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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
Is first class worth the fuss? Or is all we want in the age of egalitarian air travel a mere modicum of courtesy?
Apr 9, 2004 | As was helpfully pointed out by more than a few of you, an early version of last week's column contained a numerical error. It was not a 1,000-yen bill that launched my little adventure into the smiling, white-gloved monster of Japanese bureaucracy at Narita airport, it was a 10,000. An "ichi man."
It is only fitting that I formally apologize using a bit of homespun Janglish: The zeroes of the yen were of the idiocy, and to honor you are changed.
Cut me some slack, I was returning from Laos, remember, where you need at least a 10-digit calculator just to buy a Coke. Still not as bad as the Turkish lire, which on my last visit was fast approaching the 2 million mark, but one American dollar yields a pocket-stuffing 11,000 Lao kip.
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Pilot Report:
United Airlines
Business Class, Hong Kong to Tokyo-Narita
Maybe it's a local station thing, but the agents are calling out the riot act on carry-ons. I'm asked to check a small canvas backpack that normally makes the bin restriction with no trouble. This policy is either a welcome enforcement or an annoying hassle, I suppose, depending on your tote.
The 747-400 is tired looking, with ugly beige bulkheads and the standard (for this model) 2-3-2 business class configuration. Although the chairs are done up in a cheerless navy cloth, the soft fabric, at least for me, is always more comfortable than leather. Also welcome are the manual seat controls. I might be something of a comfort minimalist, but I appreciate being able to adjust the leg-rest and recline functions through intuitively placed levers that are easier to use -- and less likely to be broken -- than electric versions. There's a powered massage function, and a liftable thigh-rest. A swivel-neck reading light branches from the side of every seat.
United's headrests are movable along three axes, able to angle inward/outward for added neck support. They also slide vertically above the edge of the seatback, providing a few extra inches of stretch-out room when fully reclined at about 160 degrees. (By the way, there's a new twist to the deep vein thrombosis, aka "economy class syndrome" controversy: A judge recently dismissed a lawsuit in which the plaintiff contended that his business class seat was so comfortable it dissuaded him from getting up to stretch, bringing on the illness.)
Before pushing back, the purser makes a P.A., introducing himself by name. He gives a brief rundown of flying time and weather, then reads off a list of languages spoken by the crew. For its Pacific Rim ops, United carries both American and locally based flight attendants. No Maltese or Urdu speakers, as had been the case aboard Emirates two weeks earlier, but the purser wins points for a very articulate and professional-sounding oration. You had to be there, maybe, but it was the kind of speech passengers both listened to and appreciated -- succinct, useful, and free of that nasally, semi-lyrical, thanks-for-flying-with-us piffle we've grown so accustomed to.
A different attendant next introduces himself to everybody in the cabin and takes meal orders from a cardstock menu printed in English, Japanese and Cantonese. Lunch will be a choice of steamed salmon with daikon, stir-fried shrimp with garlic and rice, or a creamed spinach omelet with potatoes, sausage and fruit appetizer.
A newspaper cart is wheeled around, laid out with a buffet of Asian periodicals and the ubiquitous USA Today. As far as I know, USA Today's circulation is based entirely on copies given away on airplanes or slipped beneath hotel room doors. After a week of living on the Bangkok Post I hungrily snag one, and the headlines hit me like morphine.
Predeparture refreshments consist of a choice of champagne or orange juice, both from plastic cups. After a 15-minute taxi, the lightly fueled Boeing fairly leaps into the air for the three-hour and 20-minute flight to Japan.
Armrest consoles contain your video screen, dinner tray, and a smaller, fold-out beverage tray, while entertainment controls are found on a conveniently arranged central riser. I'm pleased to discover United's famous "channel 9" will be switched on, allowing passengers to eavesdrop on air-to-ground communications from the cockpit.
Otherwise it's a pick among six movies, BBC, CNN and the usual assortment of tepid, nonthreatening, market-neutral broadcast fare. Now, is it just me, or do other travelers shudder when faced with yet another ESPN documentary about the life and accomplishments of Joe Namath, or the chance to watch some tooth-bleached hack shilling business tips? Those with laptops can avoid all this by taking advantage of the in-seat power port, or you can opt out entirely and make use of that fleece blanket and oversized pillow.
Once asleep, you might dream of first class. Just a few rows ahead, tauntingly beyond that curtain, is a whole other level of comfort. The carrier calls it United First Suite, where customers relax in private mini-capsules with work consoles, privacy screens, and seats that convert into fully-flat, 6-foot beds.
Watching the theater of business class unfold around me, I am comfortable, yes, in my big semi-sleeper with its fancy levers and fold-away TV. My feet are up, my appetite sated. But at the same time I'm awkwardly bemused. What the hell, after all, is a daikon?
To resurrect one of my recurring frustrations: Most airlines still fail to acknowledge the recontextualization of air travel in 2004 -- the reality that customers, regardless of where they're seated or how much they've paid, no longer desire or expect an onboard experience resembling some bourgeois fantasy of the 1940s. What people want are basic, wholesome comforts and efficiency. Flying has become almost fully egalitarian, yet in many ways the airlines are clinging to the outmoded pomp and pretensions of decades past.
