Archive for 1

Impressions

March 23, 2026

When I take pictures, I try to stay away from traditional plane porn (of the sort that dominates on Instagram). I like to think my shots — the better of them, at any rate — are a little more offbeat or impressionistic. Case in point, these three, which rate among my favorites.

Top and bottom: A psychedelic flood of blur and color, here’s the world as seen through an airplane window covered in de-icing fluid. Those red and white pinpoints in the first one are, believe it or not, the distant lights of New York City.

Center: Two Skies. The underside of a jetliner tail juxtaposed with an afternoon sky above Somerville, Massachusetts.

Related Story:
THE TEXTURES SERIES

Comments (4)

March 23, 2026 · Filed under 1

Souls On Board

March 10, 2026

Just before we push from the gate, a suite of weight-and-balance data is beamed to us. The message is delivered through a communications platform called ACARS. The info is then entered (some we type in manually, some of it uploads automatically) into the flight management system to help us compute our takeoff speeds, flap and trim settings, and whatnot.

The message includes a tally of the plane’s occupants, or “souls on board,” as we call it. This includes everyone: passengers, crew, and lap children. I normally jot this number down on my cheat-sheet. In the event of an emergency, controllers will ask for it to assist with fire and rescue planning.

The other night, departing for Paris, as the message unspooled from the ship’s printer, something caught my eye. The SOB total read 301. This was the first time in my career that I’d pilot a plane carrying three hundred or more people.

With every seat taken and a full complement of crew, our jet doesn’t quite hold that many. It was the lap kids, bless their boisterous hearts, that tipped us over the edge.

No shortage of pilots out there fly planes with room for well over three-hundred, or even four-hundred passengers (some of Emirates’ high-density A380s carry over six-hundred). What such a number means for them, if anything, I can’t say. But for me it felt important. Not for bragging rights, but as a personal point of pride. It was, in a way, a redemption.

My flying career, beleaguered and busted-up as it was at times, had been building to this moment. For decades it had been a struggle. Bankruptcies, furloughs, bounced paychecks. Crappy jobs with crappy airlines flying crappy planes. Now here I was, about to take a widebody jet across the ocean with three-hundred people on it (or souls, if you’d rather, making it sound more lofty).

Pilots measure their progress by different milestones. First solo (I barely remember), first upgrade to captain (it happened in 1991). This seemed, well, heavier.

It took a long damn time, but things had finally paid off. And there was the number that, to me, best quantified it: 301.

I was going to include a photo of the printout with the total circled… until I realized I’d lost it.

 

Related Stories:

ME AND MY RED SHARPIE
THE RIGHT SEAT

 
Photo by Alex Shuper, courtesy of Unsplash.

Comments (19)

March 10, 2026 · Filed under 1

Crossroads, Interrupted

March 2, 2026.

The sudden conflict with Iran has brought Persian Gulf air traffic to a halt. Emirates, Qatar Airways, and Etihad have seen greater than 90 percent of their flights curtailed, leaving hundreds of thousands of people stranded.

This is no small matter. The airports of Doha, Dubai, and Abu Dhabi comprise a massive global crossroads — the biggest transit region on earth — hosting 182 million passengers annually.

Traveling from the U.S. to Thailand a couple of months ago, I shot this 30-second video of the departure board at Dubai. It was just after midnight, with the screen showing dozens of early-morning Emirates departures to just about anywhere you could imagine.

Each time that I pass through Dubai it knocks my socks off. DXB is the world’s biggest and busiest international hub, and the lineup of Emirates jets is astonishing, with 50 or more A380s, and dozens of 777s, lined up side-by-side. There are flights to six continents and across every ocean. Throughout the long history of commercial aviation, nothing like this has existed.

The growth of Emirates and the other Gulf carriers (together they are sometimes referred to as the “ME3” or “G3”) has been controversial. Lavish government subsidies, many argue, have permitted these airlines to take a huge and unfair advantage over others. Is this true? Sure. But it’s also true these airlines’ hubs are in the perfect geographic position to connect world’s biggest population centers; the governments of the U.A.E and Qatar realized this and ran with it.

They built their mega-carriers from scratch, and have done well, believing that the commerce generated by air travel is something to be nurtured rather than hindered. You can call it government subsidizing. You also can call it an investment in an industry your economy and society benefit from.

Here in the U.S., it feels like we’ve given up on that concept. Our airports are undersized and dirty, security screening has gone off the rails, and consider the misery we put international connecting passengers through. You ask if the complaint of government subsidies is valid. Yes, but it’s less a complaint against their governments than a complaint against ours. Once upon a time, America was commercial aviation’s global leader. That was then.

Of course, that geographic lucky card that has served the Gulf carriers so well has always been fraught with risk. This perfect connecting point is also a geopolitical powder keg, as we’re seeing right now.

How long the disruption might last is anyone’s guess. The ME3 have plenty of resources to weather the storm, but it’ll be interesting to see airlines from other parts of the world might benefit. Someone has to pick up all the traffic that was flowing through the Gulf.

That so many flights to so many places, carrying so many people, exist in the first place is impressive enough. Equally remarkable is how quickly this movement can be brought to a halt.

Cancellation stats for March 2nd.   Source: Cirium.

 

Photos and video by the author.

Comments (9)

March 2, 2026 · Filed under 1

What’s the Big Obsession With Doors?

February 3, 2026

Flying from Bangkok to Hong Kong the other day, I had the pleasure of sampling one of Cathay Pacific’s new “Aria” suites on the Boeing 777-300. This is Cathay’s swanky new business class product, currently available on a limited number of routes. A shame it was only a two-hour flight.

The food and wine were excellent — the service expedited for such a short ride. Find me a two-hour flight in the U.S. with a meal like the one below.

The “hard product,” to borrow industry parlance for the suite itself, was comfy and spacious. The layout is the common 1-2-1 herringbone, each seat with an oversized tray table and 24-inch video screen. (And I love the way Cathay’s headsets, while not bluetooth, are pre-plugged, with the attachment point hidden neatly away in a small amenities closet.)

What impressed me most, though, was the level of privacy. If you’re in the center section, as I was, a moveable panel closes you off from your neighbor, while on the aisle side your upper body sits deep within the sculpted shoulder wing.

It wasn’t until halfway through the flight that I realized there also was a sliding door. And I had to wonder, why bother? There was more than ample privacy as it was. With the seat in the bed position, there was barely two feet of open space, roughly at the position of your knees or mid-thigh. From Cathay’s point of view, is installing doors really worth the extra weight and mechanical complexity?

Looks like they’ve been bullied into it. For better or worse, doors are the industry standard these days. Indeed, airlines have gone sliding-door crazy. It’s become an arms race of sorts, and your first or biz class seat can’t be considered world class unless it comes with one, no matter how needless the amenity might be.

In some cases it makes sense. The geometry of a suite can be such that the lack of a door leaves you feeling exposed. The photo above, for example, shows the inside of an Emirates first class suite with its doors closed to the aisle (there are two that slide together). Without them, there’d be too much openness, too much clatter from outside.

