Allen On Travel

2012-01-26T10:11:00.004-05:00

Ouch! What Happened To Airfares?

I guess I haven't been paying attention recently to the price of air travel. Fares seems to have skyrocketed, or at least my experience booking three recent itineraries point to that.

Example one: Back in November I bought a ticket to fly in early December on AA from Raleigh to Madison, Wisconsin for just over $300 round trip. Then my son had an emergency appendectomy the night before I was supposed to travel, and I had to cancel that trip. AA was kind enough to issue me a travel voucher for the full amount due to the medical issue (it was a nonrefundable fare, of course, as virtually all are these days), but when I re-booked the itinerary 6 weeks in advance for travel in January, the fare was $462 round trip, a 50% increase.

I thought maybe it was a fluke for the days I chose to fly, but shopping around on different days and weeks, I couldn't find anything better.

Pardon me, but paying almost $500 for a nonrefundable ticket to fly to Madison from Raleigh and back is excessive. I mean, who wants to fly to Madison? UW is a fine university, but aside from a few cool student hang-outs and some decent places to hear live music, Madison leaves a lot to be desired. Especially in the winter, when temps are frequently subzero and the snow flies abundantly. (My excuse: I have dear friends there.)

Example two: Every year for 20 years my family flies Raleigh to Billings, Montana in June, July, or August to spend a week with my wife's parents, who have a rustic cabin in the Beartooth Mountains north of Yellowstone. Air fares are always a bit high because there are no low cost carriers like Southwest yet serving Montana with enough capacity to drive down prices. Usually we could find a fare on Delta or Northwest for about $450 round trip per person.

Last summer (post DL/NW merger) we noticed fares had risen to just over $500, so I steeled myself when booking for this coming summer. I was unprepared, however, for ticket prices that started at $622 (lowest price). No matter what date I tried, tickets were $600 or higher. I think a 20% increase in one year is extraordinary, especially considering the Fed reports there is little inflation.

Third example: In December, at the height of high season, my family flew to St. Thomas en route to Maho Bay Camps in the St. John National Park. I bought the tickets last summer for under $500 each. We enjoyed the experience so much that we decided to return this June in the low season when practically no one visits the U. S. Virgin Islands. Maho Bay accommodation prices, for example, are at that time half what they are in December.

Apparently no one told the airlines, though, that it's the LOW season. When I checked air fares, they were $650-700 minimum between Raleigh and St. Thomas in mid-June. It's possible to beat the system by buying two separate tickets, one Raleigh to JFK, and a second one JFK/STT, and pay $500 total. But it's risky because if you miss the illegal connection, you lose your money.

I decided instead to spend 200,000 Delta frequent flyer miles for 4 award travel tickets to St. Thomas in order to save $2700. Seems like a lot of miles, though, to relinquish for such a short distance. 200,000 FF miles used to buy two first class tickets to Europe (first class, mind you, not business class).

Thinking maybe my experiences were anomalies, I asked around in the travel game to understand why the cost of flying to St. Thomas in June would be higher than in December, and why flying to Madison in midwinter is so expensive, and why flying to Billings has risen 20% in one year. One professional travel planner's answer: "Because they are AIR FARES, and with less competition these days, the airlines can charge what they want."

That reference was to the current AA bankruptcy (leaving it, for now at least, a weak competitor), the United/Continental merger, and the Delta/Northwest merger, all events which, he maintains, have diminished competition in many markets, allowing airlines to raise fares more indiscriminately than they've been able to get away with in the past.

He said other factors have contributed, too, to the airlines' ability to raise fares. There are still many airplanes parked due to the recession, and that means fewer frequencies even in city-pair markets with less competition. Demand for flying has crept up faster than airlines have brought planes and crews back in service. And steadily rising jet fuel prices (no inflation?) has been a good marketing tool to the public to justify higher fares.

Apparently higher fares aren't sticking in every burg and crop-dusting station, but they are working in a lot of places where frequencies are few and where Southwest doesn't fly. Too bad for me, for instance, that Southwest doesn't serve Madison, Billings, or St. Thomas. Presumably, that's one reason why Delta just announced record quarterly profits.

The upward trend of fares is not limited to domestic flying. Twice in the past year I bought tickets Raleigh to Johannesburg, South Africa. The fares were around $1400 round trip both times. Checking fares RDU/JNB for June, the best I could find was $1800, 29% more. I can only hope for a sale before summer.

But even at $1800, it's one-third the cost per mile to fly to Johannesburg (8,807 miles each way, or $0.10/mile) than paying $500 to Madison (753 miles each way, or $0.33/mile).

While admitting that I hit a perfect triple whammy of destinations where air fare increases have been unusually high, it feels like a general trend to me, with fares going up far faster than inflation. If so, it will put a crimp in our family's ability to travel as much as we'd like, and as as much as we have in the past.

2012-01-12T21:36:00.006-05:00

Reflections on St. John, USVI

Two weeks after returning from Maho Bay Camps, St, John (see previous post), our family feels strongly that we want to return.

So strongly, in fact, that we've made reservations for June when the prices are at their lowest!

Yes, it was expensive to eat anywhere on the island, and, yes, the Maho Bay cabins are spartan and require a hike to the common ablution blocks to find a toilet and shower. But the breathtaking views, the beautiful beaches, and the convenience of being in the ideal location on the island for water activities trump the inconveniences.

Now, however, we cannot find cheap airfares in June, the low season, which seems ironic, since we were able to snag a deal on air at the height of the Christmas holiday period. Maybe the airlines' yield management systems just haven't yet worked their complex mathematical magic on unsold seat inventory to and from St. Thomas for the summer months.

Truth is, we can't wait to go back! St. John's beaches have a special allure.

If we had rented a fancy St. John "villa" high up on a hilltop, though, rather than primitive Maho Bay Camps, I am not sure we'd have had the same happy experience, nor would we feel the pull to return. (That said, the villas are preferred by most visitors; in fact, they are extremely popular and often booked up a year in advance.)

Another observation pertains to the waste of an entire day to go anywhere by air (in each direction). This doesn't have so much to do with St. John as it does with the logistics of flying. It sounds so simple: "Let's fly down to St. John!" Or: "Time to book our flights to Montana for this summer." But almost anywhere you go will burn up an entire day at each end of a trip.

To get to Maho Bay Camps on St. John, for example, we left our house to drive to the RDU airport at 3:45 AM, parked the car in the big deck, and schlepped our luggage and ourselves to the terminal. Then endured the TSA security screen, grabbed a bagel, visited the airline club, rushed to the gate for our flight to Atlanta, boarded the plane 30-40 minutes ahead of departure, stowed the luggage in the overhead compartments, and waited for the plane to fill.

Pushed back; taxied; took off; cruised; descended; landed; taxied to gate; deplaned with luggage. Consulted monitors for connecting gate and flight status; hit the toilets; took the ATL subway to correct terminal; traipsed to gate for flight to St. Thomas; waited.

Boarded the plane 30-40 minutes ahead of departure, stowed the luggage in the overhead compartments, and waited for the plane to fill. Pushed back; taxied; took off; cruised; descended; landed; taxied to gate; deplaned with luggage.

Hit the St. Thomas airport bathrooms. Asked for directions to taxi stand going to Red Hook where ferries leave for Cruz Bay, St. John; grabbed cheeseburgers and fries for the kids; bought cheap rum in airport duty free shop; located Red Hook taxi; loaded luggage into taxi van; boarded and waited for taxi to fill up.

Left airport and threaded through heavy Charlotte Amalie city traffic; stopped at several resorts en route to Red Hook to drop off customers; because of stops, arrived Red Hook 5 minutes too late for the hourly ferry service; paid taxi driver $60 for 4 people (a 55 minute ride from the airport in a shared taxi).

Bought tickets ($15 for 4 people) for next ferry, due to leave in 55 minutes; found on-site bar at ferry terminal and downed an island cocktail, followed by two beers after discovering beer special was half the price of cocktails; began to enjoy the island atmosphere as reggae music thumped from the jukebox.

Boarded ferry with family and luggage and a beer in a plastic cup; relaxed even more as the ferry churned through heavy swells in the channel between St. Thomas and St. John; arrived Cruz Bay; slowly disembarked ferry; made way off dock to waiting taxi stands; found Mr. Frett who runs Frett's Taxi, the regular shuttle between Cruz Bay and Maho Bay Camps.

Paid Mr. Frett for four passengers plus luggage ($44); boarded open-air body on back on large Ford pickup chassis; waited for taxi to fill up; departed Cruz Bay; stopped at several gorgeous lookouts en route (Caneel Bay, Trunk Bay, Maho Bay); arrived Maho Bay Camps just about 5:00 PM.

Since St. John is on Atlantic Standard Time, one hour later than Eastern Time, the trip door-to-door took 12 hours. Actual time in the air on our two flights was about 4 fours. The remaining 8 hours of transit time was all the stuff before, during, and after airplane time.

Twelve hours! You know, it's just not that far from North Carolina to St. John.

The trip home took just as long.

Point being, trips involving air almost always involve significant indirect time in addition to the real flight times. Unavoidable, yes, but what a pity that it's such a waste of time.

In the old days, before airplanes and automobiles became the standard American means of transit, passenger trains took us from city center to city center, or to and from town centers. The need and realistic prospects for improved passenger train options in the USA is a subject I want to explore in future posts.

2011-12-29T19:08:00.005-05:00

Maho Bay Camps, St. John, USVI:
Summer Camp For Adults

On the advice of friends who like adventurous travel as much as we do, we booked a week at the unique Maho Bay Camps in the middle of the St. John National Park (U. S. Virgin Islands). Our two kids in tow (ages 13 and 8, and seasoned travelers who also like adventures), we arrived on St. John a few days before Christmas.

We knew that the camp would be a bit primitive, but my first impressions were poor. I admit that I tend to find fault where others may not when it comes to travel, and this experience was no exception. My feelings about and for Maho Bay Camps evolved from one end of the spectrum (dislike) to the other (like) over the course of our week. Here is a sampling of what I wrote to friends via my BlackBerry from beginning to end:

"We are in a small, primitive tent cabin for 7 nights in Maho Bay Camp, St. John, USVI in the middle of the national park. Things are FAR from perfect or even tolerable, especially for $170/nt (high season rates). Power keeps going out, monsoon rains deluge us, louts in nearby tents are yelling & screaming until 2a without regard for their neighbors, & prices for everything exceed those in Tahiti, for God's sake. The electricity was constant there, too, unlike here. And this is only our second morning. Wish we could fly home today, quite honestly.

"We are below the driveway - tent B10. Power was on & off all night. It rained so hard & so long (from 9p until after 4a) that I thought the monsoon had come.

"None of that bothered us that much. But by far the most irritating problem were the loud drunks (all young) in nearby tents who were talking & laughing at the top of their lungs until after 130a. If this happens again, we will have to move because the Maho Bay Camps staff obviously don't police it.

"Toilets are a long way away. And now the power is out (again) all over the island. They say it's not uncommon to lose power & that it is not likely to be back on until tomorrow some time. The entire island is dark. Not pleasant for what we are paying. Seems like Venezuela where I paid $10/nt & didn't care if the power went off for that price.

"EXPENSIVE! More so than even Moorea. We are eating kid meals tonight (chicken tenders) to avoid another hundred dollar very ordinary dinner here at the camp like last night. A 5-hour combo sail and snorkeling trip on the sloop "Pepper" cost us $380 today. Didn't see many fish but enjoyed the sailing & their rum!

