Popping over to Charleston for the weekend

[Skyring]

Sparkling over the South China Sea

6 October 2008
Singapore to Hong Kong
CX710 Airbus A330 B-HLE
Seat: 14K (assigned), 15A (actual)
Scheduled: 0805
Boarding: 0740 (D47)
Pushback: 0803
Takeoff: 00820 (to the south)
Descent: 1114 (Hong Long time, as Singapore)
Landing: 1153
Gate: 1202 (2)

Neither of the joint Qantas/British Airways lounges were open at half past five. Maybe they’d open at six, maybe they wouldn’t. I decided not to wait to chance it and headed for Cathay Pacific’s Skyview lounge. The confusing signs led me upstairs to a fast food precinct, which I explored thoroughly and unsatisfactorily before heading downstairs again, wrestling with the airport maps, and finally finding the lounge.

Skyview, eh? The view was more tarmac than sky, cold and grey in the predawn, but a rooftop garden and swimming pool visible through the windows promised delights for daytime transients. Breakfast, coffee and internet soothed me, though a rather cold email from my wife gave me a bit of concern.

Boarding time arrived with the sunrise, and I hurried down the long halls of Singapore airport.

My assigned seat was on the starboard side of the aircraft, and I considered several hours of looking into the morning sun. Once the cabin door closed, I asked the CSM if a switch to one of the vacant window seats on the port side was okay, and she paused for dramatic effect before smiling her agreement. She turned out to be a real sweetie, one of Cathay Pacific’s senior darlings. As the flight progressed, Christina stroked my bear, posed for a photograph, found me some Tim-Tams, and came to my seat for a long chat. I pulled out my iPhone and ran through the slideshow until I found a photograph of myself with my arms around a couple of FAs from last year’s trip.

“Gina,” I pointed out, “a total darling.”

“Ooh, I know her.”

This flight turned out to be delightful, ticking any number of boxes for pleasure. My new seat looked out on a clear morning view of calm blue sea, puffy white clouds here and there. It’s not often the ocean is still enough for cloud reflections, but this morning it was. I could see ships trailing milky wakes, and oil platforms in the shallow seas, each one with a tiny flame on top of a mast, and a personal cloud above. I spotted a coral atoll at one point, white sand beaches around an oval lagoon.

Breakfast was served: muffin, fruit and yogurt to begin, washed down with spiced tomato juice. “Braised e-fu noodles with chicken and spring onion, kailan and black mushrooms.” Chopsticks and chilli sauce.

I tucked the individually wrapped Tim Tams away and looked out the window as we came into Hong Kong. We were flying the same approach as yesterday, but this time I was on the good side of the plane and there was a glimpse through the clouds of the incredible skyscrapers surrounding the harbour.

Not leaving the airport this time, and I’m kind of regretting that I flew to Singapore to spend the night instead of finding a hotel in Kowloon, watching the evening light display and taking the next morning just enjoying one of the world’s great cities. But I had four nights with my wife here earlier this year and it was magic enough to tide me over for a while.

 

[Hvr]

Wow another inspiring TR, I too live vicariously through these write ups.

But only until 28 Oct when I head off on my own trip. What a standard to have to live up to.

Thanks for the inspiration.

 

[Skyring]

Singapore to Hong Kong. More pix

Cathay Pacific's Singapore Skyview lounge.

Is this what they mean by long hall flying?

J on the A330.

Breakfast starter.

More breakfast.

Finally, the main course.

 

[Skyring]

Singapore to Hong Kong, out the window

I bought a new camera in Singapore. My Canon Powershot A710 IS fits a pocket nicely, but is looking rather battered after bouncing around in a taxicab every shift. The 6x optical is OK, but nowhere near the quality of my big Canon S5 IS, with 12x, flip out screen and a lot of features. However, the bigger camera needs a carry case and four batteries, and isn't at all convenient inflight.

I saw a camera in Auckland that looked good. Came with a bunch of freebies as well. But I reasoned that I could find it cheaper in Hong Kong.

Hong Kong's main electronics duty free was closed, but Singapore had a display in the main court that caught my eye. The upshot was the Powershot SX110 IS. Pocket size, two AA batteries, 10x optical, nice big LCD. They chucked in a charger and a 2gig card to seal the deal. Came with a couple of chances at an airport gadget lottery. I scored a card reader and a USB recharger with a bunch of tips. Didn't work on my iPhone (and I've got a couple of cables for that anyway), but I was able to save my roomie in Charleston when he forgot his Nokia recharger.

