Here’s a shout-out for Virgin Airlines…
I’ve spent my life shuttling across the Pacific and striping the U.S. with my flight plans. While that’s been exciting, my first foray across the Atlantic has shown me that I’ve been missing out.
Perk #1a: It’s only a 7-hour flight from the East Coast to London. It’s 11 hours one-way from Taiwan, and 14 hours the other direction (trade winds).
I don’t need to tell you that when it comes to international travel, the less time spent in the air, the better. …But I’ll tell you that anyway.
Perk #1b: Apparently, European airlines are much more inclined to voluntarily offer you free upgrades. I imagine I would have to drag a dour Asian check-in lady kicking-and-screaming to the nearest computer kiosk by her prim little bob in order to effect the same princess treatment on a trip to Asia. Not to mention that she wouldn’t have any free upgrade space available anyway because I think they oversell every single flight to Asia, ever.
Perk #2a: Europeans are, on average, bigger than Asians; thus, their seats are wider. I could be lying/misinformed here (esp with my upgrade), but I took a sneak peek when I walked back to the galley for a bathroom break and the seats still looked wider than the usual cramped United-747-SFO-to-Taipei sardine cans I’m used to. Wiggle room ftw.
Perk #2b: Europeans are bigger; thus, meals were more of a satisfactory size.
I was served tea and rolls and white wine and seared salmon in lemon caper sauce fingerling potatoes and carrots julienned to perfection and tomato juice with Worcestershire sauce (delish, btw; what I imagine a Bloody Mary SHOULD taste like, rather than all that cumin going up my nose).
Again, the quality is partially due to the upgrade, but still. “Chicken with rice” or “beef with noodles” gets old after the 15th flight back and forth to Asia. I could have chosen to get drunk off of the complimentary brandy, too, but I showed fortitude and abstained.
(Perk #2c: I got a goodie bag for my upgrade, on top of huge leather seat and awesome footrest and little table – toothbrush/paste, socks, eyeshade, earplugs, and a little envelope daintily requesting my pocket change for “Change for Children.” Cute… I should suggest this to American NPOs/airlines)
Perk #3: The flight attendants all have that European je ne sais quoi to them. Most of them weren’t supermodel-pretty, but they all arrested my attention for long enough that I gave them second and third looks. Maybe it’s all those slick little blonde buns. (I have a thing for wispy hair – my own looks rather mad-scientist at the moment) The lilting Euro accents don’t hurt either… If my imitation of their “boi boi nahw” (bye-bye, now) farewell gets annoying, hit me.
Perk #4: Older Euro gentlemen sitting next to you are much less inclined to grumpiness than Asian grandpa types. Disclaimer: No, this was not likewise a perk of the flight upgrade, but I realize that old men span a spectrum of cuddliness-to-crabbiness, so I might have gotten lucky here. Still, I think a crotchety old Asian man would have huffed as he let me in to my seat, stared judgmentally at me from time to time - wondering, no doubt, why I did not pay his age and position more respect - and then Perkceeded to take off his fake Gucci shoes, bare his stinky socked feet, and snore the night away as his nostril hairs waved delicately in the breeze.
Instead, I got a bushy-browed chairman-of-something-shipping-trade-related who gallantly put up my backpack overhead for me (after an embarrassing 3 minutes of me trying to shove it under the too-low seat-in-front-of-me), and then asked me politely about what brought me to London. In exchange for his courtesy, I requested 15 minutes’ worth of suggestions on “non-touristy things to do in London,” a request tempered by my copious photo-documentation of everything from my dinner to my first glimpse of British soil from the sky. (Yes, I felt about 12 years old, 4 feet tall and extremely country-bumpkin… but it’s OK) After the suggestions, we discussed the Economist (magazine) for a minute or two and he probably finally felt relieved that I was no longer bothering him. We amicably watched “Case 39” in silence on side-by-side screens, and then he proceeded to attempt sleep while I proceeded to attempt an LSAT. (BTW, test-taking on a plane > test-taking in a coffee shop any day)
…Journalism school, btw, taught me well to carry pen and paper everywhere for copious note-taking when encountering interesting new acquaintances. I unfortunately did not acquire the portion of savvy preparation that suggests one read up extensively on one’s destination before departure. I am a disgrace to my education.
