Live and direct: the inaugural BA flight from London to NOLA
Direct line: The inaugural flight from London Heathrow to MSY
by Paul Oswell
In March 2017, after visiting family in England, I scored a seat on the inaugural British Airways flight from London back to New Orleans. By way of context: It was the first direct flight from a European country to New Orleans since the 1980s. I’ve been coming here since 2001, and I’ve flown every which way in terms of routes from London. I’ve changed at Dallas, and Atlanta, and Chicago, and Miami, and Charlotte, and New York, and they are ALL annoying for a cranky, jetlagged Brit.
Unlike the UK, you have to clear customs at your first stop in the United States, so you’re sweating about making your connection as you wait in the unending immigration queue, then you have to collect your bags and lug them to the next check-in, and then go through security again in a different terminal and it’s never not stressful.
The plane they're using on the route – at least the one I was on – is a Dreamliner 787. Modern, comfortable, and a model that doesn’t seem to catch fire half as much as it seemed to when it first debuted. The seats and entertainment systems are great, even in Economy (where I sat), and instead of window shutters, they have a button that increases and decreases the tint, just like a rapper’s car probably has.
I also love that on these planes, you can start watching TV and movies straight away, and then right up until you’re at the destination gate. I remember the days when you had to wait until about 30 minutes after reaching cruising height for everyone to watch the same Mr Bean episode on faraway screens, so an instantly-available, on-demand box set of even The Big Bang Theory seems like the stuff of a madman’s dreams (in the same way that show’s endless re-commissioning does).
It was a routine service. The only concession I could see to the inaugural route was the choice of a ‘Creole’ chicken dish for lunch. As far as giving you a sense of place goes, I’m not sure that just hefting pepper into a regular chicken lunch is the greatest trick ever pulled, but bravo for trying.
As we started to descend, the party really started. What I mean by that is that they announced that it was the inaugural flight and BA had never flown here in their 98-year history and people clapped politely (although it has since been suggested that this is a filthy lie and that BA had a service to and from London Gatwick in the 1980s).
I’ve been on a few inaugural flights for work, and the bit I like the most is the reception at the destination airport, where they line up the fire trucks and spray fire hoses, like a watery guard of honor that can initially be very concerning to many people until they explain what’s going on.
Reader, I craned my neck as we taxied to the stand, bracing myself for a welcoming jet. That jet never came. How dare they deprive the three or four people who were probably looking out for it their moment of cheap pleasure?! That said, I hope there wasn’t a real fire that was keeping the trucks otherwise engaged.
Now then, the border security at New Orleans is a place I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before as I’m usually standing, sweaty-faced, at immigration in Chicago or Des Moines. It had more desks than I thought, and it went faster than many international airports. The best bit by far, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, was the enthusiasm of the border security guards. The chap that I got was beaming as I showed him my i-Visa (the one they issue to visiting media).
“THIS IS MY FIRST ONE OF THESE!” he beamed. “Man, I’m tempted to take a photo!” (I mean, there are literally dozens of cameras pointed at us in the booth, but whatever). He’d only ever processed business visas before, and this slightly different paperwork was like some kind of rare administrative Pokemon.
“Big day for you guys, huh?” I smiled. I felt like a proud dad as he stamped it. Immigration is not usually this amiable.
The bags came out and as we strolled through customs, the faint strains of a live brass band wafted across the halls. MSY had organized a reception for us. Airport employees doled out British Airways-branded Mardi Gras beads to bemused Brits and annoyed locals who just wanted to get to their Uber. Souvenir tote bags with luggage tags and maps and a broken wooden model plane were thrust into our hands, the brass band looking only slightly disheveled as they’d probably been waiting for at least an hour. I hope they were at least tipsy.
And there it was. London to New Orleans in nine and half hours, a friendly welcome and a brass band that will now serenade all arrivals from the UK in perpetuity, their descendants taking up their clarinets and tubas as they pass away, my life stumbling through terminals in Chicago and Dallas and Atlanta a thing of the past. Laissez les bon temps s'envoler...
