From Suites To Scoot To Bling
 

Relax.











This trip report is finished.

As in from start to end.
As in soup to nuts.
As in by the time you’ll be reading this, I will be back on Terra Firma. Inna US.

So, you could pour yourselves the beverage of your choosing, sit back, take a load off and pretend your children like you.

This might take a while.

As there are 10 posts in total.

And I will post 2 per day. Unless the Senior Mods moderate this into oblivion. Or make me sit on the naughty step for a week. Which is quite possible.

So let’s go then…

Actually, I don’t even think I’ve ever made a bucket list. Have you?

I mean, I have a list which includes Margot Robbie, Jessica Biel, a Jacuzzi full of green jello, 3 straws and a slightly inebriated Mariachi Band but that’s probably not a bucket list. That belongs somewhere else. Like a therapists office…

Anyway.

In my delusion of flying all things UA for the past 28 years, I completely forgot about all the other airlines I have sampled.

And besides, the food in Polaris is starting to affect my health.

The hair in my nose and in my ears has accelerated rapidly in terms of growth rate while the hair on my head is receding rapidly. I blame it on the meat flavoring UA put in one of their entrees which they have affectionately referred to as “beef brisket”

Let’s just make one thing clear.

It’s not beef. And it most certainly isn’t brisket.

But I digress…

I still have a soft spot for QF.

Even though a vertically challenged lunatic nearly drove one of Australias most well known brands into the ground.

Over the past couple of years, I’ve managed to squeeze in 4 or 5 Alaska awards for QF Business from LAX and DFW to MEL. For a paltry 55K miles. And a few pennies in taxes.

There’s something about the Flying Kangaroo that most Aussies can relate to. I can’t explain it really. Just something about having fresh eggs and Vegemite toast 2hrs out of Melbourne. You know, real food.

Aussies also consider it a national pastime to beat up on Qantas. It’s part of our psyche.

And let's be honest, they deserve it.

I still have a soft spot for EK.

Even though I haven’t set foot on one of their birds in at least 10-years. And the people who run EK aren’t vertically challenged. They’re just. Well. Lunatics. Rich ones.

And I will always have a soft spot for SQ. As a brand, it just reeks quality.

Any airline that serves satay at 30,000 feet is alright by me.

Did I forget to mention that both EK and SQ have some seriously good wine lists. Qantas wine list is “meh” but only because of that annoying leprechaun who used to run the joint deciding that all of QF’s premium wines should be served from a box.

Right then.

I will explain how we got here, even if you don’t want to listen.

Pay attention children as I am only going to say this once.

Late February (as in a few weeks ago), I had to go to Paris for work.

I then needed to be in Oz. As in down under.

In my quest to get out and to stop smelling UA’s tulip, I flew from DEN to ORD on UA, then jumped on an AF airbus to Paris.

I don’t want to admit this out loud, but I seriously have a thing for Air France.

It gives me a warm sensation down the left leg. And at my age, I’m grateful for any type of affection.

Their Business Class is wonderful. We were on a brand new A350-900 and the new seats with the closing doors. Par excellence!

And I am definitely going to make sure I have one body part left to sell in order to try La Premiere. At least once.

Just. Looks. Fantastic.

So the trip from Paris to Melbourne went like this.

CDG-EWR-LAX-MEL

All on Air Kirby. As in beam me up Scotty.

I’d burned miles from ORD-CDG using Flying Blue.

Just as an aside, has anyone ever wondered why one day the Flying Blue website will show you a very reasonable 55,000 mile award from the US to Europe, and then the next day, it’s like 700,000. As in seriously. I’m not kidding. Go check for yourself. I’ll wait right here.

See, I told you.

It’s like the Air France and KLM teams all got together (lets be honest, they didn’t invite the hapless DL people because they actually wanted to have a good time) and got completely drunk on a barrel of Bordeaux and ate way too much Gouda and decided that instead of having a consistent award chart, they would use the same terminology as Tesla and call their dynamic awarding pricing “La Ludicrous”.

Or belachelijk in Dutch.

The pricing is up and down like a brides nightie.

Anyway.

So Paris was easy. I’ll tell you what I did there later.

Going from Paris to Melbourne on 3 separate UA flights, well, apart from a couple of near organ failures, it was also easy. Sort of.

Actually the flight from Charles De Gaulle to Noo-werk was dead empty. As in a quarter full.

The pilot came on shortly after we pushed back…

“Ladies and Gentlemen, because of the extremely light load today we need to ask you to all stay in your seats due to the weight and balance issues. Don’t even break wind. And if you do - make sure its one of those quiet little sneaky ones…”

I’m thinking is he serious.

So in Polaris, there were 15 out of 34.

In Premium Plus there were 3.

As in 1, 2, 3.

And in coach? God knows. Let’s be honest, I’ve never been invited down the back and wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to get there.

The 767 screamed its way across the Atlantic from Paris to Newark. Because it was as light as a feather, the thing took off quicker than a Harrier jump jet and when we landed, I think the pilots made a bet to see how quickly they could veer off into a taxiway. They stopped the old bird on a dime.

The next part was rather more exotic. Even by my standards.

Unlike those mildly annoying bloggers who spruik credit cards for a living and who can spend countless hours wandering up and down the digital aisles of award redemption websites, I would rather have a cystoscopy (they are very unpleasant trust me) than spend time figuring out the best way to use miles.

And unlike them, I actually have to work for a living.

The aim was to get back home to DEN. From MEL. I wasn’t too fussed which way if I’m honest.

So, instead of just booking UA all the way home in a one stop, done and dusted, Bobs Your Uncle, She’ll Be Right Mate move, I decided to “explore” other options.

I had positioned to New Zealand a couple of times last year in order to clear a Polaris upgrade and then I discovered that UA’s pricing for Polaris straight out was extremely reasonable ex NZ. So I thought let me see what’s going on.

Back in the days when I was literally on an EK superjumbo every week, they had a great Trans Tasman route in MEL-AKL and then onto DXB and they would fly an A380, so on a quick 3hr flight, you could have a shower and drink copious amounts of Dom for no more than a decent night out. With 6 friends.

Focus now. You get the idea.

What I really wanted to do was try SQ Suites.

But they didn’t fly an SQ superjumbo to Melbourne. Not as far as I could see anyway. And nothing via SYD that was affordable or more importantly, available with Krisflyer miles. And most definitely not via BNE.

An EK superjumbo got diverted to Brisbane a few years ago and it wasn’t on the ground for more than 10 minutes before the local riff raff from the pub near the airport all jumped in their Suzuki Mighty Boys and went and tried to steal the wheels off the thing.

Ok I might have made that part up.

But the bit about the Yobbo’s and their Suzukis is practically true.

I poked and prodded around the SQ website and all I could find was a 777 service from MEL-SIN and then onwards to LAX, via NRT.

An F award was going to be 188,000 miles one way. And a handful of dollars for the taxes. Quite reasonable if you ask me.

When I said I found an award, I meant I found a date which would let me “waitlist” an award. SQ are a little sadistic when it comes to their Krisflyer program. They know they have a cracker of a product but they really think the whole concept of loyalty is slightly distasteful.

So they let you “think” you might have a shot at using the miles in your Krisflyer account but in all reality, you have about as much chance as I do in getting a date with Alice Eve. Or her mother.

Trust me. I know. I’ve actually met the people who run SQs loyalty program and they not only had their personality bypasses when they were young (and in bulk) they also had that part of the brain which gives you a sense of humor well and truly removed.

Yep, throw that bit away as well they said.

Just for laughs then, when I got bored at looking at the word “waitlist” on my Manage My Bookings page, I decided to see what the cost of flying F was from AKL to SIN. At this stage, I wasn’t even aware that SQ flew to AKL.

Bloody Hell.