But many are cozy enough to begin with, and the presence of a door feels gratuitous — even a little silly. They’re simply not needed.

If you insist, consider the way Air France does it, with a floor-to-ceiling curtain ensconcing each first class occupant. This is a simpler, less expensive, and much more elegant concept than the clunkiness of a door. (A curtain needs to be hung, however, which presents a problem for most cabin designs.)

How to define and quantify comfort? I reckon there are smarter ways for airlines to invest. We’re talking now about “soft product” enhancements, like better food or more gracious service. The worst thing a carrier can do is become hyper-focused on material aspects while the rest of its product deteriorates. I’d rather have a more attentive crew, a better meal presentation, or a less chaotic boarding experience, than some flimsy door.

 

Photos by the Author.

Comments (9)

February 3, 2026 · Filed under 1

Happy Birthday to the (Second) Greatest Album of All Time

New Day Rising

 

IT WAS DECEMBER 30th, 1984, and Hüsker Dü were in from Minnesota again. They’d just wrapped up a show at a small auditorium in Concord, Massachusetts, and a small group of us were backstage talking to guitarist Bob Mould and drummer Grant Hart — the band’s co-vocalists and songwriters. A brand new album was due to hit the stores in only a week or two, and we all wanted to know: what was it going to sound like?

Zen Arcade had come out that past summer, and the indie rock world was still trying to absorb it. “Experimental” isn’t quite the right word, but Zen had played fast and loose with the boundaries of what punk rock, for lack of a better term, was supposed to sound like, bringing in acoustic guitar, piano, and a range of psychedelic effects. The upcoming project, it stood to reason, would take things ever further, would it not? Somebody — maybe it was me — brought this up.

“No way!” laughed Hart.

“Not at all,” added Mould. “This album is more like Land Speed Record than Zen Arcade!”

Land Speed, from way back in 1981, was a thrashy collection of hardcore songs played at nearly supersonic speed. Mould was being tongue-in-cheek — the album wouldn’t sound anything like Land Speed — but just the same he was dropping a hint: this wouldn’t be a record for the squeamish.

It was called New Day Rising — a remarkable fifteen-song LP that would wake the country from its winter freeze in January of ’85. There is nothing subtle or subdued about this album. There are no touchy-feely instrumentals, no acoustic time-outs — enjoyable as those things were on Zen. Sure, the melodies and catchy choruses are there beneath it all, in typical Hüsker fashion, but New Day Rising is power from start to finish; forty fearless minutes of ferocious exuberance.

I’m not going to argue that Zen Arcade isn’t the better or more important album. It’s all the things the pundits have called it from the start: monumental, groundbreaking, a reevaluation of everything we thought punk rock could or should be. It’s a masterpiece. But almost too much of one, moody and broody at times, and a little too — what’s the way to put it? — serious. New Day is the brasher and looser album, with Mould and Hart clearing out the pipes, with nothing left to prove and absolutely hitting their strides. It is, if nothing else, the most supremely confident-sounding album of all time.

And it’s made all the more so through a daring, some might say controversial sound mix. There’s a very particular sound to this album — a treble-heavy mix that is like nothing before or since, in which every song is enveloped in a fuzzy, fizzing, needles-pegged curtain of sound. Many people — including the band members themselves, reportedly — have always rued this peculiar mix, but to me it’s the ideal vehicle for the group’s sound. Here is the “Hüsker buzz,” as I call it, naked and cranked to eleven. (What I wouldn’t give to hear some of the cuts from Zen Arcade or Flip Your Wig remixed like this.) The style is “hot” in soundboard lingo, but to me it has a crystalline, sub-zero quality: it sounds like ice. The songs are as melodically solid as any top-40 hits of the time, but all whipped up in a great Minnesota blizzard.

Greg Norton, Grant Hart, and Bob Mould, in 1984.
Photo by Naomi Petersen.

First time listeners will know exactly what I mean within the first ten seconds of the title cut. “New Day Rising,” the song, begins with a lead-in of anxious drumming — Hart pounding away, as if to say “Let’s this this fucking thing started!” — and then comes the crescendo, a guitar-blast washing over you in a huge squalling wave: equally furious and melodic; chaotic yet strangely orchestral. It’s a breathtaking opening and the perfect pace-setter for the rest of the record. (Robert “Addicted to Love” Palmer once found it a compelling enough song to cover.)

Next up Hart’s “Girl Who Lives on Heaven Hill.” There’s something sour and vaguely out of tune about this song that for years I could never get past. Until one day it hit me: it’s supposed to be like that. Hart takes the all the nicety and sing-songy pleasures of “It’s Not Funny Anymore” or “Pink Turns to Blue” — songs that are almost too easy to like — and twists and bends and sets fire to it. Then, between the second and third stanzas, Mould comes in with a guitar solo that tears the rest of it — along with your eardrums — to pieces. It’s a haunting, mesmerizing, and a little bit frightening three minutes.

The third cut is Mould’s “I Apologize.” This is arguably the best song he ever wrote, perhaps outclassed only by the “Eight Miles High” cover, or “Chartered Trips” from side one of Zen Arcade. Here is the song Green Day and its ilk only wish they could have made: poppy and powerful, but without the slightest hint of heavy metal pretension. And is it just me, or you can you almost hear Michael Stipe singing this one? The chorus is uncannily infectious in the style of old REM songs of the same era. It’s as if you took a song like “South Central Rain” and split every atom of it: all that sweet Georgia lilac exploded into a sort of nuclear ice storm. (Putting Hüsker Dü and REM in the same sentence might seem incongruous, but it’s not by accident that they once toured together.)  Listen to “I Apologize” here. Don’t skip the final fifteen seconds, and play it loud.

Further along is one of the great sleepers in the Hüsker Dü canon: Mould’s “Perfect Example.” This is the record’s only true “slow” moment — the band’s idea of a tearjerker. It closes out side one, sung by Mould in a kind of passive-aggressive whisper, with Hart (barefoot no doubt, as he always played) double-thumping the bass drum in perfect synchronicity to a human heartbeat. The song clashes to a close on the word “perfect.” Had the album ended right there, already it’d be a classic. Except that’s only the first side.

Although only two of the cuts are his, Grant Hart effectively owns side two. This is by virtue of “Terms of Psychic Warfare” and “Books About UFOs,” both of which are unforgettable. Listen to “Terms of Psychic Warfare” here, with its signature bass riff and beautifully cascading vocals.

The better one, though, is “Books About UFO.” Equal parts deafening, frenetic, melodic and catchy, the track is backed with piano. From any other band, in any other context, this effect would probably sound gimmicky. Not so here. Indeed, it’s almost as if this song were written for piano from the start. “For all the speed and clamor of their music,” the music journalist Michael Azerrad once wrote, “Hüsker Dü was perhaps the first post-hardcore band of its generation to write songs that could withstand the classic acid test of being played on acoustic guitar.” That’s an excellent point, but the heck with that, I want to hear Grant playing an all piano version of “Books About UFOs.”

