1963—one passenger’s personal take
Posted on Mercredi 15 juillet 2009 at 14 h 52 min and filed under Magazine.The 1960s ushered in jet planes, affordable travel and the modern Orly Airport. Climb aboard a Boeing 707, for Paris-New York in eight hours. By Marc Branchu
“Rendezvous in New York in ten years!” The invitation was thrown out in the euphoria as we left a Dizzy Gillespie concert in Paris. We were passing an Air France agency on Rue Scribe in Paris, and spotted a poster showing the skyscrapers of New York breaking through Paris. This was in 1953, and the trip seemed unlikely. At the time, transatlantic flights were a luxury. But ten years later, the invention of jet engines changed everything. These aircraft were larger and faster. Airlines lowered their fares, enabling them to expand their clientele. True to our promise, my friends booked a five-day sea crossing aboard the France—while I chose airplane travel, faster and cheaper.
2,600 francs round trip, Paris-New York The price of a round-trip ticket in economy class was FF2,600, or 3,300 constant euros. On the Air France agent’s advice, I bought it on credit. I pocketed my ticket for the Big Apple, with a departure scheduled two months later, on December 15, 1963, at 1 pm from Orly. On the day, I showed up at the Invalides air terminal with my baggage—20 kilograms, the maximum authorized in economy class. Air France shuttles left every 15 minutes for the two Paris airports, Orly and Le Bourget. At Orly, I discovered the structure inaugurated two years earlier by Général De Gaulle. It was gigantic, intimidating and modern, with its all-glass-and-steel buildings. It was packed; people came from all over the country to visit this showcase of French progress, which attracted more tourists than the Eiffel Tower. I found the Air France check-in counters. My ticket was checked, my baggage labeled and I paid the airport tax. With my boarding pass in hand, I headed for the waiting room, and boarded my plane.
The cabin: a model of efficient design Propeller planes had become rare; the Caravelle and Boeing aircraft ruled the French skies. My aircraft was named after a château, like all the B707s in the Air France fleet. I was about to cross the ocean aboard the Château d’Amboise, a streamlined four-engine plane. The cabin was a model of efficient design, totally different from the spacious couchettes of the Super Constellations. “Up front, there are 32 club seats in first class,” the stewardess told me. “In the rear, 96 economy seats. Between the two, a bar, in theory for first-class passengers. And you’ll see, above each row of seats are ‘passenger units,’ with reading lights, individual air vents, call buttons, and so on.” The stewardess, elegant in her brand new navy-blue-and-white uniform, designed by Christian Dior, led me to my seat. My transatlantic flight began with the roar of the four engines, pulling us into the air. In a few seconds, the Château d’Amboise reached its cruising altitude and speed: 900 kph.
A three-hour feast To keep myself busy, I brought along some newspapers and a few books, including The Interrogation, the first novel of a young writer who had just received the Renaudot Prize: JMG Le Clézio. But Air France offered a number of distractions, including the inflight magazine, Air France Revue, and games. Not to mention lunch: a cold platter of products from French provinces. But that was nothing compared to first class. Up front I caught a glimpse of dishes on the trolley: caviar and foie gras as appetizers, then veal escalope and coq au vin—served in Limoges porcelain with the best wines of France. “Each B707 flying to North America carries more than 3,500 items of flatware and cutlery, that’s an average of 60 pieces per passenger in first class and 16 pieces per passenger in economy class!” explained the steward behind the bar.
New York in eight hours The B707 started its descent, and the American coastline and Long Island appeared under the wings of the aircraft. The skyscrapers came into view in the distance, seconds before we landed at New York’s international airport, which was already called JFK. It was 4 pm. We had crossed the Atlantic in just eight hours—it took 14 hours just three years earlier. New York and its jazz clubs were waiting for me. My friends, still at sea, would join me in a few days.
Translation: Elizabeth Ayre, Lisa Davidson et Alexandra Keens