Bollocks in fact.

Did you know that these maddeningly annoying Singaporeans fly Airbus’ biggest aircraft from AKL to SIN. Direct. And the damn thing has Suites.

I was outraged.

In a state of fury, I glanced across the columns on the quirky SQ website and saw that the price of the Suites ticket was something like $5 or $6K New Zealand pesos.

Which is about $300 in American money.

Ok, I might be exaggerating but it was a whole lot of moolah cheaper than a Polaris ticket from MEL to DEN.

So in an act of rage, I went ahead and pressed the “book now” button. And then went looking for the cat so I could boot it across the kitchen floor.

Just kidding. (No animals have ever been harmed in the making of one of my trip reports).

Can you believe that?

No, not the cat part. The Singapore Girl part.

I mean seriously. I was steaming.

Why do those fools at SQ send their flagship aircraft to New Zealand. And Auckland of all places. I mean, AKL only has a population of around 13. And 11 of them are related.

As an aside, did you know Aussies and Kiwis can live in each other’s country without a Visa.

You can wake up one morning in Phuckapappa.

Whoops.

Phukapuppa.

Damn. That’s not it.

Hang on.

Oh, it’s actually Whakapapa. Who knew…

Anyway, you can wake up there, look at your toothless wife and 17 kids and say “Lets move to Sydney”

And some plonker from the Aussie government will let you walk right in and set up camp beside the Harbour Bridge.

Similarly, one of the few sober Aussies left in Ballarat could also wake up, look at her also toothless husband (caused by the melee in the pub the night before) and 5 kids from 3 different people and yell out “Lets all move to Rotaroota”

Damn. That’s not right either.

It’s rota something.

Wait, it’s on the tip of my tongue.

Eureka!

Rotorura.

So, that all seems pretty logical then.

Aussies and Kiwis can live in each other’s country. They can buy land and marry each other’s husbands and wives. They can even reproduce with each other without being arrested. Apparently, the Kiwis even make a decent wine.

But answer me this.

Why then, must there be a separate currency? And a separate government. And separate banks. And a separate phone company.

And a separate airline (who can’t seem to work out that business class seats should be able to convert into a bed without requiring an engineering degree or a team of 3 people, a cordless drill and a tube of personal lubricant called “Glide and Glow”).

There’s even a thing called an ANZUS treaty. Or was. Which sounds all very official and important and something that the late Queen might have dreamt up with while chasing after one of her corgis with the royal poop-a-scooper.

But wait until you hear this.

Would you believe NZ has its own defense force?

Apparently they used to have a navy. Maybe they still do. But it only has one ship. And it isn’t very big. In fact, it was a converted fishing trawler with a black and white piratey looking flag with a picture of a heavy set Maori on it with the words “Dont Phukkapappa With Us”

And that's the way they spelt it. Or spelled. Take your pick.

Don’t even start me as far as their army and air force goes. The whole New Zealand defense force is one quarter the size of the US Coast Guard.

Look I don’t want to annoy any Kiwi out there. Not really. Ok well just a little bit.

Let’s put it another way.

I live in Colorado. It has roughly the same population as New Zealand. Sort of. Give or take a couple hundred thousand. Close enough. You get the idea.

So, picture this.

Jared Polis, our well dressed Governor, calls up the White House…

“Can I speak with Joe?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s me, Jared from Colorado”
“Speak up man, I haven’t got my hearing aids in…”
“Joe its me, Jared”
“Hey, we’ve just finished doing some macrame and hot nude yoga at my mansion in Denver and we’ve decided that we want our own army, navy and air force. Is that ok?”

Deafening silence…

“Joe are you there…did you hear me?”
“Did you fall asleep?”

Can you imagine.

Tree hugging hippies from Boulder would be driving their Priuses with a turret mounted 50 cal on the hood. Every Whole Foods in the state would be turned into an Army surplus store. The people from Pueblo would be deliriously happy because they would finally get to blow something up.

Look you get the point.

The Kiwi government should simply put a for sale by owner sign in the front yard and let the Aussies write them a check. Or cheque in the Kings English.

Things would be so much simpler.

Now that I have managed to piss off every New Zealander out there, let’s move on shall we.

Otherwise we’ll never get finished.

Where were we?

Oh yes.

Suites. As in Singapore ones.

Well, first things first. I had to position to AKL so I went online to Air New Zealand, and worked out how to book a one way flight. Not wanting to sample Air NZ’s economy product, I thought I would show fiscal restraint and went and booked Premium Economy. They wanted drug money for J.

The strange website started to have a meltdown and asked me repeatedly if I wanted to bid for an upgrade. Apparently I was on a 777, and it had that wonky business class seat that you needed to be a cast member of Cirque De Soleil to operate.

This revenue management parlor trick is called a “One Up”.

You simply move a slider thingy and tell the overly sensitive Kiwis what you want to bid for their J seat. And you then hurry up and wait. Just like the army. Or in this case, the 3 man strong New Zealand Navy.

I’m not sure “who’s up who” with this One Up concept, but the damn thing didn’t work and the silly NZ website refused to assign me a seat, despite my best efforts. I don’t think Air NZ’s J product is actually worth paying for across the ditch, so I thought I would suck it up. It’s only 3 hours. What’s the worst that can happen right?

And I wanted to prepare myself for my first ever Suites experience.

I could have booked a same day flight - but the connection time was anorexic (only an hour) and the Kiwis, not to be outdone by those nutters at Heathrow, have made their international transit process about as friendly and easy to use as a North Korean tourist guide.

You have to hoof it all the way back to the main terminal, see the sorriest and loneliest looking security people, get cavity searched and then hoof it all the way back from where you came. You’re literally looking for a defibrillator by the time you have run all around the airport.

I thought it best to fly in the day before to allow me to recover from my Air New Zealand premium whatever and decided to stay at some crumby hotel called the Park Hyatt.

You know I’m kidding. The Park Hyatt is a seriously good pub.

I figured if I went in the day before, I would be able to get a good nights sleep, and be fresh as a daisy for my 10hr suites adventure.

Or so I thought.

Getting into AKL is pretty easy. Apart from the fact that every time I do it, I am convinced the driver is taking us through his uncles back yard. It’s definitely not main roads or highways. And I don’t think the Kiwis have built large freeways yet. I think they’re still paying off the fishing trawler that their Navy needed.

Because SQ don’t have a lounge in AKL you are relegated to sit with the minions in the Air New Zealand canteen. Not bad if you enjoy Sav Blanc that tastes like it got filtered through the dishwasher.

The next part I was hesitating about.

You see, part 2 of this bucket list ordeal meant catching EK’s First product from Asia to DXB and then onwards to any US port. I wasn’t fussed.

I knew that SIN wouldn’t be an economical option. So I played around with HKG. And KUL. And NRT. Even went as wide as CMB (which I used to do in the old days with my crazy buddy [MENTION=236554]ung1[/MENTION])

Then I discovered CGK.

Holy cow. In fact, Holy Satay with a side of Hummus.

The EK website whirred away and all of a sudden it showed me an itinerary which went Jakarta to Dubai to Houston. All in F, one being a 777 and the other a pregnant porpoise. And a nice respectful transit time in DXB of 4 plus something hours. Very civilized if you ask me.

I looked at the price of the ticket. It was about eleventy billion Indonesian rupees. Not wanting to offend the good people at EK, I went ahead and booked that too.

It worked about to be $400 of Uncle Sam’s bills.

Well close enough.

But being serious for a minute, the cost of the SQ ticket combined with the cost of the EK ticket was literally no more than what you can pay for a reasonably priced Polaris ticket one way from Australia to the US.

And this was all in F. In arguably some of the best product in the sky.

Yes, yes, I know

I haven’t forgotten about the getting to Jakarta bit. Just wait. Be patient. You’re all as bad as my 20 year old daughter.

