My last job involved a fair amount of air travel - some of it long haul, and if the flight was longer than 4 hours, staff were allowed (and expected) to go business class. This was presumably so we wouldn’t be an embarrassment to the company by falling asleep in
important meetings when we arrived and “But I’m a bit jet lagged” wouldn’t be tolerated as an excuse for working anything less than a 10 hour day.
Since then I’ve done a few long haul flights in economy and am acutely aware of the difference, so was determined to try to get an upgrade. I did some on line research, ended up with a list of suggestions and decided to give some of them a go.
Check in early: I liked this one as I’m much happier with a bit of extra time to allow for all eventualities so arranged to meet Lottie at 4,00 for our 8.30 flight.
Check in late: Even if it was possible to follow this conflicting advice - there is no way in a million years that I would do this on purpose.
Ask for an upgrade: This felt a bit pushy to me, so following the true British tradition of politeness I opted for…
Don’t ask for an Upgrade: My own version of this one was don’t ask directly but drop subtle hints, such as “ Your airline is my favourite, I loved flying BUSINESS with you before I retired” or “I would have put in a bid for an upgrade to BUSINESS, but I didn’t get the email invite”
Dress Smartly: This was tricky as smart clothing and 21 hours on a plane are not really compatible, so working on the principle that only our top halves would be on show to the check in agent, I disguised my comfy teeshirt with a nice scarf and wore some tasteful but dangly earrings.
Prepare sob story: Well I had a cracker - about booking the flight, only to discover that I had put my middle name in the last name box on the form by mistake and having to pay an extra £300 to change it. Of course this was a bit of a gamble, because instead of feeling sorry for me, he could just think “stupid old bat”.
Flirt/Be friendly: This required lot’s of smiles, girly giggles, batting of eyelids, flicking of hair and a general air of happiness, chattiness and excitement. (It also made us look like a pair of nutters.)
Pretend you are travelling for a honeymoon or funeral: This wasn't going to work because there wasn’t a spare single bloke in the queue that I could pretend was my new husband (honeymoon) and we couldn’t look sad & tearful (funeral) and be flirty/friendly.
Anyway, despite our best efforts, our check in agent was unmoved and unimpressed by our efforts and we got our “no business class for you because you are completely bonkers” boarding passes.
I should just mention that overnight at my cousins house - I had repacked my cases so that my hold bag was closer to the 30kg limit with Quantas and it was actually possible to pick up my hand luggage with causing permanent lumbar damage.
Compared with Valencia, security was a breeze. Warm smiley people, short queues and most importantly a nice long conveyor belt to put your trays. I had one heart stopping moment when the belt stopped with my trays in the Xray machine - but the operators were just switching round. Lottie set the alarms off and had to go through the new machine that looks like something out of star trek (and after 20 hours on a plane she was wishing she had asked Scotty to beam her up). Still a clear security risk, she was then pulled over for a pat down because the little sparkly gems on her teeshirt were mistaken for weapons of mass destruction. Once they realised each gem wasn’t capable of blowing up a small country - we were through and free to indulge in my favourite airport pass time……… shopping.
We window shopped in all the glossy bright designer stores ( it’s a sure sign you’re travelling economy if you go in, say you are “just looking”, to the immaculately well groomed assistants and then start peering at the price tags) and went in search of a cheap watch ( does that even exist in airport shops?) to replace the one that must have fallen off my wrist during the traumatic security tray balancing fiasco at Valencia. I was quite pleased to find one for 20 quid - a bit more than the 5 euros I paid in Ale Hop for the one I lost - but I had a little internal dialogue going on that convinced me it was pretty and practical and that I would be lost without one. Next stop was the Pandora concession. Now I’m quite new to the whole Pandora bracelet thing, but I’m completely transfixed by all the pretty little charms and the little shopping devil that always accompanies me to airports, was fixed firmly to my shoulder ready to convince me that I really really really needed to treat myself to one little charm to celebrate my trip.
Sadly the Pandora assistant was absolutely brilliant at her job, so with her showing me all the beautiful shiny things and explaining how they were such a bargain because they are duty free and the shopping devil whispering in my ear “treat yourself - go on - you deserve it - they are a bargain - see how pretty they will look” I succumbed to the pressure and bought 3!!!
The 4 and a half hours passed surprisingly quickly and as I had chain smoked as many fags as I could fit in before going through security I was feeling well nicotined up and ready to go cold turkey for the next 24 hours. I considered patches but as the box was full of praise for taking the first step to quitting, I decided it was a bit fraudulent to buy them and went for Nicotine lozenges instead.
