Qatar Airways: the Business Class Experience

Oh my! How the other five percent live! We breezed up to the empty Qatar Business Class check in desk, past the lines of cattle class customers. As a couple presented their thousand dollar suitcases at the desk next to us, I glanced down at our old grip that cost £7 at a market on the Isle Of Wight a couple of decades ago and my equally tatty backpack as the clerk strapped bright yellow "first class" stickers on them with a perfectly straight face. With our all-purpose boarding cards we were ushered into the fast track security. We were still abused but at least we didn't have to wrestle with three million other people to get our stuff back. In fact, we were the only ones there.

Next, we were directed to the Qatar's Lounge, splendidly isolated from the horrors of English airports at airside. Comfy chairs and champagne. In fact, over a bottle's worth, I believe, and a light lunch prior to being notified that it was time to board. Linda was distinctly impressed with the size of the first class toilet and showers rooms. We were teleported to our seats on the airplane where we were greeted with another glass of champagne before take off. On the second leg I found I could scam two if I was quick enough.

Back in the sixties as a child I read a lot of science fiction. The 21st Century was a long way away but reachable with healthy living (*cough*). Travel in the 21st would be achieved quickly and in great comfort. At last! Our seats weren't seats as much as personal podules. Think of Commander Shore's hoverchair in Stingray -- but much roomier, with tables and pockets to store your stuff without scrabbling past the overweight guy in the outside seat to get to the overhead lockers. The seat controls had more buttons than Ginge's new super-duper Land Rover, ranging from inflating the back of the seat, to raising the legs, to partial recline, to full horizontal. (On the second leg, the seats were more conventional than "podule" but there was a button that vibrated your bum cheeks, one after the other, but that was too disturbing.) On the way to Doha I only saw one film. Most of the time I played with my hoverchair, stretching my limbs and annoying my imaginary fellow passengers.

The rest of the flight was spent in a bit of a haze. Attentive hostesses served food and drink when required. Noise-cancelling headphones transmitted the sound of the big TV at the foot of my bed. And at no time did I have to wait in a queue for the toilet, hanging on off the sides of the overhead compartments dodging trollies selling useless duty frees in the gangway.

At Doha we only had an hour or so before boarding so we waved our all-purpose boarding cards and arrogantly stormed past the hoi-polloi queuing for the next flight to Colombo. The second flight was in an older plane, leaving 0200-ish Qatar time arriving 0930-ish Sri Lanka time. The subjective flight time was four and a half hours-ish. We were offered two meals both of which, in the interest of getting our money's worth, we accepted. So, despite the horizontal capabilities our our super-seats, we ended up getting to sleep not at all. By the time we got to our hotel room in Colombo we had been up all night, leaving home at 1000 and arriving 24 hours later, time difference notwithstanding.

Still, this has to be done at least once in a lifetime.