THE FIRST-WORLD PROBLEMS OF A FIRST-CLASS TRAVELLER
Ireally didn’t mean to hold up the plane, but I was distracted by a certain Dior beret so hard to come by in Singapore (well-bred ladies claw at one another and snap them up at double speed). When I made it to the gate, imagine my disbelief when I found the door to First Class closed! Only in Europe! I pulled my new beret over my eyes and quietly boarded via Economy, turned left and kept heading forward. I avoided angry glares from other passengers as I did the walk of shame by busily typing these pithy self-pitying travel thoughts on my phone. It struck me that there are things money can’t buy, like travel insurance against the lemons the high life sometimes tosses at you. For instance:
1. Eye roll, please, for those still posting passé shots of themselves in Business Class, clad in Juicy Couture, their Birkin strategically placed next to Louboutin shoes. These days, you have to be in Lalique black pjs, strolling down the aisle flanked by the metal-clad pods of sq’s newest Suites class. I secured one of those six coveted spots in the sky (there is just one such flight a day to a handful of destinations). All #iwokeuplikethis Insta-ready, I checked in only to find out I was booked on a plane with the old suites with 12 seats! Suddenly, the first-class journey loomed ahead, rather joyless. Just as well I had a bottle of Krug to drown my sorrows...
2. sq’s Private Room is tainted with woes. The airline has recently discontinued the foie gras burger! Are cras these days merely supposed to eat an American burger? Ugh!
3. Safely on land and after a peaceful night in my over-water villa, I got a belated “welcome surprise”. A fellow traveller, who had been whining all morning that I got the best suite on the island, casually walked in, thrusted his mobile phone into my hand, and jumped into my private pool and ordered me to take photos (yes, that’s plural, as he went through his repertoire of casual-cool poses). Where was my butler to kick him out?
4. My personal butler had somehow disappeared out of earshot. I fumbled with the mobile phone the resort had provided. Speed dial? How does that even work on an old Nokia? who is going to navigate these ancient buttons for me? I need a butler to call my butler!
5. And honestly, when I’m paying top dollar on a private island, do you really expect me to queue for a submarine ride?
6. I have full trust in my exclusive concierge service to get me last-minute reservations – it’s how I’ve checked off my list of three-starred restaurants in every city I’ve visited. But I was utterly disappointed when it failed me on a recent trip. Closed for renovations! It’s unacceptable! They should know better than to plan such things around my visit!
7. When you have booked your seats six months in advance and the Michelin-starred chef is absent from the kitchen. What’s the point of devouring the food if he’s not personally walking me out the door after the meal, I say. Worse still, he’s off doing a four-hands... in Singapore.