Continuing on in my fiscal responsibility mode, I decided I would try and fly between SIN and CGK as modestly as possible.

So I fired up Google Flights and saw things like Air Asia, Batik Air, Lion Air, something called Citilink and then something called a Scoot. All looked equally as dreadful. Out of curiosity I clicked on the Scoot link.

Within minutes you are presented with a very cheesy website, but it does tell you “we are run by adults” who also happen to work for Singapore Airlines.

So I booked them.

The whole thing looked like this, just in case you had lost the will to live or fell asleep to another episode of Jeopardy.

- MEL-AKL (NZ) Premium Economy

- AKL-SIN (SQ) Suites

- SIN-CGK (Scoot) No idea what their airline code is. Maybe they lost it.

- CGK-DXB (EK) First

- DXB-IAH (EK) First

- IAH-DEN (UA) First

What could possibly go wrong?

Well, my dear and gentle reader, you’re about to find out.

Here we go then…

Oh boy, companion to tonight's wine tasting is sorted. An eightblack TR !

Praise the Lord, eightblack is back!

It involves eightblack so probably everything.

Ah here I come back from dinner with one of my employees, who’s (as brilliant and nice as she is) biggest concern seems to be turning 30. In two year’s time. And then I find another eightblack adventure - I am hooked already. Please do not ever let go of your hilarious writing style - my wife already gave me insane looks from laughing out loud, so that damage cannot be repaired anyways :D

the eightblack fandom is ready for more content - please dont leave us hanging :)

I don’t know about you, but I still look forward to every trip. Not sure what it is. Can’t quite put my finger on it.

In the immortal words of Ralph Waldo Emerson “Its not about the destination, its about the journey”

Actually, I think that's on the side of my Viagra bottle.

Never mind.

Those of you who fly a lot out of DEN and are captive to UA like me, will know that the Denver Airport has recently upgraded the WEST security checkpoint. And the whole joint is undergoing a massive upgrade.

Let’s talk about the largest airfield by land mass in the Western hemisphere for a minute.

DEN is growing like a weed.

In order to cater to this growth, the City of Denver and the business looking people who run the airport all had a meeting to talk about the “strategic plan”. No one knew what a strategic plan quite was but they all felt jolly good about having a meeting and watching a wonderful 436 slide presentation by some pimply faced MBA weenie from one of those Big 6 Consulting firms.

Expansion was needed. And needed quickly.

So they did the only logical thing and awarded the “Great Hall” renovation project to a company in Barcelona. Because well, this made perfect sense.

As you would expect, the Spanish waved their arms a lot and thought if their team couldn’t have siestas in the middle of the afternoon and have a tapas bar installed onsite, they would quit in disgust.

The “Great Hall” project quickly turned into the “Great Disaster” and once someone from accounting started to add up all the Amex bills, the Spaniards were nowhere to be seen and every Denver counselor was hiding under their couch.

Because this is America, the amount of money peed up against the wall was in the billions. As in real money. As in Go Big Or Go Home.

So the City did what a lot of cities do in a time of crisis.

They hired another consulting firm.

A fresh gaggle of MBA weenies all decided after holding hands and singing the national anthem of Uzbekistan that no one from the city could possibly be to blame and pointed the finger at the janitor.

The city then demanded an inquiry and promised to give the people behind this Mile High fiasco a damn good thrashing when they found them.

And then they had to hire another construction company. This time, they made sure the company had people who actually lived in Colorado. Another meeting was held and another prepubescent MBA person gave another 436 slide presentation as to why this new builder wouldn’t run away.

Quite why, but someone decided to put security up on Level 6 - the departures level. So now you check in, and then proceed to the latest thing since sliced bread in terms of security.

TSA promised to “transform” the security experience.

But the only thing they have transformed is your ability to be patient and now you have this burning desire to go set fire to something. Like the TSA Managers office. And his home. And his ski lodge in Aspen. In short it’s a bit of a cluster.

I’ve only been through it 3 times. The first time the Clear line was about as useful as a screen door on a submarine and the second time, the queues snaked all around the top floor. It was mayhem. The Clear people all ran away, and the TSA people were looking at each other in the same way a teenager looks at their mother when she asks what’s that dreadful smell coming from their bedroom…

Completely hopeless.

Apparently, according to one of these 13 year old consultants the airport hired, the airport construction should be finished by 2180. You know you’re in trouble when Newark is miles ahead as an airport.

My colleague and I stumbled into the GS room at DEN and the wonderfully helpful GS angel told us about a quick way thru security. The short cut is sitting in front of everyone’s face yet no one hardly uses it. We were through in 7 mins, despite the ridiculously long queues of people winding their way down Pena boulevard.

Quick trip to O’Hare and from there the French Connection to Paris.

Can I just say this.

That Delta Sky club at the international terminal at ORD is a bloody cracker. What a great space. Love the tall ceilings, the decor, the food isn’t bad and I didn’t even mind paying for my own drinks at the bar. That's when you know you’re in a Delta lounge. Everything is billable and even the bathrooms have Amex applications in case you get bored sitting on the throne and want something to do.

The main doors to the loos even have a swipe function and they will open automatically.

Apparently Big Ed from Delta didn’t want to interrupt a person completing their 13th card application and convinced the hapless execs from Amex to pay for these flashy contraptions.

Unlike my previous trip on AF to Paris, I was pleased to be on the new AF seat. The one with the door on it.

The crew decided that everyone should have champagne so within minutes of settling in, I was given a real glass with real champagne in it (UA, please take note!) Then the following announcement by the Captain…(say it out loud in your best french accent)

“Ladies and Gentlemen this is your Captain speaking. I would like to inform you that we are having a slight problem with the toilettes and the sucker machine is broken so please don’t go do Number One or Number 2 in there until we have taken off and reached 16,000 feet”

I’m seriously not making this up.

Quite what happens at 16,000 feet is beyond me.

Then he must have not clicked off his mic because then you heard…

“You fool Hercule, why did you insist on eating that El Grande Burrito last night at the hotel. I told you nothing good would come of it. Now you’ve gone and clogged up all the toilettes”

Ok, I made that bit up.

But seriously - we’re all sitting there chugging champagne and then being told we can’t pee. Or worse. I don’t know about you, but as I’ve gotten older, my bladder is about as good at holding liquid as my sister is at keeping a secret.

There was an elderly lady sitting across the row from me and she mentioned to one of the AF crew people that “Shouldn’t we deplane and have someone come fix the bathrooms?”

The FA looked at the woman, tilted her head in pity and then said in a calm voice, “Madam, this is Air France, we’re not delaying the flight because Hercule clogged the crapper”

At least I think that's what she said.

And that was it.

We pushed back, everyone was told to cross their legs and the electric jet lifted off into the darkness bound for the French capital, with Hercules burrito stuck somewhere in the bowels of the planes plumbing…

Thankfully the rest of the flight was uneventful. My buddy who had never flown AF before, thought the whole experience was wonderful.

This thread should require a paid subscription. And I'd pay...

Make sure its decent wine deovrat! Thank you for the support...

Oh Hail zip10001 - thank for thy blessings my son...

You have no idea wrp96. Thank you for coming along for the ride...

You are way too kind SKT-DK...I appreciate you.

Stay calm and breathe injian :)

I am blushing PLeblond - thank you. And my Only Fans fans thank you as well...:)

If your Only Fans page consists of Plane Porn with multiple engine + wing pictures, various sunrise/sunset pics and a lot of Boeing aircraft... I'll subscribe! Not so much pictures of onboard meals and lavs, though.

I never get sick of Paris. I mean, how could you?

Yes, we know the french are a little bit crazy. But to their defense, they like it this way. When the Italians think you're a lunatic, you're probably best to simply accept it.

