Traveling to Asia is always a singular emotion, transcending the destination itself and what I seek or find there.

Taking a Turkish Airlines (TK) flight means embracing a layover at the heart of the world, in a city straddling continents. To me, it’s not just symbolic—it’s a reset before plunging into the East.

The Lounge in Paris

I often fly Paris-Ho Chi Minh City via Istanbul. For me, the journey begins the moment I step into an airport lounge. Regardless of the hour, my ritual includes a glass of champagne if available (though not all lounges stock Laurent Perrier—in Paris, only SkyTeam and Qatar lounges do).

With TK, my first stop is the Star Alliance Lounge in Terminal 1, a sleek new space reminiscent of Ladurée’s pastel elegance, where Gérard Bertrand wines reign. Sauvignon Blanc for me, always.
I fly TK overnight: the 7:50 PM Paris-Istanbul flight swiftly transports me into a realm where time and space warp into new dimensions.

The 1st leg: Paris-Istanbul

I board a medium-haul aircraft, typically an A330 with a 2-2-2 or 2-3-2 business class configuration.
I’m superstitious about always reserving seat 2K. Who said rituals?

I accept the homemade lemonade or request champagne. A short flight, but with a proper bed—retractable or fixed screens depending on the plane’s age. Dinner is light yet refined, honoring Turkish warmth and flavor: mezze, grilled meats, fresh fish, and thoughtful vegetarian options. The coffee is excellent, detox teas well-curated, and little luxuries abound: warm towels, dried fruit, post-dinner chocolates. Nothing feels rushed. I slow down and savor it.

I read, write, watch a film (their international selection is fresh), or simply bask in the serenity of 10,000 feet. By landing, I’m often drowsy—whether from wine or the rare "let it go" calm.

The iconic lounge in Istanbul

In Istanbul, I stride to the TK Lounge, more than a lounge—a moment. Grand yet intimate, anonymous yet steeped in identity, with service rivaling a luxury hotel. Here, I shower, sip, nap, or savor local dishes cooked before my eyes: omelets, traditional pastries, moussaka-style grilled vegetables. Mint tea rituals, coffee stations—an immersive pause where flight delays melt into suspended time.

My first visit in January 2020 felt like dining in a Michelin-starred Turkish restaurant, arrows of possibility pointing in all directions: I was at the world’s crossroads.

The 2nd leg: Istanbul-Ho Chi Minh City

Screens guide me to my gate, where an A350 awaits in a 1-2-1 configuration. Space, privacy, muted anthracite tones—even the tablecloths match the elegance.

I settle into 2K, unpack my Lanvin amenity kit, and browse films. The toque-clad chef presents the menu and wine list. I opt for Taittinger champagne and Chablis, though Turkish whites intrigue. Reds are equally refined. Dinner begins with mezze and their signature vegetarian soup (excellent every time), followed by three mains, including a standout veggie option. Desserts rival a fine restaurant. Details elevate it all: local virgin olive oil, ancestral bread, a photophore. Discreet, attentive service.

They prepare my bed before dinner—a plush mattress topper, extra blanket, and pillow. Perfect for savoring champagne and a film. The flight vanishes; I sleep until cabin lights signal two hours to arrival.
A warm towel, then breakfast: fresh fruit, muesli, pressed juice, organic coffee, and teas. Omelets or pancakes round it out. Roasted hazelnuts later, the crew readies us to land.

I’m torn between clinging to the sky and chasing the adventure ahead—but reflection fades as we glide under a new horizon.
I arrive rested, jetlag tamed by Istanbul’s timezone buffer and ample sleep.

The return

Flying HCMC-Paris overnight, landing at 9:30 AM. The 10:15 PM flight to Istanbul promises restorative sleep. The Star Alliance Lounge, adorned with Vietnamese motifs, is a brief stop.
I board the A350, seat 2K again. The same "mini first class" comfort: lemonade, Taittinger, Lanvin kit. The chef takes orders; the bed, prepped with a topper, lulls me into deep sleep until breakfast lights.

Istanbul at midnight: quiet security, then the lounge for a shower and drink. The culinary spread dazzles, though I come for the ambiance—always wondrous.

The final leg, Istanbul-Paris at dawn, offers random cabin layouts (1-2-1 on my last A350). A post-takeoff breakfast, three fleeting hours, and suddenly, the sky feels distant.

Paris’ home vibrations replace the prior 20 hours’ grace. Yet the longing to soar again lingers—with Europe’s best airline, rightly crowned.