"Walked down the aptly-named f***ing Goat Trail to Big Maho Bay for a stiff sundowner - beautiful! But then had to drag my fat ass back up the Goat Trail in the dark while half lit - not so fun. I like the many stairs and boardwalks in the camp per se, but not the treacherous, slimy, slippery, muddy Goat Trail.

"Forgot to mention that the rain was so intense at times that it seeped through the membrane of the tent & splattered me in the face as I lay on my back in the pitch black darkness (because the power was out again) marveling at the torrent. 100 percent humidity means our wet stuff is still wet after being hung up to dry overnight (inside, of course).

"All these experiences are tolerable or even pleasant except the sleep deprivation caused by loud neighbors. [Author's note: To their credit, Maho Bay Camp staff patrolled our area the following night and kept things quiet after the 10:00 PM quiet time cutoff.]

"Snorkeling is FABULOUS EVERYWHERE! We snorkeled at 9 different locations here & all were memorable (Little Maho Bay, Big Maho Bay, Trunk Bay, Hawksnest Bay, Francis Bay, Mary Point, Leinster Bay, Waterlemon Cay & Whistling Cay).

"A close-up of Little Maho Bay. Way in the background is Tortola, British Virgin Islands & in the foreground is a good view of the yellow sloop "Pepper," a modern boat designed like a typical 19th century Virgin Island sailboat once in common use. We went sailing & snorkeling on this boat.

"We snorkeled from Little Maho Bay to Big Maho Bay & return this PM & saw an great variety of fish & 4 large green turtles, the turtles not 3 ft below us feeding on grass. Rented a car today to give us freedom to go to Waterlemon Bay, Trunk Bay, & other great snorkeling spots on St. John. Love the island!

"Had a superb pork ribs lunch this noon at Uncle Joe's Barbecue in Cruz Bay washed down by a cold Presidente!

"We went snorkeling again at Trunk Bay this morning & on the reef off Annaberg (Leinster Bay) this afternoon. Both excellent viewing but the water's still murky & a bit cold.

"Believe me, I am enjoying the rum.

"The common ablution block that contains the toilets is a long hike up many flights of stairs on the boardwalk built through the forest. But I don't know why I bother traipsing up there at night. I was told by several guys that the heavy nightly rains hide the sound of relieving themselves over the side of the deck onto the forest floor in the wee hours after too much rum. I'll bet that makes the iguanas scurry away in a hurry.

"Vie's Snack Shack at East End today for lunch ($12 for conch fritters, $10 for scrumptious garlic fried chicken with rice & beans and Johnny cake) after swimming all morn at Trunk Bay (we got there early & beat the crowds). Also downed 2 Presidente pilsners at lunch. Now to Big Maho before sunset for more snorkeling. Bad news: Shelia's Pot in Cruz Bay has closed, along with her T shirts. They ran all the ladies selling stuff out of the dockside parking lot.

"We found the Lime Inn Restaurant in Cruz Bay & had a wonderful lunch of shrimp cocktail (our 8 year old daughter consumed 2 orders), spicy peel'n'eat shrimp (Ruth & I each had an order), 2 beers, a Mojito, & 2 desserts. Total came to $99 before tip!. And the Lime Inn is a modest place! I was shocked.

We chatted with owner Chris Meyer who told us she & her husband started the Lime Inn Restaurant 27 yrs ago, making it the oldest in Cruz Bay. She told us Sheila (of Sheila's Pot fame) only cooks now during Carnivale.

"I've never been through so many hundred dollar bills so fast. The C-notes are flying out of my pocket to pay for every meal. Good thing I brought a wad of cash.

"Everything here is out of sight except for the rum. Booze is dirt cheap. Example: I bought 2 large bottles of premium Mount Gay Rum (made in Barbados) for $25.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Maho Bay Camps, in the middle of Virgin Island National Park (Laurence Rockefeller donated 2/3s of St. John to make up the Park in 1956), is wonderful. Yes, it is primitive (beyond rustic), in fact very much like an adult summer camp, but the primitivo aspects have grown on Ruth & me (more so than the kids, who miss having an in-cabin toilet & shower). In fact we have moved from dislike to ambivalence to adoration of the natural beauty of the camp.

"We were sold on the island (St. John) the first day. This place is idyllic. But it took us most of the week to become enamored with Maho Bay Camps, & we are hoping to come back in low season (June) when rates are $80/nt as opposed to $170/nt now in high season.

"We've had a wonderful time on St. John & can't wait to come back. But still can't get over the fact that food is outrageous: a modest breakfast this morning (before catching the ferry to St. Thomas) at an outdoor, somewhat seedy local restaurant in Cruz Bay (main town on St. John) was $68 before adding a tip. Gas is $4.40/gal. which isn't too bad considering. Our 4WD Dodge Nitro rental car was $90/day including tax.

"At St. Thomas airport to go home, I was also surprised to be asked for documented proof that our kids were our kids. Good thing I brought our passports despite assurances that passports are not necessary here in the U. S. Virgin Islands. Home a bit after midnight if our Delta flights are on time."

So that's the story. We ended up liking Maho Bay Camps very much, but it is definitely an acquired taste. Each tent is made of wood suspended off the forest floor and has basic electricity for lights, as well as a box fan. There were 2 receptacles in our tent cabin, one of which I used to charge my BlackBerry. The roof appeared to be a plasticized canvas stretched tightly over the wood frame of the small cabin. Each tent cabin comes with 2 single beds that can be pushed together, plus a rustic sofa that be made into a bed. We also had a fold-out cot and mattress for our youngest.

Each cabin at Maho has its own small porch or deck with a clothesline for drying things out (when it's not raining). It rained six nights out of seven, but never during the day (just like my experience of living for several months in Hawaii.) Every tent cabin comes with dishes and silverware, a Coleman cooler (you buy the ice to keep things cold), and a propane Coleman camp stove that worked well.

Tent cabin life above the forest floor in the National Park reminded me of the Disney movie "Swiss Family Robinson" (for readers old enough to recall that classic). The weather was mid-eighties days and mid-seventies nights. We needed only the sheet and a light cover to stay comfortable and sleep well.

The Maho Bay Camps restaurant was very good. The chef came from a well-known Cruz Bay restaurant. We enjoyed delicacies like duck on Christmas Day. Breakfasts were delicious. Prices at the restaurant were like food prices everywhere on the island: through the roof but no worse (or better) than anywhere else.

There are many activities (sailing, scuba, snorkeling, etc.) offered at Maho, just like any top-rated resort. The Maho Bay staff are well-trained and eager to make guests happy. We didn't encounter even one sourpuss among them.

Parking for rental cars brought in by guests is free and adequate.

The views from Maho Bay Camp can't be beat, even at the luxurious Caneel Bay Resort. Being in the middle of the national park overlooking Little Maho Bay and Big Maho Bay with its own private access direct to both world-class beaches and world-class coral reef snorkeling spots gives the camp a tremendous advantage, proving the old real estate adage that it's all about "location, location, location." We adjusted to the rusticity because we looked all over the island and could not beat the location!

Here's what a local real estate agent told me about the camp and St. John when I complained during the first few days:

"Don't blame the island, mon. Maho Bay Camps is a taste to be acquired, although not by me. ... It's true the power outages have been bad for the past six months and there has been lots of rain (payback, I guess, for a mild hurricane season.)"

Despite the bad start, we are now hooked on St. John. We are definitely planning to return in June or July (assuming we can find good airfares). After I've had a few days to reflect on our experience--we just got home late last night--I will write a few more impressions and details. Overall, though, our advice about St. John is: Go!

Happy New Year!

2011-12-15T10:52:00.000-05:00

The Trip I Didn't Take

About a week ago, just as I was preparing to fly from Raleigh to Madison, Wisconsin to visit dear friends, our 13 year old son was came down out of the blue with severe pains in his stomach and abdomen. He'd gone to bed with no precursor symptoms that anything was wrong, and we were baffled. We rushed him to our pediatrician, who in turn sent us to the ER.

After spending all day in a tiny, claustrophobic, windowless room in our hospital's pediatric ER unit going through a number of tests, a surgeon surmised his appendix had gone wonky. By 4:00 PM our son was having an emergency appendectomy. Just in time, too, since it was on the verge of rupturing. But since it had not burst, the procedure was performed laparoscopically with just three small incisions.

Our son spent one night in the hospital before we took him home. The morning we checked him out was the morning I was to have flown to Madison.

During the agonizing anxiety of uncertainty while my son writhed in pain in the ER the day before, I discovered on an emotional level what every parent knows intellectually: that there can be no worse experience than watching helplessly when one's child is in pain, not knowing what is the matter, and feeling helpless to make it better. While in this state of dread, I had of course called American Airlines and cancelled my reservation to fly to Madison.

My ticket was, as almost all are these days, in a nonrefundable fare class. After I explained my reason for cancelling, the American reservation agent complimented me for canceling in advance. She said that if I had not phoned, and simply not showed up, that I would have lost my entire $318.80 round trip fare. But as I had let them know beforehand, AA would penalize me only the requisite $150 change fee.

Though drained physically and spiritually, I asked AA about their policy for medical emergencies. The rez agent, even though reached through the AA Executive Platinum line, was quick (and polite) to point out that she had no authority to make an exception and suggested I write to AA Customer Service. At my request she notated the record to show we'd had the conversation and why I was cancelling.

I spent the next few days tending to our son's well-being. As he bounced back to health (as only the young can), however, I decided to call American Airlines again about the change fee. It bothered me that any airline would not forgive such an unexpected event. As far as I can recall, this is the only time in my life that I have asked for a pass due to a medical emergency.

Once again I phoned the AA Executive Platinum lines, and again I got a polite agent who demurred to Customer Service. Luckily, he offered to patch me through to speak to a CS person by phone rather than by email or letter.

After waiting 42 minutes on hold, I spoke to a very kind and efficient American Airlines Customer Service agent who compared my record locator to the notes in it and my verbal explanation. No doubt he also took into account my Million Miler status and the fact that I'd been an AAdvantage member since the program was launched in 1981. He put me through to a supervisor within two minutes of our being connected.

The Supervisor spent less than one minute on the phone. She apparently looked over the record notes and decided to give me a voucher for the full $318.80 based on the circumstances. I offered to email a scanned copy of the hospital paperwork, but she said she trusted me and that wouldn't be necessary. She was polite and warm-hearted. I was impressed with the sincere timbre of her voice. She was well-chosen for the difficult role she plays at the airline.

I was even more impressed with her action to forgive the $150 penalty on the strength of my word. 42 minutes of waiting plus two minutes with the first CS agent and one minute with the CS supervisor yielded a fair result.

Within five minutes AA had generated an email documenting my credit. It must be used on another AA flight within 12 months, but that won't be a problem. I intend to reschedule my reservation to Madison for January or February. Meantime, I am very grateful to American Airlines for doing the right thing, especially during their bankruptcy and reorganization. Their action reinforces my loyalty.

Our son is already back to normal with no aftereffects other than having a friend (and his parents) help him carry his heavy backpack full of books to and from school. He can't lift anything heavy for a few weeks, but we are amazed at how fast he has recovered. American will also benefit from his business, since he has had his own AAdvantage account since he was a baby, and he, too, will be flying on American again soon. He knows what AA did for me, so the good will generated by American in forgiving the change fee will be generational.

