Trip report: BNE-LHR-BER and back - a fancy lounge but not for me

Zero minutes to check-in. Doesn’t that mean I can check in now? No, it means it’s 43 seconds to check-in, which the Qantas app rounds down instead of up. Tip for the developers: add one minute to the checkin counter before you display it.

BNE

I was in the heavily-under-renovation Brisbane International a few weeks ago, but things change - there are now twice the passport scanners, and we’re funnelled a different route through the building work to end up in the duty free.

The expensive “News&Travel” store is now all boarded up, while they work out how to make it even more expensive. “Bruce? Why don’t we charge $15 for a bottle of water instead of just $11?” “Fuckin-A, Bruce, that’s a great idea! We must have been stupid drongos not to think of that before, ay?” “Too right, Bruce! Smoko?”

(Real Australians wouldn’t use the word “drongo”, and instead use the c-word, of course).

Today’s flight is going from gate 77, the gate next to The Airport Lounge In A Corridor. Presumably for fire reasons, the Plaza Premium lounge has walls that go up almost, but not quite, to the ceiling. I think that’s the standard Virgin Australia international lounge experience these days, not that Virgin Australia flies to very many places internationally.

BNE-SIN

On Qantas, I’m on VH-EBL, “Whitsundays”, a sad domestic Airbus 330-200. I last flew on this place in 2019 (to Auckland), and this will be my 21st flight from Brisbane to Singapore. This plane has wifi, but no seat back screens in economy, with iPads stuffed in the seats instead. That’s all good: disappointingly this plane doesn’t have any power points other than USB.

In 26A, I also do not have a window. I do not ask for much, but a window, however, is normally a prerequisite when I am in a window seat. I have a large woman next to me, and feeling a little hemmed in.

After a bit, an FA comes to say hello. I’m expecting the usual overjoyed enthusiasm that I am flying with them today. But no - he looks at me and gets right to it. “At the back of the plane, there’s a middle row that we’ve reserved for you, Mr Cridland”. What?

I walk back to row 56 and there is, indeed, a row of three seats, covered with a blanket I was told, just for me. Which is nice. So I get to have a bit more space for this seven hour flight.

It isn’t the “party at the back” beloved by some frequent flyers. I don’t get served first, or given special treatment - other than having my own row of three seats all to myself. And very excellent it is too. Would recommend. Unlike the beef, which is like cat food, if cat food was also very salty.

Just before we descend, we’re told to “return to your allocated seats”, and I wonder whether I should go back to the seat next to the large woman with the body odour and the missing window. It was, after all, my allocated seat. As if to answer that question, the FA comes over again. “You can move back to your original seat now if you like. It’ll be quicker to get off.” So I do. There is still no window, and there is still a large woman with body odour spilling over the seat, but I’ll be off quicker, so that’s good.

I was told that this is school holidays, and this plane would be jam packed full of people. It isn’t - I figure it’s about 85% full, but not jammed. And very excellent to have a bit of space.

SIN

To much consternation from a few folk online, I walk to the food court and enjoy a kaya toast set - runny eggs, sweet coffee with condensed milk, and toast with butter and kaya jam. It is the taste of Singapore for me, at just SGD$6.30 (AUD$7.04).

Then, I go into the Qantas First lounge to do my work for the day. The door has a sign: “The Qantas First Lounge is at capacity”. The woman in front of me is turned away, sent to the business lounge. “Ah, you’re at capacity,” I say to the person at the door. She takes a look at my ticket. “Not for you,” she says.

Because, even though it is school holiday time, my upgrade-with-points was once again successful: and my boarding pass has “business” on it, as well as my Platinum status. Which nobody was expecting, least of all me - I’m on a plane with a third of the business seats of the A380. Upgrades, I’d been told, are impossible. Perhaps it’s because I’m lifetime gold; perhaps it’s because part of this flight (but not this bit) is flexible economy.

I don’t stay in the Qantas lounge long after completing my work. Because someone sends me details of the Qatar Premium Lounge. Within OneWorld frequent flyers, this is Maximum Difficulty Level: if you’re not flying Qatar, you only get in if you are OneWorld Emerald, and you have a business class or first class ticket. And it just so happens that I am both of those things (even though I haven’t paid for business, but, shhh, they don’t know that).

I cockily turn up to the Qatar lounge. I’m wearing jeans, with a small blotch of soy sauce on one knee thanks to an over-exuberant amount of soy saucing at the kaya toast place. But my Platinum status and business class ticket allow me in.

