After getting up at 3 am this morning to ensure
you reached the terminal on time, your head
is banging and your body is crying out for
a soft, welcoming bed.
Instead, you’ll have to settle for the hard,
metal, and woefully uncomfortable seats found
in the airport main lounge.
Resigned to your fate, you head out of the
taxi and begin the walk to the main entrance.
As you look around idly, you lay your eyes
on a huddle of serious-looking security guards
in the distance.
They’re probably guiding those rich buggers
to the safety of the business lounge, you
think to yourself bitterly.
You’d give anything to be sitting on a plush
leather sofa and eating caviar right now,
or whatever else it is they do there.
You know you should carry on your way, but
now you’re curious about who the security
guards are protecting.
If you’re lucky, you might get to see Elton
John or David Beckham.
Or maybe even a Saudi Prince.
Someone who never has to put up with the sore-bottom-inducing
chairs.
As they come closer, you’re surprised to
see an entire family.
There’s one old lady, some younger adults
in their thirties, and a few kids too.
Who are they?
Wait, no, it can’t be.
Is that...the Queen?
At first, you refuse to believe it.
But how many other old ladies go around wearing
a yellow hat and a matching yellow wool coat?
To the airport.
Besides, you see that woman on your banknotes
and your postage stamps every day.
You’re pretty sure it’s either the Queen
herself or another wealthy old woman whose
fashion icon is the Queen.
And that young man beside her looks an awful
lot like Prince William.
But before you can really get a good look
at them, they’re ushered stealthily through
a door you never noticed in all the many times
you’ve visited Heathrow.
Weird.
Is it some kind of secret room?
You have to get in there to see for yourself.
Maybe you could convince the security guards
to let you pass.
It’s 5 in the morning, they’re probably
not as with it as they could be.
And you’re looking pretty dapper today — maybe
you could pass for an acquaintance of royalty.
So you go up to the doorman, who is wearing
a butler hat and looks like he’s just traveled
forward in time from the Victorian era.
Here goes nothing.
“Good morning Sir.
Can I see your pass please?”
Doing your best to channel your inner Karen,
you give him a disgusted look and say you
don’t have one as you hadn’t been expecting
to go inside.
But as you just saw your cousins go in, you’d
like to pass through so you can catch up with
them.
They could vouch for the fact that you know
each other, but does he really want to upset
the Queen?
You’re about to demand to speak to the manager,
but before you get the chance, he asks for
your name.
“I’m the Duke of He-”
You’re about to say Heathrow before you
stop yourself.
Damn, it’s too early for all this.
“The Duke of Hertfordshire,” you finish
confidently.
The man seems confused and unsure of how to
proceed, so you take the opportunity to barge
past him and walk in as quickly as you can,
hoping for the best and trying not to look
behind you.
Little did you know that what you would see
that day would change your life forever.
Nah, just kidding, but it was pretty cool.
As soon as you walk in, it feels like you’ve
entered a heavenly realm.
So much light everywhere coming from all directions.
It’s easy to see why: above you, there’s
an ornate glass roof.
Below your feet is a shiny floor polished
to perfection that looks like it might be
made from marble.
The design of the place is simple and minimalistic,
but the few items they have here are impressive.
White sofas, Bonsai trees, and sculptures.
Are you really still in one of the busiest
airports in the world, or did you just enter
an alternate dimension?
All over the walls, there are huge, impressive
canvases dotted.
You’re no art critic, but you can just tell
these look expensive.
Wait, is that an Andy Warhol piece?
There are a few more of the Victorian-era-men
carrying around platters.
One of them approaches you and hands out the
plate, which you look at excitedly, wondering
what a hundred-dollar snack will look like.
Except... it’s just raisins.
You look around at the other platters, and
they contain similarly dull snacks — Pretzels,
biscuits, chips.
Why is a place good enough for the Queen to
hang out in serving you raisins as a snack,
as if you’re a toddler who doesn’t like
fruit?
What’s wrong with them?
Speaking of which, where did the Queen and
her family go?
It seems like you’re in the main lounge,
but it’s empty.
[perspective change]
The Windsor Suites are a series of secret
airport lounges tucked away in Heathrow Airport
that were created for the use of the Royal
Family.
But if you’ve ever been to Heathrow, you
probably won’t have noticed them — that’s
why they’re secret.
The exact location of the suites is confidential,
but we know they’re behind a hidden, unmarked
white door in the southern corner of Terminal
Five.
So, next time you go to hell on earth — oops,
I mean Heathrow Airport — keep your eyes
peeled for any bougie folk looking shady.
However, you won’t spot them from the main
Airport lounge.
There’s a private security screening area
inside the secret Suites, so anyone heading
there can be discreetly dropped off outside
— they don’t need to walk through the
airport, take the Heathrow train, or even
lay their eyes on a member of the public.
The Royals are constantly jetting around the
world, whether they’re cutting the tape
to open a new pencil museum in Ecuador or
attend a jazz festival in Australia.
But despite having royal blood, they can’t
skip the inconvenient formalities of airports
completely before boarding their private royal
plane.
So they have to compromise and settle for
an over-the-top airport lounge with a top-secret
entrance where they distance themselves from
any interactions with the public.
But don’t get too bitter.
The Queen needs space.
She typically travels with a large entourage,
of sometimes over 30 people.
Amongst them is a royal artist with them — useful
for when you stumble across a stunning view
and need a quick oil painting.
So, without the Windsor Suites, there would
be more queuing time and fewer seats for people
like me and you.
We should really count ourselves lucky.
Besides, you might be underwhelmed by some
of the finer details of the secret suites…
[perspective change]
After you stop staring around you in a daze,
you twig what’s really going on here.