2011-11-24T10:28:00.003-05:00

Interstates and Airways

Is 1086 miles too far to drive in one day?  It didn't seem too strenuous when I recently zinged along the Interstates en route to Mapleton, Iowa from Raleigh, North Carolina.  I had to pick up something from my friend the mayor of Mapleton that couldn't be shipped, and it's almost 1300 miles from Raleigh.

I left home at 4:55 AM (ET) and was soon on I-40 West, and that evening at 9:25 PM (ET) I pulled off I-80 at Grinnell. Iowa to check in at a Best Western for a few hours of rest, 1086 miles from Raleigh. Speed limits along the route were mostly 65-70 MPH, and I never pushed more than 6-7 MPH over the limit wherever I was. Yet I made almost 1100 miles in one day without feeling totally exhausted and spent.

My route took me west to Winston-Salem and then northwest to cross what local radio stations called "Far Western Virginia" (I presume the phrase intended to leave no doubt that the broadcasts emanated from the Commonwealth of Virginia and not that far-off place known as West Virginia). The Appalachians rose abruptly as the NC-Virginia line approached, and the early November landscape was still gorgeous with autumnal colors. By the time I reached Princeton, West Virginia, however, the leaves were mostly gone from the trees, and there was a light dusting of snow on the northside shadow areas of the steep mountains. I joined the WV Turnpike towards Charleston and enjoyed the scenery.

Soon my Toyota Sienna was nosing due west in the direction of Huntington, West Virginia. As my Charleston NPR station began to fade behind me, I scanned the dial for a substitute. Suddenly Nat King Cole's voice was crooning "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire" through my Bose speakers. Surely Christmas music was not already on the program! Halloween was scarcely over. Nat was followed by Sinatra and then Crosby wailing their own Christmas melodies, and yet, fascinated, I just had to listen. An announcer came on identifying the stations as Magic 97.9 "All Christmas all the time" and proud of it. I wondered how this went over in mid-summer and whether their ad revenues dropped between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day. Maybe, I thought, they should play Independence Day Sousa marches in that period. I admit that I was soon singing along to my favorite Christmas carols.

Farther down the road as I entered Kentucky, Magic 97.9 crackled away into static, and I scanned again, this time picking up a northeastern Kentucky public radio station in the middle of a local news piece on the crowning of Miss Bituminous Coal at some coal festival or other. Because I missed the opening, I never heard the city, but the the young woman crowned as Miss Bituminous Coal was impressive in the radio interview. Speaking with a twang, she clearly articulated what a debt her family and her region owed to coal, and she painted a sophisticated, complex picture of the web of business and life that connected remote Appalachia to the world. The coal industry should hire her as a spokesperson, and I was certain she would go far based on the telling short spiel I was fortunate enough to hear.

It was barely mid-morning, and already I was glad I was driving instead of flying. On such a road trip, my senses richly benefit from close proximity to what happens in America on the ground. Flying over is certainly efficient and quick, but it misses everything that's important to connect travelers to life.

West to Lexington, and then to Louisville, I crossed the Ohio River and headed north to Indianapolis. Skirting the city's southwest corner put me on a path due west to Danville in Illinois, then to Champaign/Urbana, Bloomington/Normal, and Peoria: American heartland. By late afternoon I had passed Galesburg and was bearing down on the Quad Cities of Rock Island/Moline (Illinois)/Bettendorf/Davenport (Iowa). There I joined I-80 for the push across Iowa.

Luck was with me, and I encountered only one serious slowdown, and that was west of Davenport. It cost me about a half hour. By nine-thirty I felt it was time to rest, and I chose Grinnell because I like the college. Also I saw the Best Western sign and figured they'd have room. I didn't make any reservations in advance because I didn't know how far I'd get. Sure enough they had a few rooms left.

Best Westerns have been steadily improving their product and image, and their prices, while still modest compared to, say, Hilton's Hampton Inn brand, have risen. I paid $76 plus tax for a very spacious room with an HD flatscreen and close to 100 TV channels. The bathroom was first-class, as were all the room's features and amenities, and breakfast the next morning (included) was better than a Hampton's.

Leaving Grinnell at 6:00 AM (CT) the following morning, I recalled that you can't find an Interstate exit in Iowa that doesn't have a really good college or university nearby, and that fact probably tends to keep hotel prices a few dollars higher (parents and alumni, you know) than properties at a run-of-the-mill Interstate exit.

The truckers on I-80, and in fact everywhere, were generally careful and courteous drivers, staying in the right lane except to pass and signaling their intentions (unlike many cars). My Sienna never gave better miles per gallon, over 23 MPG, because of the steady speeds with cruise control on. I took in the passing scene while enjoying NPR programs and several traditional jazz CDs. I departed I-80 at Des Moines, traveling due north to Boone, where I took U.S. 30 (the Lincoln Highway) due west. I enjoyed watching trains as I closely paralleled the main line of the Union Pacific Railroad (formerly this was the main line of the Chicago & Northwestern) and passed through picture-perfect Great Plains burgs, each one with a distinctive grain elevator near the railroad tracks. Americana! You can't get this experience at 30,000 feet.

At the 1278 mile mark I arrived in beautiful Mapleton, which is in northwesten Iowa. The terrain there is very hilly, with steep ups and downs, sharply different from most of the rest of the state. After a too-brief visit to load my van, I reluctantly started east again. I could have stayed for a day to get to know Mapleton, home to 1294 souls.  Recovering well from its encounter last April with a devestating tornado that destroyed or damaged 60% of the town, Mapleton demonstrates the resilience and determination of Midwesterners.

By ten that night I had made my way back to a small town south of Indianapolis about 50 miles short of Louisville, which I knew was only 8 hours driving time from Raleigh. I slept at a Days Inn where the rate was a mere $59 plus tax, and the room was almost as nice as the Best Western's the night before. Even the Day's Inn was equipped with a modern flatscreen and offered crystal-clear HD reception.  The hotel also had excellent amenities. Point being, the gap between the Marriotts and the Hiltons and the Best Westerns and the Days Inns has narrowed considerably. Aside from points, why stay at a pricey Hilton property now?

Next morning I was off again early, and by 3:00 PM on the third day after leaving Raleigh at 5:00 AM, I was in my driveway: 1278 miles there, and 1267 miles home, for a total of 2545 miles in 58 hours door-to-door. It was a wonderful experience, marred only by a few traffic snarls (no love lost on drives through Louisville, Indianapolis, or Peoria), yet I made great time and saw the world at eye level. No wonder Charles Kuralt loved his job.

The very next week I flew to New Orleans and back (via Delta) for a 3-day trip. Delta treated me well, and the flights were on time. I was even upgraded on two of the four flights. Life was good, I thought. Yet having just made such a memorable cross-country road trip, the contrasts were hard to ignore, as for example:

On the road I was, more or less, the master of my own fate. I could drive as far as I wanted, stopping when I pleased, tailoring the experience to my own liking in unique and unprogrammed existential increments. Once I passed the TSA security screen at RDU, however, I yielded myself to be herded along on Big Brother's program. Existential moments vaporized into the X-ray machine like smoke.
The connections going and returning were through Atlanta, and it was the same sterile environment it's always been. "Doors are closing and will not re-open" is the constant refrain of the underground connecting shuttle. The same tired news stands with the same tired candy bars and magazines. The same ugly gates. The soul is soon enough weary.
In the fifty-one years that I have been flying, I have always enjoyed looking out the windows of airplanes. Imprisoned on the aluminum tube as we all are to be sure, it's still a thrill to witness takeoffs defying the laws of gravity. I never take for granted the beauty of the view from aloft, piercing fluffy clouds and seeing the earth from God's vantage. Yet more and more I notice that my fellow fliers not only eschew the opportunity to ponder the world from above, but they insist on closing the window shades even before takeoff, pecking away at their Blackberries or laptops, or staring zombie-like at some inane program on tiny seatback screens. It's not only depressing but positively dehumanizing and more than a wee bit claustraphobic to have the cabin closed up. I hated it on my recent flights more than ever.

Of course I will fly again, and again and again after that, without regret. The limits of time and the demands of distance require it. There won't be so many road trips, but I look to each journey across the face of the earth as a welcome opportunity for my soul's energy enrichment.

2011-11-04T00:06:00.001-04:00

Farewell, Hanoi; Hello, Nanning

Christmas Day, 2010 began with another mediocre but filling breakfast at the Luxor Hotel in Hanoi, a place we had come to feel at home in. Afterwards we walked around the lake in central Hanoi before stopping in a fancy cafe called Little Hanoi just past ten o'clock to escape the sudden strong rain. Ponchos appeared like magic on the unending stream of motorbike riders passing outside our window while we nibbled on a mid-morning snack of crab rolls and pasta. It was a relaxing way to spend a Christmas morning, and certainly not traditional by Western standards.

As we anticipated our departure from the city that evening (by train to Nanning, China), our kids reminisced about their favorite Vietnam experiences. Our son appreciated that the Vietnamese people were all so nice, and our daughter enthused about the whole city of Hanoi and the buffet on the Halong Bay barge.

The rain soon passed, and we crisscrossed many of the streets in the old city, ending up at La Place restaurant near the cathedral in mid-afternoon for a late lunch. Their food was outstanding.

Heading back to the hotel on foot, we bargained with street vendors: 50 cents for a face mask; 30 cents for a journal. The rain presaged a cold snap moving in, and we were glad to reach the Luxor and warm up.

Late in the afternoon a seven-passenger taxi-van (part of our hotel package deal) transported us across the river to the Gia Lam rail station where we waited for our 9:30 PM train for Nanning.

The Gia Lam train station is small, very depressing, and quite remote. I had to look hard to be sure the taxi had brought us to the right place. It's just a half hour from old Hanoi, but the locals on the street stopped to stare at us like they'd never seen a round-eye in the flesh.

The nearest toilets (out the side and down the street from the station) were filthy and dimly lit. The stench made me think of some places like it in Malaysia I'd visited.

The "International Train" waiting room gradually filled up with Vietnamese and Chinese. We were the sole Westerners.

A gaggle of twenty-something Chinese girls who spoke pretty good English explained that they were students at a university in Hanoi and going home to China to visit friends and family. Giggling, they told me that I looked like "Christmas Man" (they meant Santa Claus, of course). Why? I asked. "Because you are old and fat and have whiskers," they said, smiling deferentially. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but finally concluded that old, pudgy, and bearded is OK as long as I am still vertical. Anyway, those girls left me with a unique Christmas memory.

We were allowed to board at 9:10 PM (9:30 was the scheduled departure). The train equipment and crew were Chinese. The five of us (five including our Italian exchange student whose parents had funded her trip with us) found our "soft sleeper" car and were shown our reserved rooms by the car steward.

That's where I turned out to be the odd man out. Each soft sleeper compartment has four beds, and there were five of us. My wife, our two kids, and our Italian exchange student (a girl) filled one entire compartment. The steward showed me to a bed in the compartment next door.

Being separated from my family was no problem, as they were just a few feet away. But I had to share my compartment with a late middle-aged Chinese man who smoked incessantly in his bed despite signage imprecations in several languages stating "NO SMOKING."

It is no exaggeration to describe my compartment as constantly filled with blue smoke. The cadaverous Chinese fellow chain-smoked one butt after another, never sleeping. I barked at him in English and used sign language to demand he snuff out his coffin nails, and he reluctantly complied. But as soon as I'd drift off to sleep, he would light up another fag.