We finally boarded our plane and it was so different from the scrum that takes place on a Ryanair flight, with people elbowing each other in the face to to claim a spot in the overhead locker for their bags. They boarded a few rows at a time - starting at the back (so logical - so why don’t all airlines do it) so we were one of the first groups on (I like sitting at the back because you never hear of airplanes reversing into mountains). The cabin crew were smiling and have clearly been trained to look really pleased to see you even though they know they are going to cooped up for hours in a tin box with hundreds of tired, grumpy, smelly people.
Now when you are used to flying Ryanair/Easyjet, at first glance, the seats on a jumbo seem positively luxurious.
The seat itself, wider than my bottom - tick.
A seat belt that doesn’t cut off circulation - tick.
Enough leg room to just about straighten your legs (if you are 5’3”) - tick.
Space to actually put your bag under the seat in front, without it becoming a major tripping hazard - tick.
Reclines enough to get semi comfortable without the tray table smashing into the face of the person behind - tick.
An entertainment system that has a wide range of films, tv programs, games and live images from the camera on the tail of the plane - more about that later!!! - tick.
A USB charging port so that you don’t fly into panic when you want to let people know you’ve survived the flight but the battery on your mobile is dead.- tick
Sadly after 18 hours in the same spot you realise all of the above is just an illusion. It’s horribly uncomfortable - your insides get all squished up (more about that later - not for the squeamish) and you just think it’s never going to end.
My entertainment system was a bit temperamental and kept crashing about two thirds of the way through the film. I had 3 goes at My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2 and in the end gave up and tried to sleep.
This strategy was only marginally successful and went something like this.
Doze off - crew member comes round to offer you water - doze off - the bloke in the window seat needs the loo - doze off - the captain says all passengers & crew sit down and belt up - doze off - food time - doze off - I need the loo - doze off - Lottie needs the loo - wide awake club. Watch film - system crashes - doze off. Repeat!
After 5 hours we had a short stopover in Dubai to refuel, but that involved a full disembarkation. We all had to take everything with us which slows down the process considerably, but in the terminal there were people every few yards smiling and showing us where to go. We went through another mini security check without incident and then I was like a woman on a mission to find the fabled smoking lounge. This was an unexpected bonus and once I realised I might actually be able to cram a few fags in before rebording I was obsessed. Obviously, it was right at the other end of the airport but I didn’t care. I hurtled along knocking old people and small children out of the way, glancing back occasionally to make sure Lottie was still with me.
If you’ve never been in an airport smoking lounge - it’s quite an experience. Firstly, you can’t see above waste height because of the smog and it’s full of people hunched over the handful of overflowing ashtrays, frantically puffing away. To most people it would be horrible - to me it was just bliss. I managed 3 before realising it was going to take a while to get back to our gate, so I savoured what would be my last few puffs until we arrived in Auckland 18 hours later.
Back on the plane with a change of crew, the same old routine of doze - interruption - doze continued and I found myself checking the flight stats every time I woke up hoping that I had slept for hours. Unfortunately the “time until arrival” figure seemed to be working at it’s own pace - very slowly - 12 hours - doze - 11hrs 30 mins - doze - 11hrs 50 mins - doze - you get the picture.They fed us at regular intervals, which provided a welcome break from the routine, until the food was in your mouth and hit your stomach.
Somehow the fact that Lottie is veggie got missed, but in fact, more often than not, her food looked more vegetarian than mine. I suppose to simplify things the caterers lump vegetarians and vegans all together and not very well either. So my egg free cake was hideous, and 4 variations on a vegetable curry is not my idea of fun on a long haul flight. They must have got a job lot on tinned tomatoes, because that provided the base for literally everything and I’m not sure I will ever eat ratatouille again. The “special” meals come out first, then they do the whole plane with not enough trollies. We were near the back so amongst the last to be served, which meant I’d finished my food ages before Lottie even got hers and most distressing of all - the drinks were on the trollies. So I had nothing to wash my hideous tomatoes down with and had to wait forever for a much needed glass of wine.
By the time you’ve travelled through multiple time zones, your whole system is screwed and so you find yourself eating lunch (or was it dinner) at what feels like breakfast time.
Refusing the food would have been an option if there was another choice - but no - it’s eat this mush or starve.
The real problems start when the food works it’s way into the system. Now I was brought up by parents who wouldn’t dream of passing wind in company or indeed, in front of each other. So in a cramped space, surrounded by fellow travellers, the only option is to clench the buttocks and hold it. Under normal circumstances that’s not difficult to do, but after many hours of holding it - the pressure builds.