“I’d also recorded a slide guitar on ‘Girl Who lives on Heaven Hill,'” Grant Hart remembers. “But when I showed up after that session, Spot [the album’s co-engineer] and Bob issued an ultimatum: either the piano goes from ‘UFOs’ or the guitar goes from ‘Heaven Hill.’ After stating my case, which was ‘what does one have to do with the other?’ I relented and said if one had to go, let it be the slide guitar.

Probably the right decision. “UFOs” is one of the most furiously pretty, and downright interesting songs you’ll ever hear.

Norton, Hart, and Mould.
Photo by Daniel Corrigan.

To the end, Hart, who passed away in 2016, held some strong resentment against the way Spot, who’d been sent to Minneapolis from Los Angeles by SST Records to oversee the project, handled his duties. Spot shared the engineering tasks with the band members and their longtime collaborator Steve Fjelstad, but as Hart once explained it, “SST decided that we were not to be the masters of our own destiny, and sent Spot to babysit/spy/sabotage our record. He did not give Steve Fjelstad the respect he deserved, treating him as an assistant.””Another thing I remember,” said Hart, “was not being allowed to make my own choices as far as re-doing vocals that I thought I could better. On ‘Heaven Hill’ you could hear the sound of some lumber, that had in been in the booth during remodeling, falling to the floor!”

Well, all of that aside, it’s tough to have too much issue with the finished product.

The album comes to an end with the charging, spiraling, sonic immolation of Bob Mould’s “Plans I Make.” Fasten your seatbelts for this one. It’s not the jammy, psychedelic marathon of “Reoccurring Dreams,” the 14-minute instrumental that closes Zen Arcade, but it’s a wringer, an earsplitter that, when it finally crunches to its conclusion, leaves the listener with no choice but to sit spellbound for a time.

If it seems like only yesterday that I was writing about the 30th anniversary of Zen Arcade, which had been released in June of 1984. It’s fascinating testament to Hüsker Dü’s talent and tireless work ethic that two such brilliant albums could have been released within a mere seven months of each other. And these were bookended, I should add, by two other highly impressive records — Metal Circus and Flip Your Wig, from October of ’83 and September of ’85 respectively. A spectacular four-record punch in a span of under two years.

And if forced to choose, I’d say New Day Rising sits the pinnacle of that run. This is Hüsker Dü at the very apex of its career, and one of the finest moments in the whole history of what used to be called underground rock.

Meanwhile, unless I’ve missed something, none of the big music magazines or websites gave New Day so much as a mention on its 20th, 15th, or 30th birthdays. For that matter, do younger music fans have any sense of what the 1980s truly were like? This was the richest and most innovative period in the whole history of independent music, but rarely is it acknowledged as such. As popular culture has it, serious rock music skipped the 80s entirely. When pundits do take the decade seriously, we tend to see the same names over and over. It’s both frustrating and unjustified that Hüsker Dü never developed the same posthumous cachet that others of their era did. Like the Replacements, for example, or Sonic Youth. Hüsker Dü could run circles around either of those two, but never became “cool” in quite the same way.

I suppose it’s due to a total absence of what you might call sex appeal? To say that Hüsker Dü never cultivated any sort of image, in the usual manner of rock bands, is putting it mildly. For one, they never looked the part. These were big, sweaty, chain-smoking guys who, it often seemed, hadn’t shaved or showered in a while. Norton, trimmest and most dapper of the threesome, wore a handlebar mustache many years before such things were trendy among hipsters. It wasn’t cool; it was odd. And not until their eighth and final album that the band include a photo of itself on an album cover (the scratched-out images on Zen Arcade notwithstanding).

This modesty, for lack of a better description, was for some of us a part of what made Hüsker Dü so special. But it has hurt them, I think, in the long run.

The idea that the Replacements (much as I loved their debut album, which I consider the best garage-rock record of all time, and which includes a shout-out called “Somethin’to Dü”) were in any way a better or more influential band than Hüsker Dü is too absurd to entertain. Meanwhile the beatification of Sonic Youth, maybe the most overrated outfit of the last forty years, goes on and on. Not long ago Kim Gordon got a profile in the New Yorker. I’m still waiting for one of the writers there to devote a story to Bob Mould.

Or better yet, to Grant Hart. Twenty-five years, more or less, that’s how long it took me, to realize that it was Grant, not Bob, who was the more indispensable songwriter and who leaves the richer legacy. In the old days it was trendy to claim that Grant was the real genius behind Hüsker Dü. You’d be at a party and some asshole would say, “Those guys would be nothing without that drummer.” I’d always scoff that off. The mechanics of the band, for one, made it difficult to accept: Grant was the drummer, after all, and drummers are never the stars. And there was Bob, right at the front of the stage with that iconic Flying-V. But those assholes were on to something.

That shouldn’t be an insult to Mould. Not any more than saying Lennon was a better songwriter than McCartney. Both were brilliant. But when I flip through the Hüsker canon, I can’t help giving Hart the edge. There’s a soulfulness to his songs sets them apart. They’re not necessarily “better” so much as they resonate in a different and deeper way. On New Day Rising, Mould gave us “I Apologize” and “Celebrated Summer.” But Hart gave us “Terms of Psychic Warfare” and “Books About UFOs.” On earlier records it was “It’s Not Funny Anymore,” “Diane,” “Pink Turns to Blue,” the list goes on. Hart’s “She’s a Woman (And Now He is a Man”) from the often intolerable Warehouse album is, to me, a classic sleeper and the most under-appreciated Hüsker song of them all.

His solo work, too, was at least as robust as that of Mould. Songs like “The Main” and “The Last Days of Pompeii” are as good or better than anything Mould has given us post-Hüsker. But while Mould went on to some notoriety and commercial success, Hart labored in comparative obscurity. This was always irritating and unfair.

But Grant, maybe, was all right with this. “I have always based my movements on those of fugitives or criminals,” he once said to me. “The less attention you attract, the freer you remain! I wish to be an artist, not a celebrity.”

 

Related Story:
Now and Zen. The Greatest Album of All Time Turns 40

Comments (4)

January 17, 2026 · Filed under 1

Haystack Revisited

January 5, 2026

The hunt is on again for Malaysia Airlines flight 370, the Boeing 777 that vanished somewhere in the Indian Ocean more than twelve years ago.

I don’t know where Vegas has the odds, but I wouldn’t expect the plane to be found. There’s just too much ocean, and not enough data telling the searchers where to focus. Whatever advanced technology is at their disposal, they’ll need to be very lucky. They’re looking for an object about two-hundred feet long, thousands of feet down in the dark, somewhere in an immense expanse of ocean.

One thing that might help them is that the jet is likely in one or two large pieces. Its profile should be distinct, even from far above. We know this because there was no debris field. It’s nearly certain that the plane didn’t crash. Rather, it was “landed” on the water, and subsequently sank, more or less intact.