I complained to the steward, but he claimed not to understand English. He sheepishly shrugged when I pantomimed the problem and pointed inside the compartment where smoke was wafting out the door as though a bonfire was blazing inside. It was plain that nobody would enforce the no-smoking policy, so I stayed for a long time in the aisle by the window and dozed standing up to avoid the noxious atmosphere of my soft sleeper compartment.

I lost track of time, partly because of the time change at the Vietnamese-Chinese border, but I think it was around 2:00 AM that we reached Dong Dang on the Vietnam frontier with China. There all passengers had to vacate their cars and enter the dark, stark terminal building for customs and immigration checks. All passports were taken, and after 45 minutes of inspections of people and luggage, our names were called to collect our documents and bags. It was by then very cold (the cold snap I mentioned earlier), and we were exhausted. We trundled back to our compartments, and soon the train was crawling slowly to the Chinese side of the border.

It took a surprising 45 minutes of slow running to reach China where we stopped again for another 45 minutes of customs and immigration checks under buzzing fluorescent lights so bright they made my eyes hurt. It was still cold, and we were all shivering as we stood waiting our turn.

When we were finally allowed to return to the train, I was relieved to find my compartment mate snoring loudly in a deep sleep. Better covering my ears than my nose and mouth, I thought, and I was soon sleeping hard, too.

When I awoke at 7:35 AM we were passing some of the most beautiful landscapes in China or anywhere on earth. Guangxi Province is famous for its terrain, and the southern part near Vietnam is captivating. I headed for the diner.

Next blog entry: the beautiful morning train ride to Nanning, punctuated by a delicious, if simple, breakfast of noodles in the diner.

2011-10-14T00:03:00.000-04:00

Christmas in Hanoi

Staying at the locally-owned Luxor Hotel in Hanoi, we enjoyed the luxury of very comfortable "suites" for a lot less than we'd have spent in a name-brand joint. I put "suite" in parentheses because they were really just extra-large rooms with giant bathrooms, but that was quite sufficient for us. The rooms came with big flat-screen TVs, cable, and desktop computers complete with free Internet, as well as complimentary breakfasts each morning.

Speaking of Internet access, I'd been advised that computers were all slow in Vietnam and that my Blackberry using AT&T service would be spotty. Instead, I was delighted to discover that I had email coverage through my phone almost everywhere except on HaLong Bay (away from land), and the computer Internet connections at the hotel were just as fast as my TimeWarner RoadRunner service back in Raleigh.

But I digress. The Luxor, as I said, turned out to be aptly named, and, except for a screw-up with our room assignments upon returning from HaLong Bay, it was a fine experience we'd repeat. Even better, we got back to Hanoi on Christmas Eve, and the Luxor's General Manager invited all guests to the biggest bash the hotel throws every year, a Christmas Eve dinner party.

We put on our most respectable togs and appeared at 6:00 PM in the basement dining area with curious expectation. Having spent parts of Christmas seasons in years past in various East Asian countries such as Singapore, Hong Kong, Thailand, China, The Philippines, and Japan, my wife and I knew that, whatever festivities were planned, it would not be like a family Christmas back home. We were right.

A heavily-amped stereo system had been brought in for the occasion, and it was making its manufacturer proud, cranking out heavy staccato bass renditions of traditional American Christmas songs in the weirdest arrangements I'd ever heard anywhere. The sound was sort of a rap and disco fusion, or seemed to be aiming for that. To call it music would be a stretch, and even our kids thought it was absurd, but what the hell! We went with the flow, and lightened the trays of the wait staff offering complimentary brew and wine.

Me, I stayed with beer, fearing the local fermented grape products in such a tropical environment would be no more palatable than the insipid stuff I'd once tried and spat out like poison in Zimbabwe. Beer is a safe bet, I've found, in any clime, and the Vietnam varieties wet the whistle just fine. Pretty soon, that is, after a couple of Hanoi brewskies, I was feeling in a more festive mood and began to jive with the incessant chest-pounding beat of "Jingle Bells" juiced up with electronic harmonics.

Meanwhile the dinner buffet was laid out, an impressive treat for the eyes in variety and presentation. My family and I made our way down the serving line with healthy appetites, swinging our hips to "It Came Upon A Midnight Clear" played rap-like at such a brisk tempo that at first I didn't recognize it.

Even the dulling effects of the alcohol combined with my urgent hunger, however, did not make the food taste good. It wasn't bad, mind you; it was merely bland and boring on the tongue. My taste buds had been activated to expect something special based on the signal the eyes had processed through my brain and sent to them. It was such a letdown that I soon lost interest in finishing what was on my plate.

No matter, I thought, and helped myself to another beer. The liquid dinner filled me up and kept me jolly, in an appropriately seasonal mood.

As dining waned, a well-dressed, ramrod-straight, middle-aged Vietnamese man made his way through the throng, introducing himself, smiling broadly, and shaking hands. When he reached us, I realized he was the owner of the Luxor Hotel. We had a nice chat, and somehow I was able to politely bring up the war. Why, I asked, was there no hostility towards Americans? He gave me the same answer I'd heard from virtually everyone: the conflict between the USA and Vietnam happened a long time ago, and Vietnam had moved on. Everyone now wanted to become prosperous, and maybe even rich. Businesses, large and small, in Vietnam were flourishing in a relatively free market economy, he said, carefully avoiding use of the word "capitalism" to encapsulate what was happening.

Dressed in a bespoke silk suit tailored to fit him like a glove, set off by a fine white shirt made of high thread count, tightly woven cotton and a perfectly-knotted exquisite silk tie, the owner was the picture of prosperity in contemporary Vietnam. He was certainly dressed in better wear than anything I have at home (barring my coupla hundred Hermes ties). I enjoyed seeing the world through the lens of his experience and perspective.

As usual, it was our kids who decided when to leave. They bored of the music and the food, and we thanked everyone, especially the owner, for their generosity and made for the stairs. It was barely 8:30 PM, but we were exhausted. Having fun all day is tiring, especially when soaking in new perceptions of an alien world.

We needed our rest, as Christmas Day would be our last opportunity to be part of the life of Hanoi. Christmas afternoon we'd be packing our bags to go to the Gia Lam train station across the river where we would catch the overnight sleeper train to Nanning in China.

2011-09-25T15:51:00.004-04:00

Halong Bay, Vietnam:
Great to be there, but no good access

A series of stories about my family's trip to China and Vietnam over Christmas, 2010, continues here with our departure from Hanoi to reach Halong Bay where we had booked two days and one night aboard a fancy fake junk.

We checked out of the Luxor Hotel, Hanoi, with some confusion over cost, but I figured we would work it out on our return the following afternoon. This was December 23rd, 2010. We were looking forward to our Halong Bay trip and then getting back to Hanoi to witness the Vietnamese version of Christmas.

The Luxor had told us to be in the lobby at 7:00 AM to meet the mini-bus that would take us to Halong Bay, but it didn't arrive until 7:50 and then made another stop at the Hilton before finally heading east at 8:10 AM. We arrived four hours later at the dock to meet our boat, stopping once en route to answer nature's call at a typical Southeast Asian merchandise hawker, this one specializing in all sorts of marble and stone items. I was amused at a large bust of a Native American chief in full-feathered headdress; it seemed so out of place.

Along the way I enjoyed soaking in the local rural scenes, though much of it was punctuated by traffic congestion, trash and debris, and beat-up roads. It was a wearying journey, and there seems to be no alternative. A rail line appears to parallel the road much of the way, presumably originating in Hanoi, but there's no passenger train service, and there is no air service, either. I suppose a larger bus with more comfortable amenities and its own lavatory would have made the journey less tedious. As it is, a hired mini-bus, taxi, or public bus is the way everyone gets to Halong Bay, rich or poor.

Arrival procedures at Halong Bay were disorganized and confusing, and I had a flashback of similar chaotic scenes in The Philippines. It was made worse because it began to pour with rain. At least it was a warm rain. After leaving the bus, we all huddled into a waiting room in what appeared to function as a modest terminal building and waited for our particular boat number to be called. I kept our luggage close and watched it.

After an hour of waiting, the crew of our Indochina Sails fake junk named "Premium" found us and escorted under umbrellas to a lighter which ferried us from the dock to the boat anchored offshore a bit. Our staterooms,106 and 108, were on the lower deck very close to the waterline. They were huge, as were the luxuriously-appointed bath rooms. The interior wood was beautifully detailed with a teak look (and probably was teak); only the occasional whiff of diesel fuel dampened the sense that we were traveling in style.

After all passengers had been shown to their rooms and were settled in, we were called for a late lunch in the upstairs dining room. My wife and I were thrilled with the elegant presentation of the enormous buffet spread out before us, but the flavors of every selection were bland and mediocre. Our kids were not so picky and had their fill. The other meals were no better, but the crew was invariably polite and kind, and that made the experience aboard our big fat fake junk a delight nonetheless. Looking back, I can say the Vietnamese people were all polite to us, wherever we were.

The lumbering boat got underway with a few ferryboat-like shudders and with the muffled roar of the engines revving up below during our lunch, and pretty soon we were headed to offshore Halong Bay islands. We stopped twice before dusk and dinner, once at Tip Top Island to hike up to a lookout of the bay in clouds, and again at a floating fishing village. The experiences were relaxing, and the views from the overlook and at water level were both stupendous.

Dinner was again served buffet style upon our return, after which our son came down with a slight fever, necessitating an early return to our cabin. Before retiring we enjoyed the early evening vistas of the surrounding peaked small islets that Halong Bay is famous for, made especially beautiful by a moonlit night (the rains had ceased and clouds had passed). We slept from 8:30 PM until 6:10 AM on December 24th, a deeply refreshing and much-needed rest for us all.

Our son was fully recovered and hungry, so we bounded up the stairs (gangways?) to the dining room again. Hungry as we were, the morning pastries were tasteless as sawdust, but the hot tea was good and the staff cordial and helpful as always. We then took part in the early morning Tai Chi classes on the top deck, a very relaxing and spiritually rewarding part of our overall Halong Bay experience. Later we took the launch to visit "Surprise Cave" on yet another island and enjoyed a long hike (with hundreds of other mainly Western tourists in front and behind us) through the electrically-lit interior of the cavern.

Arriving back at the fat junk via the launch, we were politely ordered out of our staterooms at 9:00 AM and asked to bring our luggage and belongings with us. Once again a beautifully-presented "brunch" at 9:15 proved disappointingly mediocre in the mouth. As we steered back to the mainland, we passed many familiar islets and realized that despite being on the boat for about 20 hours we had not really traveled very far. We could, for instance, see Tip Top Island from our Surprise Cave anchorage. The slow-moving junks, in their lazy progression, seem to circumnavigate a few islands not far from shore before turning towards home. By 10:45 AM we had arrived back at the main dock for disembarkation.

We waited in the same terminal lounge for another hour with nothing to do and were put onto another minibus for the return trip to Hanoi shortly past noon. Everyone on the bus talked about their trip, and we'd been on different boats operated by different companies. All agreed that travel aboard the luxurious fake junks with their amusing itty-bitty fake sails and cruising the World Heritage Site of Halong Bay were worthwhile experiences, but everyone complained about how bad the food was. We agreed. The bus ride to Hanoi covered just 170 kilometers (about 106 miles) but took four hours--four hours of boredom and discomfort relieved only by another stop at the weird stone merchant store.

