King for a day on a first-class sky trek

By John Aglionby

As part of the aviation theme, Ansett Australia and British Airways provided The Jakarta Post with first class tickets to and from Kuala Lumpur respectively. To assess whether the additional facilities are worth the extra charge, economy-class regular John Aglionby deserted cattle class to sample a taste of mile-high luxury.

JAKARTA (JP): "Your mission John, should you choose to accept it, is to discover if flying first class is really as luxurious as most mortals imagine it to be."

The order did not self-destruct in five seconds, but it took me only a fraction of that time to decide to accept. I had nothing else planned for the weekend and as I do not usually jet around the region in first class, there seemed little reason to say no.

So five days later, I stepped into an Ansett Australia 737 bound for Kuala Lumpur. "Ah, Mr. Aglionby, we've been expecting you." This sounded more like James Bond being captured than a relaxing junket to Malaysia. Had I made a mistake in accepting the mission?

The glass of Moet et Chandon given to me before I had even got comfortable in the large spacious seat quickly erased any forebodings I might have had. And stretching out, I could not even reach the seat in front, let alone dig my knees into the unsuspecting occupant's back.

What I did notice, however, was the unnecessary muzak. Clearly audible above the engine hum, a song in an indecipherable language assaulted my senses until takeoff. Why bother with something so tacky, particularly when there is the personal entertainment available?

Ansett has been flying internationally for only four years, but it has leaped ahead of its competitors by introducing an in- flight chef. The resulting cuisine was rewarded with the 1995 Mercury Award, the Oscar of in-flight catering.

But was his presence more show than substance, a gimmick to titillate the privileged passengers? What could he do that a normal member of the cabin crew could not?

Once the airplane was safely in the air, Dave Saunders donned his whites and began explaining his job. "Basically, I can prepare any meal you ask for at short notice, except a kosher meal, which has to be blessed in advance," he said. "Having the food cooked on board gives it a much fresher flavor, it really does become an in-flight restaurant."

As Jakarta-Kuala Lumpur is a comparatively short hop, there was little time to prepare a gastronomic extravaganza. But my grilled prime center cut of Australian beef tenderloin was as rare as requested and came after a very tasty starter of smoked salmon and peppered rainbow trout.

Could I catch them out by asking for mustard? Oh how naive of me. Not only was mustard available, three different types were brought out. I dithered into taking English.

The mango yogurt layer cake was a little dull, but really the only letdown was the bread. The excuse for a roll I was given could have been used for a cannonball in the siege of Mafeking, except for the fact that it was a hollow mockery. It certainly had not been cooked on board.

Half a dozen wines were offered, including a champagne and a 1994 Wilton Estate Botrytis Semillon -- the best down under dessert wine I have ever had. And these came after the stiffest of aperitifs. I thought there were rules about being drunk and disorderly on airplanes.

Kids, whether in first, business or economy class get the best deal. They are provided with activity backpacks that would keep many a parent absorbed, to say nothing of their children. Packs of cards, coloring books and puzzles make toothpaste and a disposable razor pale into insignificance by comparison.

After a smooth touchdown, I continued the luxury theme (why come back down to earth even for a moment?) by checking into the Shangri-La. There I prepared for the return journey with good food, a relaxing massage and a night's sleep undisturbed by the pre-dawn Ramadhan call to prayer.

Feeling even more relaxed than ever, I headed home. Would British Airways be able to top Ansett's high standards or would it be a case of the colonists showing the motherland who's now in charge?

British Airways, dubbed "The World's Favorite Airline" did not get off to an auspicious start. At the check-in desk, I was told first class was "very full" and would I mind going business. "Yes" was what I wanted to say but not wanting to cause a fuss and knowing I could get my revenge, I did not object.

Then I was refused admission to the executive lounge. My boarding pass was insufficient proof that I was not traveling cattle class and I had not been given an invitation. Not many marks out of 10 so far.

Life improved dramatically on the plane when the ground manager said there was a free space in first class after all. And what a wonderful space it was. By the end of the flight, I knew how caterpillars must feel, wrapped snugly in their cocoons, insulated from the outside world.

It was really two seats facing each other with the main chair able to fold down flat to form a bed with the facing seat. Indeed, the only drawback was the total privacy; with no one directly in front, behind or to the side, there was no one to talk to except the staff.

The smoked salmon (again), barbecued beef strips, salad and lemon tart was delicious, but perhaps lacked the extra touch of je ne sais quoi a chef would have added. The only criticism I had of the service or the food was, once again, the bread. Perhaps all airlines should consider employing a new baker.

Settling down to watch Mission: Impossible, one of 40-odd available films, with a glass of Mersault and an excellent cappuccino, I decided that this taste of luxury could be extremely dangerous. Would I ever consider flying economy again? Could I let myself be seen mixing with the hoi polloi, having sampled the delights of first class?

There is only one way out. Become a vegetarian. Because then, according to Dave the chef, I would get business or first class service in economy.

Having landed gently at Soekarno-Hatta, I came down to earth with a bump. There waiting for me was no glistening limousine, but just a battered President taxi. Welcome home.