Anyway, this flight I played with it and was cheered by the performance. Always nice to have a new toy.

I stick with Canon because I like their software and all their cameras have a family resemblance in the way they work. Know one, know 'em all.

Bored while boarding.

Shipping in Singapore - the region's foremost container port.

Oil platform and flame cloud.

An atoll. Wondering if it's anything famous.

An excellent example of the power of the camera. This boat, with the naked eye, was just a dot at the head of a long wake. With the optical zoom and nine megapixels, and a steady hand, this is the result.

On final approach, I grabbed this junk.

 

[drron]

A beautifully written TR, Skyring. Looking forward to more.

Thats because he only needs the feet shots and it would be just like yours keith.Ah well one of these days I will conquer technology and see if I can step up in class.
Skyring outside the museum National des artes in Barcelona I saw a book sitting on the fence all by itself.It was on Aircraft Maintenance and I immediately thought of this thread.Had I stumbled upon a book crossing?

 

[Skyring]

Thats because he only needs the feet shots and it would be just like yours keith.Ah well one of these days I will conquer technology and see if I can step up in class.
Skyring outside the museum National des artes in Barcelona I saw a book sitting on the fence all by itself.It was on Aircraft Maintenance and I immediately thought of this thread.Had I stumbled upon a book crossing?

Quite possibly. I just looked up BookCrossing.com to see if I could spot it in the "go hunting" function, but my Spanish isn't that great.

The key indicator is a label or a sticker somewhere on or in the book (usually inside the front cover) that has a little "running book" symbol. There'll also be a number like 123-4567890 and usually a paragraph of explanation.

For me, I'm never short of free reading material, but weight is a factor, and it's not really about the books it's about the BookCrossers. Well-read, generous, quirky and mostly female. I've found good friends around the world and often a place to stay and a city guide. I've had some wonderful times at BookCrossing conventions - just a lot of fun to be silly together.

And I've now got a licence to hug beautiful women.

 

[Alanslegal]

Very entertaining read.

A great write up Skyring and looking forward to more installments

 

[Skyring]

Gina on Cathay Pacific

Here's Gina (mentioned above) from last year's trip. Cathay Pacific has a tonne of women like this who know how to keep the passengers happy.

 

[markh]

Very entertaining read ! Thanks Skyring !

 

[Keith009]

Thats because he only needs the feet shots and it would be just like yours keith.

I'm admiring his masterful literary abilities. Certainly adds lots of colour.

 

[Skyring]

Dark flying

6 October 2008
Hong Kong to Heathrow
CX253 A340-300 B-HXQ
Seat: 16K
Scheduled: 1435
Boarding: 1400 (Gate 24)
Pushback: 1436
Takeoff: 1450 (to the south)
Descent: 2050 (London time)
Landing: 2120
Gate: 2130

There’s excitement enough just exploring the terminal in Hong Kong, but this time I’m aiming to relax in one of the world’s great airline lounges. I’ve got a couple of hours in transit and I want to spend as much of that time as possible in Cathay Pacific’s elegant “The Wing”.

Feng-shuied to perfection, this is one of two exquisite lounges operated by Cathay Pacific in their Hong Kong home. The other is “The Pier”, situated further out on one of the distant arms of this vast terminal.

These two lounges are perfect havens for travelers. Both have dedicated First areas where the standards are higher still.

I selected The Wing because it was situated only a few gates from my arrival point. First I had to go through the transfer process, which involves security, metal detector and a health check performed by a remote sensor aimed at my forehead. Go through here with a temperature, and they’ll pull you aside quicker than you can say “SARS”.

There’s some construction going on inside the terminal, and once I reached airside again, I had some difficulty finding the lounge. The first entrance I came to was the First entrance, and I didn’t bother leaving the premium area until my flight was due.

Mostly I was interested in the internet. Uploading my trip report, selecting photographs, catching up with emails. I was determined not to let myself get behind. A goal, an ambition, a worthy target, I tell myself, as I write these words sipping café au lait at Caffissimo, sighing over the waitstaff in their figure-hugging tops.