We arrived tired, hot, and a little irritable just past 4:00 PM back at the Luxor Hotel in Hanoi, ready for a lie-down and shower before venturing out for dinner. But we discovered that the Luxor had given away one of our two suites that we'd long ago reserved and paid in advance for. This caused a great deal of consternation on my part before agreeing finally, after an extended argument with the manager, to take a smaller room for our second accommodation in exchange for a big refund and a complimentary laptop for Internet and email access.

And we were invited, along with all the other guests of the hotel, to attend the annual Luxor Hotel Christmas dinner party that very evening (Christmas Eve) 6:00-9:00 PM. About which I will write more in the next post, but I can say now that it was a unique lifetime experience none of us will ever forget.

In closing the book on Halong Bay, my advice is: Go! It's gorgeous, unique, and worth the low-level hassles to get there and back, especially with the enduring politeness of the Vietnamese people to soften the experience.

Regarding our specific experience with the Luxor Hotel and the Indochina Sails junk on Halong Bay, my wife and I believe we got a better deal by booking the hotel and Halong Bay trip together in advance through the hotel, but the way packages are quoted, we can't be sure. We were definitely on a more luxurious junk than most folks even if the food was uninteresting. That happened because we had, in advance, arranged with the Luxor Hotel to book their "luxury" package rather than the standard package, and the luxury package included both an upgrade to the hotel suites in Hanoi and passage on the fancier fake junk at Halong Bay. In retrospect we recommend going for the so-called luxury deal, as the price difference was not great and definitely worth it.

2011-08-25T22:21:00.000-04:00

I survived 8,433 miles nonstop over 16 hours between Atlanta and Johannesburg IN COACH!

Earlier this month I made another trek to the Kruger National Park in South Africa, this time taking my sister and an old friend. Nothing new about going to the Kruger for me (see a long earlier post about it). I love the place and have been visiting the wildlife park with regularity since 1991.

But for the first time in almost 21 years of frequent travel to South Africa, I flew in coach. Yes, I endured Delta's longest nonstop flight: 8,433 miles. When the wheels go up on Delta 200 southbound and DL 201 northbound, the flight, using 777 aircraft, could last well over 16 hours before kissing the tarmac again. The actual flight times depend a lot on head winds and tail winds.

In all my many previous trips down there I managed to fly in Business or First Class, but this time I knew it had to be on the cheap or not at all And there were no great deals to Johannesburg in a premium class--at least not for travel in August, 2011. So I bought the cheapest economy fare available, which was around $1200 altogether, and prayed that I wouldn't end up in an asylum when the plane touched down.

Delta came to my rescue in a small way by providing a slightly improved coach product called "Economy Comfort" class. The first four or five rows of economy just behind Business Elite have 4 inches of additional legroom and a little better recline. I gained access thanks to my Platinum status.  Economy Comfort also provides all entertainment options gratis, and free booze. But there's no charge for alcohol in the rest of the economy sections of these flights, so I guess that's not a bonus.

The extra legroom probably made the flights a bit less uncomfortable than they might have been. Since I didn't fly in the normal economy seats, I can't say for sure.  Any way you cut it, however, it certainly isn't possible to say that either leg was comfortable. The flights were, at least, endurable, and that's a revelation to me.

I viewed this trip as an experiment to see if I could endure one of the world's longest commercial flights in a cramped coach seat. I did endure it.

Furthermore, I think I could do it again, and that opens up a lot of possibilities for me since I can afford a lot more coach trips to South Africa than in a premium cabin.

So what was it like? Well, descriptors that come to mind include boring; uncomfortable; tedious; unending; claustrophobic; at hourly intervals either too hot or too cold; and extremely cramped. The food served was of a quality a prison warden would have trouble defending to the Texas state legislature, a body reknowned for its insensitivity to prisoner well-being.

The flight attendants were long in the tooth and pursued their dry cabin crew duties and routines with what looked like studied resignation. They made me feel young, and I am 63. Advanced age is not intrisically a bad thing, but some of our FAs seemed to have long ago seen the joy of their work escape them.

So sour were their demeanors and dour their contenances that I suspected the cabin crew might have received special training for these flights from ex-East German border guards. Their strict stinginess metering out even a full can of Coke to those bold enough to ask raised more than a few eyebrows, and they were unapologetic about their reluctance to provide more than water.

The seats did recline a bit more than usual, but the bottoms were hard as iron. I was among many who put a pillow or blanket between my backside and the seat bottom to relieve the pain.

One very bright spot that helped me to live through it was the entertainment system. I didn't count the movies, but there were surely over a hundred on offer, along with a deep HBO selection of goodies like "Curb Your Enthusiam" and "Big Love" and comedy specials like Wanda Sykes. When I couldn't sleep--which was most of the flight--I watched movie after movie after HBO special. The entertainment system saved my sanity for 16 hours.

That's good, as I could not in good conscience read the books I'd brought. That's because the overhead reading lamps were so bright that they disrupted the sleeping or dozing or watching of every surrounding passenger within a row in each direction and sideways. I felt guilty using the overhead light, and I noticed noone else used theirs to read, either, presumably for the same reason.

The FAs came around at about hourly intervals with trays of water, and they left big water bottles in mid-cabin for self service. We all served ourselves a lot of water. In between the FAs disappeared en masse to the large galley in the rear of the plane. I went back a couple of times to get a Coke Zero and a cup of ice, and the cabin crew obliged. I also spent a good deal of time in the mid-cabin area standing and stretching to combat fatique and the physical pain of sitting in the tortuous seats. That helped, too.

The lavatories were, with so many people in coach (almost every seat was occupied), never short of queues, and they became dirty quickly. No FA ever came proactively to give them a periodic facelift and clean-up, so we had to ask for more tissue, TP, and paper towels.

Writing this now has brought back the awful feeling that swept over me when I realized about 8 hours into the flight that it was barely half over.

The absence of the flight attendants (that is, as they stayed mainly in the back) made it all more tolerable. Other passengers were as patient and cautious as I was in managing emotions and nurturing needs (mine and others), sort of like an impromptu support group. We had to deal with the experience alone, without much interaction with or from the cabin crew, and ironically that seemed to work pretty good. I can't explain why, but I am sure we all felt a bond and mutual desire to keep a lid on ourselves and others around us.

If the cabin crew was abnormally remote and cold, that didn't diminish the spirit or amplify the pain and discomfort. Despite the challenges, I did it, I survived it, and I know I could do it time after time now.  Which is what I plan to do, because I love going to South Africa and the Kruger National Park. Thank goodness Delta provides this ATL/JNB option.

A closing comment about the Business Elite section, which I closely inspected: Delta's new sleeper seats have been installed on these 777 airplanes. They are angled in as on other carriers' premium cabins and appear to be nothing novel. They are run-of-the-mill lie-flat seats.

I picked up one of the Business Elite menus as I left the plane in Johannesburg and inspected it later. It is depressingly titled "Food & Drink." Not even a pretense of style or luxe. How very sad. Inside it lists unimaginative descriptions (e.g., "Mixed Green Salad") of limited options, with a thin selection of 7 very inexpensive wines (if you count the port as a wine).

After gaining the confidence that the coach class 16-hour experience is clearly endurable, I marveled at how any airline could offer such a minimalist mediocrity as the Delta Business Elite product and yet ask $10,619.30 round trip RDU/JNB for it compared to about $1,200 round trip for a coach seat.

Bottom line: I'll be flying this route again on Delta in economy.

2011-06-16T17:49:00.008-04:00

Hanoi Charms

In June, 2010, when we began to put together our trip plan to China and decided to visit Vietnam as an extension dipping south from Guangxi Province in China where we were headed anyway, I recall being mildly interested in seeing the country and its capital, Hanoi. My wife was very excited, and she took the lead on research and booking because of my relative indifference. So when we actually reached Hanoi I didn't expect much.

That first morning's short tour of the city changed my mind in a hurry. At once I was captivated by the hustle and bustle of the street life and the genuine friendliness of the Vietnamese people. We were greeted everywhere with smiles and warm exchanges (except by the soldiers inside Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum). Not yet have the Vietnamese become jaded to tourists, and I hope they never become so.

Our three-hour tour stopped first at Uncle Ho's mausoleum, his modest house, and the old Presidential Palace (now used only for ceremonies) next door. We made the mandatory walk-through to see Ho's remains, which look remarkably lifelike for a corpse. Inside the tomb and adjacent to the well-lit, glass-enclosed body, I was harshly admonished by a frowning soldier for whispering to my wife that Ho looked pretty good. As I passed out of the chamber and back into daylight, I couldn't help but wonder why the three hardest of hard-line original communist leaders, Ho Chi Minh, Mao Zedong, and Vladimir Lenin, are all pickled and available for viewing, as if to remind those left behind that they're still on guard against Mao's worst nightmare, the Capitalist Roaders who would despoil the purity of communism. The mere existence of exotic financial derivatives such as credit default swaps is proof of their collective abject failure to hold back the tsunami of the free market.

The grounds and buildings have been maintained well, and the complex is beautiful. Wandering around after seeing everything, including a look at Ho Chi Minh's beautiful old (mainly Russian) automobiles in the garage adjacent to his residence, we visited the store near his house where all kinds of touristy trinkets were being hawked alongside bottles of Pepsi Cola. Looking at the gimcracks on offer there, I was again struck by how the old egalitarian Ho would be flabbergasted to realize that the de facto Vietnamese free market economy of the twenty-first century has crept even into his compound.

As a fitting segue from one marketing opportunity to another, the tour next brought us to a factory where all goods were made by folks with physical handicaps. The quality of the various items for sale was good to excellent, but the prices were high, we left empty-handed. Next we walked through the Temple of Buddha, a place of beauty and grace, before being taken to the Confucian Center. We enjoyed the small slice of Vietnamese culture and history, and also the bus ride to and from the various places.

Because of the severe congestion, travel in central Hanoi by internal combustion-powered vehicle is inevitably slow, albeit not tedious if one is curious and attentive. My wife and I thoroughly enjoyed the pace, and our children even commented on what they were seeing along the streets, but our Italian exchange student promptly took a nap and missed much of the experience. (More's the pity. Two days after returning to China, she asked me whether we were still in Vietnam.)

Hanoi traffic is chaotic but fluid, despite the absence of stoplights at all but a tiny number of intersections. Outside the city center, Hanoi also employs roundabouts, but in the old city, motorbikes, cars, trucks, and the odd bus maintain fluidity of movement without the use of stoplights.

It's a wonder to behold! I stopped again and again at inner city intersections to watch in amazement as pedestrians, animals (beasts of burden), bicycles, motorbikes (everyone owns a motorbike), trucks, and cars found a way through without stopping and without colliding. All the means of transportation move slowly, at approximately walking speed, but the traffic never really stops like it does in the USA. Regardless of mode, everyone keeps their vehicle moving going both ways across intersections in a dense parade of cross currents, yet I never saw an accident or even a near-miss.

No one stops at intersections. Frequently drivers are on the wrong side of the road, yet traffic flows like a river. Nor were there traffic cops present, and drivers did not use their horns. Somehow it all worked, and it's amazing to witness. I highly recommend it.

After getting out onto the streets to walk to various places of interest (restaurants, a travel agency, the water puppet show, and so on), we became quite adept at becoming part of this stream of humanity. Effortlessly we moved through the city on foot, never stopping at an intersection.

In fact we found that's the key: Never stop or hesitate. As long as everyone keeps moving, though slowly, everything remains fluid.

