I knew I was in a better place when the first class/business check-in agent apologized for the fact that I would have to carry my own luggage over to the security screening machine. No problem, I assured her. I was just glad she hadn't identified me as an cultural interloper and kicked me out of business class. Airports are already one of my favorite places. I love wandering down the terminals reading the names of cities listed on gates and wondering what the weather is like there. I love seeing women in saris and hearing languages that I can't identify. I equate the smell of jet fuel with adventure and I even have a sort of apologetic fondness for the Dulles people movers. So to fly business class is pure icing. Before I had
even fully sat down, I was offered "wine, tea, water or juice?" Some of all, please? And when the dulcet tones of the British pilot came on over the intercom to welcome us aboard, I settled right in. He could have been annoucing that an ax murder was loose in coach and, frankly, I would have thought, "oh, how lovely sounding. And, don't forget, I'm in business so please keep the juice and cookies coming." While I felt a bit like a Clampet when it took me a good minute to figure out how to work the foot recliner so that I could fully recline, figure it out I did. And it was with a smile on my face as I fell asleep fully reclined and snuggled under a real cotton blanket. Heaven. (Note the picture to the left is of my legs fully stretched out in front of me.)By the way, ever wondered about bathrooms in business? Yep, even those are better - a picture on the wall and special hand wash and lotion.
A view of Turkey, or Iraq, from outside my plane window:
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