A Boeing 777 in an out-of-control impact — or even a semi-controlled one — would have broken up and produced thousands of fragments: aircraft parts, human remains, luggage, and so on. Much of this debris would have sunk, but plenty would not have. Eventually, borne by currents, it would’ve washed up.

But it didn’t. And the small number of pieces that did wash ashore are consistent not with a crash, but with a controlled and deliberate ditching. The flaperon discovered in 2015 on Reunion Island, for example, and the trailing edge flap that washed up on Mauritius. These parts themselves are evidence enough; a thorough post-mortem on them reveals even more. The forensics are complicated, but they’re solid. Use your Google and check out the analysis by former Canadian crash investigator Larry Vance. These pieces tell a story.

Early on, I was open to a number of theories popular at the time: fire, fumes, depressurization, and so on. Accidents. I’ve come around since then. My opinion is based on the evidence, both as it exists and, more importantly, doesn’t exist. The absence of the myriad flotsam a full-on crash would have produced is to me the smoking gun. The only plausible explanation for a lack of debris is that the plane was purposely scuttled, presumably by the captain.

Which, to be honest, makes me wonder: why spend all this time and money? What do we learn by locating the wreckage? It all seems pretty clear.

I’ve been saying from the start that we should prepare for the possibility of it not being found. It happens this way sometimes. If it helps you feel better, the air crash annals contain numerous unsolved accidents.

What makes this one different, maybe, is how we’ve come to expect easy and fast solutions to pretty much everything these days, with a fetishized belief that technology can answer any question and fix any problem. Oh sure, radios, transponders, emergency locator transmitters, GPS, real-time position streaming, satellite tracking. But all of that is fallible, one way or another.

Sometimes nature wins. And that’s what this is about, ultimately: nature. The immensity of the ocean versus the comparative speck of a 777. It’s out there somewhere, in the ink-black darkness beneath thousands of feet of seawater. We’ll probably never find it.

 

Related Story:
THE RIDDLE MAY NOT BE DEEP

Photos courtesy of Unsplash.

People say the Malaysia Airlines logo looks like a tropical fish. In fact the design is inspired by the “wau,” a traditional Malaysian kite. Specifically it’s the “wau bulan,” or moon kite.

 

Comments (19)

January 4, 2026 · Filed under 1

Q&A With the Pilot, Volume 7

AN OLD-TIMEY QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS SESSION.

Eons ago, in 2002, a column called Ask the Pilot, hosted by yours truly, started running in the online magazine Salon, in which I fielded reader-submitted questions. It’s a good idea, I think, to touch back now and then on the format that got this venerable enterprise started. It’s Ask the Pilot classic, if you will.

Q: I was on a jet with five seats across: two on one side, three on the other. Does an asymmetrical configuration like this have any bearing on flight? What if all the seats on one side were full, and empty on the other side?

Lateral balance is wingtip to wingtip, not cabin wall to cabin wall. In other words, for purposes of this discussion, a 747 isn’t 20 feet wide, it’s 200 feet wide.

Imagine an airplane as a see-saw. The ends of the see-saw, where the kids are sitting, are the wingtips. The fulcrum, in the center, is the cabin. The leverage is coming from the distance between the wingtips and the fulcrum. Shifting weight from one or two inches left of the fulcrum, to one or two inches right of it, makes no measurable difference.

Longitudinal balance, front-to-back, is a bit more important, though still less than you’d think. Passengers will occasionally be asked to move forward, or rearward, depending on the situation, to help fine-tune the plane’s center of gravity. Cargo and fuel are usually part of this equation. Are you going to crash if people aren’t in the correct rows? Of course not, but technically the plane might be nearing its CG limits.

Passengers and their bags account for a surprisingly small portion of a plane’s overall weight. The jet I fly has a maximum takeoff weight of about 500,000 pounds. A full load of people and their bags weighs around 55,000 pounds, or a bit more than ten percent of the total. Where they’re sitting doesn’t make much difference.

Q: Coming in to land one day, we were just about on the pavement when suddenly we shot back up again. A few minutes later the pilot said, “The plane in front of us missed its turn-off and was still on the runway.” Which sounds terrifying… though I know from reading your site that sometimes pilots say things that sound scarier than they are.

True, and what you describe isn’t terribly uncommon.  Was it a “near miss”?  No. The go-around was initiated to prevent one. 

Runways at big airports usually have multiple turn-off points.  You take the one that is safest to take, based on your speed, regardless of which one the controllers want you to take. You might be planning for particular turn-off point, and/or ATC might ask you to minimize your time on the runway because of traffic following you, but it doesn’t always work out. You’re not going to force the turn and risk skidding or sliding or putting undue loads on the landing gear. If need be, you keep going and take the next exit.  If the plane behind you needs to go around, so be it.  

Q: As an international pilot, you obviously fly to many non-English speaking countries, which got me thinking about air traffic control protocols. Are communications with pilots conducted in English, or do American pilots have to be fluent in the native language of the places they fly to?

If so, I’d be fluent in about 20 languages. As it happens, English is the lingua franca of commercial aviation, and except perhaps for remote corners of China or Russia, all controllers and pilots are required to speak it.

But, depending on the country, they might also use their local language. In Brazil, for example, you’ll hear both English and Portuguese over the radio; controllers talk in English to foreign crews, but in Portuguese to local crews. France is another one. There are several.

I don’t like these multiple language airports because it’s harder to keep track of which planes are where. Pilots listen not only for their own instructions, but for those of other pilots as well. By creating a mental picture of what other aircraft are doing, they can orient themselves in the choreography of a crowded sky (or tarmac). This is more difficult when instructions and clearances are being given, and acknowledged, in a tongue you can’t understand.

Comments (7)

December 19, 2025 · Filed under 1

A Toast to Iran Air

September 8, 2025

It’s remarkable how often geopolitics and aviation intersect. I snapped the above photo a dozen or so years ago at the airport in Bangkok, Thailand. That’s an El Al 767 buddy-buddy with an Iran Air 747SP. At the time it drew a chuckle. Today it’s more of a gasp.

Was this by accident, do you think, or were the authorities at BKK pushing for a sort of tarmac detente?

It’s maybe hard to imagine, but in the days before the Iranian revolution, El Al flew scheduled services between Tel Aviv and Tehran. Iran Air, for its part, was a world-class airline with routes from New York to Tehran via London and Paris. Somewhere in a box at my father’s house is a picture of an Iran Air 747 that I took at Kennedy Airport in 1979, using an old Kodak Instamatic.

In some other reality, Iran Air’s hub at Tehran became a global aviation crossroads, akin to what happened in Dubai and Doha. But the regime had other plans, and today the carrier flies a skeleton fleet of around 20 jets.

Iranian aviation has been hemmed in under sanctions, and the difficulty of obtaining new aircraft has forced carriers to keep older models in service much longer than is customary. As of this year, four Airbus A300s remain on Iran Air’s roster — among only a handful in the world still carrying passengers. Iran Air was the final commercial operator the 747SP, the jet you see above. This was the short-bodied, extra long-range 747 variant developed in the 1970s. A different Iranian carrier, Saha Airlines, was the last to fly the 707.

