I fetch up on Sunday morning at LGWs North terminal with not only online check in completed but my boarding card printed out. Still, I have a bag to check, so a visit to either the fast bag drop or the check in desk is in order. Sadly, flying at the weekend ex-LGW does mean the corridors resounding to the trampling feet of the bucket and spade mob, and my rapid progress was almost brought to a rude halt even before I entered the BA zone by a snake of First Choice punters queuing at their information desk.
And of course check in was stacked. The slow bag drop was moving at glacial speed with around 50 people in the queue, and the FIRST check in was 5 deep. Progress was not helped by only two out of the three desks being able to check US-bound passengers (API issues), but a helpful type in a BA blazer managed to get me to a desk after five minutes or so. Having the bags tagged only took a couple of minutes perhaps the difference is in the ability to print your own boarding card, but the process was far faster than I have ever experienced on Virgin.
Then off to the FastTrack security clutching my (now rather scruffy) printout to which a FastTrack sticker and my baggage check had been stuck. Despite BAA staff apparently working to rule, and the normal lines snaking well out of the security area, FastTrack was quick enough although the presence in the queue of holiday types who were clearly not frequent flyers did manage to hold things up.
Before too long I was in the m_l_e that is Gatwick. People were queuing four deep at Travelex but with no alternative I stuck it out for some US currency and then toddled off to Boots in order to buy toothpaste and some mega painkillers for the raging inferno that had developed behind my temporal lobes during the drive down. Boots was stacked 10 deep as well, but with tremulous hands I managed to convince them of my dire need enough to get pharmacist strength Nurofen Plus, which I hastily gobbled down.
Nothing else caught my attention in the main terminal area (apart from the DB9, but my car is faster!) so I decamped to the departure lounge pavilion. This has four lounges stacked on top of one another, with the BA lounges (two Terraces and one FIRST) on the top two floors. Up to the top (the 4th) and a quick flash of the (now very dog-eared) FIRST boarding card and I was in to the relative calm of the lounge. Or at least it would have been calm apart from a squawking brat, a phalanx of business types (who the hell travels in a suit on a Sunday?) rabbiting into their mobile phones, and the assorted beeps, chimes and merry tunes of all manner of electronic devices. Seriously folks, why dont you have your computer, PDA, phone and everything else on silent? I do. And that way I dont look like a complete dick every time I open my laptop or take a telephone call.
Anyway, a few glasses of tomato juice and a bacon roll calmed my nerves and gradually the fire in my temples started to get under control. Only the bacon roll and the option of toast were on the hot breakfast menu, so not a patch on the Clubhouse. But the fruit salad, cereals and pastries all looked good, and the bar area was overflowing with premium spirits. At around 11:30 the lunch items were brought out: plenty of different sandwiches, bagels, cheeses and other finger foods in abundance. No, it was no Clubhouse, but it was all I needed on a Sunday morning whilst nursing a giant headache and attempting to do some much overdue work.
After a brief visit to the facilities (shared with the Terraces lounge on the same level) I wandered down to gate 52 where a group were camped in the corridor as things had not opened up yet. A 10 minute wait whilst goggling at the size of some Texan behinds (you could have projected an IMAX film on a couple of them) wasnt too big a deal, and after the usual daft security questions I trotted into the gate area. For some reason the plane did seem to have mainly our colonial cousins in Economy, the younger types presumably part of some school or college trip. Interestingly enough there seemed to be few British people Houstons not exactly a place for a holiday and perhaps the British oil execs are not daft enough to travel on their own time.
At 12:30 the flight was called, without any kind of priority message. Foresight had placed me close to the long switchback ramp that leads to the jetway, so I was second onto the plane, boarding at door L2. My previous flight on a BA 777 was in New Club World so it was a real pleasure to turn left and banish the deeply unlovely business cabin (rows of coffins, frankly) from view and canter along to seat 2K. Being so early onto the flight I clearly didnt warrant being shown personally to my seat or maybe I looked such a seasoned traveller that such largesse was unnecessary.
The seat was much as I remember from my previous jaunt in FIRST. 14 seats (6 in the middle, 4 on each side) make up the 777s cabin, with a galley area to the front. The pod is fairly private, being angled towards the window, and every seat gets at least one overhead bin. 2K is commonly held to be the best seat in the house: far enough away from the galley but close enough to the front and with three windows to yourself. Traffic on the right hand aisle is also meant to be less frequent than the left, although frankly I could not see a difference.
And the space. Oh, the space. Id almost forgotten how much room you get in first class, the last jaunt in first being on Singapore airlines a couple of years ago. Its not that the seat is huge, although it is definitely longer than the UCS, but that there is so much space in the pod. The ottoman is actually a useful size, and the large shelf between the seat and the window gives a sense of spaciousness (plus plenty of room for laptop, glass of champagne, glass of water, menu, DVD library list, 17 sections of the Sunday Times, etc.) that you can only dream of in Upper Class.
My headache had still not abated, so I asked for an orange juice in order to mainline yet more Nurofen Plus, and settled down with Britains biggest tabloid to read about Welsh rugby fortunes being cruelly shattered by their French cousins. And of course do some people watching. However my attempts at gathering my usual set of information for the character assassinations that regularly grace the pages of V-Flyer were thwarted by the private nature of the pods. At least I did manage to see the family (mother, father and twenty-something daughter) of Middle-Eastern appearance on the other side of the plane. Clearly oil money, I thought to myself uncharitably. Mind you, the allure of Louis Vuitton continues to escape me (its just a bag with a daft pattern) and the Nicole Farhi sunglasses that the daughter was wearing inside the plane didnt tell of any great fashion sense.