I’ll give you an example.

When Uber tried to set up in France, they hired 2 senior looking manager people and told them to go forth.

The French quickly decided that they didn’t want Uber drivers ruining their country so they promptly threw the newly appointed CEO and his dimwitted sidekick in jail. As in prison. Then they sent a telegram to Uber in California to come fetch them.

I don’t even think they cared if what they did was legal. They did it. The french people cheered and kept chanting “embrasse mon cul”

Which apparently means have a nice day.

Or something like that.

Fast forward to today and Ubers are plentiful and now every Uber driver complains bitterly about the state of the taxi industry and how crazy the french government is.

Go figure.

Anyway.

I took my colleague to a wonderful little brassiere called Le Stella. If you’re in Paris, you must go there. The steak frites is most delicious. And you better not leave without having the profiteroles. Apparently there’s a law in Paris that says if you don’t eat them at the end of every meal, you can be deported.

Because I’m a long suffering Marriott person, we stayed at a smallish hotel called La Maison Champs Elysées.

I know what some are going to say…

“Why on earth did you stay there?”
“I would have stayed here, or here. Or here”

To be honest, I wouldn’t stay there again.

There’s technically nothing wrong with it. It just didn’t do it for me.

For one, reception is like Harry Potter's bedroom under the stairs. You walk into the lobby - and slap bang in the middle is an area the size of a little closet where all the front office staff are standing around in an uncomfortable huddle.

It's very strange.

I was kind of expect one of the staff members to sign language "SOS, Help Me. Get Me Out Of Here..."

Then there appears to be 2 parts to the hotel. One on the left. And one down a narrow hallway. I think they put all the people they don’t like in the wing down the back. Which is where we stayed. And while your room key might say “232” you have to press “3” on the elevator. Sometimes it's best to go with the flow…

Like you, I have spent more than my fair share of my adult life in a hotel. All I want now at my decaying age is simplicity.

The room they gave me had one of those dreadful bathtub/shower combos and the shower head was attached to a flimsy hose and every time you had a shower, the thing wouldn’t stay still and you ended up literally wedging yourself into the corner of the tub trying to get wet.

I tried to explain to reception my displeasure at the useless contraption but the person on reception pretended not to speak English and simply said “have a bath instead”.

Bloody french.

I will say the bar and main restaurant were more than adequate.

Apart from the fact that every time we sat down for a drink or something to eat, a wee mouse would scamper across the floor. The staff saw this multiple times and when we went to say something - they would interrupt, grin and simply say “zere is no charge for ze entertainment :)”

I thought the mice population were all confined to BA's Flounge at T5? :D

At least out here in the East the rodents stay outside (mostly), but the cockroaches tend to venture inside :eek:

The next part of the journey I didn’t give much thought to until I was half way through it.

I needed to get to Australia and decided to use a UA credit. So I fired up UA’s website and lo and behold it gave me a reasonable option to fly CDG-EWR-LAX-MEL.

I wanted to avoid SFO at all costs.

And I thought I haven’t been abused in at least a week, so why not chance it and fly through EWR.

So that’s what I did.

I think I mentioned that the load on the 767 twin jet from Charles De Gaulle to the East Coast was so light, that the Captain came on and said no one can move from their seat as it would affect weight and balance.

Some of you are probably thinking “why on earth would you fly all the way from Paris to Melbourne on United?” Using 3 different flights. And going in the wrong direction.

Let us remember what this website is called.

This is not a website about Irritable Bowel Syndrome. It’s not a website about How To Become A Buddhist Priest In 11 Days. Nor is it a website about How To Successfully Eliminate Your Spouse/Partner/Lover Using Nothing But A Spoon And A Pet Ferret.

It’s about travel.

You have it bad.

I have it bad.

And the rest of the minions on FT have it as well. They just don’t realize it yet.

I wasn’t dreading the 3 long flights if I’m honest. What I was dreading was enduring more than 30-hours of United’s catering.

When I was in the army, we used to live on MRE’s (Meals Ready To Eat).

Candidly, I quite liked them.

They were little dehydrated silver packets of goodness, and you simply added hot water. Someone in the Army’s supply side had a sense of humor and said “hey let’s write on this label that its chicken with mushrooms and rice. And this one we’ll call roast beef and potatoes. And this we’ll call Turkey with all the trimmings”

When in actual fact, it was none of those. It was all the one thing, which to this day no one could quite place. But when you’re cold, wet and hungry they did the job.

I think they should hand MRE’s out at the gate before you board UA long hauls. Or to spice things up, they shouldn’t give you menus, they should have an onboard competition called “name this meal”

It could go something like this.

“Ladies & Gentlemen, welcome to United. We trust you will enjoy the 14hr flight to Melbourne today. To relieve the boredom - the crew are now walking down the aisles handing out meal trays. Your job is to guess what we’re attempting to feed you”

Is it chicken?
Is it beef?
Is it fish?
Is it a plate of puke?

That's right Phil in seat 8A, it’s none of those things. It’s actually an omelette we had made using powdered egg at one of our outstations catering facilities 2 weeks ago and which cost all of 2 pennies and a nickel to produce.

I mean come on United. It can’t be that bad out there can it?

Until this year would you believe - I had no idea that all these weird UA groups existed on BookFace. You should see them. They’re unbelievable. It’s like the wild west.

People go on and post the dinner options and ask complete strangers what they should eat on their flight from one side of the country to the other.

We FT’ers may be regarded as eccentric sometimes - but these people need to get out more and ask their therapists for a refund. And the name of a taxidermist.

Look let’s be honest. United’s Polaris hard product is actually quite good. The bedding is excellent. The seat works. The IFE is acceptable. And for the most part, the hamster they have on the treadmill which powers the wifi, keeps scampering along.

But seriously. The catering blows. As in biblically blows.

Some of you might find this hard to believe - but I spent a night in jail once. Back in my wayward youth. In a tiny little seaside town called Cowes. It’s about 2 and half hours south of Melbourne.

Use the Google. It’s real I promise.

Anyway, my best friend and I were at a Pub called The Isle Of White.

Sadly it burned to the ground in 2010 but some yuppy developer in his Audi TT is going to turn the site into some trendy hotel and apartment complex with a pool deck. The Plonker.

I don’t remember quite what happened but a lot of beer was involved and an argument with the members of the local police ensued and everyone decided (apart from us) that it would be a good idea if we were to spend a night at their place to sleep off whatever it is you catch when you attempt to drink 22 pints in an evening.

The point of all this, is that all I remember about the whole sordid affair is an impossibly cute police officer delivering us egg McMuffins, hash browns and coffee from the Golden Arches the following morning.

If Victoria Police can serve a decent breakfast to 2 young, allegedly inebriated young men, then UA should be able to do the same.

Isn't that the distinguishing mark of these things?

I made it to MEL on a banana. And maybe half a meal. That was it. But I actually felt fine.

There are 2 other flights in this trip, but they really aren’t worth writing about because they were simply Qantas domestic.

I had to go to SYD for a work thing, and I mistakenly suggested to my 83 year old mother, that she should tag along. I said I would treat her to a night at the Park Hyatt.

My mother is one of those people who sleeps with one eye open in case she misses something.

If you called her and said “we want to take you to Singapore and the plane leaves in 3 hours” she would be packed in 9 minutes and be at the airport in another 11. The woman is insane.

Because she is 83, she also thinks that all airfares are still $49. And hotels but a fraction more.

I booked simple economy tickets, and took her to the Qantas lounge before the flight. She hasn’t been inside a Qantas lounge for donkeys years and I think she said the last time she went to Sydney, Richard Nixon was the President.

