As the girls at the counter did their thing working on our upgrade, we
drank champagne, ate fresh pastries, and listened to the band. Every now and
then Tony would check on their progress. Boarding began, we're still
hanging. Yes, I'll have a couple of those, thank you. Boarding continued,
we're biding time, still sippin' the wine. Boarding wraps up. It's last
call. The ticket agents say c'mon, lead us to the plane, bring us into a
world never before seen by mortals, or Zeke and I anyhow. This was it. First
Class. And as if that wasn't enough. We got a whole row, 6 seats. That's 2
each. Twice as good as we had hoped. The one agent who did most of the work
popped her head in and asked, "Is this enough room for you?" We thanked her
profusely. Somedays you get the bear.

     The good news is that the next seven hours were a joy. The bad news is
that it is a joy I'm not likely to ever repeat. Also, knowing what lies only
feet away beyond the velvet curtains will certainly make my next long ride
in coach even less bearable, but having said that, I wouldn't have missed it
for the world.

                   This is the end, my only friend, the end...

     First up our stewardess came out, introduced herself and asked if we
would like anything to drink. Champagne, all around. We checked out our
seats, people sized, how about that? No scrunching around to fit. No bumping
elbows with the guy in the next seat, what guy? Each seat had a personal
view screen for the video entertainment, reclined to several positions for
maximum comfort and was the most relaxing chair in which I've ever traveled.
We got up and looked around.

     There were only two other people in our whole section. They pretty much
kept to themselves a couple of rows back. We moved over and back some but
eventually settled down with Zeke in the port side window seat, me next to
him (our elbows never touched) and Tony a couple of seats over. We took off
around noon, Belgium time, a half hour late, heading back to the big, bad,
US of A.

                     of all elaborate plans, the end...

     The stewardess came around with hot nuts, in a bowl, ha ha ha ha ha, I
can't believe it. No stinking little pack you have to open with your teeth.
OK, I gotta calm down, not act like a rube, just take it all in stride. How
about a hot towel? Certainly, thank you very much. Next, the wine list. I
switch to a nice Bordeaux. Mixed drink? No thank you. Then we order dinner
from a menu, ha, um..er. I'll have the filet mignon, Zeke duck, Tony salmon,
with salads and appetizers of course. Then dessert and another hot towel.

     Looks like the movies (choice of 4) are starting. I recline the seat,
put on the headphones and enjoy "Rushmore" a weird funny romp through
private school with Bill Murray and some kid who steals the show. You could
ring for the stewardess whenever you need her of course but with her
checking on you every 10 or 15 minutes there was little reason. "More
champagne, please" asked Zeke, I stick with the Bordeaux for a while. Tony
is on the Port by now, I think. Another hot towel, why thank you.

                     of everything that stands, the end

     The movie ends. I switch to one of the music channels, jazz. After a
little I doze off. Waking after a short nap. Zeke points out that we are
flying over land. Strange way to cross an ocean. Every time the clouds
clear, land below. They must fly a northern route over Greenland,  Iceland
and all. We only saw water once. "Stewardess, more champagne, please" says
Zeke. Another hot towel and another movie. This time "Payback" a weird
revenge flick with Mel Gibson. I decide to check out the beer situation.
This was the only disappointment. The airlines like a lot of the service
industries still lag far behind when it comes to serving up the better beers
that are required for a classy occasion like this. Stella Artois was the
best they could do for a Belgian. Then Miller and Coors, uuuuggh, for
domestics. Nothing's perfect, I guess.

     One more light meal and several hot towels later we arrive at Newark at
1:30 PM  local time. I thought, "We're here already!" Time is not a problem
when you're traveling first class. It could have lasted another 7-1/2 hours
and I could have cared less. We deboard the plane first and breeze through
Immigration. Here is where we are brought down to earth again as the wait
for the luggage is long and tedious. After spotting it coming out of the
wrong carrousel, we snatch it up and now are so late that we are in danger
of missing our flight to Philly. We head to Customs. "Where are you coming
from and what's in the cases?", they ask. "Belgium and beer" we reply. "OK
go on through" they say. Piece of cake.

                       no safety or surprise, the end

     It was now 1:55 PM and the shuttle to Philly departs at 2:15. Our
chances are slim to none to catch it but, catch it we try, unsuccessfully.
The next flight is in a couple of hours. We settle in for the wait. They
announce that the flight is delayed. Bad weather. Then delayed again and
finally canceled. We take it in stride. It may be an instant karmic
consequence of the first class experience for us mere mortals. Resigned to
our fate we wait, wait and then wait some more. Some of our fellow travelers
are not so stoic about the situation. One fellow in particular raises cain
every 45 minutes or so. You couldn't pay me a million bucks to take the
abuse that ticket agents endure on a regular basis. It's a good job for a
masochist, though.

     Finally we are told our fate. There will be a shuttle bus from the
airport to Philly leaving at 7:30. Man, these 30 hour days feel like an
eternity. If I could of just hung in first class for the 5-1/2 hour wait, it
wouldn't have felt like an ordeal. From Paradise to Hell. Something backward
here, Raul. Just call me Lucifer, hold the restraints.

                    I'll never look into your eyes, again

     So 7:30 comes, we board the bus. About a dozen people in all, that's
it. We start driving and after a few feet, the bus stops. The moron who felt
the need to bitch at least once an hour just happens to be aboard. "Can't we
just go?", he bellows. Everyone, including his party, ignore him as the
driver gets out to load our baggage onto the bus. Five minutes later we are
on the road. Two hours after that my wife, Marylou, is picking us up in
front of the airport. We drop of Tony, then Zeke, and then home, sweet home.
My bed never felt more comfortable.

     So endith the tale. I hope you have had half as much fun reading my
recollections as I have had writing them. It was the trip of a lifetime, but
if another one just comes my way, I'll let you know.

                                     THE END

Pictures - Last sight of Belgium - Paradise with Wings