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'talways 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.
My fellow passengers: The fun ones were waiting in the airport. A grey-haired firework of a woman, her weathered face speaking of a life lived outside and full of mischief nudged her neighbour at any announcement: "Go and help them!" she cackled when cleaners were blamed for our flight's delay. And when passengers needing help to board were invited to the gate the elbow and a loud cackle came out again: "That's you!" Onboard, I was seated next to the armrest hog from hell. She ground her elbow into mine whenever she encountered it on our (shared) armrest. But I got my own back and ordered the baked beans for breakfast and let them work their magic.
On time: The aforementioned cleaners were blamed for the half-hour delay, as was late arrival of the incoming aircraft.
The entertainment: An excellent selection of movies and TV shows.
The food: A chicken curry for me and my first hint that my seatmate was a monster: does the pinot noir come from "Otaygo" because she only drank reds from "Otaygo". No, it wasn't from Otaygo. Breakfast was a choice of granola and those baked beans and the monster got more comeuppance when her granola option was unavailable.
