I've been decidedly underwhelmed by Emirates Airlines.
I can hear gasps of, "What do you mean?", but as somebody who flies regularly, Emirates have not really cut the mustard. Sure, I felt every safe, which is a good thing, but the rest of the 23-hour flight was just meh. This is not because I'm overly tired, nor were there any problems. The whole thing was just fine. Not quite what I was expecting.
Emirates seems to have put a lot into their business and first-class offerings, leaving us in cattle class to make do. I've travelled internationally on Qantas, Jetstar, Singapore and Cathay over the last few years and have had better experiences. Also, there was no marked change in service between the long Melbourne to Dubai leg on an Airbus A380 and the last leg to Stanstead on a Boeing 777-300 - although the 15-hour long flight was made more comfortable by the fact it wasn't a full flight.
On the good side of things, especially on the long flight, the inflight entertainment was good - and vast. I finally got to see all of In Bruges. They had a captive audience (and I was in the right frame of mind - great film).
Also, the food was fine. Tasty, but still plane food.
The things that left me struggling a bit - the cabin crew were efficient, but not particularly friendly. And sure, you have 300 people to look after, but they could make it look like it wasn't such a chore.
Also, the seats, particularly on the long flight, were rock hard. I was lucky to move to another row to get a free seat next to me, but it was still hard to get comfortable. 15 hours on your arse is a bit of a stretch. Thankfully, there was a lot of leg room, which made up for a bit.
My biggest gripe with this airline is their hydration policy. Yes, I'm used to our much-maligned Qantas whose cabin crew regularly walk down the aisle offering water - these guys, nothing. You practically had to beg for water. They've been marked down severely for this. The drinks were miniscule as well - My dry ginger ale came in a 200 ml, rather than the standard 300 ml serving. Yes, I'm being petty, but I was parched by the end of it all. My seat mate from the second flight to Stanstead (who is a colleague of a friend - go figure, another story for another time) said exactly the same thing. She had a water bottle with her, but could not find potable water in the Dubai terminal. She was as thirsty as me.
The second flight, from Dubai to Stanstead was a full, complete with a lot of British holidaymakers. Oh, what fun. We saw a woman do a complete Karen. Interesting. Between my seat mate, we had a fellow who had no English. No drama there - he just smiled and nodded occasionally.
The seats on the second plane were much more snug. An older plane, the seat back entertainment had the same content, but was half the size. My screen was hanging by a thread, but still operational.
Emirates could do nothing about the screaming child in front of me, but my heavy-duty earplugs helped.
Talking to my seat buddy after the flight, I asked her what she felt about our trip. Decidedly underwhelmed was her response.
Emirates might be fantastic for business and first-class travel, but I won't be rushing back to them for long haul cattle class again.
-ooOoo-
But I am home now. I write about this fairly regularly, but on this inside, I am British. I have always felt like this. I'm a Pom on the inside. So, every time I step foot on British soil, it's like I've arrived to a big comforting hug.
I made the choice to come into Stanstead airport over Heathrow as the immigration queues have always been more manageable for non-EU people. Armed with responses - you know - "I'm here for five days. Visiting friends. Going to France on the 4th, here's my Eurostar ticket..." that sort of stuff - I shouldn't have worried. Didn't have to speak to anybody. At all. Like going to New Zealand, all I had to do was put my passport in the machine, look dopey for the camera and they let me through. No questions, no nothing.
So now I'm here.
My first thing. Buy some much needed water. The Marks and Spencer concession also had their famous prawn sandwiches.
I've been dreaming about prawn sandwiches for ages. It's something the British do well. I wouldn't buy one from a service station, but the refrigerated ones you get at Boots or M&S are the absolute bomb. So, I was happy. After finally locating the train station, I hopped on the Liverpool Street Express. Again, a comfortable ride, but I could do nothing about the aged gentleman behind me yelling rapid fire Italian into his phone. Ah well, get out the earplugs again.
And then I was here. At Liverpool Street Station. Home to many late night staggerings to the tube, my old office at Lehman Brothers and a dogdy pub, which if I wasn't dragging around my suitcase, Bertha, I might have gone a half pint of whatever bitter was on tap. Also 48 hours without any significant sleep meant getting to the hotel a vital thing.
The transition to the tube was better than expected. You can just tap your phone and they let you on the platform. The Circle Line train arrived in a minute (not the normal five-minute wait - I lucked out there). The lift got me up to street level and once out of the station I was confronted with the wall leading to the Tower of London.
Yeah. I'm home. It's a strange feeling being internally settled. Strangely, the first thing I did on waking was check the footy scores. To my horror, the game had just started. I'd managed eight hours sleep.
Choosing to stay at a boring, but known hotel (The Novatel, Tower Hill) was a good move. They upgraded my room, complete with coffee machine, very comfy bed, great shower and as much filtered water as I wanted from a tap in the corridor, there to help cut down single use plastics.
Today's activities include:
- Meeting up with an old friend - no idea what we will do, but we're catching up.
- Making my way out on the Jubilee Line to Stanmore, where one of my mates will collect me.
- Get to know their dogs.
- And probably crash early thanks to having so little sleep over the last 48 hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment