DAYS ONE and TWO 9/3/18 – 9/4/18 – Travel to Cape Town
Louisa and Whanger were connecting in Amsterdam and were taking a different flight from us (duh). We reluctantly separated from them after our shuttle to JFK, and were dumped into the terminal that housed AirFrance and other foreign carriers for Delta. We had paid extra for Sky Priority – easier check in and more leg room for the seats. There were tons of counters and numerous Sky Priority signs for every flight to every country imaginable. We finally found AirFrance after mistakenly standing in line for a Saudi flight and realizing that there were other counters on the other side of the wall. The Arabic on the signage should have been a clue.
We asked a lady fiddling around with the queue ropes where we would line up for Sky Priority on Air France. She came off as a real bitch and told us in a haughty French accent that check in didn’t begin till 1. We sheepishly found seats and waited around in the rows of chairs with our mound of luggage bending the wheels of our cart in front of us. I gawked at all the other travelers, most who spoke anything but English.
It was finally time to check in! We got in the Sky Priority line and watched the hoi polloi get in the queue for the commoner seats. I was totally paranoid about our luggage weight. We became a little fearful when we approached the counter and saw that the bitch was the one checking us in! Unfazed, Jean asked her about possible upgrades to first class. The lady quoted us the same price as phone deal! We excitedly told her we’d take it. As she was trying to complete the transaction, her computer slowed to a crawl, then produced information that made her frown and quickly push a bunch of keys. Then more keys. Then frown some more. We were afraid the upgrade wasn’t going to go through because of the Gate One deal on the fare. But she was not to be defeated. She went to another counter and asked one of her colleagues to help her. She was bending over backwards for us, and was ultimately successful! She was all smiles and very sweet to us, speaking English in her heavy French accent. We immediately felt guilty for mistaking her for a bitch.
Time for the luggage. I casually tried to sneak it on the conveyor belt. One suitcase was fine, provided I understood the metric weight displayed. The second was over by a couple of pounds, but she took it anyway. I thought she was just being nice, but she informed us that first class passengers get to have heavier luggage. There were no seats together but she told us that they would try to arrange it for us. Everybody we encountered down the line was aware of our request and did their best to accommodate us. What service! The myriad markings on my boarding pass attest to the love and care taken by AirFrance.
We were also invited to use the AirFrance lounge! Down the hall to the right, she told us. Not really. We had to go through security first, which was stressful and frustrating, seeing as we had those four carry on pieces of luggage and had to show passports, be frisked and Xrayed, strip, and do a little dance. We finally made it through and were directed to AirFrance’s lounge. When we got to the front desk there, they knew we were coming and they also knew that we wanted to try to be seated together. What communication skills they demonstrated!
The lounge was fantastic! There were bright pop-style paintings of French stamps depicting all types of movie stars and other pop culture images. Huge windows overlooked a section of runway and truck parking. There was a buffet of all types of cheese, salad fixings, cold cuts, some hot items, soups, breads, desserts, candy and nuts — something for everybody! There was also a tub filled with ice, certain wines, several beers, and two bottles of Laurent Perrier! All for us! We immediately poured a glass and found us a seat by the window. When I went back for more champagne there wasn’t any. I found an attendant and asked for more. She immediately brought two more bottles out! I felt like severe shit on a stick!
Some nice man took our picture, and then we settled back to snack and drink. I made good use of the Laurent Perrier for sure. I also started taking blog notes on my iPad. The two and a half hour wait was over in a trice. We reluctantly said goodbye to the pampering and headed for Gate 1, where our flight was boarding.
It was a distinct pleasure to be able to stop at the front of the plane. The business class seats had changed in recent years. They weren’t seats at all, per se. They were individual pods that featured all the creature comforts at close hand. The seat reclined to various
positions, ending up horizontally. There was a padded foot rest that completed the comfort scheme. A plush bag containing slippers, a blanket, sleep mask, headphones, toiletries and other goodies was conveniently placed in a cozy position amongst all the luxury. A pull out video screen was replete with hundreds of movies, TV shows and other types of entertainment. And they had indeed put us together, though “together” is really a stretch. We were in adjoining pods, but could wave across the partition to each other.
The flight safety video featured sassy French girls with pony tails pantomiming all the instructions with great choreography. It was very retro, but modern at the same time. Those French! Trés artistiqe! We were immediately set upon by a steward offering us a hot towel, some water, and inquiring what else we would like to drink. It was followed by a menu featuring three different gourmet entrees and a four course spread of luxury. The airline had a sommelier on staff that recommended four different wines from which to choose along with gourmet beers and liquors. Jean and I both enjoyed a really great meal capped off with a fluffy chocolate dessert that would rival that at any first class pâtisserie. The steward kept coming by and I kept getting more of the delicious red wine and water. Can’t quite remember what I watched on my personal video equipment, but I do know that it wasn’t as noisy as the flight on Southwest was. That was the last time I watched anything on the iPad. Instead I finished Bonfire of the Vanities and read a bunch of Patricia Highsmith short stories.
It’s amazing how easy it was to sleep well with that setup, because before we knew it they were bringing breakfast and we were preparing to land at de Gaulle. What luxury.
