Level Premium Class: Not Everything Is on the Level
BY FRED ABATEMARCO --
Initially, I was as impressed with the boarding procedure on my Level return flight from Barcelona/BCN as I had been on the outbound flight from New York/Kennedy. That is, right up until I descended the jetway and was directed to a shuttle to a bus gate.
What was the point of those neatly labeled, scrupulously organized Group 1 or Group 2 or Group 3 or Group Ω boarding tranches to which the passengers very obligingly conformed? At the aircraft, Level flyers congealed into an ungainly mass of people, strollers, carry-ons and backpacks clambering up the boarding stairs.
A handful of such contradictions marked my first experience with this low-cost, long-haul discounter owned by the International Airline Group, parent conglomerate of British Airways, Iberia, Aer Lingus and others. Which is not to say all the oddities were entirely unwelcome. For one thing, the booking site showed me ho-hum reclining seats in the Premium Class. But once on board for a getaway to Spain, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the flight featured Super Diamond suites with lie-flat seating.
My $1,663 fare had bought me a poor man's business class ride!
The 20 seats of Level's 1-2-1 configuration are arranged in a herringbone pattern that affords copious amounts of comfort and enviable amounts of privacy. But before you go rushing off to book Level, be aware that the Super Diamond lie-flat suites are only available on a pair of Airbus A330-200s that Level inherited from Virgin Australia. The aircraft are erratically deployed on Level's JFK and Miami runs to and from Barcelona. Booking up front on Level is a crapshoot if you want to lie flat.
Despite the homogenized boarding in Barcelona, there was no bedlam and plenty of overhead space for our carry-on luggage, outerwear and a couple of bags of gifts we picked up in the airport. It didn't hurt that about 25% of the seats were empty on both the outbound and inbound flights even after upgrades were awarded and/or sold. Of course, since Level doesn't even flag the existence of these uniquely configured aircraft, it's understandable that most customers have no idea what's available.
Still, the cocoon-like Level Premium Class felt a tad confining to me, owing to my 6-foot, 240-pound frame. But I don't typically sleep on planes so the eminently customizable lie-flat seats gave me all the legroom and support I wanted to read, work, eat and watch movies in upright, reclining and lounge positions. Your mileage may certainly vary. (And remember the alternative: Most times you book a Level premium fare, you'll get only about 37 inches of legroom in recliners configured 2x3x2.)
The compartment featured plentiful charging ports and storage bins. Redundant touchscreen and wired remote controls made for easy access to all functions in the suite. Likely a telltale sign of the 14 years of service of these Super Diamond compartments, the remote control module at my seat literally lifted out of the armrest when I first tried to operate it on the return flight. It surely requires some TLC on the ground.
A slide-out table beneath the monitor was Goldilocks perfect for a laptop or meal tray. There was no Bluetooth connection, but the airline provided plug-in earphones if you didn't have your own. The entertainment choices were rudimentary, ranging from tried-and-true American TV series, some recent and classic Hollywood flicks, several Spanish titles and a dozen or so music and podcast channels in English and Spanish.
What was billed as free Wi-Fi was pitiful, only valuable for basic messaging. But since I was on holiday, not in need of any connected services, I didn't bother to purchase upgraded service. It sells for about $7 an hour or around $24 for an entire flight.
Among my complaints was an underpowered over-the-shoulder reading lamp. It was impossible to aim at the slide-out table or any handheld material. I realize I may represent a minority, since now and then I prefer a book or magazine to a screen. Unfortunately, that wasn't happening on these flights.
Across the aisle in a window seat, my wife enjoyed long transatlantic naps in both directions. She didn't even wake to eat, though she didn't miss much. Meal service was yet another reminder we were not in genuine business class.
Both our flights offered a choice of entrees, accompanied by a salad, dessert and all the warm rolls one cared to consume. Just before landing, a sandwich was served. The food was forgettable and served up on pressed paper plates and cups with matching flatware that only made it less appetizing. Beer, wine, water and soft drinks were all complimentary. However, cocktails, liquor or after-dinner drinks were a paid option.
It mattered not a bit that we'd made our meal choices as part of the online booking process. The cabin crew had no record of them in either direction. Besides disappearing meal requests, advance booking through Iberia had another minor glitch. No matter how many times I tried--on the Web site or using the mobile app--I never succeeded in getting my AAdvantage number attached to the reservation. (An Iberia ground agent got it done for me at the airport.)
The last premium economy flight I experienced was aboard Norse Atlantic Airways. For approximately same level of service, the price on this Level journey was a few hundred dollars higher. Yet I'm certain that my wife, and perhaps most of the other flyers who slept their way to and from Barcelona, felt Level with lie-flat beds is a certifiable bargain. I cannot argue, especially since Level offered the best comfort-value proposition I could find for nonstops into and out of Spain.
Still, squinting to read The New Yorker before giving up the printed page to relish Jennifer Aniston playing the worst on-screen dentist in Horrible Bosses since Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors, I missed having those savings to put towards a few extra cocktails to get me through the night and the flight.
ABOUT FRED ABATEMARCO
Fred Abatemarco is a career journalist who has been associate editor at Newsweek, editor-in-chief of Personal Computing and editor-in-chief and president of Popular Science. JoeSentMe members know him best as the creator of the Back FROM the World and FishTales blogs.