WEIRD LOUISIANA PRODUCTS
MORE TRUE LIFE STORIES FROM NEW ORLEANS
by Paul Oswell
In March 2017, after visiting family in England, I scored a seat on the inaugural British Airways flight from London back to New Orleans. By way of context: It was the first direct flight from a European country to New Orleans since the 1980s. I’ve been coming here since 2001, and I’ve flown every which way in terms of routes from London. I’ve changed at Dallas, and Atlanta, and Chicago, and Miami, and Charlotte, and New York, and they are ALL annoying for a cranky, jetlagged Brit.
Unlike the UK, you have to clear customs at your first stop in the United States, so you’re sweating about making your connection as you wait in the unending immigration queue, then you have to collect your bags and lug them to the next check-in, and then go through security again in a different terminal and it’s never not stressful.
The plane they're using on the route – at least the one I was on – is a Dreamliner 787. Modern, comfortable, and a model that doesn’t seem to catch fire half as much as it seemed to when it first debuted. The seats and entertainment systems are great, even in Economy (where I sat), and instead of window shutters, they have a button that increases and decreases the tint, just like a rapper’s car probably has.
I also love that on these planes, you can start watching TV and movies straight away, and then right up until you’re at the destination gate. I remember the days when you had to wait until about 30 minutes after reaching cruising height for everyone to watch the same Mr Bean episode on faraway screens, so an instantly-available, on-demand box set of even The Big Bang Theory seems like the stuff of a madman’s dreams (in the same way that show’s endless re-commissioning does).
It was a routine service. The only concession I could see to the inaugural route was the choice of a ‘Creole’ chicken dish for lunch. As far as giving you a sense of place goes, I’m not sure that just hefting pepper into a regular chicken lunch is the greatest trick ever pulled, but bravo for trying.
As we started to descend, the party really started. What I mean by that is that they announced that it was the inaugural flight and BA had never flown here in their 98-year history and people clapped politely (although it has since been suggested that this is a filthy lie and that BA had a service to and from London Gatwick in the 1980s).
I’ve been on a few inaugural flights for work, and the bit I like the most is the reception at the destination airport, where they line up the fire trucks and spray fire hoses, like a watery guard of honor that can initially be very concerning to many people until they explain what’s going on.
Reader, I craned my neck as we taxied to the stand, bracing myself for a welcoming jet. That jet never came. How dare they deprive the three or four people who were probably looking out for it their moment of cheap pleasure?! That said, I hope there wasn’t a real fire that was keeping the trucks otherwise engaged.
Now then, the border security at New Orleans is a place I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before as I’m usually standing, sweaty-faced, at immigration in Chicago or Des Moines. It had more desks than I thought, and it went faster than many international airports. The best bit by far, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, was the enthusiasm of the border security guards. The chap that I got was beaming as I showed him my i-Visa (the one they issue to visiting media).
“THIS IS MY FIRST ONE OF THESE!” he beamed. “Man, I’m tempted to take a photo!” (I mean, there are literally dozens of cameras pointed at us in the booth, but whatever). He’d only ever processed business visas before, and this slightly different paperwork was like some kind of rare administrative Pokemon.
“Big day for you guys, huh?” I smiled. I felt like a proud dad as he stamped it. Immigration is not usually this amiable.
The bags came out and as we strolled through customs, the faint strains of a live brass band wafted across the halls. MSY had organized a reception for us. Airport employees doled out British Airways-branded Mardi Gras beads to bemused Brits and annoyed locals who just wanted to get to their Uber. Souvenir tote bags with luggage tags and maps and a broken wooden model plane were thrust into our hands, the brass band looking only slightly disheveled as they’d probably been waiting for at least an hour. I hope they were at least tipsy.
And there it was. London to New Orleans in nine and half hours, a friendly welcome and a brass band that will now serenade all arrivals from the UK in perpetuity, their descendants taking up their clarinets and tubas as they pass away, my life stumbling through terminals in Chicago and Dallas and Atlanta a thing of the past. Laissez les bon temps s'envoler...
WEIRD LOUISIANA PRODUCTS
MORE TRUE LIFE STORIES FROM NEW ORLEANS
