A Boeing 777-300. Photo / Richard Robinson
Helen van Berkel flies Air New Zealand NZ8, from Auckland to San Francisco.
The plane: B777-300.
The airport experience: I dutifully followed the signs to "all gates" and was disconcerted to not find 18, which the internet had promised was where I needed to be. But, oh well, Google isn't
always right, so I found a nice little seat by a wall of windows — lots more windows at the airport these days (love it) to wait for the official call. And across a tarmac criss-crossed by jaunty plane tails I spied 18. Oh, well, I reasoned, maybe it wasn't open yet. The gate finally was called. 18. I retraced my steps and from this side saw another concourse, unmarked from the other side. Maybe signs will be
put up once the upgrade is completed. Yes please, Auckland Airport.
Wi-Fi: The free 45 minutes Auckland Airport stingily allows should have lasted the entire waiting time, given I had three devices and signed in seperately, and joined the Strata Club to get an extra 45 minutes. It didn't last the entire waiting time.
The check in experience: We all lined up for a weird speed-dating type fast-fire quiz with people I guess are trained to spot shifty eyes and undie bombs. Where are you going tonight? New York. She hesitated. I recovered quickly: San Francisco then New York. Bingo! Where are you staying in New York? Moxy Hotel. What's the address? Uh oh — no idea. I rummaged through my paperwork, wilting under the frown. 36th Street. She checked the proferred sheet. Bingo! I was through to the next round. And where do you stay in New Zealand? This seemed like a trick question. Umm, at my home? And won another big smile: I know my own address! She still didn't want to go out with me though.
