"Would you like me to hang your trousers for you?" (Remember the British accent).
Though my jeans are certainly far from trousers, I take the offer. As we take off, and I settle down with my book, I'm presented with a dinner menu, complete with appetizers, entrées, sides, desserts, and a wine list. I start with a white bean, garlic and thyme soup, served with what is best described as garlic focaccia bread, and move onto a very sizable piece of seared halibut, with various vegetables (including something called a haricot vert) and chutney.
Now, I don't actually know what a chutney is, but when I saw it there on my plate, wondering what it was, I decided that that's what I would call it.
I decided to have a nice glass of 2008 white wine from Burgundy, France. I chose the white wine for a number of reasons:
- The guy across the way had ordered white wine.
- Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I seem to recall that white wine goes well with fish.
I chose this specific white wine because it came from Burgundy.
After dinner, I watched Buried with Ryan Reynolds which is about a guy buried alive. Though the camera never leaves the coffin, and it used the same overly dramatic, classically-musicked, dimming-light, zooming-out fade three or four times, I enjoyed it.
On my way to the bathroom, the flight attendant asks, "Shall I prepare your bed for you?" As I walk back, she is tucking tucking the sheet around my now horizontal seat/bed with blanket and pillow. I lay down and realize the bed is exactly 5' 11" (I am 5' 10.5"). I always have trouble sleeping on planes and this was no exception. After about 2 hours of decent rest, I wake up with a grumbling stomach (I did skip dessert mind you). I am brought a plate of cheese and a basket of "biscuits" (which aren't actually biscuits - they're crackers). On this plate is what looks like strawberry jam, but I am surprised when I taste it. Not being able to name the mysterious sauce, I decide that it too is a chutney.
From there it's only three hours until landing, which is occupied by reading, another menu, mushroom crepes served with a croissant (this time pronounced with a French accent), and my own small kettle of English breakfast tea, and a view of London from above.
As I was departing from the plane, the man in front of me was on his BlackBerry. On a piece of paper in front of him, titled Exit Festival July 7/8/9/10 was a numbered list of musical artists, including Wyclef Jean and Deadmau5. Having since then looked at the lineup for this Serbian music festival neither artist is confirmed to appear. Let the speculation begin!
Now I'm passing the time until the next flight. By the way, Heathrow is an amazing airport.
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