This is a Trip Report from the Premium Economy cabin
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As we back away from the airbridge, almost the last leg of our stateside trip to see our daughter is underway (almost the last as we still have to get the taxi at LHR). It's been something quite different and special. For those who want to know more about the Blue Ridge Mountains, Knoxville, Nashville, Washington DC and the revenge of the salt and pepper pots that had been taken hostage, I've put some information and photos after the TR itself..
Our final day had begun at the Washington Hilton. Of all Hiltons I have stayed in over the years this was the first to aim to offer a "Full Sensory Experience" executive lounge. Touch - everything sticky witm (sorry, jelly) and.peanut butter Sight - nothing quite like watching hordes of people reperatedly pile plates high with food. Smell - a strange combination of a number of foodstuffs that Heston (Blumenthal, rather than Services) would baulk at. Sound - a buzzing cacaphony where only "wanna" and "gimme" were distinguishable. All that was lacking was taste... take my advice, avoid the Executive lounge in the Washington Hilton during a three state Spring Break. Anyhow, I digress. After a morning wandering Washington, a farewell beer or two at the Capitol Brewing Company over lunch and what seemed to be small snowstorm of dollars to get the bags from the concierge and into the taxi, we set out for what we agreed would be "Dulles" and not, as initially communicated by the Bell Captain, "Dallas". A good thing too, as sleep promptly came over me and walking up several thousand miles away with only our remaining USD100 to pay the fare could have proved awkward.
At IAD we were reunited with MrsPJH's jacket which had been left in our first night hosts' car during one of their exceptionally generous taxi runs around DC, and after fond farewells we made it to the PE check in. Our station seemed to be an oasis of calm, whereas other agents at PE desks were handling groups attempting to negotiate upgrades or at UC handle babies, toddlers and what appeared to be small hang gliders.
IAD itself was spacious and very quiet with all the usual manifold retail experiences available at US airports to offset numbing boredom, i.e. none. So instead a barstool was procured and Jack on the rocks ordered. Well, we hadn't managed one in Lynchburg and I was determined to have one before we left US soil. On the way we'd passed the VS CH (and I swear I heard MrsPJH sigh at that point) noticing the presence of the babies, toddlers and hang gliders within its hallowed portal. I thought perhaps it had been a wise decision not to have sought an opportunity to upgrade...(dear reader, you can guess what's coming...)
Boarding called, we slipped through as the last of the priority boards, and at the door we were again addressed by (correctly pronounced) name. Both of these events produced a small glow of contentment...and to top it all my jacket was stowed in an upper class locker. Oh, the excitement. Obviously the crew recognised that it should be my normal mode of travel.....
Settled into the seats, thinking this is fine. Short flight, sat next to each other, working IFE, all good. Passengers trickling on and the time for departure approaching with the two seats in front of us still empty. Also approaching, however, were the sounds of a baby wailing in discordant tandem with a toddler proclaiming "I DON' WANNA!" at great volume every 5 seconds (This is true. I timed it). They may have checked in at UC, they may have been in the CH, but they were heading for the seats in front of us. Mum and toddler in front of us, Dad and baby at the end of the centre. Dipstick that I am, I had pre-selected 19H&K, one row behind the bassinet position. Well, there's nothing much you can do about this except hope, so that's exactly what we did, watching with some mild amusement as dad spent almost the entire time until the wheels lifted scrambling around for cookies, iPads, nappies, milk and food.
Over the other side of the aircraft, someone had been escorted on and the lady performing the task then gave a big wave and wished everyone bon voyage. Was this an escort from the (neatly positioned) CH?
Drinks orders are taken before being away on time, taking a lesiurely run up into the sky, this time with no evidence of any white goods providing additional thrust.
"Ding" went the seat belt sign. "Zzzz" went the baby . "Whack" went the back of the seat in front into my knees."DON' WANNA" went the toddler in front. "Oh......dear" went the voice in my head. Top marks to baby, less so to rest of party. Quite why a four year old needs their seat in complete recline for the entire flight (meal service included) escapes me, but at least the baby did the decent thing and slept through the flight, even when hoiked out of the bassinet due to turbulence.
Meal service and the IFE started promptly. "Slightly chaotic" is the best description of the former on our side of the aircraft. On the port side, the cart and following drinks service proceeded in a progressive manner; on our side the cart was stowed half way down the aisle and there seemed to be some confusion as to what should happen next. There was certainly a lot of activity around attempting to locate those who'd ordered special meals; MrsPJH was certainly surprised to have one plonked down in front of her. Eventually orders were taken and I opted for the beef stroganoff with noodles. As food it filled a hole, but little more, and proved a little...splashy. Trying to avoid inadvertantly sharing the gravy with MrsPJH whilst also flexing my elbows up and down and not side to side was entertaining. Drink refills were offered, but my lack of pace in the drinking department meant I let the team down. I did, however, opt for a brandy when than was offered post the meal.