This second photo I took at Amsterdam-Schiphol…

Man, Iran Air pilots have it tough. It must be claustrophobic in there.

Very funny. That’s not for the crew, of course. It’s for their luggage. Outside the United States, air crews embarking on multi-day assignments travel with large, hard-side suitcases, which they check in prior to flight. The bags are then loaded into designated containers like this one. Hauling a week’s worth of clothes around in a roll-aboard bag is mostly an American thing.

The picture gives you a good view of Iran Air’s peculiar logo. The insignia is inspired by the character of Homa, a kind of bird-horse-cow griffin, seen carved on the columns at the ancient Persian site of Persepolis. It was designed 1961 by a 22 year-old art student named Edward Zohrabian, and has been used ever since.

It’s an old-fashioned design for sure. It’s also vaguely fetal and creepy-looking. But here’s hoping they keep it around, if only for posterity. It’s just a matter of time, I worry, before this enduring mark is dustbinned for some stupid swooshy thing.

I once met an Iran Air crew in the terminal at Schiphol. They were gracious and polite, and gave me a pair of souvenir wings, which I still have…

 

Comments (5)

September 7, 2025 · Filed under 1

Welcome to “Hidden Airport”

Unexpected Pleasures at a Terminal Near You.

WITH SCATTERED EXCEPTIONS, airports don’t have a whole lot going for them. They’re noisy, dirty, poorly laid out, and just generally hostile to passengers. As my regular readers are well aware, I’ve made this point in numerous prior posts — perhaps too many times.

Now, so that I’m not always harping on the negative, here’s something different. “Hidden Airport” is a semi-regular feature highlighting little-known spots of unexpected pleasantness.

ALL PHOTOS BY THE AUTHOR

— SCHIPHOL UNDERGROUND

In the central departure hall in Amsterdam, there’s a cutaway in the floor laid over with glass. About fifteen feet long, it’s sort of like the sections of sidewalk you’ll find in certain cities, beneath which pedestrians can look down at ancient ruins. In this case, you’re looking down into a section of the airport’s luggage transfer system. As you walk along, you can see suitcases shuttling forth on the conveyors beneath you.

It’s nothing elaborate, and the no-slip stickers blot out too much of the view. But it’s the sort of quirky, flyer-friendly gesture Schiphol Airport is famous for, and it helps give the terminal some charm.

 

— RETRO BOS

I don’t know if this is permanent or not, but in baggage claim at Boston’s terminal A they’ve set up this vintage arcade with 1980s-era video games. Gen-Xers can relive their younger days with some Pac-Man and Donkey Kong.

 

— Vonnegut at KIND

I wrote about the KIND Gallery in Indianapolis once before (scroll down). It’s time for a revisit, now that they’ve got an installation honoring the city’s favorite literary son, Kurt Vonnegut.

It’s funny how this happened: I was walking along the concourse towards my gate, and I said to myself: They should have something about Vonnegut here at the airport. Twenty seconds later I saw the KIND Gallery and its new exhibit.

There are books, of course, a typewriter (the significance of which is unclear), photos, and some of the author’s sketches.

This is a big one for me. I had long-time infatuation with Vonnegut’s work, beginning in my teens and running into my early 20s. I think I’ve read everything he published. Just a few months ago I re-read “Jailbird,” my favorite of his novels.

 

— FROM IDLEWILD TO JFK

No sooner did I write about the 100th anniversary presentation at Boston-Logan (see below), when I came across a similar setup at JFK. “From Idlewild to JFK” is a collage of photos following the history of the airport we all love to hate.

Kennedy is a dysfunctional mess half the time, and most of its architectural highlights have been demolished, but it’s nonetheless the most historically significant airport in the nation, if not the world, and this exhibit hits the bullet points: Saarinen’s TWA’s terminal, the Worldport, Pan Am 707s, the Concorde.

The whole thing is a bit half-assed, frankly. The airport deserves more than just a temporary gateside exhibit with a wall’s worth of black-and-white photos, and much is ignored (how is there no mention of I.M Pei’s famous “Sundrome” terminal?).

But it’s better than nothing, and a welcome distraction in the otherwise boring terminal 4. It’s over near the A gates. Have a seat in one of the economy class chairs and relax for a few.

The runway graphics on the floor are cute, I guess. Except there’s no runway 23 at JFK.

 

— GREEN BAY GAME

I discovered this foosball setup near gate B2 at the pleasant little airport in Green Bay, Wisconsin.

I suppose it could get a little rowdy, but on the morning I was there a couple of kids were quietly knocking the ball back and forth.

Foosball is table soccer, which seems anathema in NFL-obsessed Green Bay (I was taking the Packers to Denver on a charter flight), but what the heck. It’s a welcoming, low-tech, old-school sort of distraction you don’t find much at airports anymore.

 

— HISTORICAL LOGAN

In terminal E at Boston’s Logan International, near the new security checkpoint, is an exhibit called “Logan 100,” commemorating the airport’s centennial. It’s a collaboration between Massport and the Boston Globe.

We Bostonians take a unusual civic pride in our little airport. More than a mere gateway, Logan is a part of the city. It’s a vibe you can feel as the seven LCD screens sequence through a century’s worth of archival photos, showcasing the people, planes, and events that helped shape Boston over the last century: VIP arrivals (The Beatles, Muhammad Ali), airlines that have come and gone (Northeast, Air New England), and the unforgettable headlines (the Blizzard of ’78, the arrival of Pope John Paul II in 1979).

What’s not here are Logan’s more infamous moments. The Delta and Eastern crashes, for example, or the World Airways incident in 1982. But that’s to be expected, I guess.

If you’re flying out, take a few minutes to stop by. You don’t need to be an airline nerd to appreciate the pictures.

Congrats to Massport and the Globe for having the good sense to come up with this. Now, if you’d please turn off those unbearable promotional PAs that blare in the connector walkway between A and E.

 

— BANGKOK GREEN

The new concourse at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi Airport has opened. A short train ride connects it to the main terminal. The gates are designated with “S,” for satellite.

In one of the more peculiar flourishes I’ve seen at an airport, several of the gateside waiting areas include a wide section laid with artificial grass. I’m not entirely sure what the intent is, but I like it.

Do with it what you will: sprawl out and relax; let your bratty kids run around. If you’ve got your clubs, maybe practice your swing. I laid down for a few minutes and stretched.

You don’t see a lot of green in airports, and the effect is strangely pleasant and refreshing — even if it’s fake. I think they should go one better and install some plants or small trees along the perimeter.

 

— MSPee BREAK

Yes, it’s a mosaic in the vestibule of an airport men’s room. Minneapolis-St. Paul, concourse F. The artist is Josie Lewis, who presumably is this person. (She may or may not have a similar installation in the nearby women’s bathroom. For obvious reasons I didn’t check. Maybe a reader can report back.)