Within minutes she was back at the seat we had found and said…

“The nice man didn’t charge me for the coffee and I’m still waiting to pay for the toast and granola”
“Mum its all free, don’t worry about it”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It can’t be free”
“Trust me its free”
“I just left the money on the counter over there”
“You did what???”

Trying to explain to her the nuances of airline lounges at 7am in the morning, without access to alcohol is a seriously challenging task. So I gave up.

Even though we were flying economy to Sydney, when the FA bought “the meal” around, my Mum refused, because she didn’t want to have to pay for that as well.

“Mum the meal is free as well”

She proceeded to wave her arms, and tell me that it’s no wonder the country has gone to hell if small companies like Qantas are giving out food willy nilly to every man and his dog.

When we got to the Park Hyatt Sydney I made another fatal mistake. I told her to go inside and check in as I needed to run an errand around the corner and that I would be back in 30 mins.

Things decidedly had gone down hill in that 30 mins because when I got back there was a gaggle of hotel staff standing around her, fanning her with napkins and asking her if she would be alright and if she had forgotten to take her blood pressure medication.

The silly woman had seen the room rate and promptly fainted.

When she saw me she flew into a rage and told me it was ridiculous to spend that sort of money on a hotel and had I turned to dealing drugs. I told her to calm down and pleaded with one of the staff to bring us a vat of Gin and Tonic.

Let me be serious for a minute.

Yes, the Park Hyatt isn’t cheap. But look where it is. Arguably the best address in Sydney. And what a view.

I think travel should be about the experience and the memories.

And besides, I was using American money. Real money. Not Aussie dollars which are about as useful now as the Nigerian Naira.

My mum quickly got over the bill shock when she got to her room and saw the view of the Opera House directly in front.

She would text me every 11 seconds.

“There’s a Nespresso machine in here. Can we take that home?”
“No”
“There are robes in the closet, are they free?”
“No”
“What about all the soap and shampoo?”
“Yes, have at it”
“I found 2 rolls of toilet paper in the cupboard”
“Ok knock yourself out, take them if you want”
“These pillows are so comfy, I wonder where they got them”
“Mum, you can’t steal the bedding, the carpet, the drapes or anything thats fixed to the wall ok?”

Thankfully my room was a good 10 mins from hers and I told her that I was very busy and needed to be left alone.

Sadly, that argument doesn’t work with the very person who actually brought you into this world.

So we met downstairs and had a drink and something to eat and enjoyed the view and ambiance. Until the check came. Upon which she fainted again.

Ok. I’m kidding.

But she proceeded to call my sister and ask her how long had I been in the narcotics business and did she know

My sister now calls me Pablo just to annoy me.

To see if I could tip my Mum over even further, I made a dinner reservation that night at The Rockpool.

It was a cracker. We had a great time. You should go there if you visit Sydney.

And my mother had calmed down somewhat and said she was coming to terms with the fact that her only son was now a bonafide drug dealer and patted me on the head and told me to be careful…

Shoot me now…:)

...or wait ’til you get home.


Welcome back, Pablo — er...I mean eightblack.

A private message awaits you...

While I haven’t lived in MEL in a long long time, it’s still home to me.

The coffee scene, the great restaurants, the multiculturalism, great pubs, cold beer and Aussie Rules Football. And while it might surprise some of you, I still have a lot of friends who live there and who still invite me to dinner.

But the airport is an embarrassment.

It is essentially the same building it was 25 years ago. The airport management will tell you that they have upgraded the joint but trust me, this is where the saying lipstick on a pig came from.

The left hand side of the Qantas domestic terminal is the same dingy low ceiling cesspit it was 25 years ago. And the international terminal in the middle, while it has had some internal mods, is no bigger. They’ve bolted on a couple extra gates but that's about it.

Quite why Melbournians put up with it is beyond me.

The next part of my travels would take me to Auckland.

I had booked Air NZ and as I mentioned, and just for laughs, played around with the upgrade system. You tell them a number you’re prepared to pay and some man who lives in his mother’s basement and drives a Fiat Punto holds the fate of your journey in his hands.

A day before I was to fly, ANZ sent me an email which basically told me that I was a pathetic loser and my bid for an upgrade wasn’t successful.

The bird across the ditch was a 777. And let me tell you, their premium economy product is most excellent.

I had the bulkhead seat on the right hand side of the aircraft. Drinks were served in real glasses. You had a choice of meals. And the service was delivered with that delightful New Zealand “we’re not quite sure what we’re doing but everything will be alright in the end” attitude.

I loved it.

Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to be in one of those seats all the way to the US. But for 3 hours, it was a piece of cake.

Because Marriott and I are out of sorts, I am pushing hotel stays to Hyatt. So I decided another Park Hyatt was in order.

The Auckland PH is literally brand new. It’s very trendy. While the rooms and structure is probably better than PHS, I’m not convinced the service is better.

I’m not going to bore you with lengthy descriptions or pictures of the rooms and as some of you know, you will rarely see a pic of a bidet or a breakfast buffet in one of my TR’s. I’ll leave that to those slightly offbeat credit card bloggers who like flogging that sort of thing.

A lot of people have a go at me for staying in hotels and eating at the same property. I quite like it.

So that night, I decided to eat at the hotel restaurant. It’s called Onemata.

If I can, I always sit at the bar.

In this case, the counter was directly in front of a very impressive, spotlessly clean and shiny open plan kitchen.

The person who greeted me looked at me weirdly when I asked if I could sit at the counter. It was like I just told her that I had gone on a date with her mother.

So there I sat and had an excellent meal.

The next day I had breakfast in the same restaurant and like all FT’ers, I dont go anywhere without my laptop.

I informed the nice staff person that there was just one. She directed me to a small table set for 2.

I politely declined and said could I sit at the table that was set for 4.

“But that table is set for 4”
“Yes I know”
“But why?”
“I need to take medication and I can’t take it orally”

She did a double take and sensing an arm waving, she scurried to the table and removed 2 place settings and let me sit there.

Here’s the thing.

I hate being cramped at a table. Any table. Maybe it’s my old age. But it wasn’t like the restaurant was screaming busy.

I thought if I wanted to be bossed around by cranky women, I could have stayed in Melbourne where my sister and mother would do this for free.

After breakfast, I asked the same bossy lady if I could grab a coffee and move next door to this wonderful living area space.

“No”
“Excuse me”
“Were all separate, you have to order from them”
“Um ok then”

To me, that's not very Park Hyatt. That's more Motel 6.

Maybe I’m getting grumpier in my old age. Ok scratch that. We know this is true.

So while my PHA visit was short-lived, I did quite like it. I would stay there again. Amazing location, good views and I’m told, some very decent restaurants within spitting distance.

I didn’t want to get to AKL too early because all I had to look forward to was the Air NZ lounge. While it’s perfectly adequate and has some great views of the tarmac, it’s nothing to write home about.

While I won’t admit this publicly - I actually think AKL airport is better than MEL. They’ve actually spent more than $100 on the joint.

It’s been a long time since I have been on an A380. I used to spend half my life on them when I lived in SIN and flew EK every other week.

There a million videos, photos and travel bloggers who will regale you with their epic SQ Suites trips. So I won’t bore you with the details.

All I can say is this. One word.

Footstool.

The suite is a wonderful place to hang out.

As you would expect the service is impeccable SQ. Faultless to a tee.

A gaggle of FA’s come by and introduce themselves warmly to you. They bring you pajamas, slippers, wash bag, show you how to use the B&O headphones, show you how the suite works and then tell you that they are literally at your beck and call for the whole flight.

Then the Cabin Service Manager comes by, introduces himself and casually says that if his team doesn’t deliver the service I expect, he will give them a damn good thrashing.

Ok I might have made that part up.

If I’m honest, the actual chair in the suite is slightly flawed and the screen is placed just a whisker too high.

