Part 1/2: Prologue

Part 1: New York LaGuardia (LGA) to Washington National on US Airways

Part 2: Washington Dulles (IAD) to Frankfurt (FRA) on United

Part 3: FRA – Vienna (VIE) – Skopje (SKP) on Austrian

Part 4: Arrival in Skopje, and Day 1 in Skopje

Part 5: Day 2 in Skopje

Part 6: A bit more Skopje

Part 7: Daytrip to Pristina, Kosovo

Part 8: SKP – Zagreb (ZAG) – VIE on Croatian Airlines

Part 9: VIE – Erbil, Iraq (EBL) on Austrian

Part 10: Erbil, Iraq

Part 11: EBL – VIE on Austrian

Part 12: Hilton Vienna Stadtpark

Part 13: VIE – Zurich (ZRH) – JFK on Swiss

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Part 2: Washington Dulles (IAD) to Frankfurt (FRA) on United

After arriving at DCA, I Metro’d to Foggy Bottom near George Washington University and George Washington Hospital (N.B.: if any members of their admissions committee are reading this trip report, I’d like to simply mention, only for posterity, how beautiful your hospital is and how I will be submitting my application around June, 2010. Just for posterity, of course). There, I met my old pal Matt, from high school, whom I had visited in DC many times over the years. We have spent quite a bit of time simply walking around DC, and when I arrived, we did just that, walking to Dupont Circle. We hung out at the circle for a bit, and at about 11.45am, met up with our friend Nico (another old friend from high school, and a roommate from college – Go Bears!) and had a sumptuous (if not cholesterol-laden) lunch of pastrami sandwiches at Eli’s Kosher Deli, one of my absolute favorite spots in DC. Nico, being of high importance with these things called “billable hours” had to hurry back to work (well, even I, as un-businessy as they come, once had billable hours, when I worked at that Siberian prison camp of law firm for a year after school. Yup, folks, my time was once worth 60 dollars an hour). Not wanting to get caught in evening commute traffic (yeah, I realize it was 1.30pm, but still, I wanted to take no chances with my imminent flight), walked back to Foggy Bottom with Matt, and jumped on the Metro one stop into Virginia, to Rosslyn station to catch the 5A bus to Dulles. Sadly, only a short visit with those guys, but a good one.

Once at Rosslyn, I proceeded to promptly miss the bus. I couldn’t believe my excellent fortune when I exited the station, saw the 5A waiting, and then realized I wasn’t armed with the $3.25 necessary to ride to Dulles. Whoops-a-daisy. Not entirely pressed for time, I waited the 35 minutes for the next bus, passing the time, by, uh, exploring beautiful downtown Rosslyn, Virginia. Hey – give ‘em credit. When I was first in Rosslyn, about four years ago, the area outside the Metro station only contained a Burger King I wouldn’t have entered unless armed with a Mac-10 and a bandoleer of grenades, and now, they have signs posted for a Jazz festival. Oh, and the Burger King has since left.

Soon enough, the 5A arrived, and I feel in and out of sleep on the way to Dulles, jarred fully awake, and scared almost shitless when the bus slammed into a speed bump. As an aside, unless you are armed with inordinate wads of disposable cash, or won’t deign to take public transit, I have no idea why anyone wouldn’t always take the 5A out to Dulles. At $3.25, it’s the second best deal to the airport I of which I can think, besides the $2.25 ride on some of the New York City buses to JFK and La Guardia. Sure, it operates rather infrequently, has no space for luggage on board (I ended up looking like a jerk and hogging an entire seat with my rollerboard), and is often crowded, but based on Dulles’ proximity, I have no idea why one would ever fork over money for a cab, or deal with that irritating Flyer Bus to West Falls Church. I think it’s just swell.