I had intended to go wandering with a camera to get photographs of this superb lounge, but on checking my emails, I latch onto one from my wife, who has been clearing out my office and found a gold watch. The fact that she’s found my old watch (I hid it away for security in a safe place during one holiday, and forgot where the safe place was) tells me that she’s gone and done it, not just scaring me.

Admittedly my office was full of space and so dreadfully untidy that I’d pretty well given up on actually using it, but amongst the rubble were a lot of my treasures. Important docs like birth certificate, kids’ school drawings, kids’ teeth in Ziplocs, old diaries. Computers with stuff on them I don’t want to lose, CD-Roms ditto, adaptors and dongles for computers. Aircraft models, documents and boarding passes and souvenirs from previous trips. Travel journals. Tax records that I really can’t afford to lose. Personal papers. Books from my bookselling days that are worth hundreds of dollars, but don’t look like much to the untrained eye. Envelopes that have the addresses of friends on. Old university regiment newsletters promised to regimental association for history reasons. A whole filing cabinet with my life in it.

A lot of stuff that I really really don’t want to lose. Sure and there’s even more old papers and rubbish that I should have chucked away ages ago, but I never really got around to finding the time to divide up what needed to be kept and what needed to go.

My wife says she’s saved stuff that she thinks is important, but the chance of her idea of what is important exactly correlating to mine is zero. I contemplate some of the things that have probably been tossed out and life loses a lot of its savour.

Yeah, she’d warned me that if I didn’t clean up she’d toss it, but I thought I had a promise, given that I’d made a mammoth effort and tidied away half the room.

Still, this doesn’t help me much. What a disaster.

I glumly reject all offers of assistance and champagne from the attendants. I refrain from enjoying a meal. I’m in the Wing Flounge and I’m seriously contemplating suicide. This is not good.

Somehow I survive until flight time. I’ve left it a bit late and I’m walking briskly to my gate, which is about halfway along the middle stretch. I usually avoid the travelators, preferring to get some exercise by walking briskly along beside the lazy people, but this time I’m walking briskly along the travelator.

Mind you, I find a skerrick of time to hunt up a window to get a shot of the plane.

There are still passengers boarding, but not many. There’s a whole A340 already loaded and I’m one of the last. Thank heaven I make this flight. If I miss it they might find me later on back in The Wing drinking myself into oblivion.

Once I’m seated, I find that there are flight attendants wandering around looking at passengers as if they might be thirsty.

“Ahhh, that’s the good stuff!” I quipped as I spotted the Billecart-Salmon. She poured a glass, and amazingly there was time before takeoff for another. I’m learning decadent habits from fellow frequent flyers.

Did I mention that the A340 is my favorite airliner? Well, it is. With pretty young women pouring champagne into me, my mood improves immensely. There’s a long taxi around the terminal to the takeoff runway on the left, and I grab a few shots of the skyline of Lantau Island before we swing around for takeoff.

I remember my first time into Hong Kong. It was dark when we arrived and as the light came in I looked out and wondered at the mountains emerging from the haze. Then I realized the cliffs were actually apartment towers, and there were looming mountains beyond.

The flightpath program begins. There’s a long, long flight ahead!

Takeoff and the meal service begins. But first there’s a drink with a small bowl of marinated olives.

“You’re the only one drinking champagne, so you must promise to finish the bottle. Don’t worry, we’ll order you a wheelchair when we arrive in London.”

This sounds like a deal.

I’ve got an empty seat beside me, and I buckle Ringbear in. Later on I get up for a photograph with the cabin crew, breaking in on their own dinner for my inane request, to which they respond with smiles.

 

[Skyring]

Dark flight 2

Cathay Pacific’s meal service is impeccable, as ever, helped along by a fizz of bubbly. Sometime into the meal, the champagne swings around again and I look at the level in the bottle of Billecart. Either someone else has joined me in drinking the good stuff, or I’m doing very well indeed.

Smoked salmon with salmon roe and crème fraiche

Shainghainese braised pork balls and pak choy, steamed jasmine rice with vegetables. Somehow I’ve neglected to take a photo of this delish dish. Blame it on the bubbles.

Dessert: fruit and cheeses.