There is a dining table in a credenza to the right and when you are ready to eat, there is a lot of pomp and ceremony and literally 3 crew members show up to get it ready for you.

When you take off, the chair, which is on a swivel, points forward. When you are cruising, you swivel the chair towards the door, the screen is on an electric motor and you face that towards you. And then you raise the leg rest on the chair and get comfortable.

Except the leg rest doesn’t come up all the way.

I thought maybe the button was stuck.

I tried repeatedly to get comfortable.

It was like going to a strip club and then finding out the girls keep their tops on. Close. But no cigar. Not that I have ever been to a mens establishment mind you. I just read about it.

But here’s the thing and this is what sets SQ into the next universe.

SQ realized, that despite spending a bazillion dollars on the Suite, they sort of cocked it up and some really rich people were complaining.

So instead of hiring a gaggle of MBA weenies and refusing to be subjected to a 436 page powerpoint presentation, they went out and bought some decent looking footstools on Amazon and voila, problem solved.

I wasn’t sure quite what was happening because the Krug had started to kick in - but all of a sudden, there was a crew member at my door and pushing the stool under my weary feet.

I smiled and said to myself “this is why people rave about SQ”

And it is.

Attention to detail like no other.

I think our mothers may be related. Speaking as a daughter and a mother, I'm sure she was over the moon on your trip.

I left Singapore 12 years ago.

At the time I was consulting to a German company and while I was a contractor, I was treated like a German employee.

Which meant, as an expat, they paid for my housing, car, kids school fees. And taxes. Pretty straight forward in the corporate world. No big deal.

I landed in the evening and had only one night there. I had an all day meeting with some folks the next day and then my trek home would start via a Scoot to Jakarta, and then EK’s ships back to the US, via the sandpit (aka Dubai).

The marvel about Singapore is their adoption of tech. They are seriously smart. And Changi doesn’t earn the world’s best airport award year after year because it has better looking pot plants than Atlanta.

You have to fill out some online arrival thing before you get to the island. No worries. Done.

I walked up to the eGate thing and pushed my passport into the slot.
Light turned green.
Gate opened.
Walk forward and stand in front of the camera and waited. Light didn’t turn green. Long pause.

A man finally ambles towards me and says “you need to follow me”

Anytime you enter a country and the immigration/customs folks ask you to follow them, is not a good sign.

So I walk over to a counter and there were 3 or 4 government people talking to people from all walks of life.

I was assuming there was a minor glitch. Nothing could be further from the truth.

About 10 mins go by and a remarkably polite man beckons me and says…

“Mr Eightblack, there seems to be a problem with unpaid taxes from when you were here in 2012”
“Excuse me?”
“Yes, you need to call this number tomorrow and take care of it, otherwise there could be a problem”

I lived in Singapore for 7 years and whenever you hear “there could be a problem” come from a government employees mouth, you know to pay attention.

I was wracking my brain.

How could this have happened? How was I let to leave in the first place if there was a tax issue?

I was picturing the scene of being in a dark, un air-conditioned dingy prison cell at Changi and calling my mother, telling her I was detained for tax evasion.

You would hear her screaming from your place.

The Singapore government are more than very smart. The immigration man was beyond polite. And courteous. He didn’t reach for his gun once.

In fact he encouraged me to come in and said I was free to enter.

This is because if you don’t pay the tax, they simply won’t let you leave.

In essence, they have you by the proverbial short and curlies.

He assured me everything was going to be alright. And to not worry. Much. He was about as reassuring as my gastroenterologist when she says “you won’t feel a thing”

Yeah right…

So my drive to the Andaz hotel was filled with reflection.

I suppose I was relatively calm because this tax thing was something I literally knew nothing about.

We have come to a point where it’s probably relevant that I tell you what I do for a living. After all, 2 mins on the Google and you will see for yourself.

I run a ground transportation and security business. I don’t have a lot to do with the transportation side of things. But I am actively involved in our security business.

We look after a lot of bored billionaires and their families. So we work for family offices and Heads of Security. Two percent of what we do might be considered interesting and the other 98 per cent is a lot of logistics, ego management, and waiting around. But we do travel a ton. Hence this trip.

And the next morning I was meeting with a local Singapore security company who we wanted to partner with on some stuff. The 2 guys who ran it were ex Sing police and one of them was on the Prime Ministers protection detail.

I was trying to figure out what I was going to tell them because they had arranged a car and a CPO (Close Protection Officer) for me for the next day and we were going to go around the island checking things out and for me to see how they operated.

So 9am the next morning, I go downstairs to the lobby and sure enough there is a car waiting with a driver and a well dressed man in a suit.

We handle the introductions and then I tell them that I need to go to IRAS (which is the Internal Revenue Authority Of Singapore)

They sort of look at me weirdly, then look at each other and then we drive literally no more than 10 mins to a place called Revenue House.

On the outside this looks like a regular government building.

But on the inside - it is this calm oasis of efficiency. There are mission statements on the walls, orchids in planter boxes everywhere, piped music coming from all corners of the lobby and a swarm of smiling faces, ready to help you and wanting you to remember that same smiling face and the sultry tones of Clay Aitken before you are thrown into a white collar detention center for tax evasion.

I sheepishly explain to a nice lady that I needed to talk to someone about a tax matter.

She beamed. And took the letter from me and read it twice.

“I need to look up you FIN number”
“My what”
“Your FIN…”

And she scurried off, tapped away at a computer and came back within minutes.

A FIN is similar to a social security number.

She smiles again and then tells me we need to talk with someone in Enforcements.

This is where it’s pucker time.

“Um ok, what floor are they located on?”

I was thinking to myself there won’t be piped music on that floor, no smiling faces and certainly the only mission statement on the wall probably reads “Were About To Singapore Sling Your ... Into Jail”

Or something like this.

“Oh no you can’t see them, we have to call them on the phone”

The nice lady then directs me to a bank of cubicles against a wall and she proceeds to dial a number, barks down the line at someone, turns to me, beaming from ear to ear and hands me the phone.

“Um yes, this is Mr Eightblack, I need to talk to someone about a supposed tax matter”
“Yes you bolted 12 years ago and didn’t pay your departure tax”
“No I didn’t”
“Yes you did”
“No matter lah, how you want to pay?”
“Pay what” I sheepishly say
“Your tax”
“Well, can you tell me what it’s for?”
“Yes, 2012 tax year”
“Can I get a copy of it?”
“No”

I then proceed to tell the not so nice man that the company I worked for back in 2012 no longer exists.

“No problem, you can pay and then argue with them later”
He continued…
“How much cash do you have on you?
“What?”
“Yes how much cash you have?”
“Why, how much do I owe?”
“$10,851”

This is where it clearly gets amusing. For them. Not me. After I explained to the man in enforcements that I don’t typically carry around 10 large in my wallet, I asked for other options.

“Can I pay by credit card?”
“No only as a last resort”

I was thinking aren’t we already there..

“You can wire the money to us?”
“But its Sunday in the US and the banks are closed”

He then proceeded…

“Yes, set the wire up and take a screen shot and email it to us and we will see about letting you go”
“But I have to fly out to Indonesia this afternoon” I quipped
“That's what you think…”

And the man then promptly hung up the phone, the nice lady from reception came back over to me and asked how had everything gone.

Not as well as I had hoped if I’m honest.

She patted me on the head the same way my mom did when we were in Sydney and when she had decided that I had become a reputable drug dealer…

So that was it then. I set up the wire, sent the Singapore IRAS a screen shot and hoped for the best.

The rest of the day in Singapore went well.

My flight out to CGK wasn’t until 6pm but I thought I had better get to Changi plenty early because departing could be an issue. I didn’t really want to spend the rest of the year here.

So I get to the airport around 2pm and we start the dance again.

