Oh, Shut Up. Emirates. Damn.

Oct. 5

I’m in full snort-mode. The Emirates first class is a sort of ARE YOU KIDDING ME example of truly wretched excess.

But first--LOOK at the size of the airplane. I mean--even a female pilot would suddenly be swamped with testosterone. Jeezum. That is one manly, snorting airplane.

I was mistaken that I was in a cabin with a door that closes; there is no roof in this room. Passing beautiful flight attendants could peer over the walls to stare at me (as, I suppose, could any passing passenger), but everyone here is so damned pleasant that it’s hard to imagine they WOULD. Unless to replenish something…

I’m going to write out the full deets (at the risk of annoying you) because HONESTLY.

Welcome aboard, how are you, oh, first class—my colleague will show you to your seat. (None of this “find your own seat—can you count—the numbers are right there.”)

 My space is…I’m guessing six or more feet long. My chair is what you’d expect. Roomy, leather, a discrete and expensive grey in color. I have chair controls at my fingertips—plus I can control the seat from the iPad at my OTHER fingertips, so there are a lot of fingertips going on here. One of the buttons closes my door.

I have now closed my door. The draft that was mildly annoying me is no longer blowing on me. Giggles. And the door is sueded. Should my fingertips want something new to touch beside the leather, there we go.

On the other side of the door is a low pocket with magazines and the safety card—plus a very fancy hard-sided case for the beautiful headset. Because of course.

In front of me is a table. Above it is a spotlight lamp. Below that a vase with fresh purple orchids. In the drawer is a moleskin notebook and a pen for me to take with me, which I will. On the table is – right to left—a basket filled with goodies I’m not going to eat, but since you’re getting the full and merciless details, here’s what’s in the basket (because you know I’m relishing the details):

·      A packet of “Smints”—sugar-free mints. (Sugar free. Absolutely guaranteed to give you the D if you make a fool of yourself and eat them all. You’ll be running for the potty, which I haven’t seen yet. Sorbitol. You can’t fool me AGAIN.

·      “Bennet’s snacks original M&Ms” in a small glass jar. How can they be original—are they made by the Mars corporation? Unclear, but they’re packaged in the UAE (United Arab Emirates if you’ve forgotten your geography), so maybe Mars has a lease with Bennet, whoever he is, overseas.

·      Bennet’s snacks Indian Masala Mix, which has a bright red color that is like nature’s warning sign. TOO SPICY FOR YOU, PRUDENCE.

·      Lakrids by Bülow strawberries and cream, which from the glass jar appear to be chocolate-covered treats and I’d risk an umlaut for that if I wasn’t determined to avoid sugar and salt on this journey.

·      Lindt 85% chocolate bar. Nope. You look innocent, but I now have (mild and stable) kidney disease, so you are not fooling me.

·      Brookfarm explorer brothers blend of nuts, dried fruit, and delicious coconut. Not just coconut, but DELICIOUS coconut. This is an important distinction, as I am not a coconut fan and they’re perhaps attempting to woo me away from my stern, Puritanical nutrition morals. Might nosh on that later; 9g of sugar and only 57 of salt, so maybe in a weak moment.

·      Hunter’s gourmet mixed vegetable chips. Maybe.

·      Phizz 3-in-1 formula in orange; apparently I put this in water to get my hydration, electrolytes and vitamins and this is a STRONG WIN. My nutritionist Chip told me to pick up something like this and I just didn’t have the time. WIN! That’s going in my backpack.

·      Oh, and a card with the “Movie Snacks” menu; they want me to know I can order salted popcorn, edamame, a lobster roll, beef sliders, or plantain chips with red pepper dip if I want to munch while watching that Stunt Man movie.

That’s the basket on the table. Shall I keep going?

Yeah—try and stop me.

Next: eyemask.

Next: Pop-up lighted make-up mirror with toiletries in a tray. Facial toner. Eye cream. Towelette. Pillow mist. Sleep oil. You may wonder what sleep oil is, and who can blame you? I bet it smells of lavender—like the pillow mist. You might ask yourself how you could have survived for as long as you have without pillow mist or sleep oil, and I say too right. Of course you wonder that.

And a lamp.

Then there’s the Bulgari bag.