What was the point of those neatly labeled, scrupulously organized Group 1 or Group 2 or Group 3 or Group Ω boarding tranches to which the passengers very obligingly conformed? At the aircraft, Level flyers congealed into an ungainly mass of people, strollers, carry-ons and backpacks clambering up the boarding stairs.
A handful of such contradictions marked my first experience with this low-cost, long-haul discounter owned by the International Airline Group, parent conglomerate of British Airways, Iberia, Aer Lingus and others. Which is not to say all the oddities were entirely unwelcome. For one thing, the booking site showed me ho-hum reclining seats in the Premium Class. But once on board for a getaway to Spain, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the flight featured Super Diamond suites with lie-flat seating.
My $1,663 fare had bought me a poor man's business class ride!
The 20 seats of Level's 1-2-1 configuration are arranged in a herringbone pattern that affords copious amounts of comfort and enviable amounts of privacy. But before you go rushing off to book Level, be aware that the Super Diamond lie-flat suites are only available on a pair of Airbus A330-200s that Level inherited from Virgin Australia. The aircraft are erratically deployed on Level's JFK and Miami runs to and from Barcelona. Booking up front on Level is a crapshoot if you want to lie flat.
Despite the homogenized boarding in Barcelona, there was no bedlam and plenty of overhead space for our carry-on luggage, outerwear and a couple of bags of gifts we picked up in the airport. It didn't hurt that about 25% of the seats were empty on both the outbound and inbound flights even after upgrades were awarded and/or sold. Of course, since Level doesn't even flag the existence of these uniquely configured aircraft, it's understandable that most customers have no idea what's available.
Still, the cocoon-like Level Premium Class felt a tad confining to me, owing to my 6-foot, 240-pound frame. But I don't typically sleep on planes so the eminently customizable lie-flat seats gave me all the legroom and support I wanted to read, work, eat and watch movies in upright, reclining and lounge positions. Your mileage may certainly vary. (And remember the alternative: Most times you book a Level premium fare, you'll get only about 37 inches of legroom in recliners configured 2x3x2.)
The compartment featured plentiful charging ports and storage bins. Redundant touchscreen and wired remote controls made for easy access to all functions in the suite. Likely a telltale sign of the 14 years of service of these Super Diamond compartments, the remote control module at my seat literally lifted out of the armrest when I first tried to operate it on the return flight. It surely requires some TLC on the ground.
A slide-out table beneath the monitor was Goldilocks perfect for a laptop or meal tray. There was no Bluetooth connection, but the airline provided plug-in earphones if you didn't have your own. The entertainment choices were rudimentary, ranging from tried-and-true American TV series, some recent and classic Hollywood flicks, several Spanish titles and a dozen or so music and podcast channels in English and Spanish.
What was billed as free Wi-Fi was pitiful, only valuable for basic messaging. But since I was on holiday, not in need of any connected services, I didn't bother to purchase upgraded service. It sells for about $7 an hour or around $24 for an entire flight.
Among my complaints was an underpowered over-the-shoulder reading lamp. It was impossible to aim at the slide-out table or any handheld material. I realize I may represent a minority, since now and then I prefer a book or magazine to a screen. Unfortunately, that wasn't happening on these flights.
Across the aisle in a window seat, my wife enjoyed long transatlantic naps in both directions. She didn't even wake to eat, though she didn't miss much. Meal service was yet another reminder we were not in genuine business class.
Both our flights offered a choice of entrees, accompanied by a salad, dessert and all the warm rolls one cared to consume. Just before landing, a sandwich was served. The food was forgettable and served up on pressed paper plates and cups with matching flatware that only made it less appetizing. Beer, wine, water and soft drinks were all complimentary. However, cocktails, liquor or after-dinner drinks were a paid option.
It mattered not a bit that we'd made our meal choices as part of the online booking process. The cabin crew had no record of them in either direction. Besides disappearing meal requests, advance booking through Iberia had another minor glitch. No matter how many times I tried--on the Web site or using the mobile app--I never succeeded in getting my AAdvantage number attached to the reservation. (An Iberia ground agent got it done for me at the airport.)
The last premium economy flight I experienced was aboard Norse Atlantic Airways. For approximately same level of service, the price on this Level journey was a few hundred dollars higher. Yet I'm certain that my wife, and perhaps most of the other flyers who slept their way to and from Barcelona, felt Level with lie-flat beds is a certifiable bargain. I cannot argue, especially since Level offered the best comfort-value proposition I could find for nonstops into and out of Spain.
Still, squinting to read The New Yorker before giving up the printed page to relish Jennifer Aniston playing the worst on-screen dentist in Horrible Bosses since Steve Martin in Little Shop of Horrors, I missed having those savings to put towards a few extra cocktails to get me through the night and the flight.
ABOUT FRED ABATEMARCO
Fred Abatemarco is a career journalist who has been associate editor at Newsweek, editor-in-chief of Personal Computing and editor-in-chief and president of Popular Science. JoeSentMe members know him best as the creator of the Back FROM the World and FishTales blogs.