Take off was late: all those First Choice passengers were getting their revenge. But the usual timetabling sleight of hand meant that our flight time of 9:35 would ensure our being in Houston at the designated arrival time. As we reached cruising height I got out the latop to finish up some work (and start this trip report), being interrupted by the arrival of the Anya Hindmarsh BAg (plenty of interesting unguents take note Virgin!) and a glass of champagne. BA has gone a little downmarket, offering neither Dom nor Krug these days, but the Alfred Gratien Cuv_e Paradis was an adequate replacement with a rather dry finish that was at least reminiscent of my favourite tipple. And the glass kept being topped up which, if it didnt do much for the hammers in my head, at least allowed me to ignore them a bit better.
With the drinks also came some canap_s: a prawn thing, a meat thing and something mysteriously indefinable but tasty. Cards listing the available DVDs were also handed out. It appears that BA has now given up on the clucky Hi-8 players and tiny screens in FIRST and now hands out decent widescreen DVD players. However, there was nothing on the list that caught my eye, and in any case you, dear reader, are clearly more important than the latest Tom Cruise excrescence.
Then time to order dinner. Im not going to type the whole menu, but four starters comprised duck and fois gras terrine, leek and goats cheese souffl_, sweet potato soup and salad leaves with a choice of dressing. Main courses had an equal variety: fillet of beef, roast brill and prawn nicoise all looked tempting, but my heart was stolen by Bineet Bhatias spicy chicken korma with truffle oil and morels. To follow were a couple of desserts (not my thing) and some cheese. And of course some snacks on the menu too, including bacon rolls and pasta with a couple of different sauces. Sorry Virgin, but against this menu you have no chance.
Wine was equally good, with three decent whites (Chablis, Reisling and Viognier) and three excellent reds (the Chateau Talbot being the pick). And of course the Willi Opitz sticky to follow, or port if you must.
Dinner was served about an hour into the flight. Of course, BA FIRST passengers have the freedom to eat whenever they want and, unlike on Virgin, the cabin crew actually ask you when youd like to eat rather than assuming you are part of the main service until told otherwise. I start with the salad leaves and the spicy orange and lime dressing. This turns out to be a fine choice: the salad is fresh and the dressing so wonderful that I consider asking for it in a shot glass to chug. The Viognier complements the salad perfectly, and the good quality butter, real salt and pepper grinders and metal cutlery all enhance the dining experience.
Second course is the chicken korma. This comes as a large plate divided into thirds: rice, chicken and wilted spinach. In truth it could be a little spicier for my taste, but its a robust and filling main course, and I stick with the Viognier which washes the food down nicely. Finishing up is a matter of cheese and biscuits, followed by a glass of port (in a proper port glass), a glass of dessert wine and then a coffee I just had regular but cappuccino and espresso were both available.
Throughout the meal both my water glass and (more importantly) my wine glass were kept full to the brim, and the space around my seat ensured that I had plenty of room to set my laptop down out of the way of all the comestibles. Dinner over and its back to work, my computer lapping up the on-board power and the cabin starting to darken as people elected for a post-luncheon snooze.
Strange that people feel the need to shut the blinds during a day flight, but gradually I succumbed to the urge for a quick kip and reclined my seat down to a nicely angled bed with my head propped up by a cushion and the reading light illuminating a rather interesting history of Hollywood that Id picked up at City Lights in San Francisco a few weeks ago. Comfy as a cat, I dozed in and out of consciousness until I became aware of what can only be described as a stench. Either the toilet was malfunctioning or else someone was having digestion troubles. As the guy in 1K shifted position it was suddenly clear from where the noisome odour was coming. Not much one can do about this, but given that this was the same bozo who had crammed my overhead bin with his carryon he was not endearing himself to me. So, with a rising pall of sulphuretted hydrogen filling the forward cabin, the journey continued.
About an hour before landing afternoon tea was offered: sandwiches, scones and a pot of proper tea woke me from my doze and also managed to rouse olstinky from his slumbers too. The descent started about an hour but the entertainment was not turned off until 20 minutes before landing. Final descent was very bumpy as we negotiated one of those Gulf Coast thunder storms that can make travelling to southern states rather exciting. Personally Ive never had an issue with turbulence. In fact I rather like it much better than all that boring serene travel, particularly when you feel the need to wake up quickly!
Landing at George Bush Intercontinental airport was very different from my usual US experience at JFK, LAX, SFO or IAD. For a start, the airport is absolutely huge. I mean really huge, with five runways. The rain was belting down so I couldnt see too much, but we were taxiing for absolutely ages down to terminal D. Walking across the bridge to the new international arrivals building we were met with absolutely no queues and around 40 immigration officers waiting. It was the fastest I have ever been through US immigration, although standing at the carousel watching the transfer bags come out for 15 minutes before mine appeared took the shine off matters.
Then through customs and outside to find a cab. And the humidity hit me like a wet brick to the face, with sweat bursting from every pore. Welcome to Texas.
BC