Ah, Washington Dulles. Does there exist an airport more reviled, more abhorred, or more maligned on Earth? Does a mention of any other airport elicit such forceful cringes or the induce a searing influx of acid into the stomach upon simply hearing its name? (Well, maybe London Heathrow). For many, people find as much pleasure in travel Dulles as being shot by firing squad or swallowing a microwave. On a typical arrival at Dulles, the traveler will cross into the 1960s “futuristic” font-laden main terminal building, with its winged-rooftop looking like the topography of whipped cream on a sundae. Prudently, all airline ticket counters are located in this one building, so, of course, there always exists the interminable glut of people in Luxembourg-length lines awaiting security checks, because, well, there is only one security lane ever open at Dulles, and the TSA works extra hard during their job interviews to weed-out and reject anyone with a hint of competence. An IQ of less than 40, half a brain, a lack of basic motor coordination, and the desire to leave the x-ray machine for minutes at at time for informal chats with your colleagues, summarily stopping the line from moving, are all qualities sought by the Washington Dulles. The ability to abuse the traveler’s time, and strip their dignity is a plus, too. The only consolation while waiting is to crane one’s neck beyond the roped-off lines in hopes of catching a whiff of the rolls baking at the pre-security Cinnabon stand. Once past security, the traveler is hustled into a choice of waiting “Mobile Lounges,” a ridiculous block-shaped vehicle that shuttles passengers to their respective remote terminals, like a Department of Corrections bus, that are better served for exploring planets. The airport is an utter paragon of inefficiency and inconvenience, but must generate piles of revenue for the airport’s on-site watering holes, as travelers are driven to drink.

That being said, ha, rather sheepishly, I must admit that I don’t mind the airport. I despise, with white hot fervor, the security checkpoint and the TSA who mans them. But – I really don’t mind the mobile lounges. There is something stupidly kitschy about them, as if when they were deployed in the 1960s (I’m guessing), the airport’s architects jubilantly exclaimed in 2003, when people are blasting off in spaceships up to Providence and Burlington, these vehicles will be the height of technology! Moreover, they do provide a fantastic view of the apron and airplanes parked at the gates (if you’re turned on by that kind of stuff).

I headed upstairs to the United check-in, smugly triumphant in telling the suspicious agent that I was, yes, indeed traveling in international first class, and that, yes, I could use the check-in machine reserved for such passengers. United check-in agents are always so suspicious, and ever-hopeful that they will catch someone malevolently and erroneously trying to use the wrong check in machine, like catching a teenager trying to sneak into an R-rated movie. The machine managed to print my boarding passes all the way to Skopje, and printed the United Arrivals Suite invitation, where I could grab a (I’m sure it would be much needed at that point) shower upon arriving in Frankfurt). Make sure to take a good glance at the Arrivals Suite card, and note the fact it is bereft of any location information on it. That’ll become verrrrry important later.

I endured the security check, and rode in the mobile lounge to the larger FEMA trailer known as the C concourse. I had plenty of time before my flight departed about around 7pm that evening. I planned my time accordingly. I wanted to make several rounds of drink-chit runs at the Red Carpet Club (RCC) (United gives two complimentary drink coupons two premium cabin and Star Alliance gold members traveling in any class o’ service on an international itinerary – try it), and with three RCCs in the C and D trailers, and a number of hours, I could rack up a fair haul of chits and wifi cards for use at the Red Carpet Clubs. I also wanted to check out the International First Class lounge, as well as head back to the Lufthansa lounge in the B gates, which is one of the finest lounges in the world.

I first headed to the two RCCs in the C concourse, only to be scolded by the sour-faced dragons that I should be using the International First Class lounge. They tried to spin the request as “friendly advice,” but their voices were tinged with exasperation. I don’t mean to climb on my high horse, but, excuse me, what difference is it to you which lounge I use? I hate to sound like a junkie feverishly scraping the cocaine mirror for any last crumbs, but give me my two fucking drink chits, and let me be. Everything is interrogate, interrogate, interrogate with United agents. Here’s a novel idea: trust your passengers. Respect that they have basic intelligence. I ended up having to tell the agents that I was meeting a friend in the RCC. They still had some problem with that logic – “Oh, you know, he can meet you in the International First Lounge, you know?” “Well, I reallllllly want to check out this lounge,” I would respond calmly, with a corn-syrup sweet smile. Christ almighty.

After a few successful, albeit hassle filled chit runs, I headed to the International First Class lounge (IFL).

I had only ever been to the IFL at SFO, and boy, was this one underwhelming. It all seemed rather dark and shabby, with a food selection better reserved for a freshmen dorm mixer. Worst of all, the lounge featured a huge TV, blaring with cable news. One’s lounge experience would be injected with all the scintillating insight of lacquered and botoxed cable news anchors. I hung out for a bit, checked my e-mail, ate a few digestive biscuits (love ‘em), and got the hell out of there.