It feels wasted, maybe, to have such a pretty work of art in such an easy-to-miss space, where the only people who see it are rushing to take a whiz. On the other hand, aesthetic non-sequitirs like this can be charming, popping up where you least expect them. It’s aviation-themed, too, if that’s not too much of a stretch.

 

— NORFOLK SPECIAL

This one isn’t so hidden. Indeed it’s the entire main terminal of the airport in Norfolk, Virginia.

I’ve always been fond of ORF, and was happy to find myself there on a layover recently, for the first time in at least a dozen years. We love the clean, almost Scandinavian-style architecture, the unencumbered spaciousness, the skylights. I was able to get two great photos; one evening and one daytime, from more or less the same vantage point.

U.S. airports can be dreadful. Sometimes it’s the smaller ones that set themselves apart. Norfolk is a great example.

 

— CHAIRLESS IN BOSTON

This one is an almost. It’s a squander.

Where we are is Boston, at the south end of the pedestrian bridge connecting terminals A, E, and the central garage, just at the top of the escalator. This tucked-away alcove, right at the end, is a sunny, quiet spot out of range of the loudspeakers, with great views of the tarmac and the skyline beyond. It’s a perfect little spot. Except, there’s nowhere to sit. A hideaway like this needs to be savored. We dig the bottlcap sculpture, don’t get me wrong, but why are there no chairs?

The pedestrian bridge, in place for about twenty years now, was a welcome addition to Logan and architecturally handsome, the floor inlaid fetchingly with sea life mosaics created by Somerville artist Jane Goldman. But if you’re making the walk, the experience is ruined by a constant bombardment of public address announcements. What could be a relaxing six-minute stroll is spoiled by a tape-loop of needless “Welcome to Boston” promotions and parking instructions. This alcove offers a relaxing escape, but without a place to sit it’s easily overlooked.

Note to Massport: Chairs. Get some chairs. And turn off the bloody PAs while you’re at it.

 

— CINCINNATI READING ROOM

Cincinnati International (CVG) isn’t as as bustling as it once was, with Delta drawing down service after its merger with Northwest. But it’s a fairly busy airport and a pleasant one at that. And over on concourse B you’ll find this little library of sorts.

It’s more of a book swap than a proper library; you’re free to abscond with the title of your choice, or exchange your half-read copy of “Our Country Friends” for something better. Or drop into that funky chair and peruse a few chapters of some shitty crime thriller.

I have to say, the pickings were pretty dismal on the day I dropped by. And it feels a little ad-hoc: we wonder if this isn’t just a place-holder standing in for some unrented retail space, soon to be yet another overlit shop selling magazines and phone chargers. Possibly, but we like the idea, and for the time being it’s a peaceful nook to steal away in.

 

— BAHAMA CHILL

Nassau’s Lynden Pindling International Airport, in the Bahamas, doesn’t give you much to write home about. It’s an unpleasant complex of noisy kids, dirty fast food joints and hour-long security lines. But just outside, in a space between the domestic and international departure halls, you’ll find this sunny oasis of greenery and water.

We had three hours between flights, and this was the perfect spot to wait things out. No children, no crowds, no racket save for the sound of birds (which, I discovered, is piped in through a speaker). There are shady spots with benches, and the free airport wifi signal is strong enough to stream on.

You can sit inside at a greasy table at KFC, or you can sit here.

 

— BLEACHER FEATURE

A vast, overcrowded echo chamber of concrete, Mexico City’s terminal two is one of the least enjoyable airport buildings around. Downstairs in the arrivals lobby, however, set back against the rear wall, is one of the most creative and idiosyncratic features I know of: a set of bleachers, seven benches tall and about fifty feet wide, where family and friends can wait for passengers to emerge from the customs hall.

Arrivals lobbies are often a chaotic scrum of jockeying and shoving, people calling out names and craning their necks. From the bleachers, you have a clear view across the crowd, and can easily pick out your mom, your son, or your mistress without having to wade into the mob.

Here’s a low-tech idea that saves space, is eminently helpful, and costs almost nothing. Why have I not seen this anywhere else in the world?

 

— GATESIDE GRAFFITI

Terminal Four at Kennedy Airport isn’t the most passenger-friendly building, but it has its spots, including the famous Calder mobile dangling from the departure hall ceiling (see below). Now, in the B concourse close to gate 25, you can enjoy this interactive wall mural. It was put in place last summer, presumably as a sort of post-pandemic morale booster for travelers.

It looks like most people just scribble their autograph, but some leave the names of whatever far-flung destinations they’re headed to — or wish they were headed to. You might get your clothes dirty, but grab a giant pencil and jump in there. Give us a “Bayonne, New Jersey,” or a “Smolensk.”

 

— INDY KIND

Indianapolis International is the rare gem among U.S. airports. It’s spacious, clean, and splashed with natural light. Best of all, and unlike almost every other airport in the country, it’s remarkably quiet. According to Airports Council International, IND is the Best Airport in North America, and the readers of Conde Nast Traveler have dittoed that sentiment multiple times.

Tucked into the A concourse, between gates 14 and 16, is the KIND Gallery. Created in partnership with the city’s Arts Council, it showcases the works of Hoosier artists. The gallery is neither large nor — depending on your tastes in art — particularly breathtaking. But it’s exactly what it should be: an engaging and relaxing little sneak-away spot. My favorite of the current installation is “Cloud Study 1-4,” a four-frame series of cloudscapes by an artist named Kipp Normand.

What do we do at airports? We kill time. And here’s a way to do it that’s a little more fulfilling than staring at your phone or browsing the magazine kiosk.

And about that name, “KIND.” Chances are you’re familiar with the three-letter identifiers for airports, Indy’s being IND. What you probably didn’t know, however, is that airports also have four-letter identifiers. These are assigned by ICAO and used for navigation and other technical purposes. Airports in the United States simply add the letter “K” to the existing three-letter code. KLAX, for example. Or KBOS or KSFO or KMCO. Or, in this case, KIND.

 

— KENNEDY CALDER

The next time you’re on the check-in level of terminal 4 at Kennedy Airport, look up. Suspended from the ceiling near the western end of the building is a sculpture constructed of balanced aluminum arms and trapezoidal panels. This is “.125,” the famous mobile made by Alexander Calder in 1957, back when JFK was still known as Idlewild Airport.

At 45 feet long, it’s supposedly the fourth-largest mobile in the world. For years it hung in the arrivals hall of the old Terminal 4, better known as the IAB (International Arrivals Building). Later it was moved to the departure level when the terminal was rebuilt. “People think monuments should come out of the ground, never out of the ceiling,” said Calder. “But mobiles can be monumental too.” The name “.125” comes from the gauge of its aluminum elements. What it evokes is, I suppose, in the eye of the beholder. One can detect a certain flight motif, though to me it looks more like a fish.

This wasn’t Calder’s only aviation-related project. In the 1970s he hand-painted two airplanes for Braniff Airways, including a Boeing 727 for the Bicentennial.

