turnleftbrighteyes

Wherein the Much Vaunted Sharing Economy Goes Wrong

Traffic on a Saturday night apparently would be minimal, and the concierge at the hotel said I could leave even later than I was planning. Leaving by 9pm, for my 11:30pm flight would be plenty of time. My experiences with Uber had all been fine (and I liked the cashless aspect, especially since I was down to my last B$30), and the concierge said there was no real advantage at that hour to taking a cab. The only issue, UP TO THAT POINT <insert ominous horror movie music here>, with Uber had been that drivers would sometimes try to pick me up at the Skye Bar entrance, on the other side of the building, rather than at the hotel entrance. The concierge offered to contact the driver to tell him to come to the hotel side, which, really is a simple matter. (It’s the entrance on the left side of the building. The closest entrance, in fact, when you turn in.)

I should have known something was up when the driver seemingly got lost, as in missed the turn for the hotel and drove around the block. I really only use Uber when traveling, and sparsely at that, so I’m a bit hazy on certain aspects of etiquette or how the whole thing works. (My confusion at some aspects of the modern digital world I think clearly demonstrate that I am very obviously not a teenager and should be given ALL THE WHISKY.) Like, when someone seems kind of incompetent, can I cancel? (I am fine with paying a cancellation fee under such circumstances.) Lesson One, of the Idiot’s Guide to Uber: Just Cancel When in Doubt. Lesson Two: Just Go Ahead and Spring for Uber Black, You Cheapskate, Because Maybe A Bigger Car Means More Competence, Just Maybe? (I have no idea if Über Black means more qualified drivers in Sao Paulo. Anyone?)

After circling the block, and another call from the concierge (who seemed a bit amused? befuddled? at the problems the driver was having, and then mentioned that many Uber drivers are laid-off professionals— teachers, engineers, the like— and don’t really know the city and thus rely heavily on their GPS), Mr-You-Will-Soon-Learn-That-I-Am-Not-A-Frequent-Flier finally arrived. His navigation problems thus far, and the concierge’s comments, really, really should have given me pause.

In the beginning, it went fine. There was no traffic. We got to whatever highway it is that takes you to GRU. Estimated travel time was about 45 minutes, and at one point I peaked at my Google Maps and saw we were about 20 minutes away. Then there was a sign for the Airport (with a big icon of a plane, no less, so even someone like me! a Portuguese illiterate! could understand.)

Nothing—in the realm of transportation or the like—makes me more annoyed than drivers who cannot find the airport. (Well, due to recent events, I will add cab drivers in New York who want to go down 5th to get from the Upper East Side to Chelsea or Gramercy.) I kind of figure if you’re being paid to drive, places like the airport, which generally quite clearly marked and probably frequently requested, should be in your skill set.

This is not exclusive to Uber: a few years ago, I managed to get in a cab in Manhattan— on 125th Street!— with a driver who didn’t know how to get to LGA. If you are not familiar with New York City, or the location of LGA, or 125th Street, let me explain. It’s a straight drive. Drive straight! Without traffic it takes 15 minutes! There aren’t even any real turns! In that case, I should have gotten straight out when the driver started inputing LGA into his GPS. After some labored chatting, I discovered he had been in New York for two days (!) and this was his first day driving (a cab? a car? I have no idea.) So I’ll cut him some slack because he wasn’t even from the U.S., let alone the New York metro area, Whereas Hector, aka Sao Paulo’s Most Confused Uber Driver, did not have that excuse. (Being from the place we were, not being from the U.S., I mean.)

ANYWAY. Now, I had been in the hemisphere for less than three days. I do not speak Portuguese. And yet, the road sign— again, with a big picture of a plane and the word ‘Aeroporto’ was pretty clear to me. Exit 219B. B. Not A. Which is what we took. Since I don’t speak Portuguese, my mumbling couldn’t do anything, and the driver’s frantic fumbling with the GPS wasn’t inspiring confidence. Just take the next exit! 22 km later, we were back on the highway, and he still kept fumbling with the GPS, to the point of slowing down in traffic and being passed by trucks, buses, and having lights flashed at him. DUDE. Exit 219B. This is not hard. Drive back to where we were. Back to the exit and don’t take the exit you took, take the exit MARKED FOR THE AIRPORT, since that is the intended destination. Also, please speed up so we are not rear-ended, because dying in a low-end Renault on a highway in Brazil is not exactly how I’d like to go.

We did eventually make it back to 219B and was able to follow the signs to Terminal 3. (I had my doubts.) Where he dropped me a the first door. It’s not a huge terminal, but my attempts of pointing to the door and saying ‘American Airlines’ wasn’t going to get him to drop me off at the other end of the terminal, and that was a game I was not going to win. (2* for you Uber Driver, sorry. Not 1* because you got me there, but you have no business driving people to the airport. I think I know enough about the app to realize that 2* is a very bad thing to give, indeed. But seriously.) But, I did make it, the AA agent at the desk laughed when I told him the driver got lost (‘it’s a very easy trip’) and I was on my way. Luckily, security and immigration is very fast— even without any priority lanes or the lack— and got a brief visit to the Admiral’s Club. (I’m not sure why I didn’t go to the LATAM Lounge next door, since my usual default is to pick the non-AA lounge when possible.)

