Tagging along with a husband who's 6'5" has its advantages--rarely do I have to fly Coach on long-haul flights. Thanks to all his business travel, we have accumulated many frequent flier miles through the years. After happily traveling on British Air to and from Jo'burg last year, my infatuation with BA is now over. A few months ago, we wiped out huge stashes of miles and paid an additional $350+ per person in fuel surcharge fees and taxes for tickets to Athens. I usually book free tickets about 11 months ahead of time, but Tom didn't announce that he was resigning from his job until the beginning of January, and then it took us some time to choose our destination. There were no Business Class seats available at such a late date, so I settled for what was offered--a routing from Seattle to LAX to Heathrow to Athens, First Class as far as Heathrow and then Club Europe (Business) to Athens. I have never paid to fly First Class, nor would I. What I aim for in international air travel is getting my feet level with my head. If I don't get some sleep, I'm a blithering idiot at the far end. What Tom needs is at least enough legroom that his knees don't hit the seat in front of him.
First Class on Alaska Air to LAX was bearable, despite the overriding feeling that LAX was not really on the way to Heathrow--definitely not the shortest distance between two points. Then four hours to kill in my least favorite airport. At least there was free champagne in the BA lounge. Our next leg was on one of the most antiquated 747s flying today. Our neighbor across the aisle had a large piece of wallboard fall off in his hands. The drink and meal trays could not be used simultaneously, and there was absolutely no storage space around our seats. But we were all issued oversized navy blue PJs with "First" emblazoned on the chest, just in case we sleepwalked back to Business or Coach. There's something very odd about hanging out in PJs with people you don't know.
Silly me, thinking that it was OK to order scallops for dinner on an airplane, First Class or not. I still shudder at the vision of those four sorry-looking musty-brown knotty mollusks lounging on my plate. Ick. I choked down two of them but could go no further. Bad choice. Swallowed some Ambien instead and had a decent night's sleep on the flatbed seat. Breakfast was a tad bit better; at least the pineapple was fresh. I don't mean to complain too much about traveling First Class across the ocean. After all, it sure beats the cattle car, but the next leg from Heathrow to Athens was a bit of a challenge. I have always believed that booking flights on any other country's airline other than our own domestics is a good idea (perhaps with the exception of Aeroflot and a few others). On the whole, they are far better. I'm not so sure anymore.
We had five hours to kill at Heathrow, so we both showered, answered emails, read, and had a snack (inclusive of large pile of truly brown lettuce; those Brits and their cuisine). The latest news informed us that all flights in and out of Greece had been shut down that day, but it appeared that the airport would reopen at midnight. For a few hours, it was a bit unclear whether we would make it to Greece or not. At long last, a gate location was announced for our flight. I had high hopes for Business Class on a 767, but I was sorely mistaken. At best, these seats were barely equivalent to Coach. The flight attendant let slip that BA used to fly long-range 767s on this route but had too much trouble with people illegally slipping into the flatbed seats. Hmmm.
Both of the people in the row in front of us fully reclined their seats in one fell swoop, crunching Tom's knees and making it almost impossible for him to eat off his tray. Twelve inches and a bit of seat cushion were all that separated a Greek man's head from my lap. This necessitated the quick consumption of a couple mini bottles of champagne. Am I the only one who is cautious before reclining my seat? I always look to see who's seated behind me, and then I sneak my seat back inch by inch, hoping my recline will be undetectable. I was in full fanny fatigue mode by the end of that flight, as well as close to strangling the man behind me who felt the need to clear his throat every few seconds for the whole 3 1/2 hours. But at least we made it to Athens.
Landing at 3 a.m. has its advantages. We zipped through Immigration, and the Customs area was unstaffed. The airport was virtually empty, and there was no traffic on the road. Tom had wisely contacted a taxi driver via email from London, so we were greeted and ushered right to his waiting car. Poor guy said that business has been down 50% due to the economic crisis and strikes here. Surprisingly, the hotel desk attendant awaited our arrival, and soon we were happily sinking into a comfortable bed at the lovely small Ava Hotel in the Plaka neighborhood of Athens.
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