Streetscapes are vibrant, with people, food, goods, motorbikes, and animals all competing for space and leaving little room for pedestrians. Merchants liberally use up the sidewalks, often forcing walkers like us onto the busy street. Yet, as I have said, vehicles never hit pedestrians; we just became part of the stream.

Hanoi's streets have lots of trees, which provide a nice canopy from the sun and a contrast to the man-made structures. However, the country's environmental regulations of vehicle exhausts are decades behind ours, and pollution from the millions of motorbikes and other car and truck engines can be sickening. The bedlam and buzz of human enterprise also generates a lot of trash on the streets.

Altogether, though, our first morning in Hanoi had us charmed before lunch, and we knew we'd want to return. I don't know how it all works, but it does.

And speaking of lunch, we enjoyed a great meal at Little Hanoi Restaurant (about $22 for five hungry people). Apparently there are several places by that name in the city (where anything goes relative to intellectual property rights and such), and I don't have the street address. My wife got us there after she navigated perfectly to the travel agency street using the inadequate-but-directionally-correct tourist map we picked up at the hotel.

Every street in Hanoi's old city carries common themes for the businesses located there. There's a street for buying all kinds of bamboo for building construction, another one for motorbike repair, and so on. On the travel agency street, we stopped at Sunshine Travel to pick up our prepaid train tickets for the international train from Hanoi to Nanning, China in five days. Though we had dealt with Sunshine only via email to book the tickets, everything was in order and ready for us in their elegant office, formerly a small French hotel (way back when France occupied Vietnam).

After sating ourselves on a delicious lunch, we walked back to the Luxor Hotel, en route growing more expert and confident at interpreting the tourist map's errors, and all took a nap until 4:30 PM. The evening saw us walking quite a distance to the cathedral (boring, I thought), to dinner at a restaurant so mediocre that I didn't record its name, and then to the water puppet show by the shallow lake in the center of the city. The water puppet show is, well, about what it sounds like, and quite fascinating for the first five or six minutes, after which I dozed off. But the kids loved it, and many adults rave about it. I'd recommend it to adults as a valuable cultural experience with low expectations of wonder and delight.

Luckily we made the early puppet show and were able to head back to the hotel by 7:15 PM. Everyone was exhausted, and it was good distance to the Luxor. I suggested a taxi, but none could be found. So our twelve year old son offered to navigate on foot using the poor map. To my happy surprise he got us there by 8:05 PM after overcoming the map's errors. I judged that quite a feat for anyone on their first day in a strange city, especially given the rabbit warren nature of the city's grid.

We'd left an enormous pile of laundry (five people's dirty clothes from almost a week of traveling) to be washed and pressed at the hotel that morning, and it was in our rooms when we returned. The cost was $22, expensive but well worth it.

We fell into our beds by 9:00 PM, knowing we'd have to get up the next morning at 5:30 for our long bus ride to Halong Bay. The story of that bus trip and the ensuing two nights aboard our fake junk--really just a luxurious barge--in my next post.

2011-05-13T12:53:00.002-04:00

China & Vietnam Travel Continued:

Hanoi Demystification Begins

Continuing a series of posts that relate our experiences traveling in China and Vietnam in December, we had just reached Hanoi on the 22nd of December, 2010 (see March 17 post below). Exhausted from our journey by air from China, we made the eerie trip in an old van in the misty night past midnight from the bedlam of the Hanoi airport to our centrally-located hotel, the Luxor.

Next morning we felt recovered and excited to be in a new place. That feeling is harder to conjure these days since, between my wife and me, we’ve covered most of the civilized globe, and a quite a lot of the not-so-civilized places, too. We took our time, intent on getting the kids up and fed, and thus first took notice of our hotel, its staff, and its features.

Turns out there are many decent, and even fine, independent hotels like the Luxor in Hanoi, but we couldn’t have made a better choice, to which I give my wife full credit. The Luxor is not a top hotel, but we were very satisfied on almost every count (the few nits later). We’d book there again without hesitation, not something we say that often.

Our “suites” (rooms 2806 and 2808, should readers want to book) were actually just very large rooms with a kind of divider between the very large beds. The rooms, side by side, each had French doors that opened out onto a small balcony that overlooked the busy street below. Thanks to double doors to the balcony, the incessant street noise was not noticeable, and we slept soundly.

Each room had a spacious bath room with both a Jacuzzi bath and a separate shower. Desktop computers and free Internet service were also provided and included in the room rate. Most surprisingly, the rooms each came with a big, modern flat-screen TV and cable service. Heating and A/C worked fine, too.

The rooms were attractively done in light shades and just enough artwork to be tasteful. High ceilings made the spaces feel open and larger than they were already. We liked the rooms very much on many overt and subtle counts.

Luxury? No, not really. But the suites had that Je ne sais quoi of authentic Southeast Asian comfort that we were after. Maybe because the Luxor is not a chain and not really up to its name, it felt real and not faked the way some true luxury palaces can seem.

The complimentary breakfast in the hotel basement was on par with a luxury hotel in its array of food items. Still, I found most of the choices bland, excepting the fruit, which was delicious and plentiful. The bread was attractive but particularly tasteless. My impression was that the Vietnamese have forgotten how to make French croissants and pastries taste as good as they look.

The dining room staff was friendly to the point of painfully so, almost as if we were honored guests of their families in their homes. Nonetheless, we appreciated the way they genuinely cared for our kids and took pains to get them whatever they desired (if it was on the menu).

All this for $90/night, according to the Luxor website, though it’s hard to tell what we spent on the room alone, since we paid $279 per person for our 3 nights in Hanoi, a luxury HaLong Bay trip (including meals), airport transfers, a welcome bottle of wine, Water Puppet Show tickets, a half day private tour, and all breakfasts at the hotel.

Had it not been for our Italian exchange student, our basic family of four could easily have fit into one of the suites, but as it was, we could spread out and enjoy the extra space. So we did.

Time came to venture out among the Vietnamese people of Hanoi for the first time. I was genuinely excited. At age 18 in 1966 I volunteered to join the army, thinking myself not ready for college but ready for a life adventure.

OK, I was stupid, but as it turned out I didn’t go because the United States Army said my near-sightedness was too extreme. Though corrected then (and now) to 20/20, they refused to take me, even after an encouraging word from Senator Sam Ervin to the Pentagon pointing out the rare nature of my feverish patriotism.

Ironically then, as my generation was drafted to go to Vietnam, I was unable to qualify for the Armed Services and returned to college. I intently followed the war, of course, and always wondered what it would be like to visit Vietnam, especially Hanoi, where Ho Chi Minh ruled with such determination and sense of righteousness.

Infuriatingly self-righteous and doggedly determined, in fact, Uncle Ho never cried “uncle.” He was both despised and at the same time grudgingly admired by thinking Americans, many of whom recognized some of the qualities that define what it is to be an American in him and in the Vietnamese people.

So finally, 45 years after being rejected from a tour of war-era Vietnam, I was about to embark on a more pacific tour of the city that in the 1960s was the heart of the beast, the stolid bastion of communism that even in its poverty won its freedom against the Pentagon’s investment of $30 billion a year in American men and armaments. Surely, I thought, once outside on the sidewalk, I would be spit upon, or at least face angry scorn as the obvious American I am. And I would witness how a true communist economy functions successfully.

Dead wrong, of course. The shock of that first morning in Hanoi was not being in a new and strange place. It was encountering the pervasive friendliness of the Vietnamese people we met and bumped into, of all ages. It was the din of free enterprise that saturates every part of the city, with people selling everything imaginable on the street, from hot food out of a sidewalk wok to huge bundles clothes and shoes from the back of a bicycle to gaudy Christmas toys stacked in front of storefronts to butchered dogs for the stewpot.

I was so frustrated that no one belittled me for being an American, something I thought I deserved since our justifications for the war there were so bogus, that I stopped several older Vietnamese men and women whom I judged to be around my age and asked them if they recalled the war.

One man typified the general responses. He smiled and waved his hand in the air and said, “War long gone. We like America! Now we get rich like you, maybe! You buy something from me?” No Vietnamese I spoke with older than 40 professed to even recall the war; it was as abstract and impersonal to them as the American Revolutionary War is to us.

What would Uncle Ho say to capitalism triumphing over communism? What happened to the planned economy? The chaotic, seething mass of buying and selling that goes on along the busy streets of Hanoi is certainly not centrally planned. So I decided to pay Ho Chi Minh a visit.

We signed up for a three-hour guided tour of the main sights of the city, including (first and foremost), Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum, the grounds of his living quarters, and the Presidential Palace. Coming face to face with Ho will be the story for next time. Truth be told, though dead these many years, he doesn’t look bad!

2011-04-28T23:56:00.013-04:00

A further interlude to China and Vietnam: Exploring the Colorado Plateau

Easter week coincided with our kids’ week of spring break, so my wife and I took them for a whirlwind driving tour (1845 miles on our Hertz car) of the Colorado Plateau: Monument Valley (between Kayenta, Arizona and Mexican Hat, Utah), the San Juan River country (Mexican Hat, Utah), Canyon de Chelley (near Chinle, Arizona), Shiprock (New Mexico), Mesa Verde (near Cortez, Colorado), Arches National Park (close to Moab, Utah), Zion National Park (Utah), Las Vegas (an abomination to God), and two nights at the Grand Canyon.  It was a great adventure!

We had been to most of those places before, and yet, somehow, this journey was very special. I admit to a passion for Native American culture in the Great American West. In particular I've always been fascinated with what became of the predecessor peoples to the Navajo, Utes, and Hopi of the Colorado Plateau around Four Corners known as the Anasazi, or Pueblo People for the cliff houses that are the hallmarks of their culture. This trip covered the heart of Anasazi territory.

1845 miles of driving is a lot for seven days on the road, an average of 264 miles per day. To access these areas, however, requires the frugal flyer to book into Phoenix or Las Vegas, the only two major airports with sufficient competition to guarantee reasonable fares.

Knowing it would be preferable to make a big loop beginning and ending in Las Vegas, I tried airfares to LAS first with no luck. In the end PHX fares were about $90 cheaper per ticket (times 5 people, including my wife and me, our two kids, and our Italian exchange student).

Our flights on American Airlines RDU/ORD/PHX were executed on time and with superb service (in coach), and we were on the sidewalk waiting to board the Rental Car Center shuttle bus within 8 minutes of landing (thanks to not checking our luggage).

The generic shuttle bus eventually deposited us at the giant offsite Rental Car Center where we found our way to the Hertz Number One Gold area. But my name was not on the electronic board, forcing me to join a slow-moving line inside the Gold office behind people who also had no assigned vehicle.

Time seems to stand still at airline check-in counters, in rental car offices, and in hotel lobbies when things go wrong, and this very hot noontime wait was no exception. When finally my turn came, Hertz PHX Gold Manager Chris Stevens apologized profusely and assumed complete blame, saying Hertz didn't have sufficient staff to turn the incoming cars back to customers waiting like me.

Chris claimed our car would be ready in another 20 minutes (I'd been waiting a half hour already), and when it wasn't, he provided a free tank of gas as compensation. He also made sure we got a brand new (5400 miles on the odometer) 2011 Toyota Sienna van (I'd reserved a van for our big group) with all the bells and whistles, including the built-in Hertz NeverLost GPS system.

We therefore departed Phoenix over an hour later than planned, but at least with a nice car fitted out with every doodad and a free tank of petrol. I burned rubber at just above the legal 75 MPH up the Interstate to Flagstaff and then continued north on to Kayenta which is the gateway town in the vast Navajo Reservation to Monument Valley.

