Business vs. Steerage (economy) Class

Business class ramp

"But I don't want to get off the plane!" I squealed. This is not something I ever dreamed of saying but after experiencing the luxurious accommodations of Asiana business class, my next flight in economy might make me cry.

Djorf wanted to surprise me by using his vast accumulation of flight miles (a mere 110,000 miles) to purchase two oneway tickets for Asiana business class for our final return flight from Shanghai. I have never flown business class so like a giddy child I have taken photos of everything, pressed every button I could find, ate everything I could, and drank enough champagne to drown in.

Almost completely flat reclining seat.

Let me just say, there is a reason a curtain is pulled to separate the haves and the have nots. If the commoners in the back of the plane knew what was going on up here on the "second floor," there might be a mutiny. The whole experience makes flying actually pleasant. I was in no rush, my bottom never fell asleep, I don't feel cramped, claustrophobic, my head didn't drop over onto the person next to me thereby saving them from a puddle of drool I surely would have deposited on their shoulder, I never got a crick in my neck, and I not once questioned the origin or expiration date of the delicious food placed before me. It was like being on a flying cruise ship except the alcohol is included.

Real Bloody Mary

Before we even got on the plane, we lounged in the Asiana Club munching on snacks and drinking wine. Then we leisurely walked over to the business class ticket collection area to the plane where there was no line, then strolled down our own ramp to the first/business class entrance. Unfortunately we did have to exert a little energy climbing the stairs to get up to the "second floor" of our plane before dropping gracefully into the reclining space pod looking seats. I chose the window seat which also boasts extra storage compartments we found out later and Djorf chose the aisle. There are only 12 total seats on the second floor, in comparison to the 12 seats in each row of economy class. When I stick out my legs straight, I can't even touch the seat in front of me.

Me at the top of the stairs on the plane.

This is where the button pushing began. There are 14 buttons alone that control my seat. It goes up, down, in, out, lumbar support, leg rest and support, and it reclines. The seat in front of me never moves and there wasn't a child in sight to even attempt to kick my seat or puncture the harmonious silence. The tv had tons of movies, games, shows, movies, and the flight show (my favorite because you can watch the airplane travel across the screen). I also have my trusty iPad in case I get bored with the inflight entertainment.

Just one of the many courses of our meal.

Moving on from the seat, we were given hot towels at every interval, slippers, lotions, lip gloss, and endless glasses of Mumm Napa Rose. Our menu for dinner consisted of seven courses and warm bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar throughout. To start we had fried eggplant stuffed purée with tomato confit, followed by an appetizer of grilled king prawn with couscous and baby leaves asparagus. A mushroom cream soup was served piping hot and the main course was Toscana-style beef cutlet with marinated radicchio for me and grilled halibut with fettuccine-style vegetables for Djorf. Then came a cheese platter with Munster, Taleggio, and Compte, fruit, crackers, etc. But wait, there's more. A tasty apple tart and coffee/tea service was provided for dessert. Everything was served separately in real little white dishes, real silverware, and real glasses.

Perusing the menu.

After gorging myself like a gluttonous Roman on all this decadent food, I slept like a baby for about five hours until Loki barked and woke me up. Mean little doggie. He must have wanted me to wake up for breakfast.

Breakfast was almost as delightful as dinner. The feasting began with fresh rolls and croissants, followed by fruit and blueberry yogurt. The main course was a mushroom and egg omelette, potatoes, and grilled zucchini for me. Djorf had a seafood crepe with béchamel sauce and green beans. Coffee and tea? Yes please.