 

— UNDERGROUND ATLANTA

The Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport has its negatives, to be sure. The low ceilings, beeping electric carts and endless public address announcements make the place noisy and claustrophobic. Many of the windows are inexplicably covered over, and the airport’s skinny escalators were apparently designed before the invention of luggage. On the other hand, ATL’s simple layout — essentially six rectangular concourses sequenced one after the other — makes for fast and easy connections. It’s one of the most efficient places anywhere to change planes.

The neatest thing about it, though, is the underground connector tunnel. This is where you go to catch the inter-terminal train, but the better choice is to walk it. (If, like me, you purchased a Garmin Vivofit and have become obsessed with step-counting, note that it takes sixteen minutes and 1800 steps to cover the tunnel’s full walkable length.)

Along the way you’ll pass a series of art and photography installations. Between concourses B and C, is an excellent, museum-quality multimedia exhibit on the history Georgia’s capital. You could easily spend a half-hour here. My favorite section, though, is the forest canopy ceiling in the tunnel between concourses A and B. This installation, made of multicolor, laser-cut aluminum panels is the work of artist Steve Waldeck. Described as a “450-foot multisensory walk through a simulated Georgia forest,” it features an audio backdrop of dozens of native birds and insects.

What a welcome change it is, listening to the calls of sandhill cranes and blue herons instead of some idiotic TSA directive. It takes only two or three minutes to pass beneath the length of it, but these are about the most relaxing (if a bit psychedelic) two or three minutes to be found at an airport.

 

— The 9/11 MEMORIAL AT BOSTON-LOGAN

The idea of building a memorial to the 2001 terror attacks, at the very airport from which two of the four hijacked planes departed from, ran a fine line between commemorative and tasteless. It needed to be done just right. What they came up with is superb, and ought to serve as a model for such memorials everywhere.

Reached along an ascending pathway that twists upward amidst grass and trees, the main structure is a sort of open-topped glass chapel, inside of which are two vertical slabs, one for each of the two aircraft that struck the World Trade Center — and mimicking the shapes, one can’t help noticing, of the twin towers themselves — engraved with the names of the passengers and crew. There’s one for American’s flight 11, the Boeing 767 that struck the north tower, and the other for United 175, which hit the south tower a few minutes later. The glass and steelwork allow the entire space to be flooded with silvery light, creating an atmosphere that’s quiet and contemplative without feeling maudlin or sentimentalized.

There are no flags or any of the crudely “patriotic” touches one might expect (and dread). It’s everything it should be: beautifully constructed, understated, and respectful.

Officially it’s called the “Place of Remembrance,” and it was built by the Boston-based firm of Moskow Linn Architects, as part of a public competition. The final design was chosen by airline workers, airport representatives, and family members of the victims. The engraved names are separated into columns of crew and passengers, and the names of off-duty United employees on the flight 175 plate include a small “tulip” logo of United Airlines. This might seem a strange touch, but this memorial was built primarily for the community of people who work at Logan Airport. Among the passengers and crew killed on the two jets were more than a dozen Logan-based employees.

But anyone is welcome, of course, and I only wish the memorial were more easily accessible. If you’re at BOS and have some time, it’s worth seeking out. It sits on a knoll just to the southern side of the central parking garage, at the foot of the walkway tunnel that connects the garage with terminal A. Find the tunnel and follow the signs.

 

— SFO DRAGONFLIES

Airport art installations of one form or another are awfully trendy these days. Paintings, sculptures and mobiles are popping up all over the place. And good for that. Among the best is artist Joyce Hsu’s “Namoo House” sculpture at San Francisco International.

It’s a huge, wall-mounted display of aluminum and stainless steel insects that, in the artist’s words, suggests the way the airport “fuses science, nature, and imagination, to become the transit home for all passengers” — whatever that might mean.

To me, the metalwork moths and six-foot dragonflies represent both natural and human-made flying machines. And they remind me of the erector-set toys that I played with as a kid. Go to gate A3 in SFO’s international terminal, near the Emirates and JetBlue gates.

 

— RALEIGH-DURHAM’S TERMINAL 2

“Ah for the days when aviation was a gentleman’s pursuit, back before every Joe Sweatsock could wedge himself behind a lunch tray and jet off to Raleigh-Durham.” That’s from Sideshow Bob, in an old episode of the Simpsons (back when that show was still watchable), and we love the way he gives the words “Raleigh-Durham” an extra nudge of derision.

I guess Bob hasn’t seen RDU’s Terminal 2. Home to Delta, American, jetBlue and United, this is possibly the most attractive airport building in America. Opened in 2008, it was the first major terminal with a wood truss skeleton. The design earned architect Curtis Fentress, whose firm also designed Denver International and Korea’s impeccable Incheon Airport, the American Institute of Architects’ Thomas Jefferson Award. “A blend of the region’s economy, heritage and landscape,” is how Fentress describes it. “Terminal 2’s rolling roofline reflects the Piedmont Hills, while the daylit interior provides the latest in common-use technology. Long-span wood trusses create column-free spaces that offer efficiency and flexibility, from ticketing to security.”

All true. And unlike most airport facilities in this country, it’s quiet. Boarding calls and other public address announcements are kept to a minimum. This, together with the building’s architectural style and flair, almost makes you think you’re in Europe.

 

— THE QUIET AREA AT MINNEAPOLIS-ST. PAUL

MSP Quiet Area

On the whole, the Minneapolis airport is about as architecturally unexciting as a parking garage. It’s an older complex with low ceilings and endless corridors that reminds me of the ’60s-era grammar school that I once attended. And like most American airports, it has a noise pollution problem. But unlike most American airports, it has a place to escape the racket: an upper-level “quiet area” overlooking the central atrium of the Lindbergh (Delta Air Lines) Terminal. It’s difficult to find, but worth the effort if you’ve got a lengthy layover and need a place to relax. Look for the signs close to where F concourse meets the central lobby.

The long, rectangular veranda has pairs of vinyl chairs set around tables. There are power outlets at each table and visitors can log in to MSP’s complimentary Wi-Fi. Delta provides pillows and blankets so that stranded passengers can nap. It’s a bland space without much ambiance, lacking the funky chairs, sofas, and other quirky accoutrements that you might find in Europe or Asia (Incheon Airport’s quiet zones are the coolest anywhere). But it does what it’s supposed to do. It’s comfortable, detached and peaceful. It’s a shame that more airports don’t set aside spots like this.

MSP Quiet Area 2

 

— THE La GUARDIA GARDEN

I’ve written at length about the Marine Air Terminal at La Guardia Airport in New York City. This historic art-deco building, in the far southwest corner of LGA, is one of the most special places in all of commercial aviation — the launching point for the Pan Am flying boats that made the first-ever transatlantic and round-the-world flights. Inside the cathedral-like rotunda is the 240-foot “Flight” mural by James Brooks. What few people know about, however, is the cozy garden just outside. Facing the building, it’s to the right of the old Art Deco doorway, set back from the street.

