Mats

Prelude
It had been a long week. I was busy at work and ended up volunteering at two free medical clinics. Then I got suckered in to doing sports physicals for the girls track team at a local school. I was happy to help, but it made for a terribly fatiguing week. Above all, the guy I had been stalking—I mean watching—at the gym didn’t show up all week. So I’d been working out for long hours without the “entertainment” I was seeking.

It was time to go to France. My sister and her family live there, so I have a good excuse to visit. And I have an old friend in Stockholm, so I decided to visit both destinations.

Delta has been going more and more bankrupt, so I decided to burn up 100,000 miles and fly in L’Espace Premiere.

I had my hopes up to fly on the Delta Connection/Chataqua Airlines nonstop from Columbus to JFK. I was waitlisted on the flight, but Delta refused to clear the waitlist. According to a telephone rez agent, “Delta would prefer to fly the plane with empty seats rather than open up the waitlist.” She also said that she’d “get yelled at” if she called another department and asked them to open up the seats. Delta sounds more and more like a well-oiled machine. After two phone calls to Delta, both with lengthy 30 minute wait times, I gave up.

I had actually booked my patient schedule planning on the later Delta Connection flight. Oops. I finally resigned myself to taking an earlier flight on Northwest via Detroit. This required that I schlep my bags on the bus to work, take a cab from work to the airport, and work very fast. But I did it. I saw half a dozen patients and managed to hop in a cab just in time… albeit without breakfast. (Yes, I was still careful with my patients and spent enough time with them.)

CMH
There was a five minute wait to check in using Northwest’s kiosks. (Online check-in was not an option, so I feared the “SSSS.”) The first class line was not useful since the machines were really just first-come, first-served. The kiosk read my passport but then said “see agent.” Too bad there weren’t any agents to be seen.

Gerald, an unsmiling NWA agent finally checked me in. I had to prompt him to give me a boarding card as well as to check my bag. No “please,” no “thank you,” no “have a pleasant flight.” Gerald wasn’t happy. But I was. No SSSS on the boarding cards. That made me smile.

Off to security. There was a typical 10-15 minute wait (not “one hour” as listed on delta.com.) There was an elite/first class security line but—like many other such lines—it was closed. Just two archways, two x-ray machines. Lots of yelling from power-tripping TSA agents (as usual at CMH.) Like Honolulu, Columbus has now added the “we initial your boarding card as you walk through the metal detector plan.” Now this is just brilliant. What a great way to save time and work the line efficiently! Those TSA folks sure are smart. They must recruit at Mensa meetings.

But I made it through unscathed. I had a camera, three laptop batteries, and so on, but this was apparently of no interest. They were too buy frisking grandparents (no exaggeration).

NW834 CMH-DTW
DC-9-30 (in the new colorscheme)
Seat 3B
Boarding took place just 15 minutes prior to departure. The gate agents were much friendlier than their ticket counterparts (what a clever pun.)

The load was exceptionally light. I recall that the Wall Street Journal listed Cleveland-Detroit as the most expensive flight in the USA. So who knows? Maybe Northwest was making a profit despite the poor load.

The cabin looked good despite the age of the aircraft (older than me, I think). The seats, however, were not so great. I could feel the knees of the passenger behind me. The fabric was thin and the seats seemed to feel a lot like economy class seats.

Renee and Julie looked after the cabin. They were friendly and kept glasses full. I had more first taste of the fabled Northwest Airlines “Spinzels.” Nothing to write home about, if you ask me.

Thirty four minutes and two crossword puzzles later, I was in Detroit.

DTW
It’s a beautiful concourse. Shopping options are meager, but the airport is quite attractive. It reminded me of a clean, bright version of Concourse E in Miami. Lots of gleaming glass. There were flights to many unappealing destinations (Grand Rapids, Flint, hooray!)

I proceeded up to the NWA WorldClub at the entrance to the A concourse. A friendly woman (older, Asian) checked my boarding card and welcomed me.

I liked the WorldClub: lots of little rooms, a real fireplace, clean and comfortable décor. The artwork didn’t seem to match, but I kind of liked it. It was much more comfortable than any of the BusinessElite lounges or the Presidents’ Clubs. Food was not available… just coffee and so forth. The bathrooms were not especially nice, but they were clean.

A Caucasian Northwest agent greeted a group of Japanese tourists. She bowed appropriately and showed them where they could take a seat. I was impressed.