I pulled into the Hampton Inn-Kayenta at about 5:00 PM local time. It proved to be comfortable, clean, modern, and up to Hilton Hampton Inn standards, all for a bit over $100/night, which, as always with Hamptons, included breakfast. Not bad for 5 people (one slept on the floor in a sleeping bag we brought with us).

The next morning we left early and enjoyed a leisurely and uncrowded drive through the breath-taking beauty of Monument Valley.  Halfway through, we came across a Navajo man and his son renting horses for rides through the valley (the Navajo operate Monument Valley).

Thinking this could be a great experience and memory, I inquired with the elder about his prices.

"$80 for a half hour," he told me.

"I'm sorry, but that's more than I can afford," I said, shrugging. "I have five people." I turned back to the car.

"Wait," he said. "How much do you have?"

I pulled out a hundred dollar bill.

"OK, a half hour for all five," he smiled.

I smiled, too. $20 per person sounded a lot better than $80 each.

We helped him and his son saddle up our steeds, and off we went. The kids will never forget it! May be the best hundred bucks I ever spent.

Leaving Monument Valley we hightailed north into Utah to Mexican Hat and the beautiful San Juan River country of that wild region. From there we drove east and south back into Arizona to reach Canyon de Chelley via another Navajo town, Chinle.

There we stopped for lunch at a local place, and I asked two Navajo policemen for directions to Shiprock in New Mexico, not far as the crow flies, but the map was unclear as to the route. I was surprised that the two local tribal lawmen were not certain whether the road would take us directly to New Mexico without doubling back a long way. Guess I figured that police officers anywhere, and especially Native American gendarmes, would have an intimate knowledge of every highway and byway within their jurisdiction.

After skirting the north side of Canyon de Chelley and enjoying short hikes to the rim at two overlooks, we risked taking the highway that looked direct, and it paid off. The road, BIA 13 on the Arizona and New Mexico maps, connects over a gorgeous stretch of mountains still in snow to Shiprock, saving us at least an hour of driving.

Overnight was spent at a Best Western in Cortez, Colorado just north of Shiprock, where I'd booked a suite such as one might find at an Embassy Suites property. Once again we were pleased with the accommodation: It was spacious, comfortable, clean, with the same breakfast as the Hamptons serve, for about $120.

Mesa Verde National Park, one of the stunning national treasures of the Park Service, sits on a high mesa about 20 miles east of Cortez. It is the only National Park which honors a civilization, the Anasazi culture. The pueblo cliff dwellings there are among the many Anasazi ruins to be found on the Colorado Plateau, including those at Canyon de Chelley and the spectacular and eerie abandoned Anasazi city called Chaco Culture in New Mexico (east and south of Mesa Verde).

We made it a point to leave the hotel early enough to get to the Mesa Verde Information Center when they opened at 8:00 AM. On the way I purchased a Senior Pass for $10 at the Mesa Verde gate which enables me to enter any U.S. National Park for the rest of my life for free, along with everyone accompanying me in the vehicle. Needless to say, that saved us quite a bit of money on this trip, and it will on future trips (assuming I don't die first).

The nice ladies at the Information Center sold us tickets ($3 each) for the 9:00 AM Ranger-led tour of Mesa Verde's primo site called Cliff Palace. The old saying about the early bird getting the worm proved true, as we enjoyed a fascinating experience with only one other family on the 9:00 AM tour. Without going into detail, if you have any interest in the history and culture of the mysterious Anasazi people, this is highly recommended.

It had snowed overnight at Mesa Verde's high elevation (over 8,000 feet). Our drives in and out were gorgeous.

From there we turned north towards Moab, Utah, about a 3 hour journey, en route to Arches National Park. Traffic was moderate, and we stopped in Monticello, Utah for lunch at a local restaurant.

Arriving Moab in the early afternoon, I didn't think we'd be able to check in yet to the Hampton Inn. But they had our room ready, and we dropped our bags, and we rushed back to the car for the short drive to Arches north of town.

Arches National Park is indescribably beautiful. We opted for a hike to "Delicate Arch" (which appears on the Utah license plate), a mile and a half distant from the parking lot, and mostly vertical. Once we reached the arch itself, the vistas were magical, and we didn't want to leave.

I knew when we planned the trip that it was a rush job, but we decided to cover as much territory as possible, sacrificing time at each place. We longed for more time at Arches and vowed to return soon and concentrate on the park for several days, along with the vast Canyonlands National Recreation Area across the road.

Back in Moab we found a decent local place for pizza and pasta and beer and then sacked out at the most expensive Hampton outside of Manhattan I've ever experienced: over $200 for the night with tax. I had shopped Best Westerns and other hotel properties in Moab before deciding on the Hampton, and despite the great number of hotels in the town, none were much different in price. Moab has become a popular destination where hoteliers get a good yield.

Next morning we were off early again on our longest one-day ride, over 500 miles across southern Utah to Las Vegas. This part of our odyssey was new territory for me, and I didn't know what to expect.

The drive was gorgeous and highly recommended west of Moab. At 80 MPH (the posted speed limit on much of the drive), we covered a lot of ground fast, stopping only in a part of Zion National Park to see more beautiful red rock canyons and to take a short hike to stretch our aching legs.

We reached Las Vegas shortly after 2:00 PM and found a spot in the cavernous self-parking garage at The Venetian by 2:30 PM. I presented myself at The Venetion's front desk at 2:35 PM, fully aware that check-in was not guaranteed until 3:00 PM.

I'd upgraded our reservation in advance to a suite for around $230 because we were five people in the room, and I prepaid for it because The Venetian requires it. When I got to the head of the long check-in line, the fellow serving me said the suite I'd booked would not accommodate five guests, that in fact it was illegal "because of fire codes." He insisted that we would need a larger suite, about 1000 square feet in size, for an extra $75/night.

OK by me. I wanted to experience a big Las Vegas casino suite out of curiosity, and so I didn't argue. He charged my Amex card but then said the room would not be ready "for another 30-40 minutes" despite the fact that it was close to 3:00 PM, official check-in time. He suggested I give him my cell phone number and wait, which I did, sending my wife and kids off to explore the faux Venetian canal and other fantasy features of the property.

I wandered out the front door and spent a leisurely 50 minutes watching people come and go, observing a wide variety of humankind in various states of undress and disparate moods. The number of folks chain-smoking while slurping a glass of Champagne or a cocktail made me ponder the correlation between gambling and other addictive behaviors.

At 3:45 PM I got tired of waiting for the call: the call that never came.

I went back inside to the front desk and once again endured the long check-in line until my turn came. This time the clerk serving me was an Asian woman. I gave her my particulars and explained that I'd been waiting a long time and that it was now almost 4:00 PM, one hour past the time when rooms were guaranteed to be ready.

The woman wore a permanent frown. While pecking away at her computer she never made eye contact, but managed to assume a snotty, rude, and ultimately hostile, demeanor as she related how The Venetian could not guarantee when our room would be ready.

"It could be HOURS!" she loudly stated in an exasperating tone.

I kept a calm tone to my voice, though her attitude was fiercely irritating, and I told her that I was owed an accurate estimate of room availability. This accentuated the woman's belligerence, and she fairly berated me as if I had demanded something unreasonable.  Her tone and volume attracted the attention of a manager, but no intervention occurred.

I therefore requested a manager, and after glowering at me for a few long moments, the clerk walked over to the manager who had looked up and spent a good four or five minutes explaining, no doubt, what a jackass of a customer I was. How dare I demand to know when our room would be ready!

I surmised this by the frosty manner in which Donna, the manager, finally approached me. "How can I help you, sir?" she said through clenched teeth. The clerk was by her side, staring me down.

"Well, first off, I'd like to tell you my my side of the story, as you seemed to have spent a long time hearing your clerk's version," I started.

"I already KNOW your side, sir," Donna claimed.

That set me off, but I knew that I had to persist in a calm demeanor, so I took a deep breath and related the facts of my poor experience at The Venetian thus far, stating at the end that the second clerk was the worst possible advertisement for hotel customer service I'd ever witnessed and would not have made it through the first day of training at chains like Hyatt. I said that she should be fired on the spot.

During my discourse I explained that the first clerk had upsold me to a larger suite despite the fact that their proprietary website had let me book a smaller suite for five people.

Donna softened as she listened to me, and I could see I was getting through to her. I let her digest what I'd told her while she clicked away on screen, probably verifying what the first clerk had done.

After a few minutes, Donna volunteered that the first clerk had lied to me in order to sell a larger room, and that in fact the hotel was oversold on the larger suite, which was why the second clerk was stalling me. They simply had no large suites and would not have any, she said. Would I be willing to have the extra $75 charge reversed and take instead the original suite booked, of which the hotel had plenty free and ready for occupancy?

"Yes," I stated, "by all means. I want the room at once."

The Asian clerk, still hovering beside Donna, apparently realized that things had suddenly turned in my favor and that she might be in trouble. She blurted out that The Venetian would comp all our food and drink during our one-night stay.

"NO!" I exclaimed. "I don't want monetary compensation. I want YOU fired and an acknowledgement from you that your behavior was rude and unprofessional, along with an apology.  Showering me with free stuff will not restore the good will of The Venetian or make my stay here pleasant or make me forget the way I was mistreated."

The clerk did not apologize, though the manager, Donna, did. She gave me the room keys to 20-108, and I took my family up to the room. It was now past 4:30 PM, almost two hours since we'd arrived.

It was an inexcusable experience for management to suffer upon a guest at any hotel.

Later we walked up and down The Strip as far as the Mandalay Bay and made it a point not to spend any money at The Venetian. I kept quiet and let my family come to the same conclusion I was thinking, which they did, that Las Vegas fantasy hotels are overblown and seedy. Not one of the big joints we entered (New York, Paris, Luxor, Mandalay Bay, Bellagio, Venetian, etc.) lived up to the hype of the guidebooks. Not even close. My kids, ages 12 and 7, didn't even like them.

And on the streets we were accosted every few feet by mainly Hispanic men and women flipping call girl cards at me and my kids. Me, I am a Libertarian when it comes to such things. Let people do as they please, whether boozing, whoring, or gambling. But don't push it on me, my wife, and my kids. That's over the line.

We put Las Vegas behind us early the next morning and drove the 280 miles or so to the Grand Canyon. There we enjoyed two glorious days and nights in the great outdoors at one of the world's natural treasures.  Most of us hiked 3.5 miles (I made it 2.5 miles before my knees gave out)down the Bright Angel Trail and back up again (in a little over five hours, including a picnic lunch near the bottom); we dined at El Tovar; we hiked the rim to the Geology Center; we attended an evening Ranger lecture on ravens; and we enjoyed the recently-completed renovations at Yavapai, our accommodations. It was the fitting cap of a great week of adventure.

Not wishing to leave, we departed the Grand Canyon on Saturday and drove the 220 miles back to Phoenix. To break up the trip I drove through Oak Creek Canyon to Sedona from just south of Flagstaff, a big mistake. The traffic in Sedona was nearly gridlocked, and we inched along through one roundabout after another until we cleared the area after a lot of frustration.

The cheapest hotel of the trip turned out to be the Phoenix Airport Hilton at $79/night. I turned the car back to Hertz that night to avoid doing so at 3:30 Easter Sunday morning. The room was comfortable, and the staff was cheerful. Early Sunday morning we took the hotel shuttle back to the airport and cleared security quickly (no new scanners yet at PHX).

