More on planes
1/18 - 1/19, Chicago to Heathrow: Dude. More warm nuts and a glass of sherry. After dessert, a Ghirardelli chocolate. Holy cow, flying coach is just barbaric.
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Inflatable neck pillow + eyeshade = awesome.
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Breakfast is a cheese omelet with kielbasa and potatoes, a plate of fruit, and a bagel (warm) with cream cheese, with tea and orange juice. I feel content like a cat, rested and fed.
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In the Business Class lounge of British Airways, I was waylaid by a gregarious Welshman. He wanted to make sure I shared his grim opinion of London, and he offered me some of his whiskey. (I declined.)
Navigating Heathrow is an exercise in trust. Signs point you down and down and around and around into vacant hallways and concrete-and-metal stairways, when everyone else seems to be queued up for something else. But just keep trekking, and you'll make your destination. It made me glad I'm hale and healthy--which got me into trouble on the tram. (Yes, tram. After we showed our boarding passes and passports, we hiked down a long corridor, and another stairwell... to a bus.) I offered my seat to a woman, because I was feeling guilty for sitting, and she was so aghast that I thought she was old enough. This was another age milestone for her, like the first time someone called her "ma'am." Truly, there's no way to dig out of that, so I asked about her work. Her name is Heather, and she trains teams to work globally. I nearly salivated at the prospect of such information she could offer me. She offered to talk about it further; I wonder how to take her up on that... [Edit: never found her again.]
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My business class seat on British Airways (Heathrow to Bangalore) is so lonely. The seats face front and back like a sweetheart couch, but with a fan-shaped privacy shade between them. I have a window seat (but no window) facing backwards at the bulkhead. With the screen up, I could be alone here. Crew members keep ducking into my hiding place to offer newspapers, juice, and champagne. For how often people on airplanes seem like a nuisance, I'm surprised at how lonely and isolated this feels. I'd kind of prefer an aisle seat. Also, I have to pee.
On the plus-side, I have a footstool.
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God, okay, more food? I'm living three days in 24 hours, with all attendant meals. How do hobbits stay so little?
Now it's vegetable kofta korma, lemon rice, and cabbage sabmaro. I'm struggling between feeling much too full (and full of gas) and desperately catching meals before plummeting into the unknown. And my feet are cold.
***
Flying east, east, east, fleeing the sun so fast we catch up to it.
***
Inflatable neck pillow + eyeshade = awesome.
***
Breakfast is a cheese omelet with kielbasa and potatoes, a plate of fruit, and a bagel (warm) with cream cheese, with tea and orange juice. I feel content like a cat, rested and fed.
***
In the Business Class lounge of British Airways, I was waylaid by a gregarious Welshman. He wanted to make sure I shared his grim opinion of London, and he offered me some of his whiskey. (I declined.)
Navigating Heathrow is an exercise in trust. Signs point you down and down and around and around into vacant hallways and concrete-and-metal stairways, when everyone else seems to be queued up for something else. But just keep trekking, and you'll make your destination. It made me glad I'm hale and healthy--which got me into trouble on the tram. (Yes, tram. After we showed our boarding passes and passports, we hiked down a long corridor, and another stairwell... to a bus.) I offered my seat to a woman, because I was feeling guilty for sitting, and she was so aghast that I thought she was old enough. This was another age milestone for her, like the first time someone called her "ma'am." Truly, there's no way to dig out of that, so I asked about her work. Her name is Heather, and she trains teams to work globally. I nearly salivated at the prospect of such information she could offer me. She offered to talk about it further; I wonder how to take her up on that... [Edit: never found her again.]
***
My business class seat on British Airways (Heathrow to Bangalore) is so lonely. The seats face front and back like a sweetheart couch, but with a fan-shaped privacy shade between them. I have a window seat (but no window) facing backwards at the bulkhead. With the screen up, I could be alone here. Crew members keep ducking into my hiding place to offer newspapers, juice, and champagne. For how often people on airplanes seem like a nuisance, I'm surprised at how lonely and isolated this feels. I'd kind of prefer an aisle seat. Also, I have to pee.
On the plus-side, I have a footstool.
***
God, okay, more food? I'm living three days in 24 hours, with all attendant meals. How do hobbits stay so little?
Now it's vegetable kofta korma, lemon rice, and cabbage sabmaro. I'm struggling between feeling much too full (and full of gas) and desperately catching meals before plummeting into the unknown. And my feet are cold.
***
Flying east, east, east, fleeing the sun so fast we catch up to it.