I took the mobile lounge to the much nicer B concourse. By much nicer, I mean the concourse is an actual building, not a trailer. It also allows for the entrance of natural light, giving it an actually cheery feeling, not the atmosphere of a morgue. The B concourse, as well, is from where most of the heavy international airplanes depart, allowing a musing traveler to stop for a moment, close his eyes, and think about boarding a flight to Riyadh or Cape Town. It’s perfect for romantic travel musings.

At the far end of the B gates, is the Lufthansa Senator lounge. Only about five months old, it is by far the finest lounge at Dulles, and perhaps one of the finest in the United States. It has all the efficient and clean-lined comforts of Senator lounges around the world: the comfy chairs, ample and diverse food selection, horrendously expensive wireless internet with only two computers that always seem to be occupied, and, ever since the liquor license was approved, a fine selection of beer and wine.  Best of all, any Star Alliance Gold member on even a domestic itinerary, can use it. I entered, indulged in a piece of their I-would-kill-for-it cheesecake, some grapes, and drank a Belgian beer, while lazily watching the readying of the 5.25pm 747 to Frankfurt. I did have a picture of the entrance of the lounge, but for some reason, it is no longer on my camera. But, no fear – if you’re in Dulles, you can’t miss it. It’s the really loud orange looking section of the wall.

After only a bit, I got the hell out of there, and headed back, the long way, in the mobile lounges to the D concourse, from where my flight to Frankfurt would depart. I hung out for a second in the D-gates RCC (the agent being so harried while being hassled by some disgruntled flyer that she didn’t even make a “You know you can use the IFL . . . ” comment). Boarding soon began, and I strode aboard.

United Airlines Flight 952
September 2, 2009
IAD – FRA
Departure: 6.59pm
Arrival: 9.10am (+1)
Equipment: Boeing 767-300ER
Seat: 2A
Class: First

I admit, I was excited to fly United First again. Though it’s often something to grumble over, with less-than-exciting and lower-quality food than other international carriers, booze that wouldn’t even be sold at BevMo, and flight attendants whose age you measure in scientific notation offering less-than-cherry and attentive service, I was very excited to try the new first class seat. I had really only read rave reviews about the new product, having only been in the old coffin-style seat, with its 1980s video system, and constricted space.

Once aboard, the new seat looked very nice, with plenty of storage space. I noted immediately the cut-out areas near the arms, and the ample space near the footrest. My most prominent complaint about the prior United First suite was the narrowed space at the footrest, which, for taller folks, forced them to cross their ankles awkwardly while sleeping on their stomach, invariably cutting off blood supply to one ankle.

Boarding proceeded efficiently, my ears turning read at a few snide comments made in passing by people walking past first class. I wanted to tell them I was only an imposter traveling in first on an award ticket, essentially, a fake, a scheming con-man, who knew how to wrest the most out of his miles. Unfortunately, I had already sunk into my temporary first class entitlement, and was too engrossed in watching an episode of 30 Rock to care at that point. We pushed off the gate on time, and took off into the bright Virginia evening sun. The load in first class was light, with only one rather large woman (who fell asleep for the entire flight after takeoff), and a business man (who, while talking to his son on the phone pre-flight, inquired as to whether his high school needed any volunteer strength and conditioning coaches – sommmmmmmeone had his dreams of playing professional ball crushed in college) in the cabin. The flight was, sadly, as some many UA international flights are, afflicted with a bloviating purser, who considers the PA his own personal lectern, and making it his personal duty to bother passengers with fifteen minutes worth of announcements post-takeoff, all containing fortressed, tired, overly-technical language, reminding us in excruciating  detail just when duty-free sales would begin, when the second meal service would commence, and United’s security policy. Seriously, shut the fuck up, and let’s get on with the flight.

Service commenced slowly, with the purser himself taking dinner orders, and doing so in an overly-complex and clumsy way, which fully echoed his way of making announcements. Almost 30 minutes into the flight, an FA took drink orders, and passed out amenity kits. I decided to have a glass of champagne. I made sure to control my drinking on this flight. Those who remember my prior trip report from JFK – FRA on Singapore Airlines, knew I imbibed way too much froufrou champagne, and woke up on approach to Frankfurt feeling as if someone had punted a 40-yard field goal with my head.

