Dear Reader,
It has been ever such a long time since my last trip, which if you missed it was to the magical land of India in late March of this year. I am happy to report that I am on the global travel road once again.
I dropped the two younger kids off on Thursday morning at the airport for their plane to summer sleep away camp north of Toronto. My eldest I entrusted to my mother who will be taking her to Paris for culture, baguette and excellent practice of her French. As for me you wonder, well I hopped on a flight destined for Barcelona via JFK to meet up with my hubby for an 18th wedding anniversary trip through Spain. Before reaching Barcelona I had the pleasure of being welcomed by the British Airways First Class Check-in Agent. She seemed genuinely concerned with my well being which I always appreciate.
At JFK I cleared the private access First Class security screening line and found myself in the terminal surrounded by gates and shops. But where was the First Class Lounge? An officious looking BA Flight Attendant was walking my way and so I stopped to inquire as to the whereabouts of the elusive lounge.
Lorna: “Excuse me, could you kindly direct me to the First Class Lounge?”
BA Agent (blond pageboy haircut, chubby, blue eyed, pastel pink lipstick smiling): “Do you mean the Business Class Lounge?”
Lorna (trying not to appear offended): “No,” (smiling extra widely), “I mean the First Class Lounge. Do you know where it is by chance?” (sounding more British by the moment in the hopes of being better understood by agent whose clotted cream consumption has detrimentally affected her hearing)
BA Agent: “Is your seat in First Class?”
Lorna: (smiling so widely cheeks are cramping) “Yes, seat 2K in fact, that’s me.”
BA Agent (looking me up and down carefully): “Oh, well please follow me and I’ll show you.” Pausing meaningfully, “It’s actually called the Concorde Room,” she explained, instantly outing me as a JFK BA First Class First Timer. She moved surprisingly swiftly on her stubby legs, “and they will need to look at your boarding pass so you might like to get it ready.”
Lorna: “Thanks ever so much,” keeping up pace while fantasizing about an airport buggy manned by a turban sporting Sikh, careening wildly out of control into the acerbic agent and trampling her.
Sure enough the royal blue velvet ropes to the unmarked Concorde Room appeared before me. I walked through the opening in the ropes with swagger and the electric glass doors opened for me. Inside a sophisticated silver haired blue suited gentleman greeted me and asked if he “might have a look at your boarding pass Miss.” Overjoyed that A) he did not call me “Ma’am”; and B) I had the genuine First Class boarding pass in hand, I held the pass out for inspection with a slight flourish. The gentleman nodded appreciatively and motioned for me to follow him inside the inner sanctum.
Suddenly, a 40-something year old Hispanic gentleman in a blue suit appeared, and I kid you not, bowed ever so slightly to me. “This is Edgar,” the silver fox announced. “Ms. Borenstein, Edgar will attend to your every need. Please enjoy,” and away he walked back to ward the front leaving me with Edgar.
“Welcome, welcome Meez Borenstein. I am Ed-Gahr, and I well be jor bottler juring jor stay here. I am supposed to geev jo a twenteh meenoot espeech regarding deh lounch. Bot if jo prefer, I jost geev jo deh ab-reev-ee-ate-ed esplanacion.” Obvioulsy I opted for the shorter esplanacion.
“Theez lounch iz jor leeve-eng rhoom. Do as jo pleez. Dat iz et.” Edgar smiled obsequiously and yet endearingly. “Now, ‘how can I helpeh jo?”
The lounch was set up like a series of swank modern Upper East Side living rooms, replete with art deco lamps, oversized coffee tables surrounded by crisp leather chairs, and comfy extra deep couches in muted grays and silvers, nesting on plush carpet. Edgar found me a lovely corner spot and began plying me with warm cashews and marinated olives. He informed me that he was present should I desire conversation and was well versed in cinema, literature and the planning of weddings. Edgar told me all about his bridal blog and shared a bit too much on the characteristics of all “Bridezillas”. He was particularly fond of his analogy whereby he likened the planning of a wedding to the purchase of Manhattan real estate. “If jo want a biew oh da park, will cos’ esstra.”
After an enjoyable dinner in the lounge, I headed for the plane and was welcomed by purser Graeham who was positively exuberant at my decision to fly BA. Graeham was showing the other First Class passengers, one at a time, how to use their pod amenties including the newly installed fully reclining seat/beds. When it came to my turn, Graeham said, “I don’t imagine you need much of an explanation Miss Borenstein, you are familiar with the cabin aren’t you?”
God bless Graeham was what came immediately to mind. I didn’t have the heart to correct his touching error, and so simply gave out a mild giggle of knowing laughter which Graeham greatly appreciated. Luckily I had watched his prior demonstrations and had at this point full mastery of the pod.
After take off I enjoyed an appetizer of poached lobster and then informed Graeham that I was ready for sleep, and so he dispatched one of the flight attendants to make my bed with a comfy duvet and pillows whilst I changed into my BA First Class Sleeping Suit in the lavatory. It was a bit large as I had been handed a size Medium but as the woman in 1K pointed out, “Who wants to sleep in something tight.”
I love BA, I love BA, I love BA…………..
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