Air France complaint letter

This is the letter I wrote to Air France in January 2005. It tells the story of a shit airline with shit service operating out of a shit airport.

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Jean-Cyril Spinetta
Air France Chairman and CEO
45, rue de Paris
95747 Roissy CDG Cedex
FRANCE


Saturday 8th January 2005


Dear M. Spinetta,

Let me begin by saying that, contrary to what I experienced on your airline, the fact that I am 17 years old means that, having had to pay for a full fare ticket, my views are just as valid as those of any other full fare paying customer, regardless of age.

Last month I flew on Air France from London Heathrow to Chhatrapati Shivaji International in Mumbai, via Paris Charles de Gaulle. After a 15-day break, I returned the same way. Given the demand for tickets to India at this time of year, I chose to fly Air France for the first time, and was expecting a decent service as it had a good reputation. CdG Airport was meant to be one of the world’s best, so I did not have too many issues about changing aircraft there. However, I least expected the catalogue of inefficiency and disorganisation that I was soon to experience.

Friday 17th December 2004 saw me arrive promptly at Terminal 2 of London Heathrow Airport at 4.45am, based on the standard request be at check-in two hours before the flight’s departure (6.45am). Arriving at the airport, there is already a queue at Air France’s counters reaching outside the queuing area, and by the time staff arrived (at around 5.15am), the queue was zigzagging its way across the middle of the main thoroughfare through the terminal. Eventually I checked in and, having little time to shop in duty-free due to the delay, soon boarded AF2471. Interestingly enough, my seat did not have an Air France passenger magazine, unlike those around me, so I was glad I had brought my own book.

And then we land in Paris, and taxi towards the wonderful new Terminal 2 – Air France’s own personal operations centre – the epitome of modern state-of-the-art airport facilities. Except that none of this seemed to come true! We come to a halt in the pouring rain and, despite the fact that this is an international flight arriving at an ultra-modern terminal, we had to descent a staircase and walk 100 metres to an “Air France” bus. This was fine for me as a young boy, but what about the mothers behind me who were carrying babies on their shoulders as well as their substantial hand baggage whilst trying to negotiate a slippery, un-sheltered staircase in the pouring rain. And it got worse.

As I approached the waiting bus it was packed to capacity – people crammed in with no space to move – clothes, hair and hand baggage all drenched – and I managed to find some space to fit in, presuming the doors would close. How wrong I was. Behind me all the ladies with their babies and children were ordered by the Air France personnel on the ground to go onto the bus, despite their objections, and they managed to cram another 20 or so more people onto an already overcrowded bus. Packed like sardines we were driven around the airport’s maze of roads like a tour bus for around 15 minutes just to get into the terminal, 2F if my memory serves me correct. By this time, the 1hour 25 minute wait I had between flights had become just 45 minutes, excluding boarding time.

Even inside the terminal there was chaos – hundreds of people crowding around the only screen trying to find out which terminal their onward flight was departing from. I had to go to 2A, so I had the joy of waiting in another crowd for another 5 minutes as another “Air France” bus turned up, gave us another tour of the airport, and 15 minutes later arrived at Terminal 2A. Had it been possible, I had absolutely no doubt I could have walked to 2A in 5 minutes, with less inconvenience, with fresh air and without having to worry about crowds. But for some reason that clearly Air France know but decided not to share with the rest of us, this, uniquely, is not possible at the wonderful Charles de Gaulle Terminal 2.

By the time I had gone through security again, boarding had begun of AF134 to Mumbai, and as if scripted to make it as inconvenient as possible, it was from the furthest possible gate of an extended wing of the terminal. Joy.

Luckily enough for me, I was given a seat at the front of the economy class seating area, and so had ample space to stretch my legs and sleep off during the 8 hour flight. However I feel that I must also comment on the choice of language of your stewardesses. Given that the flight was full of Indians, almost all of who had travelled from either the UK or the US; it was surely painfully obvious that the choice of language should be English (however much this may annoy Francophones), given that most Indians cannot speak French. So it was lucky for the two gentlemen sitting either side of me that, having been educated in the UK, I knew enough French to translate what the stewardesses were asking them – for some reason the obvious assumption I made above had not registered with them.

Numerous visits to India in the past have prepared me for the chaos and general confusion that is the norm in Mumbai Airport, and I expect nothing less. Considering the total disorganisation in CdG, supposedly a world-class airport, I was not expecting much from CSI. As it turned out, there was an air conditioned walkway from the plane to the terminal – something the Air France couldn’t manage when designing Terminal 2 – there was an orderly queue that moved surprisingly quickly, and the baggage arrived unusually quickly. While it is undisputed that India is fast developing, the last thing I expected was CSI Airport to make Air France’s Paris hub look, at best, amateur.