The menu, as follows: (* = my choice):

First Course:

Appetizers:

-Cumin scented [Ed. note: should be hyphenated] braised beef empanada
-Fresh shaved fennel and kumquats
-Poached lobster tart
-Spanish chorizo, tiny corn and olive oil poached tomatoes

Soup:

-Curry tomato and lentil soup

Salad:

-Fresh seasonal greens with plum tomatoes, cucumbers, and seasoned croutons

Served with your choice of dressing:
Creamy Garlic or Balsamic Vinaigrette

Main Course:

Grilled sea bass and a cardamom carrot galette
Three onion ragout with an apricot-curry sauce

Wild Mushroom Lasagna
Toasted pine nuts and arugula pesto

Pan-seared filet mignon with green peppercorn sauce
Potato cakes and roasted patty pan [Ed. note: patty pan? What the hell is this? Little House on the Prairie?] squash and baby zucchini

Sate spiced chicken*
Vegetarian risotto and herbed asparagus, carrot saute

Dessert:

Ice cream
With sundae toppings

Cheese Selection:
Served with grapes and crackers

Maple Blue – a rich and creamy all-American [gee, thank god for that] Wisconsin blue made with milk from Jersey cows flavored throughout with sweet, natural New York maple syrup

La Cabrie – a combination of brie and chevre that produces a creamy, mildy flavored goat brie

San Joaquin Gold - [is it just me, or does this sound like a particular strain of pot plant?] An American original cheese with a tawny, buttery color. A cheese with a pleasant acidity and salt balance with a deep lasting flavor and lovely sweetness

-Pure Imagination Chocolates

Breakfast:

Spinach, artichoke, and cheese omelette
Sauteed turkey sausage

Fresh seasonal fruit plate
With muesli

To be honest, I had quite low expectations of the United First food, which, methinks is a good position in which to keep your expectations. Their international fare is basically a step above college dining hall food. Nevertheless, it was served by a very kind and attentive flight attendant (who was under 100 years old), and thank god, the purser disappeared for the rest of the flight. I tucked in while watching The Hangover, which I had not yet seen. Quite hilarious, though not quite as good or creative as an Apatow film.

The appetizers, while a bit soggy, and poorly presented, were actually quite delicious. A good meld of flavors. The empanada, though, had the texture of a wet cereal box.

The soup was quite uninspiring, like eating a bowl of hot salsa with curry powder on it. Not my idea of a tasty time. And, what the hell is up with placing a paper napkin under the bowl, United? Extremely unclassy, especially when all of your napkins are printed with online check in advertisements. Sheesh.

I’ve also wondered why United serves bread in First by pinching it between two spoons. In my opinion, it looks odd – as if they forgot the serving tongs on the ground. Bread was just not meant to be pinched between two spoons.

Next, came the salad. Quite good, with balsamic vinaigrette, though United usually doesn’t mess up salad too easily.

And, finally, the main. Stupidly, or perhaps not so stupidly, I ordered the chicken. My rationale for the order stemmed from my previous experience with United’s apricot-based sauces: stay away. The sauce is obviously radioactive. Secondly, airplane steak is like trying to chew your way through an Ikea bookshelf, but mostly, I thought that “sate spiced chicken” meant a main of the traditional Malaysian grilled chicken skewers served with peanut sauce. Nope. What followed was some bizarrely-shaped wedge of vaguely sweet and way-too-tough chicken, paired with artificially buttery risotto. Passable, but certainly a mistake. In retrospect, I should’ve gone with the lasagna.

I skipped the cheese and vaguely considered the ice cream. The flight attendant made sure to inform me that it had to warm up for a bit, a common airplane problem, where ice cream is frozen so solidly it requires a saw to take a bit, and even then, is like trying to eat a baseball.

I finished the film, reclined the seat, inserted my oil-rig-grade earplugs, turned the air vents up to full gale, and fell asleep. The new first suite is quite excellent for sleeping, with no lack of space by one’s feet, and plenty of room to have your spread out your arms, and not have to place them uncomfortably at your sides. I slept solidly for five hours, awoke, decline breakfast, and awaited the descent into Frankfurt.

Overall, not a bad flight, and very typical of United First. A good hard product, with a sputtering soft product that sometimes has moments of potential. We descended through the clouds into a rainy morning at Frankfurt.

And of course, in a wonderful United flourish, our gate was occupied as we taxied in.