By this time I was well and truly tired. I cranked the seat back and zonked out. There were snacks served and the delicious aromas woke me some time later, but I laid back and laid off. I even decided against more champagne. I had to get back with my luggage, find my ticket for the bus to Gatwick, make the transit, and check into my capsule hotel.

Siberia, as usual, was a spread of scattered villages and odd installations. I saw one or two things which looked, from ten kilometres up, like long trenches full of fire. Maybe they were. Who knows?

St Petersburg eventually slid in under us, gorgeous in gold, streetlights picking out grand avenues. Dark patches that were the lakes and gulfs, and I remembered the starvation of the long siege in WW2, trucks crossing the frozen Lake Ladoga to keep the people barely alive.

Copenhagen after a long trip down the gulf to the Baltic. A happier city and one day I’ve got to parachute out to see that little mermaid.

Pause to check out the facilities. They do themselves well in this department.

Dinner came quite late in the flight, and this time I opted for spicy tomato juice.

Fresh seasonal fruit

Braised beef shank with dried straw mushrooms in oyster sauce, steamed jasmine rice and Chinese mixed vegetables. Again, no photograph. The FA was pushing the pasta pretty heavily, but there was no choice on this one. The shank is the best part of the beast. They had to go warm up more shanks for other passengers, but I cared not. Well, not much.

Cambozola, Double Gloucester, Somerset Brie. That first sounded fascinating, so I overcame my usual reluctance at consuming food which is basically dairy fat to give it a try. Not bad, but not as nice as I’d hoped. Cheeses like these should be served at room temperature, rather than sanitary and chilled straight from the fridge. I declined port or dessert wine, which would have been a fine accompaniment. I’m a taxidriver on the night shift, remember, and I’m not used to drinking much. A beer or two on the weekend, that’s me nowadays.

The flightpath program was dropping out, restarting and fizzling again. I wondered how the pilot would find his way, but maybe he had the copilot taking bearings on the stars.

We came in to London from the east, but swung away to make a circle, disorienting me. And then we were back on track, sliding down south of the Thames, the familiar landmarks popping up to thrill me afresh.

Heathrow is a mystery for me. Complex with remote terminals, aircraft and vehicles everywhere. Terminal Five came into view, a huge and ultramodern building.

I wondered about my luggage as we came into our gate and herded down to baggage reclaim. I went through immigration quickly with a premium purple pass, not that there was much competition this hour of the night. Still, they are very useful if a jumbo from Lagos has arrived just ahead of you and the staff are bringing out microscopes to check passports.

140 bags went by – I counted them out, none of them mine, and when the baggage man began pulling off the ones which hadn’t been claimed, I knew I was in trouble.

 

[Tortuga]

Oh no Lets hope your bag turns up. Great report, well written and great pictures.

 

[simongr]

Great TR so far - bad news re bags - I had that sinking feeling last year - I have had more fun.

 

[Keith009]

Re: Dark flying

Good to hear that the Billecart does appear on long hauls.

Yikes about your missing bag. Annoying when it happens. Even though travel insurance will provide cover it's still a hassle running out to get necessities rather than shopping for fun.

“You’re the only one drinking champagne, so you must promise to finish the bottle. Don’t worry, we’ll order you a wheelchair when we arrive in London.”

Nice, sounds like a few of my Qantas flights. How come I never get such FAs on Cathay?

I reckon the Fillipino FAs tend to be the best on Cathay; they seem more down to earth and chummy.

 

[QF WP]

I echo simongr's comments - can't wait to hear the saga of the bags :shock:.

 

[vitaminp]

Top TR! A fantastic writing style which is keeping me thoroughly engrossed! Keep up the excellent work!

 

[thegurio]

The suspense is killing me!


Please Skyring... Help us out of our misery!

 

[drron]

Yes indeed.what did she throw out?My greatest fear as well now that i work away from home-when working of course.

 

[Skyring]

Swallowing the capsule

6/7 October 2008
Heathrow to Gatwick

Well, there I was. The baggage carousel stopped, all the passengers had left, the baggage bloke was hauling off the final few bags for those still processing through immigration, and my luggage had not been involved in the process, despite me standing there from the first bag to the last, counting out one hundred and forty.