I don’t think it’s actually leather; it’s probably a very fancy form of textured vinyl. It, too, is a screamingly discrete shade of grey, with a good, stiff zipper.  What’s in here, you may ask? Shut up. I’ll tell you:

·      Perfume. At least, I think it’s perfume; I’m unwilling to open it and sniff while in such an enclosed environment—but it has a opalescent stone set in its lid, and shut up. How cool is that?

·      Two little jars—one of hand cream, one of face cream. Again, not sniffing something potentially leaky just one hour into a 32-hour day.

·      A small, elegant packet of tissues. You didn’t think tissues could be elegant, did you? You’re wrong.

·      A hair elastic. Thank you!

·      A folding travel brush that is so beautifully engineered that I am in love.

·      A dental kit, which I’m assuming is a toothbrush and toothpaste (both probably in sophisticated black) but I suppose there could be a small dentist in there ready to scrape the tartar off my life.

·      A cleansing towel. A “cleansing” towel is so much more appealing because of the S in “cleansing.” A cleaning towel is the rag the maid uses to wipe down the counters; a cleansing towel is what billionaires’ trophy wives use to remove the brutally-expensive make-up from the skin that regularly has a chemical peel. THIS IS THE POWER OF A SINGLE LETTER.

·      Ear plugs.

·      “Rexona,” which appears to be a deodorant. It’s the only thing in the bag that isn’t branded as a Bulgari product; the only thing that isn’t black and gold. Damn. That must be REALLY good deodorant.

·      The true prize is a leather-like envelope, perfectly square, showing an intriguing bronze edge to what it holds—which is a flat shiny disk, heavy and delicious to the fingers and embossed with the Bulgari logo. Oh. Hey. On the other side—a perfect mirror. I LOVE THIS. I shall save this in particular and use it to signal passing planes when stranded on a tropical island. Which, come to think of it, is exactly where I’m going. So I’ll keep this luxurious, sybaritic little beast with me at all times!

Also, Meriam liked that i admired all the goodies; She voluntairily coughed up the male version of the Bulgari pouch which I ALSO stuffed into my overstuffed backpack. It's filled with most of the same stuff but in a more manly version. I want it ALL.

So that’s the table—except for the huge TV screen that forms my front wall. That’s a touch screen, too, not that I could reach it without coming most of the way out of my seat.

To my side, under my three porthole windows, is the console. There’s a long, skinny storage area against the bulkhead. I could probably put my laptop in there.

Then there’s a bar, which will pop up out of the console at the push of a button. It’s lit from underneath and covered in mirrors so everything looks like it’s in an elegant bar. My bar holds two bottle of Perrier, two bottles of Evian, a glass, a jar of white chocolate dates (damn—ew) and a jar of wasabi peas. Bennet’s snacks again. He gets around.

The next button in the console pops up the enormous dining room table. (My lunch/dinner is being served now; the table is extremely generous in size!)

Then there’s the iPad that controls my entertainment system. Below that on the console are discrete buttons. What do they do? WELL. The first one lowers the shades on all three of my windows. The next one lowers only the first shade, then there’s the one for the middle window, and the one for the far window. This is, I assume, should I need to block out the sight of a gremlin on the wing without interfering with my view of the stratosphere.

Then there’s the Get Me A Human Posthaste Lest I Become Irked button, which would summon beautiful Meriam, if she wasn’t already at my elbow every time I think I might want something.

There are other buttons. I don’t know what they do. She told me but I forgot.

And behind my elbow, a pillow, Plus all the bedding I’m going to use when I lay this chair flat and go to sleep, which I’ll do as soon as I calm the fuck down.

Oh, and finish this EPIC fucking meal I apparently ordered.

But before the meal, I went to let out some of this water I’ve been drinking, and had to howl with laughter at the bathroom.

It’s bigger than my bathroom at home, and far more beautiful. The potty is hidden below a wooden bench so the entire space looks like a Norwegian spa—all blonde wood and white products. The shower is full-sized, and there are hooks and hangers to put your clothes on while you gratefully wash off the stench of the hoi polloi. Next time I go I’ll bring my phone. Who would have thought I’d want to take a video of an airplane bathroom?