Passport into the first slot.
Green light. Move forward. All good so far.
Watch the camera.
Red light starts to flash, some AI voice starts blurting from a cheap speaker “Code 4, Code 4”

A wee little man appears from nowhere, and by his demeanor, this happens quite frequently and he beckons me over to a wall of customs and immigration people all perched up high behind an ominous counter.

A man smiles at me and we start off again…

“Mr Eightblack this is about your tax matter”
“Yes yes, I have it all taken care of - see this email and the screen shot and everything else”

He peers over the counter, and looks down on me with trepidation and pity - you just know he’s heard it all before.

“Ok hang tight let me check”

Over to the right, there was a very well dressed European lady and her daughter. She was having a similar issue and there was a lot of minor arm waving going on talking about her case.

But her issue seemed to progress quickly because within minutes, she had whipped out a credit card, paid some ungodly fee while cussing in Russian and telling her daughter that her father was about to have a vasectomy without an anesthetic.

I will say this. Everyone I interacted with was the politest, nicest, friendliest person I have ever met.

The man behind the counter came back over to me and handed me a cordless phone.

It was another man from IRAS, who repeated the whole sordid ordeal…

“Why did you runaway in 2012 without paying your departure tax”
“I didn’t run away”
“Yes you did”“Have you seen me try to run, I move about as quickly as a drunk turtle”
“A what?”
“Nevermind”
“Look, I set up the wire and emailed a screenshot to someone in your office at 1030am this morning”
“Ok you wait lah”

Then what felt like an eternity was in fact only about 5 mins…

“Ok give the phone back to man at airport”

There was a lot of nodding and the man at the airport, clearly disappointed that he wasn’t going to get the chance to throw a tourist in jail, hung up the phone, handed me my passport and said the sweetest words I have ever heard

“You’re free to go”

I let out a quiet shriek and then kissed the ground.

Just as I did this, 2 young Singapore police walked past, with their MP5’s slung across their kevlar vests.

They look at each other, smile and say “must be another tax runner”

According to the man at the airport, this is happening literally every hour of every day at Changi.

I’m just glad I didn’t end up on FT’s Most Wanted list…

Ahh..memories of my first trip to Changi.

Deplane head to immigration. The lady at Immigration says with a smile "Welcome to Singapore, would you like a candy" as she gestures towards a small bowl of individually wrapped candy on her desk while she processes me. 28 seconds later I'm off.

Reach baggage carousel as it starts turning, my bags pop out #2 & #3. Grab them hardly breaking stride, breeze through customs and get to the taxi stand where there's a line of taxis in those 45 degree lanes ready to leave.

Plane door opening to taxi door closing in less that 15 minutes.

Brilliant

Yep the serious people who run Changi Airport require all baggage to be on the belts within 20 mins of every flight gating...

What was worse than all of the tax stuff is that when I got to Changi, I had to check in at T1 at the Scoot counter. This is quite the process.

Basically, Scoot is a LCC (Low Cost Carrier). It might be owned by a rich uncle (SQ) but its processes are basic at best.

First you tag your own bags.

Then you have to get some sort of stamp on your boarding pass. Then you drop your bag off somewhere. And then walk to farthest end of the airport where Scoot have taken over the joint and you proceed to be barked instructions by a lot of people who look no older than 16 and who are dressed like jelly beans.

More worrying is that now I had around 3 hours to kill. My tax ordeal actually didn’t take more than 15 whole minutes.

Then I gasped.

I realized I didn’t have lounge access to anything.

*Gold doesn’t work if you’re flying Scoot. No dice there. Amex card doesn’t work with Priority Pass. No dice here. Couldn’t get into the Qantas or BA lounge for obvious reasons. And I didn’t want to pay for a pass at whatever was left.

And I didn’t want to go to T2 or T3.

So there I was. Homeless in Changi.

What was clear is that I needed a Heineken. So I found an outlet and asked another bossy woman for a beer.

“I’ll take a Heineken please”
“Ok what size?”
“What size do you have?”
“Only big one”

Instead of argue with the woman as to why did she ask me what size drink I wanted when she clearly only wanted to serve me one type I sighed and agreed to the biggest pint glass I have ever seen.

“$23” she barked
“For what?”
“Beer. You pay now”

I decided to cut my losses, reflect at my 24 hours in Changi while slowly making my way to the Scoot gate.

A while back, that slightly annoying travel blogger called Ben over at a site that will not be mentioned wrote about an ordeal he had while transiting from one airline to another at Jakarta Airport.

I know this will impress some of you, but I actually decided to read his article and actually pay attention.

I didn’t have the energy to wave my arms at a swarm of airport officials because quite frankly my Bahasa is quite rusty and didn’t want to lose the will to live.

So I actually checked my bag to Jakarta, and made peace with the fact that I would enter the country, and re enter the country a few minutes later to check in for my EK flight to Dubai and beyond.

This turned out to be a piece of cake.

And the Indonesians who are actually much cannier than the Singaporeans, have perfected the art of fleecing unsuspecting tourists and have this whole process down to a fine art.

You do everything online via barcode. You even pay the “entry” tax online. It’s literally painless.

No questions were asked as I entered the country. And none were asked when I left 5 mins later.

And thankfully I didn’t owe the Indonesian Tax Man any money.

About the only hassle is working out how to get from one terminal to the other. You have to catch the air train. And the entrance to that is about as easy to find as the Titanic.

But I did figure it out. I had to wait a bit for the EK counters to open, but no matter I found a wonderful satay restaurant close by and had dinner.

Check in was a breeze, the nice lady gave me both passes for both flights and then directed me to some lounge that EK people can use. Plaza Premium I think it was.

It was very pleasant and given that I had about 2+ hours to kill, decide to accept their offer of a massage before the flight.

The fleecing continued and I paid another trunkful of Indonesian rupees which turned out to be a pittance.

Some nice lady who called herself Daisy directed me to a quiet room and told me to get undressed and lie on the table. Now I may be ignorant of many things, but getting a massage in Asia is not one of them. I have been living and working all over the region for the better part of 25 years.

So I strip down to my birthday suit, and before I could grab the towel, Daisy lets out a shriek.

I was thinking “But I haven’t turned around yet”

She said “keep underwear on, keep underwear on”

I was thinking…actually never mind.

Daisy, the masseuse then proceeds to give me the toughest massage I have ever received in my life. I thought I was going to need a shot from an EPI pen to get me off the table.

In all the massage commotion, I never got to see the inside of the Plaza lounge. Someone let me know if it’s any good.

Finally, it was time to board the 777 to the sandpit.

And to say I wasn’t looking forward to it was an understatement…

Here we go then.

EK has actually freshened up First on many of its aircraft. I personally can’t tell the difference. There’s only so much bling you can add. The first class cabin looks like a cross between Liberace’s bedroom and the Penthouse at Trumps hotel in Vegas.

My first leg though was on a 777. Which only had 6 seats in F. To be honest, this rig was a bit tired.

But do not worry, with EK, there is an army of people to help make your flight be as smooth as a baby’s bum. On the 380’s, there’s even a “Spa Attendant” whose sole job it is to clean both bathrooms and to handle your shower reservations.

EK’s seat is 10 times more comfortable than the SQ seat (even the OG version). And the bedding is top notch. There’s not a lot in it between the tech on board. SQ has Krisworld and EK has ICE. Both are staggeringly impressive. And both carriers provide free wifi for people up the sharp end.

Food and wine. Again, hardly anything in it.

Suffice to say you will never go hungry, someone will make your bed at the slightest hint of you becoming sleepy and if you want, you could wash your hands in Dom. Or Krug. Take your pick.

I slept like a bear. Probably due to the massage I received from Attila the Hun in Jakarta.

I thought I would sleep for as long as I can on the first flight and then enjoy the almost all daylight flight from Dubai to Houston.