This lounge is empty because all the guests
are heading somewhere else.
There must be somewhere even cooler to go.
And it’s probably best for you to get a
move on anyway, in case the doorman has second
thoughts about letting you pass.
So you follow the raisin-bearing butler down
a corridor full of more pieces of artwork
that probably cost more than your house.
After a while, a door appears, and he scuttles
through it.
You think about following him in, figuring
he’d be unlikely to manhandle you in front
of such sophisticated guests, but you didn’t
want the poor guy to get fired because of
your curiosity.
Instead, you decide to head into a different
room.
There’s just one problem: the walls and
door aren’t made of glass, so you have no
idea what lays behind them.
The Queen herself?
Kim Jong-un?
Or just some well-connected C-lister?
You haven’t been this nervous to open a
door since you turned up late to an assembly
in school.
Tentatively you pull open the door to find...an
empty room.
As much as you’d have liked to say you’ve
met the Queen, it’s a relief to know you
won’t be arrested.
And at least you can take a proper poke around
now.
The lounge doesn’t quite have the luxuries
you expected it to.
There’s no jacuzzi, no stage for live cabaret
performances, and no basketball court.
But still, there’s a kind of dignity to
the place.
It has an old-money feel.
There are plywood and leather loungers and
armchairs with cashmere cushions.
Coffee tables made of glass and wood and luscious
pot plants.
The entertainment isn’t much better than
your local dentists, though.
The magazine rack only contains two broadsheets
and magazines by BMW and Polo magazine.
There’s also a television, but who watches
television anymore, anyway?
I mean, it’s nice and everything.
But why would you pay so much to come here
when you could buy a few packets of Pretzels
and raisins from the supermarket, eat them
in the economy lounge, and watch videos on
your phone?
Or go to the business-class lounge for a full
meal and spa treatment?
There aren’t even any shops here.
But then again, maybe that’s the point.
The people who come here are so tastelessly
rich that they can afford to spend thousands
on something that doesn’t even offer them
much.
Doesn’t it just make you sick?
[perspective change]
The Windsor Suites aren’t just for the Royals,
although they were created primarily for them.
The Foreign Commonwealth Office owns the lounge,
and at first, they reserved the suites for
foreign dignitaries, diplomats, and senior
politicians.
The Dalai Lama and Vladimir Putin have both
been past guests.
A few years ago, their doors opened to A-list
celebrities too — Victoria Beckham was one
of the first to make the cut, and Cheryl Cole
followed.
Now, even the public can get in.
But not by fooling the ditsy doorman into
thinking you have an obscure title.
You can make a booking if you’re willing
to pay 2,250 pounds sterling, or almost 3,000
US dollars, just for the luxury of sitting
your peasant ass there for a few hours.
Or, if you want a transfer within a 25-mile
radius, that will be 2,750 pounds.
I don’t even want to think about how much
it would cost if you want to go further than
25 miles...
Oh, and did I mention these are the prices
excluding VAT?
But it’s a drop in the ocean compared to
the vast sums this lot is spending on traveling.
In 2018, the Prince of Wales and Duchess of
Cornwall spent a whopping £416,576 on an
RAF voyager to Cuba and the Caribbean Islands.
As soon as guests arrive, a baggage handler
looks after their luggage and an official
takes their passports to check.
Shortly after, they’ll be escorted to their
own private suite by a bowler-hat-wearing
doorman.
That’s right — no need to mingle with
anyone else at all.
There are eight separate suites, and each
is reserved for a private party of up to 20
people.
Once there, guests can look forward to being
waited on hand and foot by their own private
butler, who will bring them champagne or a
selection of other wines.
There’s also a menu compiled by Jason Atherton,
a chef behind various Michelin-star restaurants
in London.
That beats an overpriced Burger King.
But don’t get too overexcited, because most
visitors to the Windsor Suits aren’t there
for a full-course meal.
They’re frequent flyers with simple tastes
who want to travel on a light stomach.
Typical canape dishes include cheese and onion
crisps, Pretzels, and biscuits.
But the advantage of the Windsor Suites isn’t
the food.
It’s about privacy and convenience.
No more worrying about the hassle of checking
in and reaching the gate on time.
After officials take the passports upon arrival,
they’ll check them whilst guests wait in
their private suite.
Did you really think the Queen puts up with
some border official eyeing her up like she’s
an animal?
Plus, there’s a personal flight liaison
to deal with all the nasty customs and security
stuff.
This means there’s no need to turn up super
early, either.
Most royals arrive at the airport only an
hour in advance.
Apparently, Prince Harry is notorious for
only showing up at the last minute.
What a naughty boy!
When it’s time for guests to board their
plane, a BMW 7-Series drives them directly
to the aircraft.
Windsor Suite guests are always the last to
board.
So, if you ever happen to be sharing a plane
with one of them, you’ll probably never
even realize.
But as far as entertainment goes, all the
Windsor Suites have to offer is a TV, WiFi,
and a few magazines.
There aren’t even any shops inside — but
if you fancy a spot of retail therapy, a private
shopping experience can be arranged.
Because no airport trip is complete without
buying at least one Chanel bag, two pairs
of Gucci shoes, and a jacket from Harrods.
Right?
[perspective change]
You’ve flipped through the BMW magazine.
You’ve switched on the TV.
Now you’re starting to worry that you’ll
miss your flight, because unlike some people
you actually have to go through the security.
Just as you leave the suite, you hear a voice
behind you.
“Excuse me, erm, Duke of Hertfordshire?”
It’s the damn doorman again.
“The Queen is waiting for you…”
Now go check out our videos about weird rules
the Royal Family has to follow and why growing
up as a Young Royal sucks.