NW1930 DTW-JFK
DC-9-30 (in the new colorscheme)
Seat 4C
Melody took care of the first class cabin. She was personable in a casual, approachable way. Another smooth, quick flight. Just enough time for me to nod off.

I chatted briefly with an outgoing, quite attractive fellow passenger. I have no idea if he was just being friendly or more than that. Hmmmm.

Upon arrival at JFK, the Jetway was somehow unable to reach the aircraft. So we waited for 20 minutes or so, gave up, and got towed to another gate. Nobody seemed to care that much. Most passengers were either ending their journey in New York or had lengthy layovers at JFK. Melody made an announcement, suggesting that we turn on our air vents. “It will help… a little,” she joked.

JFK
I worked at JFK from 1997 to 1999. It’s now barely recognizable. Terminal 4 is beautiful, but it’s too beautiful, almost sterile. Although it’s clean and easy to navigate, it lacks the character and mayhem that characterized the old IAB. The IAB was a modern Ellis Island. Although Terminal 4 serves this purpose, it doesn’t feel like it.

The AirTrain was a snap. Quick to arrive, easy to use, and whoosh! I was at Terminal 1. No more hair-raising waits for buses; it was miraculous. Suddenly inter-terminal transfers aren’t quite so burdensome.

I walked over to Air France, obtained a new boarding card, and checked my bag. There was no space available on an earlier flight, but the agent welcomed me to check-in, wait in the lounge, have a drink, etc.

Security was amazing. Terminal 1 is a world without secondary screening. I watched the line for a good 25-30 minutes and didn’t see a single passenger get “selected.” No pat-downs, and shoes could remain on. There was no yelling and the whole thing took less than 15 minutes. Nobody wrote their initials on my boarding card, nobody screamed at me to remove my laptop. People who rang the buzzer merely stepped back and removed metal from their pockets. It seemed so sensible and dignified. No surprised that security
is more intelligent and responsible in higher-risk locations. (It also helps that non-US airlines don’t have “SSSS.”)

The Air France L’Espace Premiere Lounge
Like the Air France ticket counter, the lounge was staffed by gorgeous women in beautifully-tailored outfits. I watched them greet one another with kisses on the cheek. The receptionist asked if I would like to shower, have a drink, something to eat—whatever. Ahhhh.

So I immediately took a shower and rinsed the Midwest off. I’ve had some great showers in my life—but showers in the airport are always particularly well-appreciated. The receptionist provided me with an amenity kit with a wide variety of cosmetics and several terrycloth towels.

After cleansing, I proceeded upstairs to the L’Espace Premiere section. I watched an obese, unkempt American businessman help himself to a Bud. At least he poured it into a glass. Won’t he be turned away by French immigration authorities if they see how he’s dressed? There were some appealing canapés, but fatso made me lose my appetite.

The lounge is calm and quiet, with a nice view of the active runway. But it was nothing amazing. It lacked the one service I sought: internet access. C’est la vie.

Time passed quickly and I headed down to Gate 7 just prior to boarding. I saw the cabin crew at the gate, laughing and smiling—a good sign.

AF011 JFK-CDG
777-200
Seat 1B
Boarding was neither organized nor disorganized. There was no separate queue for L’Espace passengers, but I didn’t care. The Chef de Cabine, Catherine Gambault, showed me to my seat.

There were four empty seats in L’Espace Premiere, but Tempo and L’Espace Affaires looked pretty full. The cabin was abuzz with smiling cabin crew, dressed in their new Christian Lacroix uniforms. (They look better in person than they do in photos.)

The purser announced that the crew are wearing new Lacroix uniforms. Typical of France, “Safety? What is that? We’re wearing Lacroix.”

Wthout delay, the crew passed out Clarins amenity kits, menus, Champagne, and hot towels.

Shortly before takeoff, the ridiculous safety video was shown, featuring the relentlessly cheery English-speaking steward (“Pardon me, MADAM, please fasten your seatbelt!”) Did they intend for the video to be funny? Probably not.

Dinner was served shortly after takeoff:

Diner par Guy MartinPetit déjeunerLa carte des vinsDinner was not much of a thrill. The lobster and chicken appetizers were both frigid. The lobster itself was fine, but it came on a gelatinous glob of something akin to Miracle Whip. The chicken was bland, served with a wrinkled cherry tomato and an unidentifiable mass of white vegetables and/or packing material. Both hors d’oeuvres looked completely colorless on white plates.