So then we come to my return flight – AF135 departing Mumbai at 2.40am IST and arriving at 8.00am CET in Paris, leaving me a comfortable one hour to board the connection to London. Or at least that was the plan.

Being used to cataclysmic delays at the hands of Mumbai traffic, airport inefficiency and passenger mania, I arrived at Mumbai around 3 hours before departure, but as it turned out things had finally changed and I passed smoothly through such that I was outside Gate 10 around 2½ hours before the flight left. The flight left on time and I slept for the majority of the 9 hours, waking for breakfast (in which the omelette was, indeed, very tasty) and landing into Paris. At this time I had largely forgotten the misfortunes of my outward journey – perhaps it was bad luck – and was expecting a significantly improved service, and was dearly hoping for one as, with only 30 minutes between our landing and the boarding of my connection, AF1270 to London, there was precious little time to play with.

Surprisingly enough, my hopes did not prevail. In fact, they were quite comprehensively obliterated. After a smooth landing we came to a halt and people began getting up, only to be made to sit by stewardesses, informing us that we were not actually at the stand. In fact, we were sitting on the taxiway adjacent to several vacant stands. Despite joking with the people sitting next to me about running through the terminal, I was beginning to feel apprehensive about missing my connection. This was compounded when, after exiting the plane, I discover that we are not in a walkway toward the terminal, but in some kind of bus on hydraulic stilts. Patiently, after a 9 hour flight, those around me sat down, although soon the seats were full and plenty, including mothers with children and elderly passengers, were forced to stand.
The bus filled and we descended to ground level, and moved around 2 metres before grinding to a halt. The reason? Another bus had pulled up alongside us, blocking our path of exit while it filled with passengers. And left before us.

It is worth pointing out at this stage that at check-in in Mumbai, we had been given a booklet about changeovers in Terminal 2, informing us that we would be arriving at Terminal 2A, and that I would have to transfer to Terminal 2F. Thus it was with great interest that we entered the terminal to see signs directing us toward 2A! Given that no one had informed any of us of this development, it was only after seeing signs toward 2A, 2B, 2C, 2E and 2F that some of us managed to deduce we were in 2D.

Hundreds of passengers had descended to the bus-connections stop and all, as it turned out, were heading to Terminal 2F. With impatient crowds jostling for position, I couldn’t help being reminded of Indian airports some years back, when immigration, baggage reclaim and customs were effectively ruckuses to get to the front. In the “Air France” bus, I couldn’t help overhearing fellow passengers commenting that this seems to be a regular occurrence with Air France in Terminal 2.

Once inside Terminal 2F, we joined a queue to pass through security. Examining our boarding cards, a man in Air France uniform directed passengers where to go. All those in front of me were directed one way, but I was sent down a different path, bypassing them all. Reaching the front, however, I was told to go away by a lady, also in Air France uniform, and join the other queue. Feeling like an idiot, I turned, only to see more people head the same way. All were travelling to London, and all were turned away. As we backtracked to join the other queue, she decided that we could, after all, use that X-ray machine, and we were invited back. By now, the 8.30am boarding time had come and gone.

Arriving at Gate F45, I was happy to see that boarding was yet to finish, and I passed through into the connecting bridge. Having walked half way, I was surprised (though given my previous experiences with Air France at CdG, not that surprised) to be directed down a staircase and into the fresh air of a bitterly cold Parisian morning. Turning a corner, lo and behold, another “Air France” bus! Naturally I was delighted – once again Air France showing off their uncanny ability to make a simple task, like boarding an aeroplane straight from the terminal, incredibly complicated. And once again we were packed in like sardines, to the extent that I accidentally trod on the toes of a woman standing next to me after losing my balance when the bus turned. After another tour, and the doors opened to a concrete wall. Being closest I stepped outside expecting directions, but no one was around. Passengers disembarking from the other doors began heading towards a nearby plane, so I followed. As we approached, a member of Air France staff ran forward pointing towards a plane in the other direction, muttering something in French. I couldn’t help muttering something to myself in English.

So in the end I boarded the plane, and despite all the disorganisation and lack of information Air France managed to produce I made in back to Heathrow (where, for the record, everything worked like clockwork). However, my sentiments were summed up in the text message the lady next to me was sending to her partner before we took off from Paris– “I HATE PARIS AIRPORT. I HATE AIR FRANCE. WORST IN THE WORLD”.

I hope this letter instigates some improvements to your airline and, especially, your terminal. But rest assured neither I nor my friends or family shall fly through Paris Charles de Gaulle by Air France again.

Yours sincerely,



DJR

ultreme

This is going to be the home of my views on the world and, most importantly, a platform for me to launch my rants, tirades, and general opinionated ideas against a variety of targets. I don't particularly expect anyone to read them, but I figured that posting them here will at least mean they'll be preserved into the future...