurid suggestions were rife) and female companion / maid - on arrival at RAF station the plane lands and taxis to very very far corner of airfield - engines stop - HRH and entourage disembark and get into large black Daimler which has just drawn up - luggage unpacked and loaded into car which sweeps off - it is generally agreed that their aircon is probably going full blast - aircraft turns into oven as we sit in the intense midday heat - announcement finally made that for technical and security reasons, the aircraft will be parking on this spot - all pax (we had hand luggage only) disembark - Station Admin building could just be seen through the heat haze, at the far end of the runway - long walk as blazing sun beats down - many of the soldiers in severely weakened condition on account of having just been on R&R - nightmare ordeal.
Despite my unhappy memories, this brush with Royalty wasn’t at all upsetting. Mrs B walked around looking cheerful and chatting to the FAs and her assistants; David had that slightly worried look that a father always has when travelling with children; he read them stories and they were as good as gold. Their presence added a certain something to the flight. We took off at 1635 and the captain said the flight would take only 9 hours 30 minutes because of strong jet stream tail winds.
This flight usually takes off out to sea and does a big turn and heads back towards the North East, but today we headed East and took off over the city and were soon into the cloud over those vast mountains. With nothing to see I concentrated on my G&T and my IFE. An extremely hot towel (it came with a warning) was dished out. We were given a nice dish of nuts with olives &c and a starter of Salmon. There were then some big decisions to be made about the bread and olive oil and so on. As I started on the starter I looked around and saw that everyone else had wine. In the excitement of the bread-choosing I had been overlooked! Just as well I was on a 777. Had I been in the front cabin of a 747, tucked away by the galley, I might not have noticed. A contrite FA swiftly brought me copious supplies of NZL white and I enjoyed the halibut, which was followed by a creme brulee tart. A Grand Marnier ensured that I had an excellent sleep. Though not a very long one. If the flight is only 9 hours and a bit, and it takes 2 hours to serve up the meal and then they wake you up 2 hours before landing, it doesn’t leave all that long for sleeping.
A reasonably hot towel and a strawberry smoothie led to a pleasing breakfast of Skippy cornflakes and an omelette. this has been my usual breakfast on this trip. NZ38 from HKG has a delicious Chinese option, but usually there seems to be only pancakes or omelettes. Noodles for breakfast on every flight would go down well with me. Because of the Jet Stream, our flight path took us over Chicago and then we crossed Ireland flying just north of Dublin and then flew over the Principality, crossing near Anglesey. When we got close to LHR we were so early that we had to go round once. Nothing to be seen but cloud. Boiled sweets were handed out for the descent.
I made my way into T1, past the photographers who were waiting for our VIPs. At Immigration I whipped out my British passport, joined the appropriate (short) queue, and was soon through. At the carousel I looked out for David but he didn’t seem to be waiting with the rest of us. For the senior citizen, this is a time of great danger - retrieving one’s bag can be a very strenuous and difficult manouevre. I no longer behave gallantly and assist little old ladies or lovely young ladies with their baggage, because I am becoming totally selfish about the welfare of my back. Happily, my bag was waiting for me and I plunged into England. Landing at LHR wasn’t as much fun for me as when I reached the other landfalls on my journey. No one to meet me here, no nice lounge to go to, I raced towards the bus station. There was a bit of a wait there for the bus to Milton Keynes. This was crowded and hot, even though the outside temperature was only about 5. The driver turned on the air-conditioning, but it was a dreary two-hour journey, via Hemel Hemstead, Luton, and Luton Airport. The coach arrived at Milton Keynes on time, and that was that.
I really enjoyed my journey. I was annoyed that my IFE didn’t always work. I thought the food was terrific, and the lounges were comfortable and relaxing. What is it about the confectionery given out for the descent? None from the NZL-based crews. Despite this lapse, all the FAs were consistently helpful, polite, and, above all, cheerful. I’ll probably stick with NZ in the future.