The business of travel

 

Behind me, I heard the all-designer-clad woman ask, "Where is the first?" to which her husband replied, "I don't know, I only see a sign that says 'business'".

The cause of their confusion was that there was no sign for First Class boarding. Instead, the flight from San Francisco to Istanbul had two boarding lines: one containing the usual throng of economy class passengers, and another, smaller group that stood in front of a sign that read Business Class. 

Just as orange is the new black, 50 is the new 30, and low-waist pants are making a comeback, Business Class has, for some airlines, become the new First Class. Most people (I think most) would take the change in nomenclature with an indifferent shrug but for this couple, it seemed to signify that they had somehow, and without intending to, taken a step down in the world. 

In addition to the disappointing exchange of adjectives, the woman had another issue: "Why," she objected, "are there so many people in this line?" 

Implicit was that both the quantity and quality of passengers in said line were not to her liking. Standing in front her in my ill-fitting, thrift store outfit, I silently condemned her pretentiousness (but consoled myself that poetic justice was surely going to be served by the toddler who was screaming in her mother's arms at the front of the queue), and yet, if we set aside my petty delight in the discomfiture of an elitist snob, I have to admit that I understood. 

Probably no one was more surprised than I was to find myself holding a ticket for a seat in something other than economy class. Economy class is where I have sat on every trip to Europe through my teens, 20s, 30s, and 40s. But now my 50s have arrived, along with a pandemic, and I found myself (incredulous and disbelieving until the end) in that glorious section where you can stretch out and sleep. 

Let me be clear that I don't care about the chef-prepared meals, I don't care about the faster check-in, I don't care about any of the perks business class has to offer. I just care about being able to sleep. Not snatching a couple of minutes of an exhausted doze until your neck snaps and jerks you awake, kind of sleep. No. I mean stretch out 100% horizontally, pull a blanket over yourself and dream for 5 hours straight kind of sleep. In my book, that's all that matters, and yet I never thought it was attainable for us until last year when Turkish Airlines offered a 40% discount for RNs who worked through the pandemic. All you had to do was provide proof of employment and you'd get the savings on 4 tickets. 

It sounded too good to be true and I assumed, until the flight actually took off, that there was going to be a terrible (and probably mildly humiliating) hitch.

Yet here we are, once again in Europe, and we traveled business (call it First if it makes you feel better, lady) class to get here. I have the (uninspiring) photos to prove it.

That was the SF to Istanbul leg. The seats were these futuristic looking little pods that gave you the sensation you were the only person on the flight. To be honest, it was initially a little disconcerting after years of having children sprawled across my lap, sharing half my allotted shoulder space with Mihai, and enduring the jabs in the back by whatever long-legged passenger was always, always, always behind me. But I managed to adjust.

Istanbul to Bucharest. 

It seemed silly to be in business class for a 45 minute flight but it's a package deal. 

Not sure why we're so involved with our phones right then. 

The train ride to Craiova which, for the first time ever, we did not have to take turns sleeping through (although I notice I still look like I've been hit by a truck so I guess I can't use the "I just flew in from California and haven't had any sleep" excuse).

The final piece of the journey-from Craiova to Obedin by van. 1:30 am but we weren't staggering and stumbling because (yes, I'm going to beat the horse good and dead) we were able to sleep on the flight.

Sleeping on the plane didn't mean we weren't still tired at the end of the trip but what could be better than coming home to your comfy bed, complete with the inexplicable addition of a US Air Force pillow. 

(Why?? The eternal question when it comes to decor at Casa Ionescu)

So that was my way of reintroduction this time around: uninspired photos and bragging about being able to sleep on the plane. 

Long-time readers of this blog know this is just how I roll, but newer readers should be aware it doesn't always get any better than this. 

You've been duly warned.