For some weird reason, there was a line of baggage services offices next to the carousels. The lady manning the Cathay Pacific booth took my details, entered the codes for my checked bags and announced that she had found them in Singapore.

She promised that they’d get them headed this way via Singapore Airlines ASAP, and where was I staying?

Ah. Gatwick capsule hotel for a night but by the time any Singapore flight could arrive, I’d be long gone for Dublin, where I was staying for two nights. Good, she said, we’ll forward them to Dublin. Luckily I had the name and address of the hotel with me – on my laptop. I had also printed out a copy of the booking email, but forgotten to put it in my little red travel wallet in Auckland two nights earlier.

“You can spend thirty British pounds on things like toiletries,” she said, giving me a folder with the details of the "Property Irregularity Report".

I travel with a small toiletry kit in my carryon, good for about a week, but I’d forgotten to put in clean undies and socks, and had no pyjamas or change of clothes. I’d now been wearing the same clothes for three days now, though at least I had the flight socks from the Cathay Pacific amenity kit.

Perhaps I should have hunted down the British Airways arrival lounge in Heathrow, but I was tired and keen to get over to Gatwick where my capsule bed awaited. Anticipating flight and other delays, I’d booked a ticket on the National Express transfer bus at 2330, but if I hustled, I could make the 2230 bus.

I hustled. Central bus station is a long way from Terminal 3, and when I got there, it took some detective work to find the departure platform, conveniently located as far away as possible. Cold, grey, late at night, this was the last location I wanted to spend an hour waiting for a bus. I hustled along briskly and accosted the driver checking his watch.

Problem here was that I didn’t have my booking email printed out, and I wasn’t booked on this trip anyway. The email had indicated that bookings were transferable, but would I be allowed on at all without a ticket?

I explained that my luggage was in Singapore with my printed ticket, and did the driver have a list of passengers?

The driver did, but my name wasn’t on it. He had a list of booking numbers, and I pulled out the laptop and brought up my booking details. Sure enough my booking number was similar to the ones on the sheet, and the driver looked at the email and allowed me on, noting that if he had more passengers than seats when we stopped at Heathrow Terminal Five, I’d have to get off and wait for the next bus.

“Now, let’s get your luggage stowed away.”

“Um, it’s in Singapore.”

“Yeah, that’s right, everything’s in Singapore, innit? Hop on and we’ll be off.”

I pulled my weary body and carry on bags aboard, staring out of the window into my grey thoughts as the passengers around compared sunny notes on recent holidays in Malta and Morocco and Bermuda.

I thought of something chilling and retrieved my itinerary to check. Ooops. I’d told the baggage folk that I’d be in Dublin for two nights, but in reality I was only there for one before flying off to Washington via Chicago. My luggage would probably be delivered to my Dublin hotel about the same time I was over the Atlantic.

Terminal Five loomed up like a space port landed in Heathrow. Luckily only a handful of passengers were waiting, and I kept my seat.

That was the high point in the trip. Maybe the highway between Heathrow and Gatwick is a pleasant prospect on a sunny day, but approaching midnight, with occasional rain and continual roadworks, it was about as dreary a road as you could ask for.

Tired, alone, luggage on the other side of the world, my wife busy throwing out my cherished possessions, I wasn’t sure whether life was worth the struggle, and gazing out at the dismal M25, I sank to a personal low.

I remembered an incident in Canberra some years back when two decapitated bodies had been found in a car in a remote park. The news item had stated that police reported no suspicious circumstances. The next day, under pressure, more details were released.

It was a double suicide. A long rope had been tied between two trees, passed through the front windows of the car, looped around both necks, and then the driver hit the gas.

Inventive, effective, but probably painful. I’m not a big fan of pain. I had a friend some years back who lost his job, lived on his savings and accumulated leave until that ran out, and then ended his life after having some mates around to play computer games, by going down to the enclosed garage, sitting in his car with his favorite music playing, the engine running and the door closed. That’d be the way to go, but as I had been one of the unsuspecting mates called around to play computer games, I felt the pain exquisitely, wondering for years after if there was anything that I could have done.

I wouldn’t inflict anything like that on my family and friends.

Still, I was feeling about as bleak as I could be. And would this bloody awful motorway never end?

Eventually there were signs for Gatwick, and we pulled into the south terminal. The driver got out and helped people unload their bags. I stared glumly on for a moment, wishing that he’d pull out my bright yellow bags with a cheeky smile, and then turned away.