There are virtually no other people in here (I’ve no idea when the next Qatar flight leaves, or if there even is another one tonight); but there’s a bloke tapping quietly on a computer, another bloke with a comedy large cocktail, and then there’s me. I am outnumbered by the staff, who are really very attentive. I am asked to scan the QR code for the menu (which goes here if you are wondering).

This is a very quiet lounge indeed, and I am waited on as if I’m the only person here (in fact there are others - but the loudest thing is the air conditioning - no music or anything). I have the chicken satay, and the salmon. And a Tiger beer. I use my very best clipped British accent. It’s sure lovely in here - quiet, cool, dark, very fancy. The TV screen just shows a four-minute looping video about Qatar, rather than a news channel. And while the dining tables have no access to mains power, the comfy chairs have wireless charging for phones, as well as mains plugs.

There are little quiet work/sleep pods, and a whole separate lounge area. There is a cheese collection that surely must be thrown away every night, given literally nobody is touching it.

I can absolutely see why this lounge is highly sought-after and why it’s a special place to be. But it isn’t for me. Given the choice, the much noisier Qantas First lounge is where I’d prefer.

And is where I go back to.

SIN-LHR

Normally I do SIN-LHR on QF1, the A380. But this time, I’m trying QF219, the temporarily diverted Perth to London flight, which stops in Singapore for reasons connected to Vladimir Putin, Donald J Trump, and a vague effort to not a) be shot out of the sky, or b) run out of fuel dodging the dodgy places.

It’s a 787-9, VH-ZNG, a seven year-old plane called “Jillaroo”. I’ve flown on this plane twice before. This will be the 16th time I’ve flown between Singapore and London Heathrow. Total “air time” will be 13 hours and 55 minutes. This is a long one, and once more I’m really rather grateful, and lucky, to be doing it up the front.

I’m in 1K, which is a Good Seat - the seat next to the window, not the aisle. I believe you get extra foot room in the front seats as well. The flight staff are British, as they normally are for this sector.

The menus are on cheap office A4, and have been colour photocopied. COLOUR PHOTOCOPIED, VANESSA! That isn’t, quite, the luxurious feel I was expecting. I demand all the money that I spent on this business ticket back, had I spent any money at all on this business ticket, which I haven’t.

I don’t opt for a meal, having had plenty in the lounges, but I grab a chocolate mousse (very good it was), and a beer. And shortly afterwards, after having watched a man take apart a mobile phone charger on YouTube, I sleep.

LHR

We arrive at 4.30am. Apparently we’re the first plane in; a Virgin Atlantic flight from Orlando follows. I’m told we could have landed for 4am, but they slowed the plane down because there isn’t much point landing thirty minutes before anyone is there to greet us.

We wait fifteen minutes for the bags. One thing I’ve spotted about Heathrow is that they like playing very British classical music, rather than random tracks. Some Elgar in the customs hall, and the actually not very British Pachelbel (Bavaria) in the loo. Gone is the “Cool Britannia” vibe of a decade ago. I’d like to listen to Coldplay while I evacuate my bowels, please. Seems only fitting.

The only drawback with getting in at 4.30am is that not everywhere is quite open yet. I make my way to the Elizabeth Line train, but like last time, it isn’t working. “Electrical problems”, says the bloke standing at the gate. So the Piccadilly Line it is - an eleven-minute wait for the second train of the day, as I watch the tube station wake up, and one high-vis-and-curiously-sunglasses-wearing TfL person doing the daily test of the help points.

What I did in London other than work

Saw an old friend

Saw an old employer’s building

I used to go to these Harris + Hoole coffee shops a lot, when we lived in London. I essentially worked in the one in Southgate. When I went there, it was 49% owned by Tesco, but otherwise independent, and I quite liked it. In 2016 Tesco bought the other 51%, and promptly sold it to Caffè Nero.

Had a really excellently good ramen in Ealing

LHR

Back to Heathrow. There is a special entrance for the likes of us. Qantas does this in Brisbane domestic (I think uniquely?) but it’s nice to have it on an international flight. The lounge had “burnt bits BBQ” pies. They were good.

A flight to Berlin. British Airways, the UK’s economy airline, is kind of fine. I order a coffee using Avios, not because I want a coffee but because I want to spend the least possible amount of Avios to ensure that the tens of thousands that are still there don’t expire.