The hors d’oeuvres were served on plates that seem to have come from the Target clearance rack; no more seahorses; these were plain white with a red and blue stripe. At least there was real cutlery, including the knives.

The petits farcis was substantially better. I’d order it frequently if served in a restaurant. Delicate baby vegetables, flavorful ratatouille, and a pleasant radish-based sauce. I enjoyed it. The petits farcis came with cold but fresh baguettes, a small bottle of plain olive oil, a small bottle of orange-infused olive oil, and French (I mean “Freedom”) butter.

Food was served from a cart! The crew removed the plastic covers in front of the passengers and placed the dishes on the tray. It did not seem terribly classy. There weren’t even flowers or linens on top of the cart. And this was a plain airplane cart—not the special steel-frame type used even by US domestic carriers in first class.

Dessert was pathetic. A few freezing flavorless petit-fours on a tiny dish. That was the best they could do?

My guess is that this was some sort of abbreviated dinner service, designed to please passengers who prefer to sleep. Or perhaps it was designed to disappoint passengers who wanted better food. In any case, I wasn’t impressed. Maybe they should offer dinner in the lounge á la British Airways.

I didn’t bother with IFE. It’s not on-demand and there were no movies that really seemed tempting. Air France does, however, provide noise-canceling headsets.

I soon changed into my Christian Lacroix jumpsuit. Although the bathroom was bigger than some, it wasn’t exactly spacious. Just lotion and soap were available—no other “goodies” to steal (eau de toilette, toothbrushes, etc.) And paper towels! I missed the terrycloth towels provided by Delta.

I reclined my seat to a flat position. A flight attendant came by with an enormous down comforter and large pillow. I promptly fell asleep for a few hours.

The crew were quiet and subtle. They did not refer to anyone by name, they didn’t have nametags on themselves. But they were approachable, smiling, and organized. There was no chit chat from the galley. It was a pleasant change from the loud chatter that one must often endure (“Shirlene knows how to make a casserole with corn nuts—I have the recipe back by door 4.”)

An hour before landing, it was time for breakfast. A few passengers chose to sleep and they received juice, coffee, and warm pastries even after the aircraft was on initial descent.

I had a croissant, good coffee, La Crème peach yogurt, and the pineapple crumble. The crumble was quite sweet, but I liked it. I imagined that it was like having dessert several hours late.

Landing was quick, but there was—of course—a very long taxi to a remote parking stand near Terminal 2C.

There was no separate bus for premium passengers and all cabins exited through the same door at the same time.

There was, however, an “express” bus for many passengers going to Lagos. I always thought that flights out of Nigeria would be more popular than flights to Nigeria.

CDG
There was no queue at all for immigration. But there was a one-hour wait for bags. At least mine was the third or fourth one off the belt. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had to wait so long and I’ve had even longer waits elsewhere.

I noticed several people at the baggage claim who were in the L'Espace Premier lounge but were seated in L'Espace Affaires. I shot them looks of hatred and comforted myself in knowing that their dishonesty will be punished in hell.

There were Air France concierges helping some L’Espace Premiere passengers. I asked one of them about the arrivals lounge. She said that she’d never heard of such a thing and suggested that I talk to someone at Air France. Get a clue, lady.

Another Air France agent happily showed me the way to the lounge. I had to make my way through large crowds of passengers checking in for a flight to Vietnam.

L'Espace Arrivals Lounge
I was greeted at the lounge with warm smiles and offers to help me with anything I needed. All of the showers were open and a gracious assistant urged me to pick whichever one I liked. Although the showers were beautiful, in light colored wood, there were no toys. No fancy shampoo, lotions, etc. Perhaps one has to ask for such things.

Although coffee and juices were available, the lounge was busy and I wanted to get cracking.

To Paris
As expected, the ticket machines were broken at the RER station. (Have they ever worked? But the line wasn’t too bad and the ticket agents were smiling and polite.

I missed the first train but hopped on the second. Naturally it stopped at an unplanned location and I had to transfer. And transfer again. This meant that my time from landing at CDG to my sister’s apartment in the 12th Arrindesement took four hours. I think I may have set a new record.

After a long nap, I was off to Bon Marché and then having dinner at a favorite Montparnasse restaurant.

Coming up… Stockholm.