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Once again, at least for a moment, I’m relaxed and happy. Actually, it’s a baby carriage flanked by a mom and two toddlers, one on either side of a strapped-in infant. It’s a wailing, electric, claxon-like sound, like a nuclear attack alert, loud enough to rattle my tableware. Reading is impossible; sleeping is out of the question. It is so loud you cannot hear the public address announcements from the crew.
Until, hardly three minutes later, as I’m scanning through some emails, again I hear a tell-tale noise. And this foursome of noisemakers is aimed directly at the table next to mine. And I would love to tell you that this time I got lucky, and this was one of those quiet and well-behaved babies who whines for a minute and then, miracle of miracles, utters nary a peep for the rest of the flight. Those are the flights that restore our faith in both air travel and humanity at large. The only escape is watching movies with the volume cranked up (unfortunately Asiana’s entertainment system is terrible and offers only a few boring choices). When we touch down at JFK in September sunshine just before 11 a.m., I don’t feel the least bit sated, refreshed or relaxed. Experience two: There’s a lot to like in Emirates business class on the Airbus A380. The carrier’s “ICE” entertainment system is second to none. Amenities are all around you, from the duvet and mattress to the luxurious lounge and bar in the back of the upper deck. I’m at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam, walking up the jet bridge that leads to the upper deck, when a huge family of at least a dozen, six of them kids, rudely cuts the line.
The shelves give it an almost library aesthetic, and I like that. I help myself to a triple espresso and set up my computer at a table near the back. And he’s of that certain age — that age between infant and toddler, when a voice begins to gain the sonic traction that allows it to carry.
There’s nobody around and I have the whole rear corner to myself. At the height of his discomfort this tiniest of humans is pushing ninety decibels.
As the flight goes on, there’s no escape from the racket.
Not even in the bar in the A380’s rear cabin — the bar!
It’s quiet, quiet, quiet again; then suddenly there’s more screaming. Asiana has separate lounges at ICN for first and business class.
Unlike a high percentage of the people who travel up front, I was not flying on company expense or cashing in frequent-flyer miles.My skin goes prickly hot and and my pulse starts racing. Slouched in her chair, the woman looks up at me contemptuously.“They are only children.” This is a standard rebuttal.We paid for the tickets, the argument goes, so we have a right to be here, and hey, it’s just kids being kids, right?Actually, no, I’m sorry, this is not a legitimate justification.