Mats

My trips of late have been mostly domestic and uneventful. I decided not to bore you with domestic hops.

My apologies, as always, that I do not take a lot of photos.

My stepmother is turning 60. Indeed, that is just 15 years older than I am. I now encourage you to ponder various Disney tropes about evil stepmothers. The stepmonster stepmother is from Rio de Janeiro, and my family still has a flat there. The birthday festivities are to be held in Rio.

The advice I received from friends about how to get through this trip: “keep drinking.”

And the advice from my primary care provider: “you should take a lot of clonazepam.”

As for planning the trip, economy class tickets were astonishingly expensive: $1700+ I even tried clever tricks like Copa and Air Canada. No. Thus, a whole lot of AAdvantage miles. But this would mean a simple connection and I could score “Flagship First.”

A flight directly into Rio would have necessitated an absurdly long layover in Atlanta or a double connection through Miami. I decided upon a far more clever plan: fly to São Paulo, stay overnight and recover (or prepare) and then fly to Rio/Santos Dumont. There are now flights from Guarulhos to Rio/Santos Dumont, so this would eliminate some sort of painful cross-town transfer in São Paulo.

TIA: Transient Ischemic Attack? or Tucson International Airport?
It seems like TIA is in the non-medical vernacular, and it would be wise to call the airport “TUS” instead of “TIA.” I guess it’s a step up from Norovirus International Airport or The Gonorrhea Domestic Terminal.

I’ve grown to love the Tucson Airport. It is small, hospitable, but not luxurious. There are no lounges, no glitz, but it is just so easy. Tucson is full of upmarket hotels and resorts; it’s a bit odd that the airport isn’t too swank. I guess the traffic is so limited that it doesn’t necessitate elaborate lounges or a Cartier showroom.

There was nobody in the line at AAmerican, and the polite agent commented that I “looked well put-together,” and she was jealous of my suitcases. (Rimowa and Jack Spade: a touch of class.) Flattery will get you everywhere. She didn’t comment that the bags are totally beat-up.

Security was polite and entirely uneventful (phew!)

As one has grown to expect in Tucson, there were an exceptional number of passengers in wheelchairs. But the ground crew were polite and efficient, and we still pushed back on time.

I do wish they would stop badgering us with, “This is a very full flight!” Don’t shame us for something we did not plan. It’s akin to a lousy teacher starting the class with, “We have a lot to cover today!” What good did that do? Thanks for raising the tension; we needed that.

AA2483
Tucson-Dallas/Fort Worth
Seat 3E
737-800
This was largely uneventful flight. I watched “Veep” on my iPad and looked out the window.

The crew were very much “dialing it in,” rolling their eyes at passengers asking for things. Do they know we can hear and see them? Like—do they know that passengers are sentient?

The video monitor at my seat was unable to show the safety demo. How will I know if “great” is what they’re going for? Likewise, the map display was all over the place. (Does anyone remember when Airshow was first introduced? It almost always bookmarked Gothab, Greenland.)

To her credit, the chief flight attendant apologized, and took the demo issue seriously.

We landed just a little early, and I got out of the soon-to-be-rehabbed Terminal C as soon as I could.


DFW Flagship Lounge and Dining
The “concierge” was slurping on a Chick-Fil-A milkshake as I entered. She took a brief break from the milkshake to tell me that my phone wasn’t bright enough for her to read my boarding pass. I like to think of such interactions as “a touch of elegance.”

The maître d’ at the dining room was flummoxed. I was supposed to have received a specific invitation to dine, and Madam Chick-Fil-A was supposed to walk me over. I was told that I must walk myself back to the Chick-Fil-A counter and address the issue. Couldn’t they have used a phone?

And then it got better.

Pilar, the server, was bubbly and engaging. She popped open the Krug, and it was great. The other staff were equally chatty in an informal but professional way. They seemed to be really having a good time.

I didn’t nick the menu, but I had:

· Leek and Potato Soup
· Pasta with a mushroom "bolognese"
· Dark chocolate budino
· more Krug

It was all rich, but the portions were small enough. I joked about the possibility of getting the soup “to go” and how to gain further access to the budino. They universally agreed that the food is very good.

I took a quick shower, and then prepared for the long flight.

I ended up chatting with two non- Chick-Fil-A staff, and I politely addressed the check in process. They agreed to handle that matter quietly and internally. Moreover, they made it clear that I should never feel bad for saying something.

AA963
Dallas/Fort Worth to São Paulo/Guarulhos
777-300
Seat 1J




Boarding was chaotic, but they still had two Portuguese-speaking gate agents, a Japanese-speaking gate agent, and many other staff. I was impressed by the sheer number of staff.

They still seemed to have some snags with the “photo” based boarding. It didn’t seem to save any time. Also, I hate looking at photos of myself.