Old gentleman (Anton)’s suggestions for London:
- Sit in on a court session in the Old Bailey (“If you want to be a barrister anyway…”) – Michael/Pete/Matt Pyeatt, I feel like this would be something you guys would really enjoy.
- Visit the HMS Belfast – an authentic WWII cruiser. Apparently this is delightfully nervewracking. The gun towers are sardine cans of death, I hear. Again, a treat the mens in my life will envy me.
- Go to a Sotheby’s auction. Unfortunately, we probably won’t be able to pull this off since they’re usually held on Wednesdays/Thursdays. It’s all right, though, because I doubt I would’ve been able to afford anything – and we all know that would just make me miserable.
- Listen in on a debate at the House of Lords
- Camp out at the Royal Opera House for standing-area tickets – they’re £10 as opposed to £100, and the most knowledgeable people on the topic of opera are the ones in the back anyway. (Who knew?)
- Visit the Tate gallery, I believe it was. I know pathetically little about art, so I probably won’t attempt this because it’s too pretentious for me. (Reminds me of the moment in 500 Days of Summer where Summer attempts to describe a piece of poop art)
- Check out Harrod’s for “everything London.” ‘Nuff said. [Apparently]
- Leicester Square is the place to go for show tickets at half-price (I think?)
- Check with the hotel concierge regarding Buckingham Palace visitation times… although that comes with the disclaimer that it’s probably as touristy as it gets.
- To avoid: Madame Tussaud’s, the Planetarium, and the Tower of London
- Photo ops: James Park for walking, and viewing of Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, and the House of Parliament; Cambridge, which is really “a beautiful town”; Portobello (? :D I was thinking mushrooms at the time) Rd. for antiques, early on Saturday mornings; Camden Rd. for “young fashion”, Covent Garden for former-market-turned-to-stalls-and-fashion-shops, and Bond St./Piccadilly/King’s Rd. for boutiques. I had not the heart to tell him that I probably couldn’t even afford the “affordable” restaurant he suggested… but I will anyway, because I love food.
- The Wolsey apparently is a renovated 1930s car showroom (hence the name, although that means naught to me – more Top Gear watching, I presume, is in order?). Now, it is a fantastic foodie place, although one of the more affordable eateries around (his words, not mine – meals begin at £12-20, which honestly is probably a good deal, right? Esp if you are a chairman of a shipping-trade-related-association?). It is located “right at the end of the road from the May Fair hotel” (where I am staying) and it’s busy ALL day, so you’d better get the concierge to reserve you a table before you go. I’m paraphrasing him verbatim here (the delightful oxymoronic liberties I take), so if I don’t sound like me, it’s because I’m actually a 65-year-old Brit dude at the moment.
- Wagamama sounds pretty awesome. And it’s closer to my idea of affordable food: £7-10 for Japanese/Chinese-y food. I have a mental picture of what this looks like, but I think I’m confusing it with something else in Taiwan at the moment. (三商巧褔)
- “The pubs all serve up good, inexpensive food,” which is good to know. I plan to live off of my popcorn and granola bars when I’m not dining at all these scrumptious places.
That ends his list of suggestions, shared here for your future reference. And that’s also all I have on the flight at the moment. On to the airport; i.e., my first glimpse of the United Kingdom.
The Countryside (as seen from my window): I really like it. I’m used to flying either into dead little areas of nothing (most U.S. airports), or tall skyscrapers vying for airspace around polluted clouds (LAX, Hong Kong, etc. etc.). Heathrow suffers from neither of these conditions: I was pleasantly greeted with rows of buildings that were actually laid out in interesting shapes along the banks of rivers, noteworthy-looking structures, and vast expanses of bushy-treed parks. I suppose more thoughtful city-planning is one of those advantages enjoyed by cities older than 150 years, or something like that. Anyway, it was a nice change. So few cities are intriguing from the air, y’know? Especially the Mid/Southwest regions of the U.S. Ugh… all that brown and yellow gets old.