"Inside Job", a righteous polemic about the sub prime crisis, was the entertainment of choice. It was only when I saw it again after returning did I realise that it wasn't filmed throughout in style designed to mask the identities of those involved by use of dark hues. Perhaps my reclinee was a relative of someone in the film and wished to protect them, in which case 10/10. Luckily, it's not a film that requires much in the way of visuals, and shamelessness come across well in any hue.
Done with the film, some sleep before the lights went up for breakfast. I know there's a general view that the full english is better than a muffin, but I'm not sure my stomach feels that its vote was adequately captured in any poll that informed that view. There was some taste to the sausage though, the fruit basket provided a simple banana (a fruit that MrsPJH states should never be eaten in public) to fill some of the gap and the whole ensemble was then topped off with the mini creme egg that accompanied the final crew announcements (that included the wish that we should all have a happy easter).
Descent was from the west - so no glorious views of London that sometimes close a trip - and wheels were touching the concrete a good 40 minutes ahead of schedule. As we trundled towards our stand the voice of the flight deck came back on to thank the crew, to thank us for flying with Virgin, to wish us a happy easter and "most of all, an absolutely perfect day" (I think "Smooth Operator" was now playing in the background).
25 minutes later we were in our taxi and on the way home. Thought the crew had been fastidious in ensuring that all UC passengers were off first, but we kept up with the pack to arrival at the empty immigration hall and then swiftly through to baggage collection, where there did seem to some form of priority being exercised. Out through the doors to find our (worth its weight in gold) taxi service ready to bear us back to the flatlands.
All in all, a fine, not spectacular, trip. Were I AU status I think PE to and from the east coast would be fine. I didn't sleep as much as I would have liked and certainly nowhere near as much as we did flying back from EWR in UC 18 months back, but that as I had to neither drive nor work don't feel that mattered much. .
....here endeth the VS TR, and here beginneth some random stuff and photos about the trip....
On arrival at IAD we'd been met by friends and given a tour of Reston and Manassas, dinner and a bed for the night. This provided an excellent start to the holiday, providing focus and fun rather than the two of us staring at each other in an airport hotel bedroom. Not that MrsPJH isn't a true vision of loveliness well worth a stare or two, you understand. It also allows us to wonder at the square footage of their house. Walk in wardrobes! A Man cave! A Mustang in the garage!
Next morning they ferried us back to IAD to pick up the car. This was something of an "experience". First impressions are not good. The Dollar / Thrifty lot is waaaaaaaaayyyy down the end of the road that houses the car hire companies, kind of at the low rent end of town. Then the service is Sunday slow and more attuned to trying to sell you insurance than, for example, ensuring that the first offering isn't a car that seems to have last been used in the climactic car chase in the last Bourne film. First off we had to find the thing, and evidently assisting us by pointing it out wasn't high up the agenda today.
"It's white" said the clerk.
"They are all white", said I.
"Just push the button on the fob" said he
So we did, and found something the size of our entire downstairs answering the call. It had been white at one time in its life, but now had a series of dark marks and scratches. MrsPJH wandered around the other side, and sometime later (well, it was a big car) essays the information "all the trim is missing on this side". At this point the paperwork is hauled out to check the car condition report - only to find there isn't such a thing. After noting that most other of the "full size" vehicles share the same condition, I trudge back to the office.
Walking back to check the condition of the car is another item that was clearly submitted too late to make the day's agenda, so instead another.vehicle is offered which is declared to be, "slightly smaller" (probably with the unspoken addition of "and so appropriate for you panty waisted limeys who can't deal with a true american car", in which case he read the runes correctly). So our journey south and west is to take place in a very, very dull Chevy Impala which isn't, to my eyes, a "Dodge Charger or similar". It is, however, low mileage and free of dents, scratches and scuffs, has an mp3 input for the iPod and our first thought isn't "ooops. How are we going to fit these cases into that car?" so we must be thankful. Some days the road we find the paperwork for the previous rental that shows it had been under the Thrifty brand and, it would appear, at a considerably lower daily rate than we were paying. I'd rented the full size vehcile in anticipation of shipping some of the LFO's friends around, but it turns out that this isn't needed, so perhaps I should have gone for something smaller and a little more able to get round the bends on the way up to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Whatever, at the end of the trip and after 1800 miles together there's a strange sadness in the farewell to our dusty, insect splattered, ride.