Once on board, I was greeted with sincere warmth by the purser, Deborah. She knew everyone’s name, preferences, and “read the room” like a pro. I was impressed by mix of informality and class. We were on a first-name basis, but she was all style.

The other crew seemed well-groomed, attentive, and happy. They defied the stereotypes of the senior AA cabin crew. There was one speaker for the two forward cabins, and (I think) three others. They were men, thus they did not sport the famous “speaker skirt.”

We took off expeditiously, and headed toward Houma, Louisiana, Grand Cayman, the western edge of Cuba, Puerto Ayacucho, Brasília, Goiãnia, Campinas, and on to São Paulo.

The flight was mildly turbulent the whole time, but this was merely an inconvenience. There were no nagging announcements, and the crew took a commonsense approach. There was such a nice tailwind that the turbulence meant that we would arrive close to an hour early.

As for the menu, it wouldn’t compare with Flagship Dining, but it was not bad at all. In fact, I think it was the best premium class meal I’ve had on American.



The figs were by far the highlight of the menu. They were beautifully plated with little dots of pesto. The honey ricotta was light.

The soup was—of course—salty. I was dubious of something that sounded like pub food. But I actually quite liked it.

The salad was a bit heavy on the feta; in fact, I think it would have been better without feta at all. But the yellow sun-dried tomatoes were especially good. (I had a professor in college, who explained that European countries that were economically backward had an excess of feta cheese. She demonstrated the “feta belt” ranging from Greece and up through the Balkans.)

As expected, the main was not the best part of the meal. It was just kind of starchy and boring. It needed vegetables. Why mix couscous with corn cakes? At least the tomato caper jam was beautiful.

As if that budino wasn’t enough, I had a beautiful sundae. In true Seinfeld form, it had the right ratios and balances of chocolate and ice cream. I also think that American’s sundae cups look better than their United and Delta counterparts. Somehow the glass makes the ice cream look especially good.

The meal setup really did feel first class. The linens, the salt and pepper shakers, the glassware. All of it seemed high-end and classy. It was quite clear that this was first, not business.

Without prompting, Deborah made up my bed, and I slept for perhaps six or more hours. The Casper bedding and pajamas were warm and inviting.

I woke up somewhere around Brasília, with only a little bit left in the flight.


Breakfast was the usual fruit plate, but the smell of cinnamon rolls permeated the cabin.
I knew better than to consume “Fresh Brew,” particularly since I was about to arrive in the land of good coffee.

The Airshow remained goofy for all of the flight: it got stuck, often suggesting that we had hours to go. Maybe it was user error. Upon arrival, my phone kept welcoming me to the Bahamas.


Guarulhos (GRU)
Deborah gave me a hug and wished me well. There were only three or four people ahead of me at immigration. The officer was young, friendly, and wished me a good trip.

Brazil no longer requires landing cards. This information is not found on the Brazilian government web site. I even went through their recommendation of completing the form online and printing it out. There was no need.

This is where tragedy struck. I was desperately waiting for the sultry voice of Iris Lettieri. https://www.npr.org/templates/story/...toryId=8976813. Instead, another voice welcomed me on the loudspeaker. She referred to it as “Grooo-airport,” presumably because “Guarulhos” is too hard to pronounce. Do they know about the Russian GRU?

Bags were slow: about 45 minutes, but I was happy that they arrived.

I made the trek through customs and Duty Free.

Brazil no longer has the “press this button to see if we’ll search your bags” machine. I always found that a bit curious.

The Marriott bus was waiting as I got outside. I knew to expect a profoundly bumpy and circuitous, neck-ache-inducing bus journey, and this was no exception.


View from my hotel room. This is why Paulistas travel by helicopter.



Marriott São Paulo-Guarulhos
It seemed like a wash between the Marriott and the Pullman. I’m not really sure why I chose one and not the other.

The Marriott is okay-ish. I had paid extra to ensure early check in. I even used web check in. But that was immaterial; the room still wasn’t ready.

The room itself is small, nondescript, except for its gargantuan foodservice-capacity coffee machine. There is nothing luxe about the Marriott, but it’s nothing terrible.


Yes, I'm expecting 45 guests for coffee.

There was too much rain to spend a bit of pool time, so I resorted to doing work.

They also offered “Dr. Oetker” brand tea. (There have been a lot of Dr. Oetker jokes among my friends and family. I joke about listing “Dr. Oetker” as my dissertation advisor, primary care provider, attending, etc.

The Club Lounge was the highlight. It was well-stocked with an open bar, pão de queijou, cappuccino machine, etc. The staff were more than accommodating, knowing everyone by name.

Coming up: a night's rest in Marriott blandness, and then off to Rio de Janeiro.