The Airport: I was not a fan of walking around and around in loops, although part of that was due to my imminent need to find a bathroom. That being said, the endless walking seems to be an integral part of nearly every airport experience. (I only recently discovered how convenient DFW’s layout is for travelers [it’s abysmal for pick-up/drop-off/parking]. But that’s neither here nor there, so I’ll shut up)
The First Bathroom Toilet Experience: Um, it smelled like pee. I s’pose the Europe > Asia superiority ends at the planes, because this one was nothing special; not even very clean. I did pick a handicapped bathroom, so I gave the ladies' room “female toilet” a whirl later on just for looksies/smellsies. Nothing noteworthy – a solid 5 on a 1-10 scale. (To be fair, my expectations were probably unconsciously high… Japan high?)
Oh, you actually wanted to hear about London beyond the airport… Well, I’m getting there. Literally – I stood in line queued up for customs for over 40 minutes; 15 40-foot rows of non-UK visitors lined up shoulder-to-shoulder for the privilege of being grilled about their intentions toward the Queen’s Country. About halfway through the line, I realized that my lovely European charmers (aka flight attendants) had neglected to serve me with a landing card along with my pinot grigio, so I had to fill one out when I got to the front.
I read an article yesterday discussing how Obama hopes to bring the current American airline security system closer to the Israeli model, where security officials engage travelers in conversation to get a more accurate read for terrorist signs and the like. I guess the UK must be ahead of us in this area - as they should… they have a helluva lot more nationalities coming through and a much tinier area to manage. Anyway, my immigrations official actually quizzed my landing card! (More than my parents ever did for my grade reports, anyway)
Her: “You’re staying here for 5 days?”
Me: “Yes.”
Her: “And where are you going after those 5 days?”
Me: “Back to Washington, D.C.”
Her: “And you’re a student… [my quick go-to response for “occupation”] What do you study back home?”
Me: “Photography.”
Her: “Are you traveling alone?”
Me: “[torn between a one-word answer and a description of my life history] …Yes…?”
Her: “Are you here for anyone? Any friends or family?”
Me: “No.” (Sorry, Zeta! I didn’t want coppers descending on your ass…)
Her: “Are you meeting anyone here?”
Me: “Uh… My friend is meeting me here later.”
Her: “In the airport?”
Me: “Yes, on another flight…”
Her: “[reading my hotel address] Kind of a swanky hotel for a student, eh? [eagle-eyed look]”
Me: “[nervous laugh] Haha, yeah. My friend works for a travel agency, so we got a good deal.”
Her: “Ah.” [long measured look]
Me: [quavering in booties]
If I had had any terroristic intentions – and I don’t, btw - she would have killed them, pardon the pun. …I guess the system works! (Or maybe I would suck at the job)
That’s about all I have in terms of airport descriptions to share. I’m really struggling with the language barrier here… j/k. I think I shall do my best to acquire a posh accent and develop a snappy wit rife with wry Brit irony. Like the “bye-bye now,” I have a sneaking suspicion these resolutions of mine will fall rather flat… like the “still water” that results from letting “sparkling water” sit in the open for too long. (No joke, that’s what the flight attendant called it… I found myself requesting “still water” with my supper because it was so novel. Mwahaha.)
Man, my jet lag/boredom has already led to me writing a novella. Olivia needs to get here soon.
I’m really looking forward to taking a quick nap once we get to the hotel, so I hope they allow us to check-in early. I could also really use a shower… I look like something that crawled out of the gutter. Perhaps I, like the dapper-gentleman-Anton-my-seatmate, should take to donning fedoras when leaving planes.
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