Hilton brand accommodation had been used through most of the trip, in part to use points offset the cost, but a couple more offbeat or b&b establishments were sampled. Below is the view from our first stop in the Blue Ridge mountains.
The only problems we have throught the trip in accommodation is noisy neighbours. In one of the b&bs a family had taken two of the rooms on the same landing where we were, and had decided to house children and pets in one room, and parents in the other. So at 6 am we were awoken by the children hammering on their parent's door and then the dogs running riot on the landing; the inn keeper (as I believe they style themselves) apologised, which was more than the family did . And then in the Washington Hilton we had a kazoo orchestra, evidently trying to meet the challlenge of maintaining a free jazz discordancy whilst jumping up and down on the bed, at 6 am. I was moved to bang on the wall and plead for quiet, but to no avail.
Those of you have read the outbound TR will know that this trip was occasioned by a wish to see our daughter, the LFO, in her current habitat of the University of Tennesse at Knoxville. Now Knoxille is famous for several things;
1. Hank Williams received a fatal dose of drugs in a hotel in town
2. The FBI has a body farm there
3. John Lee Pettimore's daddy was headed when he immolated himself with a car full of moonshine in Steve Earle's song "Copperhead Road".
and, with less emphasis on mortality,
4. Bart Simpson travelled there to visit the World's Fair and the Sunsphere, only to find it acting as a wig store
Despite Bart's trip ending with the demolition of the Sunsphere, they've obviously rebuilt it as here it is in all its glory. And there are no wigs anywhere to be seen.
Memories of Knoxville also include
- the eyeball searing orange that is the UT colo(u)r. As they are very proud of their teams, the students on campus look as if they've been subject to a mssive tango'ing.
- the truly spooky lonesome wail of the freight trains that move through the town
- the revenge of the Virgin salt and pepper pots. They seem to have, at some stage, found a home in close proximity to my rain jacket. Day 2 (or was it 3?) in Knoxville proved a wee bit on the damp side, but with places to explore and appropriate covering, we ventured out, me wearing the rain jacket for the first time. I think it was on leaving the East Tennesse Museum (excellent) that I raised the hood, to find myself showered in something slightly gritty. Had I any hair, its colour at that point could accurately be termed salt and pepper.
Luckily we missed the worst of the storms that hit the south, though we drove through one hell of a rainstorm on the way to Nashville. Since we left the LFO has been evacuated twice to safe areas of her apartment building, and the hail has been golf ball sized.
Tennessee is generally (Pigeon Forge excepted) a beautiful state and it is possible to catch a glimpses of a bear from the car.
It's also rich in history, from the original tribal inhabitants, the revolution, the 1812 war against the Brits, the Civil War (though nominally in the Confederacy, it was a reluctant member and many families split between the cause of the South and the Union), country music, the rise of the idea of the hillbilly (as a concept for the tourist), the Tennessee Valley Authority, Oak Ridge (Manhattan project).
You can't go to Tennessee without going to Nashville...and when in Nashville you have to go to the Grand Ole Opry. Little Jimmie Dickens (below, aged 90) had a great suit, and a line in the smuttiest jokes since Humphrey Lyttleton went off to chair the great panel game in the sky. How he (LJD, rather than HL) got away with it in a god fearin' country on early evening radio is beyond me.
I must admit the GOO confirmed some of my prejudices about the current state of country music, and it was fun to be there, but my defintion of country (and, let's not forget, western) is not broad enough to include "May The Bird of Happiness Fly Up Your Nose" and that irritating song about unicorns. We did experience better music the next day at a Hank Williams tribute concert and then later in the trip on a warm night on a green in a small town listening to a group of friends...ahem... "pick up a storm" on various acoustic instruments.
Nashville also contained possibly the finest waxed moustache I have ever seen on a live human being.
The lure of a tour to the Jack Daniels distillery irresistable. Here I met my new besh mate Jack I, though I couldn't drink any of his products in Lynchburg.
Unfortunately, you can't drink his products in Lynchburg.
And out to the posh Franklin, which featured a very charming town centre (with a "rotary") and the unusual commerative stone below.
We ended up for a few days in Washington, doing the sights. We had unwittingly chosen the Spring Break period so everything that could be booked was completely booked out, so we couldn't get up the Monument, into the Capitol Building, into the Bureau of Engraving.... but we still walked the Mall and did as many of the museums as we could. Can't say I was taken by the Metro - so gloomy and full of shadows that I was convinced I was hearing things whisper of "my precious..." and with the slowest escalators ever - but the monuments made up for it.
And finally we had to click the heels on these together to get back home...
We can get better, because we're not dead yet
Blimey that's probably the most detailed trip report ever lol - thanks a very entertaining read - shame about the annoying toddler 