It’s a quiet, tree-shaded hideaway amidst, grass, flowers and shrubs. Grab a sandwich from the Yankee Clipper and enjoy it on one of the wooden benches. To get there, take the A Loop inter-terminal bus to the Marine Air Terminal. The spot is best appreciated in the warmer months, of course. Like the Marine Air rotunda it is outside of the TSA checkpoint, so you’ll need to re-clear security if you’re catching a flight.

 

Related Stories:

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE U.S. AIRPORT
PLANE, PRANKS, AND PRAISE: ODE TO AN AIRPORT

 

Comments (146)

August 19, 2025 · Filed under 1

A Gourmet Diversion. Savory Snapshots From 30,000 Feet.

March 20, 2025

HERE ARE some pictures of airline food. Pardon such a vapid diversion, but most aviation news these days is depressing. Plus, I’m hungry.

Before the coronavirus madness began, we’d reached a point where the food in international premium class could rival that of a fancy restaurant. Carriers took pride in their onboard product: the food itself, the presentation, choreography — the whole indulgent kabuki of premium class, from the menus to each carrier’s signature cutlery. It could be pretentious, but always fun. The pandemic wiped that out, but things have since bounced back. An airplane ride no longer feels like a medical evacuation and flight attendants have stopped dressing like the firemen at Chernobyl.

Here, in no special order, are some examples. New and old, fancy and not so fancy.

These weren’t employee freebies. I’ve spent a lot of money on these seats. Maybe let me flex a little…

ALL PHOTOS BY THE AUTHOR

Philippine Airlines

A business class meal aboard a Philippine Airlines A330, Singapore to Manila. Adequate if underwhelming. This was a three-hour, intra-Asia service; presumably the airline’s long-haul routes have a more lavish spread. Not visible are my second and third helpings of garlic bread.

 

China Airlines

The upper photo shows a business class dinner en route from Taipei to Amsterdam. The cabin decor on this Airbus A350 was strikingly handsome, gold highlights and elegant wood tones. The food was less impressive, and they were super stingy with the wine. The lower pic showcase the carrier’s shorter-haul service on the A330.

 

South African Airways

Economy class dinner on the quick jump from Lusaka, Zambia, to Johannesburg. The second pic beholds one of the sadder things I’ve seen on a plane. Believe it or not, this was the business class vegetarian entree, served on the Johannesburg-Victoria Falls route. Click here for a detailed review of this flight.

 

Qatar Airways

Qatar’s business class food is arguably the best in the world. It’s served on-demand, meaning you order whatever you want, whenever you want it. There’s no scripted service, per se, with trays or carts coming down the aisle.

 

Air Asia

At the other end of the spectrum, here’s what low-cost carrier Air Asia has for you on the 60-minute run between Bangkok and Phuket. This was a buy-on-board option that cost about ten dollars.

 

Sky Airline

Sky Airline (there is no “s”) is a Chilean carrier, and this was the economy meal on a 737 between Santiago and Punta Arenas. Let’s just say that I loved the paper tray liner, and leave it there. The green plastic silverware was a curious, some would say unappetizing touch.

 

Sri Lankan Airlines

A beautiful little menu to whet your appetite on the way from Bangkok to Colombo. The meal itself was standard economy fare. Maybe the best thing you can say about economy class food is to call it “uneventful,” and this was no exception. The seat-pocket magazine is called Seredib — a sanskrit term from which the word “seredepity” comes from.

 

Drukair

One of Bhutan’s two airlines, Drukair flies smaller planes and offers a limited, if tasty business class menu. Here you see the lunch options on the daily run from Paro to Bangkok. This flight is further reviewed here.

 

Korean Air

This was first class from Incheon to Bangkok in one of Korean’s inter-Asia 747s with an older configuration that is no longer used. Notice the pull-out style entertainment screen and non-sleeper seat. Talk about slumming it! And if that noodle concoction looks a little too sloppy and greasy, it was.

 

Singapore Airlines

For whatever reason, I failed to keep any photos of the business class delectables I enjoyed one night on the long ride from Singapore to Amsterdam. Instead I have this less interesting picture from a shorter flight. This is what you get on an A330 between Singapore and Japan.

 

Kenya Airways

Bangkok to Hong Kong with Kenya Airways. A decent lunch and a can of Tusker. What’s not to like? And although you can’t see it here, this airline provides the world’s most luxurious fleece blankets. The crew even let me abscond with one, and today it resides on my couch. What they didn’t have, at least on this vintage 767 (since retired), is an entertainment system. I spent several perplexed minutes trying to locate my screen before realizing there wasn’t one.

 

Thai Airways

On the red-eye from Bangkok to Incheon. Another satisfying, if unspectacular, economy dinner.

 

Cathay Pacific

As good as it gets on a two-hour hop. Business class from Bangkok to Hong Kong. Find me a U.S. carrier that would offer something like this on such a short ride.

 

Air Malta

Air Malta is not longer in business, but like the aforementioned Drukair, they operated only shorter routes using narrow-body planes (pictured is Heathrow to Valetta), doing what they could with limited time and space. This involved some improvising, such as folding down the center seat to create a kind of instant business class. The result, all things considered, was surprisingly pleasant.

 

Emirates

Emirates first class is… well. You’re looking at flights to Mauritius, Johannesburg, and Bangkok. Similar to Qatar Airways, this is dine-on-demand, and you’re free to mix and match entrees, appetizers, and desserts to your heart’s content. We start with a welcome-aboard glass of Dom Perignon followed by the airline’s signature caviar; then we see a mezze appetizer spread (yes that’s an appetizer), a shockingly delicious chicken biryani, and a tuna dish. Mind you this is first class; Emirates business is less lavish.

 

KLM

Or, you can fly KLM economy class from Dubrovnik to Schiphol and savor this.


 

Battle of the Bars

The Airbus A380s at Emirates and Qatar both have onboard lounges. Qatar’s is situated in the center of the upper-deck. The Emirates version is also upstairs, but in the back, behind business class. Emirates also has an exclusive upper-deck bar only for first class customers, located at the forward bulkhead between the shower spas. The lounge is staffed by a bartender, while the forward bar is serve-yourself.

 

Tea Time

At the top, tea service on Qatar. On Emirates, the forward bar is taken down prior to arrival and a tea station is arranged in its place, backdropped by ornamental stones and waterfall. I mean, it’s hardly an airplane without rocks and a waterfall.

 

The Quiet Americans

Looking at those photos from the Gulf carriers, it’s easy to see that none of this is fair. Competing with heavily subsidized, government-owned airlines is pretty much impossible for American, European, and even most Asian carriers. Which isn’t to say their onboard products aren’t good. None of the U.S. carriers have returned quite to where they were pre-pandemic, but they’ve come a long way since the early 2000s, when broken seats, lousy food and terrible service were the standard.

 

Comments (19)

September 3, 2020 · Filed under 1

« Older Posts