Now to be ejected into the real world of schlepping luggage, showing passports and being examined for explosives. I must say that throughout the trip nobody seemed alarmed that I set off the buzzer with my fake knees every time I went through security. The agents didn’t freak out in the least. They just patted me down and called it real.
It was surprising how empty and un-busy de Gaulle was. Of course it was like 5 in the morning, and our flight wasn’t due to leave till about 8 or so. But I was expecting some major bustling. Nothing. Just a few people doing light cleanup and maintenance and a few passengers straggling in.
When it started to pick up, it really picked up fast. We were set for a flight on Joon, the hip economy version of AirFrance. Once again we had booked the priority extra seats right at the front with extra leg room and a better reclining angle – about 5 degrees more. Whoop ti do.
When we finally began boarding, we encountered a serious case of hurry up and wait, as we had bustled through an inefficient boarding pass check thinking we were hot stuff due to our priority boarding status. After that we were stuck in a glass tube for about 15 minutes waiting to actually board. We met a nice couple on their honeymoon who were going to Cape Town to connect to several camping safaris. Ah, the exuberance and resilience of youth.
Passing through Joon’s first class section wasn’t nearly as painful as I had thought. It only featured big seats and an old-school first class setup. There were about 6 flight attendants buzzing about the passengers, however. I had no idea how that was going to affect the rest of OUR flight.
We found our seats on the front row of the next section. They were okay, except the tray and TV were designed to come out of the arm. Whoa! WAY less room for the tray, which was narrow as shit and forced us to sit ramrod straight in order to get it folded out. Meal trays hung off the front precariously, and once a drink had been added, it was a juggling act that guaranteed maximum eating pleasure. Joon likewise had a full complement of movies and TV shows. Once again, I can’t recall what I watched except Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Like AirFrance, Joon had a very cool flight safety video that was hip and artistic and modern. Instead of the French girls, the characters were multicultural hipsters, also choreographed to the nines. The most entertaining thing on the plane for sure.
Jean had bought a complete array of airline comfort items after an exhaustive internet search of same. This consisted of: seat inserts that were designed to make an airline seat bearable (unusable due the fact that the seats were so narrow that the insert would have made it impossible to fit in the seats); blow-up ottomans (which were actually great); butt pillows; back pillows and neck pillows. These various items were conveniently located in one of the overhead bin suitcases. When I first pulled one out, they all came flying out and had to be stuffed back in while the other passengers looked on with disdain and judgement. Yes, the only items we used on the entire trip were the ottomans and the butt pillows.
This was a 12 hour flight to Cape Town. Amazingly enough it’s in the same time zone as Paris. We had lost our 6 hours on the leg from New York to Paris. Right after we had boarded, the stewardess came through with the obligatory hot towel dispensed with tongs. I was immediately suspicious, because those hot towels are ostensibly luxury items, but I cracked the code years ago on a KLM flight to France. Those towels are a red herring that are supposed to indicate pampering and service. They’re not. They’re supposed to placate the passengers and lull them into thinking they’re being served. When followed by a glass of water, the whole procedure is designed to mask the fact that the flight attendants don’t give a shit about anybody that isn’t in first class. I think we had four attendants for the whole back of the plane while first class had about six for their tiny area. Let the seething begin!
After an hour or so, they began the “lunch service”. I guess it was supposed to be French-inspired, because it contained a couple of crackers, some cheese, some “fruit” and a block of a paté-like substance. There was one other item that I can’t recall, I think some kind of cake thing, but I do know that it was unidentifiable. Jean offered me everything on her tray except the cheese and crackers. I had taken a few bites of the paté, and though I usually love it, this was something else altogether. I ate the cheese and crackers and the “fruit” after an unsatisfying chunk of the paté. And bear in mind that I was wrestling to keep this stuff on top of the sliver of a lap tray that was cutting into my abdomen. It was after this unsuccessful repast that Jean decided she wanted to get some of the comfort items down from the overhead bin. One joyous event followed by another!
The blowing up of the ottoman was left to me. I tried to use the hand pump that Jean had bought. It was a ridiculous effort as the valves on the ottoman were very wide and no seal of any kind could be achieved. The pump fell out of my clumsy grasp and rolled under the seat. I then began blowing the ottoman up manually. While blowing and hyperventilating, I actually got it pretty full. I then tried to close the valve cover with fumbling fingers and was dismayed to see all the air rush out and the ottoman become flaccid and useless. After two other tries and identification and naming of all the stars I was seeing, I got the thing blown up and sealed. Jean reported that it worked great, so I immediately set to blowing up my own.
This was a 12 hour flight – and we only saw the stewardesses 3 or four times the whole trip. The time was spent wriggling around trying to get comfortable and batting the ottoman around with my feet to get it in position. We had all our stuff piled in front of the seats and against the cabin wall since we didn’t have under-seat storage. It was like a gigantic spend the night party with blankets, pillows and stuff strewed all around — only lacking the fun. We got another substandard meal for supper, one more cruise through with water and lots of radio silence from those “serving” us. Watched several movies but can’t remember what. We were ready to land in Cape Town.
The deflating of our ottomans and the repacking of the comfort items into the overhead bin was like humiliation in reverse. We were preparing for our landing! Whee!!