We land in Berlin. I have to wait in a line because some ignorant racists voted stupidly in 2016. But, you know, blue passports.

I jump on a train and then a tram to find my hotel, where I discover something called “currywurst poutine” so of course I had to.

Things I did in Berlin apart from work

Aforementioned “currywurst poutine”. It was fine.

Remembered too late that Europe’s plugs are different from the UK plug (which I’d packed) and the Australian plug (which I’d also packed). Thankfully, nothing that the big Berlin rail station couldn’t fix.

Berlin station. Impressive. Grey.

Went to Potsdam.

Saw a shop that just sells socks.

It would have been rude not to.

BER

As I get to the dull and uninspiring Berlin Brandenburg Willy Brandt Airport, my first hazard is to drop my bag with British Airways. Everyone else has automated bag drop, but not the UK’s economy airline. I try printing out a bag tag - I press the “print a bag tag” option, and the machine dutifully spits out three boarding passes. I try again, and am given another three boarding passes and no bag tags.

I have to wait for check in to open. One solitary lady appears at exactly three hours to the flight, and very slowly and methodically sets up. My OneWorld privileges mean I am first to hand my bag in, which is nice, and then into the awful Berlin airport, as my phone makes a worrisome noise - my flight is delayed. It turns out to be delayed by over two hours in the end, and I’m in the smallest, least impressive lounge in the world. The only one improvement I’ve seen since I was last in here is that someone has put rubber feet on all the chairs, so they no longer scrape on the tiled floor. Thank heavens - whoever did that, thank you.

Rubbish in 2023, Berlin airport is still rubbish. One reason why, as I look around, is that it looks boring. Someone has decided to forbid the stores from having signs, and instead all signs are using a German functional-but-boring sans-serif font, and an icon of the sort of shop that it is. A pizzeria has a small icon of a knife and fork. It makes for such a dull, miserable airport.

I go through passport control. Initially I’m confused - the sign says “closed”, which I point out to the passport man looking at me and wondering why I didn’t confidently walk forward. He types a five digit number into a number pad. “How about now?” I look. “Ah, yes, you’re open now.” He then grumpily turns through all the pages of my Australian passport, and I dimly realise he is looking for the entry stamp, and he won’t find it because I entered the country on my British passport, so I give him that instead. Dual citizenship is very confusing.

BER-LHR

It’s the second time I’ve done this flight (the first in 2023), but then, I used to fly from the old Tegel airport which was old and weird and hexagonal and fun and less purple.

Finally, we get on the plane. Two hours 23 minutes late - though I’m not really particularly worried about my next flight since I had five hours to kill in Heathrow anyway, so this has cut it down to a rather more manageable 2 hours 45 minutes I suppose. A polite-sounding man called Craig spends five minutes apologising on the tannoy about the bad communications about the delay (the airport itself only posted one delay and left everyone without a flight app guessing as to the real takeoff time).

A little girl sits next to me. She is about four. Her mother is seated in the seat behind her. She turns round and peeks through the hole between the seats at her mum. The inflight manager comes. He apologises to mum, but he says that technically this counts as “keeping families together” according to the airline (astonishingly), and so there’s nothing he can do.

That’s a little silly. I volunteer to swap with mum. “Are you sure, sir?” asks Craig, the inflight manager and the man from the tannoy. He looks at me and narrows his eyes. “It’s a middle seat!” he almost whispers in disgust. I’m fine - I sense it’ll be a better flight for me anyway, without a fidgety child next to me, and also families really ought to be together, properly together. I would hate it if my four year-old daughter was in the row ahead next to a bored-looking guy watching YouTube videos of a Scottish man opening his Ali Express delivery.

“Thank you, sir”, says Craig, and walks away. I’m imagining we’re switching seats once we’ve taken off: we’ve already started taxiing. But he comes back. “Let’s move before we takeoff,” he says. I stand up and extricate myself from my window seat and wait while mum moves forward.

But instead of letting me wait for mum, Craig says “no, come with me sir”.

Confusing. And so I do - to be given a new seat, rather unexpectedly, in euro-business. It’s the same economy seat, but there is a space next to me, and drinks, and food! I sit on the same row as a rich-looking man who is the kind of person to leave his expensive leather wallet out on the table next to us rather than jam it into his jeans pocket and ruin his profile. (It’s a Saint Laurent wallet with two plastic cards visible, one black, one silver). Craig guides me into my new seat. “Very kind of you to offer to move, sir,” he says.

