Mr Tabubil's new company sent us across to Chile up at the front of the airplane. It's an awfully nice way to travel. The 180 degree beds are heaven and the air crew are charming instead of vague and faintly worried about where in the dinner service the hot chicken plate is going to run out.
(To be perfectly frank, the food up front is just as uninspiring as the hot chicken plate down the back- the only discernible difference between up business and economy was the linen napkins, but that's Air Canada for you. They do their best with the requisite cheese platters and the side salads, but when that cheese arrived, I picked up the wedge of brie by one corner and tapped it on the plate and my whole sleeper-class pod rattled.
You can't imagine what they try and push on you for breakfast.)
The only faintly awkward part about traveling up front is that there is only one entrance to the plane, and while you're sitting up there, enthroned in splendor and trying out all the buttons on your personal sleeper pod, all the poor souls riding in economy class trudge right past you, clutching babies and carry bags, and you become intensely interested in reading that complimentary newspaper.
Only I figured that this was doing it wrong. After the first leg of our trip, I nipped into an airport newsagent and bought myself a Vogue and a Vanity Fair. If you're going to look like you're part of the jet-set, you've got to do it right.