When I arrived in DXB, I was first off.

There was an EK man holding a sign with my name on it.

My heart sank for a bit as I thought maybe the Singapore Tax Office wasn’t yet done with me.

The EK man beamed from ear to ear and said “Mr Eight Black I am here to escort you to the First Class lounge”

I thought how nice. But I was familiar with the Sandpit having been here countless times.

Apparently, Meet And Greet is a newish service EK has been offering to F customers. So the EK man barks at another man, who is the golf cart driver and we hoof it to another part of the terminal where we jump on a train, go to another terminal and then clear security.

Security was no more than theater as the EK man boomed in Arabic that he was not to be messed with. So I grabbed my bag off the conveyer and yet another golf cart ride to the F lounge.

The charming M&G man literally handed me off to the Front desk person. It was both a slightly amusing experience and also a little embarrassing but it happens so frequently that no one blinks an eye.

I am no stranger to the EK first lounge in Dubai.

In fact, one year I even arranged something called the Dubai Do and a gaggle of FT’ers were treated like royalty as we toured EK’s catering facility, jumped out of an A380 upper deck door onto an escape slide and all had breakfast and copious amounts of Moet in the F lounge.

It was a cracker of an event. We should do it again.

I decided to freshen up in the lounge, take a shower and have something to eat. I didn’t want to offend the wonderful Indian staff member who insisted I have a champagne. I kept saying yes because I just wanted his head to stop going from side to side. His smile was as wide as the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

When I got there the lounge was practically deserted and most of the staff looked bored out of their minds. They are practically begging you for something to do.

You could literally say…

“I’ll have 2 boiled eggs, freshly scrambled eggs, a side of baked beans, some New Zealand lamb chops and 18 pieces of toast with marmalade”

And someone would run to the kitchen, much arm waving would ensue and within minutes everything would be served in front of you.

The trip from DXB to IAH is a serious haul. 15 hours and change.

Man, that Superjumbo must be loaded to the brim with fuel and as it barrels down the runway, its 4 massive Rolls Royce Trent engines screaming and howling in an effort to lift the overweight quad jet into the sky. It’s still a technical marvel if you ask me.

I didn’t sleep a whole lot on this flight. But I had a great time. Probably one of my best flights ever. I did some work. Went to the bar at the back and had a wonderful conversation with an Indian businessman who lived in Houston. Turns out he owns a seriously large amount of hotels.

For some weird reason we get to talking about politics. Something I rarely do. His wife later joins us, figures out what we’re talking about and proceeds to tell me that she married an idiot and promptly walks off in disgust. We both loved it.

There is a bit of a weird thing that happens if F customers go to the bar though. One of the First Class flight attendants follows you, and then proceeds to tell whoever is on bar duty that you are a F customer and to pour the good stuff when it comes to champagne and not the dogwash Moet they normally serve.

Always made me feel slightly uncomfortable if I’m honest.

And I will admit something. I had a shower for the first time on an A380.

In all the times I have flown that thing, I was always hesitant. And since it’s just the 2 of us chatting, I have a thing about using bathrooms in general on aircraft.

I’ll tell you why…

I don’t want to be that person they can’t identify in a plane crash.

Imagine this. There’s a terrible accident and everyone onboard perishes. The NTSB comb through the wreckage and identify every person. But there’s one missing.

That unlucky sod was sitting on the throne, minding his own business and all of a sudden the plane plummets to earth like a dart.

Because aircraft don’t do well when they hit a hard object (like the ground) gravity takes effect and the poor person on the crapper ends up being sucked into the plumbing.

While I realize this is a tad bit morbid, I’m sorry but thats the way my gin fused brain thinks…

And thats what I love about travel to this day.

No, not the thought of perishing in an aircraft toilet…

It’s the whole journey. The unpredictability of it all.

Sure it’s fun flying up the front. I get that I am quite lucky to be able to do it. I don’t have to fill in any forms. I don’t have to ask anyone for permission.

But it’s the people you meet along the way.

One of my good friends to this day is a Qantas pilot. We met onboard a flight between SIN and SYD more than 20 years ago.

I feel for people who don’t want to travel, don’t want to see the world, don’t want to smell something new, drink something weird, taste something crazy. Or nearly get thrown into jail in a foreign country.

I love people watching at airports - largely because most people think that when they step foot inside an airport, any airport, that they are still largely in control of their lives.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I wish you many upgrades for the remainder of 2024.

And given that I am the Mod now of this quirky little forum, if anyone has any issues with any part of this TR, then the complaints department will be open from 3am to 303am on Xmas Eve 2026.

Go forth and travel my pathetic friends.

I hope our paths cross soon…

Man, I enjoyed that TR. Your last few sentences were poignant as we are probably of a similar age and travel experience. I also love the the fluid motion of the 'travel' experience.

Brilliant read until the very end! Greetings from HK this weekend :)

Poured a glass of Kentucky's finest and read the whole thing up until this point. Enjoying it so far!

Thank you stevie , appreciate it. I'll look forward to buying you a drink one day soon...

Thank you SKT-DK , I haven't been to HKG in ages. One of my favorite places. Dim sum is on me next time I visit :)

I tip my glass to you wakesetter93 Travel well my friend...

What a way to end this TR - sensational!

I do hope I am lucky to cross paths with you someday and listen to your stories. Cheers to you!

There aren't many things that I like so much that I can't find a substitute for - but your TR - well, there just isn't anything close. Have really missed them. Thanks for this - I just smile (and wince) inside when I think about Scoot and EK F in the same trip and enjoyt your adept capture of the contrasting experience!

I can confirm from a similar past experience that it's a lot better to go from TR;Y --> EK;F in the same day than EK;F-->TR;Y in the same day.

Count me in :D

A cracker of a trip report too, loved it.

That’s a deal. Let me know any time you find yourself in this part of the world :tu:

Per the latest issue of Washingtonian magazine, the use of a footstool has some health benefits...but likely not the benefits envisioned in the SQ Suite!

Anyhow, lots of serious trip reports in this forum, but none as humorous as EIGHTBLACK's. I was laughing at loud at a bar in USH while reading this one. I am thinking the other patrons were wondering about my health. And there was no way I could translate this humor to Espanol!

Well, he's back.

When are you publishing the hardback?

Fantastic report as always - loved every minute

You are very kind injian appreciate it very much.

Yep one minute I am knee deep in the trenches in Scoot, with zero wifi, zero meals, sitting on a seat designed for farm animal and then I'm being plied with as much champagne as I could drink in a seat that was more like a cloud of marshmallows. But isn't that what makes travel amazing. Thank you for the generous comment estnet

Thank you JapesUK but you're reports are a cracker as well. We both have a high tolerance of pain :)

Yum Cha is on me. Heinekens are on you SKT-DK :)

I'm glad my misfortunes could put a smile on your face lamphs :tu:

When you publish yours Catweazle :) Come on, each of us has a book in them!

Thank you sincerely flyingmad

Deal - with one modification: we drink something better than Heineken! :D

What kind of a degenerate pervert would think such a thing??? Every civilized gentleman knows that such a situation calls for red jello, not green! I will gladly report this oversight to the moderator promptly at 3:01am if it means I can meet him in person. I promise I'll have an appropriate Christmas-themed liquor in hand ;-)

Seriously though, thanks for another great trip report. Glad to see that the travails of raising Number One Son and The Little One haven't robbed you of your humor!

Thank you for the kind words mraju99

Except that Number One Son is nearly 23 and his precocious sister is 21! Its amusing living with people who actually think they know everything there is to know :)

Army Reserve at the time? B and D were the faves for me and I would happily swap for it. Also remember the can opening contests using the FREDs.

Brilliant read, suitably dry. Enthused.