Chip and I were discussing exercises to avoid deep vein thromboses. He advised I try to find the biggest bathroom on the plane to do some roll-downs in. He’s a former ballet dancer so HE could roll down to the floor in an airplane bathroom. But I treated him to my gusts of amusement. The “Yeah-right” response.

Well, you could do a whole sun salutation in this bathroom. It’s MAGNIFICENT. All I can do is applaud in silent admiration.

Then I ordered a meal. Feeling puckish from denying myself treats at every turn, I requested the traditional mezze (listed as an appetizer) and then a low-sodium chicken. Miriam already knew I’d ordered low sodium; she was all over it. She pulled out my enormous dining room table (no sense calling THIS a “tray table”) and spread it with a tablecloth. She put down a bowl bristling with various kinds of fresh breds, a tray with salt, pepper, and a huge pat of butter plus a little dish in case I wanted to dip my break into the provided oil and vinegar in stunning little bottles which I think might fit nicely into my Bulgari tote.

I had the amuse bouche, which was a little scoop of some phenomenal tapenade of duck (wasn’t really a tapenade, fo course; not made of olives—but it was a tapenade-ish texture) on a bed of mint pea puree that was insanely good. Little segments of fresh orange arranged on the tiny dish like jewels embossed on a treasure box. Fuckin’ A, Meriam. That rocks.

But also there was a snifter of some kind of melon, cubes of watermelon, and tiny little clouds of cream cheese and THAT WAS EVEN BETTER. God. I don’t even like watermelon.

Then the mezze arrived and I had to protest. All this AND chicken?? I needed SO many friends to join me to eat it all. There was…

Falafel

Kibbe

Pickeled veggies so strong I was glad I was in my own room so no one could see me make the Holy Shit face

Dolmas, although Meriam had another name for them. Dolmas with rice inside the grape leaves, not meat.

Hummus

Something made of walnuts and red peppers, which I usually hate but couldn’t get enough of.

Baba ganoosh, which I’m also not fond of but damn, that’s good.

Tabouli, really only edible if I dredged my pita through the glorious hummus and then used my fingers to pile tabouleh on the top and then GOBBLE

An entire salad

Sheesh. Magnificent. And Meriam has just brought me the low-sodium chicken on a bed of quinoa. She was worried that it looked a little dry so she’s brought me some oozy sauce. Not the real name of the sauce but I can’t remember how to spell it. That woman is a treasure.

Yep. That was entirely edible. Meriam has offered me desserts. Try the chocolate fondant. No—I’m being good. Just a bite? (Meriam would apparently bring me just a bite.) No, but thank you. So you don’t want the chocolate spread we bring after the meal? Maybe later?

She’s so sweet. She says they have fruit for me. Maybe after my nap? Of course—let me know when you’re ready and I’ll make up your bed. Oh, Meriam. Will you move into my house, please?

Damn. I was supposed to have wifi, but the membership program I joined wouldn’t take my membership number when I tried to apply it to my ticket yesterday…and they’re still not taking it now. Ah well. Have to be a gap in my posting. HOW will I survive?!

I have calmed down enough to attempt actual sleep. Bliss. Good night--or morning. Or mid-afternoon. I have no idea. The lights have been turned off in the cabin except for the "stars" twinkling in the ceiling. These guys do NOT miss a trick.

Addendum: I forgot to actually download my favorite "Calm" sleep story (delicious Jerome Flynn, AKA Brom of the Blackwater Game of Thrones) talking me to sleep...but I DID have him reading me a Shakespeare afternoon of a tale so I actually did sleep. Maybe two or three hours, plus a lot of lounging and eventually propping myself up and putting on the massive, heavy, excellent headphones to watch THE FALL GUY, which made me chuckle into the silence.

 I'm now in the business class lounge in the Dubai airport, waiting for my flight to Aukland. Amazingly, it will be an EVEN LONGER flight--some 15 hours, although Meriam said it would take 17... I'm walkig around often (and looking at all the food they want me to have that I'm ignoring--i had a great breakfast of fruit, yogurt, a cheese omlette, and THREE delicious rolls, which surely is indulgent enough) and doing my seated calf raises, butt squeezes, ankle circles, cat/cow for the spine, and roll-downs in that palatial bathroom. Going to go walk around this terminal for a while now. More later (obviously).