Airlines: February 2007 Archives

You'll remember that JetBlue managed to turn lead into gold when one of their A320s suffered a nosegear failure and ended up starring on live TV in one of the world's most publicised landings. Everything went well, the pilot was lauded, and the airline effectively got advertising that I suppose would be valued in seven figures at regular TV rates.

Last week things were different. JetBlue is being flayed for its near network-collapse and all the advertising in the world couldn't fix its reputation right now. The saga may well lead to passenger-rights legislation in the USA, and JetBlue has come up with its own bill of rights in the meantime.

But Neeleman's smart touch is, I think, shown in this YouTube video in which he talks directly about what happened and what JetBlue is doing about it. It's about as good a job as could be done in the circumstances - he comes across as a CEO who's genuinely horrified by what happened and regretful of what his company has done to its individual customers. The YouTube comments are predictably cynical, but as the thread develops, an increasing number of plausibly genuine supporters get on board.

Right now this has tremendous impact. But I don't think it sets a precedent that will be widely followed. The next airline CEO that does it will get about one-tenth of the impact, and anyone else will barely be noticed. Fact is that the airline industry lets its customers down so often that YouTube would need a special "contrite airline CEOs" category. I don't suppose United's Glen Tilton considered YouTube for a moment after this horror.

Unfortunately not by me, but this is a nice blog post by a Russian passenger on a Skyexpress Boeing 737-300 undertaking one of the first of the airline's flights from Moscow Vnukovo airport to Sochi. It's in Russian, but Google language tools does quite a nice job of getting the gist of the report. And for me the striking thing is how startlingly similar the whole experience is to, say, an Easyjet trip. Skyexpress is linked to Airunion, reportedly with some Western investment involved too. I'm not sure where they got their concept from, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were Luton, England.

Iraqi Airways’ designator code is ‘IA’ – that’s Insha’allah Airlines, whispers a Kurdistan Regional Government official with a smirk, because it’s God’s will whether the flight will arrive on time, depart on time, or even turn up at all.

Jihad, the blight of modern-day airline scheduling. Iraqi Airways flight-something-or-other (the indicator board at Kurdistan’s Erbil Airport enigmatically declares no number) is 90 minutes late departing to Baghdad, but the punters appear content that their shabby green Boeing 727-200 – belching soot and bearing a Sierra Leone registration which would send the European Commission apoplectic – at least has a wing on each side. Its pilot, waving from the cockpit window, is remarkably cheerful for someone heading for an airport whose arrival pattern features a corkscrew dive to improve your chances of dodging a SAM-14. 

To this otherworldly place, far removed from Viennese order and comfort, Austrian Airlines has returned. It’s barely three weeks since Saddam Hussein was shown the gravity of his crimes (much of that gravity suddenly appearing beneath an open trapdoor) but so far there’s no evidence of resurgence in the violence that stalled Austrian’s earlier attempt to restart flights to Iraq.

Kurdistan’s capital is one of the oldest continuously-inhabited cities in the world but don’t believe that 50 centuries has been nearly enough time to agree on a name. The airport says ‘Erbil’. Immigration stamps my passport ‘Arbil’ and the breakaway GoogleMap faction insists on ‘Irbil’. The Kurds call it ‘Hewler’, and you’d think they’d know, but their opinion doesn’t seem to count.

Whatever. The KRG insists the place is safe, shortly after our press corps disembarks from Austrian’s A320, but our token, low-key security detail nevertheless includes a police car, close-quarter escorts with shades and earpieces, and half-a-dozen peshmerga troops riding shotgun. We couldn’t be more conspicuous if we were travelling by tank.

Passers-by look initially bemused, but then break into spontaneous beaming and waving with an infectious friendliness which seems to permeate Kurdistan. Downtown Erbil is a chaotic sprawl of cheerful bartering, taxi horns, peace murals, low-hanging phone wires, and labyrinthine bazaars where everything brightly-coloured that isn’t edible is covered in sequins. Under a kerbside tree an elderly gentleman, cross-legged on a rug, is selling mobiles while from a narrow entryway an industrial clothing-iron vents steam into the street. One shop’s facade is tiled with a selection of framed presidential portraits. For those who aren’t feeling particularly deferential, the commercial district contains dozens of other stores with wall-to-wall paraphernalia which manage to blend Middle Eastern mystique with all the strategic consideration of an eBay fire-sale. If sir cares for a brand-new copy of last year’s diary, sir has come to the right place. Welcome.