Well, this is a good start to the trip back.

Instead of a “Harrogate water” in a dirty-looking plastic bottle and some strange lump of muesli in a colourful plastic wrapper, I enjoy an IPA from a glass, and what would be some of Neil Perry’s warm nuts were I on Qantas, but instead they’re “Belazu salted rosemary snack mix”, whatever that is. I could have had a meal, but I decline the meal, partially because I don’t want it, and also because I overhear Craig telling someone else that he has been given six meals too few.

I get the feeling Craig has had a bad day, what with the big delays and the massive apology that he’s just made on the intercom.

But I get a good day on this flight - made even better when I’m pressured into another IPA (and when I say “pressured” I really mean “asked if I want one, oh go on, treat yourself” by a different FA).

This Airbus A321Neo has USB-C power points, proudly printed “60W”, so I’m able to charge my phone too, which is nice. I don’t think the world of USB-C has made it to any Qantas plane.

LHR

“This is your 228th time here”, my travel app tells me. Thanks so much.

I go into the Qantas lounge, and look for a seat. There aren’t any. So, following my previous guide on lounges that I wrote because of course I did, I go to the British Airways one instead: it is entirely quiet, and virtually nobody is there (though it’s so quiet, the staff usually take this opportunity to refill all the fridges, service all the machines, and animatedly chatter to each other, which isn’t always entirely restful).

LHR-SIN

Economy in one of Qantas’s unloved A380s - VH-OQC doesn’t appear to have a name in my flight app (the internet tells me it is called Paul McGuinness - not U2’s former manager, but an Australian flying ace in the First World War). It’s very full. I don’t appear to have flown this A380 before, but I must have done - Qantas don’t have very many A380s left. This is my sixteenth time flying this sector.

The FA, with a nice Geordie accent, hands out dinner to the couple next to me, but forgets about me and moves on, before eventually remembering I exist. She does the same when picking up the breakfast things. Not sure why. I did get a Platinum welcome at the start of the flight, but it was a curious one - just mouthing “are you OK?” at me, and then a thumbs-up. That, I guess, is one of the drawbacks of the A380’s 3-4-3 configuration - people at the window are almost invisible, and certainly too far away to have a conversation with.

The couple next to me had the vegetarian option for dinner, and are only drinking water. When the drinks trolley comes round, the woman asks for hot water. They choose the “fruit platter” for breakfast, and another hot water. They seem fun.

The A380 certainly gives you more space in a window seat; but that’s the only real reason to like it. No wifi (which appears to have quietly become a standard on Qantas in a few years); and the in flight entertainment screens are small and feel old. They’re going away, these A380s. I’ll miss them, a bit. But not a lot.

We land fifteen minutes early.

SIN

The escalator has broken again outside the Qantas First lounge. I trudge up the one next to it. The lounge is full, not unexpectedly given an A380 has just dumped its contents into it. I do a bit of work in the “bit where the printer is that nobody uses”, and have to apologise to the rich looking man sitting behind me when I go to record for three minutes.

There is a new menu, and new things to explore. I try something to do with chicken and lettuce. It’s a very good precursor to the laksa. My favourite of all Qantas lounges. Here’s hoping Vanessa doesn’t mess with it.

SIN-BNE

I’m on “Swan Valley”, VH-EBS. It feels new, though it is 14 years old. But then - I am at the pointy end again. I’ve had good success with points upgrades over the past few trips.

While others enjoy a meal, I just ask for a cheese plate, which arrives alongside a portion of Neil Perry’s salty warm nuts. Then, sleep; followed by the strange microwaved breakfast bun thing for breakfast.

The head FA comes and says how nice it is to see me again, and gives me a Qantas keyring. (Clearly “the system”, which last time told the team that I liked flat whites and that it was unexpectedly my birthday, doesn’t know how many Qantas keyrings I’ve been given). I stuff it into my backpack anyway, along with the amenities pack. I like the current amenity pack, it feels premium.

We land 4 minutes ahead of schedule. To some relief.

That’s my last long-haul flight of the year. I do enjoy travel - but it sure takes it out of you, and I’m finding it increasingly hard to “do my day job” while also doing the travel thing. But then, it’s increasingly important to talk to people as part of my day job, and the Australian timezone doesn’t make that easy.

One more flight this year - a trip to Sydney. I need 70 points to requalify to Platinum, and I’ll get 80 points if I book business, so… guess what I did.