The terminal was buzzing, but I had no interest in anything other than getting horizontal as soon as possible.

Signs pointed the way to Yotel. There’s a lift beside the Costa coffee shop, and when you go down and get out, there’s the entrance. Two computer terminals that, in theory, allow you to check in unaided. The screen messages are a little puzzling, and I wasn’t the only late-night traveller needing assistance from the Eastern European chap manning the counter.

Eventually we worked it out. The terminal dispensed a keycard and a receipt and I was in.

Reception was called “The Galley” and apart from assistance, dispensed coffee and snacks.

One great idea: a "Recharge Bar" where the traveller in need of juice could recharge phones, laptops, ipods, vibrators...

Corridors were lit in a weird ultra-violet purple, as was my room when I peered in through the door window. Hmmm, could be an interesting night.

Yotel isn’t exactly a capsule hotel in the Japanese coffin mould. The bed space is about the same, much like sleeping under the kitchen table, but there’s also a miniscule ensuite on the other side of a tiny sliver of floor. All told, the room is about as big as a typical bathroom, but crammed with features. Toilet, shower, basin, backed by a huge mirror, giving a feeling of added light and space. There’s a luggage rack above a fold out desk which is just the right size for a laptop, a folding chair, a television at the foot of the bed which doubles as an internet terminal and an alarm clock.

It's bloody hard to assemble photographs to give any sort of idea as to the way the space is laid out. I've uploaded a video to YouTube. You can see the camera tilt as I wedge myself through the ensuite door.

Storage spaces here and there, but for the moment I’m rather glad that my luggage didn’t make it with me. It would take up all the floor room, and maybe a bit more.

Overall, I’m really impressed. There is some clever design work here. Once I fiddle with the lights to get rid of that disturbing purple and pull down the blind over the door window, I’m feeling very much at home. The lights and mirrors make the space seem bigger than it is. Maybe it’s just a single bed, but it feels bigger. Two close friends could spend a comfortable time in here. And have a shower afterwards.

Big fluffy white towel to that end. I actually had two showers in here, once when I arrived feeling very low, and another just before checking out, because the first one felt so good. There are no little cakes of soap and sachets of shampoo here. Just a liquid soap squirter beside the shower nozzle. Be advised that the ensuite is long and skinny and you can stand (or sit) anywhere and touch both walls with your elbows, if not your shoulders.

The television at the foot of the bed probably deserves a review all to itself. It’s up high enough that you don’t have to wiggle your feet out of the way, it’s a decent size and crystal sharp, the remote control is well organized and the channels are clearly identified on the screen – you don’t have to refer to a handbook to find out where CNN is lurking – and it’s got a stack of features that are easily used. You can set an alarm call, pay for a salacious movie, listen to a jukebox full of 5 000 CDs, order up refreshments from the galley, browse the internet using the clever wireless mini-keyboard, and probably do a lot of other stuff besides.

I was too tired to investigate much. There was a news show that was delving into the US presidential election in more detail than I really cared for – actually, the only detail I want is to find out who won; all the preliminaries have not only failed to hold my interest, they have long gone taken it away, placed it in an appropriate container and pressed the lever. I pressed the “off” button.

I slept indecently well, despite (or possibly because of) my lack of pyjamas, presumably flying from Singapore on an Airbus A380. There was someone crawled into the top bunk in the room next door (all the single rooms have just one bed, but they interlock, so you if your room has a lower bed, the one next door has an upper bed) but he or she was no more than a few muffled noises.

I awoke refreshed before the alarm, hooked up to the free wifi to find no news on either the scorched-earth-at-home or the missing luggage front, had a shower, packed up and was gone. Stepped out of the lift and was right there in the terminal. No taxi, no checkin, no hassle.

Eight hours cost me fifty-nine UK pounds for my standard room. Bunk rooms and doubles, each with increasingly more room, are available for higher prices, but honestly, the standard room is fine for one person, two at a friendly pinch.

This is the airport transit hotel concept done right. As someone with a few hours between flights, the traditional hotel room they gave me in Singapore was too much. Yotel’s carefully designed space was exactly right. More like a first class suite on a modern airliner than a hotel room.