DEGREES OF DEPARTURE

Should an airport pastrami sandwich really set you back $28 (plus tax)?  You have to wonder whether at that price it might serve other functions besides filling an empty stomach. It’s no mystery, anyway, that a dreary McDonalds is always the most popular place to chow down in the terminal… sad!

JFK is our country’s flagship international gateway. May the massive expansion now underway restore something of this great airport’s original wanderlusty flavor. You can still taste that on a foggy night at LAX. But I’m betting there will simply be more vanilla branded, credit card-sponsored lounges and by the time it’s all done, $46 Reubens plus sustainable cutlery fees.

On the subject of air travel, have you ever wondered why European short-haul business class is so often the pits? This may come as a dark revelation to domestic biz cabin ninjas in the United States, where comfy seats and decent dining options still prevail, but on the European Continent, business class is for the most part a major league letdown. In fact, the defining feature is that the middle seat is blocked off, meaning you pay a couple hundred extra bucks just to avoid fighting over the armrest. Otherwise, your seat is going to be exactly the same as every other on the plane — paper-thin and hard to take for any length of time for anyone who hasn’t got a padded posterior like Beyoncé’s.

To be fair, some European airlines add an enhanced dining experience to their domestic business class, but the quality and quantity of what you get varies wildly. For example, KM Malta Airlines offers its business class passengers a meal that is, quote, “inspired by the rich tapestry of Maltese culture, traditions, and scenic landscapes” and employs a variety of local herbs from the Mediterranean, as well as local olives and ġbejniet (a traditional Maltese cheese). I sampled such a repast on a flight from London to Valletta recently and it was both beautifully presented and delicious. Aegean Airlines also does a pretty good job with their “Gastronomics” menu in business class.

By contrast KLM is a case study in parsimony, as I found out on an early morning flight from Athens to Amsterdam. For about $115 misspent dollars I was treated to a mini-croissant and pretzel bun, both cold, stale and served in a cellophane wrapping, as well as a wedge of plastic-wrapped cake with overly sweet pink raspberry frosting. These items were presented in a square box designed by some flying Dutchman named Marcel Wanders but you cannot eat the box; if KLM is seeking to enhance the Dutch reputation for frugality it succeeded.

In any event, I still prefer New Amsterdam — Manhattan — to the rainy old one. Who wouldn’t? Amsterdam is a city with certain charms but short on challenges. Schiphol Airport features stuffy air, bad coffee and a gift shop specializing in fake tulips; enough said.

Even so, a new bumper crop of almost religiously mediocre hotels won’t rescue America’s greatest city from its accelerating slide into banality. A stay at the newish Hard Rock Hotel New York could mean having a framed John Lennon suit or original Cyndi Lauper polka dot dress as neighbors — each floor has memorabilia from a different rock star — but across the street? A Home2 Suites by Hilton next to a Motto by Hilton Times Square next to a —wait,  with ridiculous names like this, does it even matter?

Give it a chance, my friend said, so we strode into the lobby of the Motto by Hilton, which had all the charm of an overcrowded AA Admirals Club lounge in Dallas designed by a toddler who pointed at four things in an AI-generated home furnishings catalogue.

Obviously, Times Square today is not the New York of Lou Reed and Andy Warhol yesterday, but why do I have the feeling that Marriott and the other big boys are coming for the East Village and Chelsea? They’ve already pretty much killed off the old loft-y parfum de Soho (a “Courtyard New York Manhattan/SoHo” — the very idea!)  and other once cool ‘hoods. “People like what’s familiar,” my friend says. 

“Then maybe they should stay home,” I say. “At least your own living room doesn’t come with a phony resort fee.”

Speaking of ridiculous add-ons, corporate greed now means spending $400 or $600 plus taxes for one night in a decent American hotel room. That might be pocket change for Albania-loving Jared Kushner but I’m guessing that for many reading this, it is not. 

So, for a quartet of Benjis there ought to be Charmin Ultra in the bathroom and not some prison-grade one-ply, no? 

Travelers of a certain age will remember when walking around New York was both a spectator sport and slightly terrifying, but not necessarily for bad reasons. American zombies, which seemingly applies to anyone under the age of 45 today, please take note: if you are going to dart about these storied byways without the proper seasoning, please at least stop staring at your phone as you do. I’ve lived in Tel Aviv, roamed dark alleys in Palermo and promise you are not as beautiful or influential as you think you are — moreover, it is not my job to avoid knocking you over because of your failure to understand cities and what they represent.

Back to my flighty but only true friend — the airport — and a packed Delta plane on the tarmac at JFK. I ask a chirpy flight attendant why there are so many people going to, of all places, Salt Lake City. She chirps back:  “Why does anyone go anywhere?”

Boarding has now been completed, and touché.