The Admiral’s Club in GRU is fine. It has a better selection of food (although I didn’t eat anything) than I’ve seen at the US clubs. In the very back of the club, next to a large refrigerator, was a teeny tiny little section with self-pour alcohol. It wasn’t a particularly impressive amount of stuff, although there was Prosecco, a couple of wines, and a few spirits (there was Beefeater for the gin; I remember seeing Jack Daniels, and there was certainly a vodka. But no Campari. In other words, it was a rather truncated version of what’s out at the JFK Flagship Lounge. Anyone used to BA Galleries Club would be unimpressed.


You probably wanted a photo of the booze selection, but you’re getting my feet (pre-slippered for the plane) and the Itty Bitty Rimowa. On top is the Tom Bihn Small Shop Bag into which I stuff the Tom Bihn A45 Packing Cube Shoulder Backpack. I used the backpack to put the stuff I wanted handy on the plane (a sweater, slippers) but didn’t want to carry around with me after checking out of the hotel. Its made of TB’s nifty “halcyon” fabric so folds down to nothing.

Boarding began extremely early— the first announcement came at around 10:25 for a 11:30 scheduled departure, and given my issues getting to the airport, I had only begun to sip my well-deserved gin and tonic. 10:40 was the time stamped on my boarding pass, and even that seemed early, until I got to the gate (around 10:45) to see that— oh joy!— it’s a bus gate. The only good thing about being bused to the aircraft is the view you get: the 77W is really a far more impressive plane when seen close-up from the ground than just walking onto it via a jet bridge.

Once again I had a seat in the minicabin (I’ve actually only saw in the minicabin on the 77W), and when I booked, only 4A was available. It’s a seat that gets somewhat mixed reviews, with some people complaining about noise and proximity to the galley, but that wasn’t enough to sway me to try the main business cabin. (It’s nice to turn left, after all.) 4A is really close to the gallery, but even without bothering to use the eyeshades I wasn’t bothered by light or noise. I definitely got stronger whiffs from the dinner service (and then preparations for breakfast), but even as someone with a sensitive nose it wasn’t so distracting that I wished I had chosen a different seat. And it didn’t seem appreciably louder than 3J, where I sat on the outbound, although the fan is quite loud. The Bose headsets did their job.


The slippers-on-a-plane/legroom shot from 4A.

This flight crew was better than on the way down (the bar was not set high there.) A couple of the FAs were a little more jovial and engaged. At one point I was afraid I should have been bussing my own table, as by the end of the flight I had 4 plastic water bottles, and three glasses (formerly holding water, whiskey, and wine) piled up on the side table. So I won’t go as far to say the service was fantastic, but it was perfectly fine and professional, and I didn’t have the feeling that my very presence was an annoyance, like I did on the outbound. (Nevertheless, it seems those AAplause certs are just going to continue gathering dust.) Dinner came all on one tray again. AA’s meals have been getting better, but this one was just not good. I chose a salmon dish, and the salmon part was fine, but overall it was flavorless and underwhelming, and I barely touched the starter (I don’t remember what it was, sorry.) Considering the departure time, I really wish I had just had a good and early dinner in town.


Glenlivet on a Plane

We landed early, which meant waiting 20-some minutes on the plane for customs and immigration to open. Being in 4A, I got a close-up view of the jet bridge, which is… not that exciting. (I was bored.) While I know nothing of AA’s operation and assume there is a reason for the flight timings, as a passenger I’d have preferred a slightly later departure (more time in the city, more lounge time, whatever), but the mysteries of modern airline scheduling must certainly remain obscure to one like me. The benefit was that we were the first into the arrivals hall, which is probably very helpful for those with non-US passports, especially. Some of the bags were already coming out by the time I walked by the belt (and I zipped through the Mobile Passport line, as apparently the first US citizen off the plane. Everyone else was in the visitors lane). Unlike the ride to the airport, my Uber ride home— free, courtesy of the AmEx offer— went smoothly, and I was home, on the Upper East Side, in about 25 minutes, which is about as good as it gets.

The This Was Too Long, What Is Up With All Those Digressions Synopsis:

Sao Paulo is an easy trip for a long weekend (if— unlike me— you are able to sleep well on planes, it would be completely feasible to fly back on Sunday, have time to go home and freshen up, and be at work on Monday morning.) And, coming from the East Coast, it was certainly easier than dealing with the jet lag than going to Europe. Even just having two nights, I felt like a got a nice taste of the place, and I’d be happy to go back. And purely for the architecture, I wouldn’t mind visiting Brasilia one of these days…

I ate extremely well and was very, very happy with the Hotel Unique. Service was friendly and outstanding, the restaurant was good, the bathtub made me happy, and the location ended up being very pleasant. It didn’t feel like a generic hotel, but I got a sense that I was in Brazil, and I also ended up liking it wasn’t in an exclusively touristy or high-end shopping area.

Wherever you stay, a late check out is really, really handy if you’ve got a late evening departure, and I would definitely book a room rate that offers that benefit.

Without trying to hard— I didn’t seek out galleries or anything particular cool— I enjoyed the art and design scene. I never felt unsafe. I bought some shoes (I managed to get 3 pairs of Havaianas and two more pairs of shoes into the Itty Bitty Rimowa on the return; the thing is indeed TARDIS like.)

And I’d even recommend Uber, with the caveat that if your driver appears to be hopelessly befuddled before he even arrives, abandon ship.

Thanks to everyone for reading this long and meandering first attempt at a trip report!

TransWorldOne

Great trip report. Love your writing style...