Jet-setting Pomeranian

I am now writing this post as we descend to Los Angeles where I will sadly deplane knowing this may be the last time I experience such luxurious surroundings. Even the toilets in business class stayed clean, spotless, and never smell bad. The flight attendants are perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed. Finally, no one leaps unceremoniously from their seats knocking over the elderly and children to tear their luggage from the overhead compartments before the captain turns off the seatbelt sign. We all sit patiently awaiting arrival at the gate where we will exit on our own ramp. We wouldn't want the economy class seeing how well we have slept and ate indesguisable because of the bounce in our step. A truly lovely journey. Had I written from my usual seat amongst the have nots, this blog would have taken an entirely different tone and I would have been chanting, "Let me off, let me off, get me out of this godforsaken metal tube death trap." I adore flying...in business class.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Asiana Airlines Shanghai via Seoul to LA

Gym of Eternal Stench

I have tried to stay positive and wait a few days or weeks before writing a rather scathing review of the gyms but I cannot resist any longer. Like a festering wound, one might have contracted at said gym, I must warn the world of the potential harm and horror of the two gyms I encountered while trying to stay fit in Shanghai.

Upon arriving at the mega mall center of Xujiahui, which crawls with a million people frantically shopping or milling about wanting to be seen "shopping," you must travel up five escalators to the fifth floor in order to get to Physical, the gym. The first smell that reaches you is popcorn from the next door theater. Not something you want to smell when you are trying to lose weight. The next smell that assaults you is after you hand over your membership card, receive your locker key, and enter the gym. Mildew, stinky feet, BO, and boiled eggs permeate the air. Followed by what can only be described as the "bog of eternal stench" in the locker room.

The odor is not the only thing to accost your senses. Your eyes are in for a treat. Ladies wandering around eating and gossiping in the buff, who haven't seen a razor...ever. Hair dryers are used to dry more than just the hair on your head. Legs are lifted onto stools and every follicle is dried to perfection. Hannibal Lector style masks are worn while relaxing on lawn chairs in the spa area which also boasts some of the fiercest grout mold I have ever seen. Despite the attentive ayis sweeping the floor, body hair curly and straight carpets the floor.

Frantically I leap across unknown refuse and scurry around the chaos of screaming women on their cells phones in hopes of making it to my locker alive. As I pass by the open trash cans I see what looks like a feminine hygiene autopsy, thankful I didn't arrive in the locker room when it was happening in plain view. My locker had something wet inside so I hung everything on the bent metal coat hanger holding on for dear life to a hook threatening to give way at any moment. I made a swift escape to the door and out to the main cardio section of the gym.

The gym was a toasty 85 degrees Fahrenheit as I ascended the step to a rather rickety looking treadmill. The machine squealed in pain as I pressed the quick start button and belt began to move. I ran listening to the pounding music and Chinese instructor screeching out the steps for a nearby aerobics class.

Five minutes later and to say I was pouring sweat would be an understatement. I was drenched, I couldn't breathe, and the gyrating bodies of the belly-dancing class next to me we're starting to make me ill. The treadmill on my other side held a lady with plastic wrap strategically bound around her upper arms, legs, and midsection in hopes of making them thinner. Much to my despair, she proceeded to peel off the plastic wrap flinging sweat in all directions. And I thought my own sweat was gross.

Thankfully after 20 months my membership at Physical ended and I signed up at Will's Gym, which is also closer to my apartment futilely believing things might be better. I was terribly wrong.

Because the gym was closer, I never had a bag with me so I did not venture into the locker room. Despite being much smaller than Physical, Will's still did not attempt to use the air conditioner at all. Each time I went to the gym, I would have to ask them to turn on the air. The final and last straw occurred when they refused to turn it on because a chubby man behind me on the elliptical machine claimed to be cold. I was at my wits end and cried out in distress, "But I am extremely hot and the air used to be on when I started running. If he is cold he can put on a sweatshirt. I can't take off any more clothes or I will be naked." My pleas fell on deaf ears. I whined a little bit more and they feigned to care and turned on the fan. That was my final day at Will's.

What have I learned? Even though the gyms are just as expensive as in other countries, you do not get what you pay for. In the future I will purchase a treadmill for my home and crank the a/c. If you like the heat and can handle less then hygienic conditions, gyms in Shanghai are the place for you.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Shanghai