I know it would be really funny to describe me letting out a long noisy fart and everyone on the plane turning round to stare - but that isn’t what happened. I managed to hold on but ended up with stomach cramps and was shockingly uncomfortable. Looking at everyone else’s faces and the amount of times people went to the loo - I was certainly not the only one, so it was quite tempting to stand up and instigate a big communal farting session.
As I mentioned earlier, I was quite taken with the view from the camera on the tail of the plane. I saw the sun go down and rise and when there was no cloud, got to see a little of the landscape below us. I also watched us land at Dubai and so was disproportionately excited to watch us take off again. However as we started to climb, I saw another plane which looked far too close for my liking. I nudged Lottie to take a look and she just shrugged and went back to watch Friends for the umptyfifth time. I carried on watching in fascinated horror as it remained right in our flight path. Why wasn’t the pilot taking evasive action - surely we were going to hit it if we carried on straight. I couldn’t watch, so turned it off, shut my eyes and waited for the bang. Five minutes later - still going. Ten minutes later - still going. Thirty minutes later - still going. So I decided to take another look and it was still there - in exactly the same spot - exactly the same size. I don’t know at what point it dawned on me that it was just a speck (albeit an airplane shaped one) on the camera.
Landing at Sydney for our connecting flight to Auckland was fun. In complete contrast to Dubai there wasn’t a soul giving helpful hints about where to go and no signs that we could see either (Actually there was a sign, but in our defence we were tired, full of wind and a bit disorientated.) So we followed the crowd and queued up to put our passports through the electronic checker. Mine was rejected, so we headed off (totally in the wrong direction) to seek out the one person in the whole airport able to provide some assistance. She explained that we didn’t have to go through passport control and the other million people on the plane that we had followed like little tired sheep were all actually staying in Australia. So that was a happy little 30 minutes wasted. We turned around, headed back the way we came, went through yet another security check and found our gate with time to spare.
This plane was smaller, the food was better and these 2.5 hours seems like a doddle compared to the trauma of the long haul. Sadly the wind was still present, and we certainly frequented the loo far more than everyone else, which was a little problematic because the loo at the front of the plane was for business class only. The 2 loos at the back were for us plebs, but you couldn’t get to them because the crew were doing food service and the trolly was blocking the whole aisle. The “business class” cabin crew lady was a bit sniffy and at first tried to stop economy people using her special toilet, but gave in finally when it was clear that some of us were getting desperate.
I cannot describe the sheer unadulterated joy when the captain turned on the fasten seat belts sign for landing.
Inside the terminal, there were signs - yay, and my first job was to buy a one month travellers sim for my phone giving me free calls and data. The girls at the Vodaphone stall had the new sim installed and working in a nano second and we went down to the cash desk to pay.
Our next stop was passport control - more electronic machines and Lottie’s went through first time. I’d taken off my travel belt containing my passport, credit cards and all our money, because a) it was uncomfortable against my bloated tummy and b) we were there now, so what could possibly go wrong, so started searching my handbag for it. It wasn’t there. I tipped everything out on the floor and on realising that it definitely wasn’t lurking in a secret space in my hand bag or hand luggage - left Lottie there to clear up the mess while I ran back to the cash desk. No - it wasn’t there - panic panic hyperventilate. Back to the Vodaphone stall and there it was - sitting right on the counter. I’m not sure my daughter will ever want to travel with me again - far too stressful.
We sailed through the rather intense security; There are very strict rules about what you can bring into the country and the conversation with the official went something like this….. “Have you got any food” - no. “Are you sure” - yes, “Are you really really really completely positive you haven’t got any food” - no we really haven’t. Quizzical look - raised eyebrow “Hmmmm I need to know if you have any food” Lottie - I’ve got some chewing gum in my bag. “Go through”
Clearly I was desperate for a fag, so literally ran to the smoking cubicle outside the airport and savoured my first puff.
Meanwhile Lottie called our car hire company to come pick us up. They turned up a few minutes later and after completing some remarkably simple paperwork (I love New Zealand already) we were introduced to Bertha.
Bertha (our name not theirs) is their “Deal of the Day” car which loosely translated means she’s far from new, has some scratches and dents (so no worries if you cause any minor damage), has masses of space for our luggage, but was super cheap, is easy to drive and remarkably comfortable.
Lottie offered to drive and with assistance from mumma the navigation queen, did a fantastic job getting us out of Auckland and on our way.