In coach again on our American flights to DFW and RDU, I didn't even bother to approach the podium because we had decent seats close to the front. I was surprised when my name was called just prior to boarding. The flight was overbooked, and AA needed five seats for another family. Would we mind all five of us being upgraded to First Class at no charge?

I agreed.

2011-04-07T09:23:00.002-04:00

China & Vietnam Travel Interlude: A tale of one and a half trips

It's taking me months to find the time to write about the 16 days my family and I spent traveling over parts of China and Vietnam in December. I have much more to impart, and I will get back to it.

But first here's a quick story of two recent domestic trips--er, I mean one and a half trips, since the second one is in progress.

NOTHING TO COMPLAIN OF IN NEW YORK

On a late March three-day weekend made possible by my children's school calendar, my wife and I took our two kids, ages 12 and 7, plus our 17 year old Italian exchange student, to New York City. We love Manhattan and try to visit every year or two for at least a few days, usually in the spring or the fall.

On our most recent visits we stayed at two Hilton properties, the elegant Waldorf Towers (two years back) and the Doubletree-Times Square (four years ago). Both weekends were memorable partly because of the luxe accommodations, and we wondered if the kids would be disappointed this time, since the only reasonably-priced hotel I could find was a more modest Hilton property, the Hampton Inn-Times Square North on Eight Avenue between 51st and 52nd.

"Reasonable" being a relative term in Manhattan, of course. With tax the room came to $500 for two nights, which of course included breakfast and free Internet just like all Hampton properties. Sounds steep, but that slept and fed five of us in one room for two nights. Comfortably even.

But I am getting ahead of myself, and I promised this would be a short story. We schlepped out to Raleigh-Durham Airport well before dawn on Friday for our 6:00 AM flight to LaGuardia on an American Eagle tiny jet. Amazingly it left on time, and all five of us dozed the 80 minutes of flight time, awakening just in time to get a glimpse of the City as we descended.

We caught a cab to the Hampton Inn-Times Square North and checked in before 8:30 AM. Naturally no rooms were ready, but we stowed our luggage with the bellman.

To my surprise the front desk clerks urged us to have breakfast at the hotel, even though we'd just arrived. So we did.

We found the Hampton-Times Square North to be ideally situated for walking to Times Square (just a block away) and elsewhere. Doing a lot of walking, with a few cabs, and one long subway ride, we managed to do half the great touristy things one should do in NYC on Friday and the other half on Saturday:

- Two Broadway shows ("Mama Mia" on Friday night and "Chicago" Saturday evening, with real close Orchestra seats at both shows purchased once we got to town; ticket prices were high, but not earth-shattering, and both shows were great entertainment)

- Harbor boat tour to see the Statue of Liberty and the City from the water (both the Hudson and East River sides)

- 102nd floor of the Empire State Building

- MoMA (Museum of Modern Art, where I almost had a heart attack seeing my son come with a millimeter of touching Picasso's "Three Musicians")

- Met (Metropolitan Museum of Art; we spent a lot of time in the ancient Egyptian exhibits)

- Chinatown (for a mediocre meal--but maybe we were spoiled by real Chinese food in China)

- Little Italy (where tee shirts were on sale that read "Do I look like a f***ing people person?")

- Subway (OK, it's just the subway, but we don't have a metro in Raleigh)

- Ice-skating at the Rockefellar Center rink (my wife downloaded $5 skating coupons from the Internet, and our kids had a ball)

- FAO Schwarz (where there's always some zany new toy being demonstrated)

- A long stroll down 5th Avenue (everyone enjoyed the shops, the people, the spectacular buildings, and the beauty of the boulevard in brilliant morning sun)

- Central Park (we traipsed across on foot from the east side at the Met to the west side at the Museum of Natural History, which we did not go into because it was jammed)

To do all those things we bought a CityPass for each adult ($79 each) and child ($59 per) that included entrances into most of the above (except ice-skating). CityPass coupon books are a tremendous bargain, assuming a buyer uses all the coupons, which we did.

Manhattan was gorgeous all weekend, if cold. Saturday it dropped into the low 20s with a wicked wind chill, but we bundled up well and were comfortable. The miles of walking probably helped to keep our furnaces stoked.

The Hampton Inn on 8th Ave proved to be flexible and hospitable throughout our stay, and very family-friendly. They didn't object to five in the room (official policy in most NYC hotels is four max per room). There is even a concierge desk at that Hampton, manned day and night with a patient and knowledgeable professional who actually likes kids.

We had need to call hotel engineering at the height of the busy weekend (every room booked), and yet they responded within minutes and repaired the plumbing problem in less than ten minutes.

One nit: The breakfast area is too small. It was unimaginably crowded at the peak morning hour between 8:30 and 9:30. Lines out the door. Hotel staff had difficulty keeping food stocked fast enough to feed the hungry multitudes. Many patrons were wandering with plates in hand in search of a seat, and I'm pretty sure I could have sold our table for $50. Still, no one pulled a gun on anyone for grabbing their bagel, and in fact the mood was friendly, even neighborly.

Despite the competition for victuals, we managed to amply fill our five bellies all three mornings, and I have no beef with the Hampton. It was a bit of a hassle, but if I could have gotten our kids moving faster, we'd have avoided the worst of the breakfast congestion.

I completed a guest survey when we departed, and later got a personal email from Laura Maldonado, Guest Service Manager at the hotel. She addressed my concern and invited us back. We liked the place so much that we'll probably return on our next trip to the City. Yes, it lacks the elegance and style of the Waldorf, but it was comfortable, efficient, and friendly. And not too pricey.

Our trip home Sunday on American Eagle again was just about perfect, as had been the Friday flight up. It left from JFK rather than LaGuardia, though, a fact I had not noticed during the booking process weeks before.

Stupid me, I paid for a cab to LaGuardia before discovering the error and having to high-tail it to JFK in a second (expensive) taxi to make our flight. I was impressed at Kennedy with the new American terminal. Maybe it's because I suffered for years there while AA completed it. It's airy and sunny and attractive, and even easy to use.

All in, it was just about a perfect New York weekend. (I really hate it when I can't find much to complain about.)

KUDOS TO CONTINENTAL, ER, UNITED, ER, WHATEVER

This week I am in Pahrump, Nevada taking a four-day defensive handgun course at the Front Sight Firearms Institute with pal David Rowell who writes "The Travel Insider." Unless you live in Nevada, I doubt you'd ever heard of Pahrump, let alone been here.

Pahrump is a sizable unincorporated town about an hour west of Las Vegas and 30 miles east of Death Valley, California. The surrounding snow-capped peaks contrast with the Joshua trees along the highway that signal this is a really hot desert. It has its charm if you like the outdoors, which I do, and I love coming here. It's the Great American West.

One must fly to Las Vegas and rent a car to reach Pahrump, which is exactly what I did. Fares were best on Continental, and I wanted to experience the airline in its transition to unite with United, so I purchased my ticket and dutifully went to RDU last Sunday for my CO flights to Cleveland and then LAS.

But the little commuter plane that was to carry me to Cleveland broke down en route to Raleigh, and Continental had to re-route me through Houston at the very last minute. I watched closely as the CO staff at RDU, already cut to the bone, worked hard but coolly and efficiently to rebook everyone, including me.

They put me on a United CRJ to IAH, and I expected it to be like, well, like United: arrogant, rude, unfriendly. Not like Continental. But it wasn't bad. The UA crew praised the merger in progress, were polite, and accepted my Continental scrip for a drink en route to Houston. I was impressed. Maybe CO won't catch UA's germs after all.

In Houston I was to ride a 757 to Las Vegas. I had resigned myself to Sardine Class even though I remain a Continental Gold Elite card holder, which entitles me to upgrades when available. I was therefore bowled over to have the gate agent hand me a First Class boarding pass, and I enjoyed a pleasant experience on the three-hour flight Houston-Las Vegas.

I made it to Las Vegas only 25 minutes later than I would have flying on the original flights. Not only did my luggage get re-routed properly (I was worried it wouldn’t make it), but my bag was the fourth one off the belt. The "Priority" tag actually worked for once.

And I just received an email from Continental that I've been upgraded from Las Vegas to Cleveland tomorrow night. Kudos to Continental! Let's all hope the CO culture prevails at the new United.

2011-03-17T23:19:00.012-04:00

Haunting Hutongs, Hunting Hotels, and Haggard in Hanoi

Breakfast on our third day in Beijing was taken at the Days Inn Forbidden City's buffet. This was to placate our 12 year old son, since his entire repertoire of foods can be counted on the fingers of two hands. The brightly-lit, spotlessly-clean atmosphere and western breakfast offerings provided an embarrassing contrast to the authentic, humble Chinese breakfast of delicious soup and scrumptious dumplings of the previous morning.

To my unhappy surprise, our seven year old daughter and 17 year old Italian exchange student also tucked into the expensive fare of mediocre replications of a typical American morning meal. Nothing tasted particularly good, but the bland flavors tickled the kids' taste buds.

Whereas the previous day's breakfast cost $3 for 6 people, or fifty cents each, this morning's meal cost 21 times as much at $10.35 per person. My wife was appalled and went down the street to find another local place. I wanted to go with her but had to stay with the kids.

After eating, we ventured on foot into the immediately adjacent hutongs, the ancient local neighborhoods of one and two-story residences that used to predominate in central Beijing, ringing the Forbidden City palace. Some of the hutong areas, those closest to the main drag leading to Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square, have been rebuilt and spruced up with artifical streams and pocket parks and cutesy pastel colors, making them look rather beautiful.

I smelled a big rat, like the completely false perfection at a Disney park, where everything has been sanitized to the point of unreality. I checked the hutong streambed and found it was poured concrete with water pumped in at one end like a backyard waterfall.

So I did a little research. Truth is, the hutongs were not, and are not, the pretty places now being given a makeover for tourists. They were hardscrabble neighborhoods where people lived in squalor and in very close quarters.

This experience wasn't in the distant past, either. Our driver Joe, in his thirties, described living in a Beijing hutong until his late twenties because he could not afford better. Conditions were brutal, he said, in every season: bitter cold in winter and boiling hot in summer. Outside latrines meant having to bundle up to go to the toilet; cleansing one's body was done via a spit bath in a sink. Joe said the charcoal stoves used to provide heat were not drafted, so you either had to keep a window open to let oxygen in (and cold air with it) or risk being asphyxiated.

Once we left the big boulevard that leads to the Square and Forbidden City, however, the street face of the hutongs opposite the palace walls reverted to the usual drab gray concrete, complete with rusty doors and hinges. As far as we could observe, the real hutong life is much as Joe told us: basic, bordering on primitive.

But vibrant. There are lots of shops of all sorts on the edges of the hutongs, especially small convenience stores where bottled water sells for half the price of stores on nicer streets. We even fell victim to one of the oldest scams in overseas tourist cities: the art-student-taking-lessons ploy.

A young squeaky-clean, well-dressed Chinese fellow who spoke good English passed us on the street and asked us where we were from. (We should have known right then that it was a set-up.) After listening to his spiel about being a graduate art student from Shanghai studying at Beijing University, we followed him to a nearby small gallery selling all sorts of Chinese artworks. Prices were low and quality was high, so we bought a few items, and we are still happy with them. But we discovered that there are scores of such modest stores in Beijing, and all employ such "art students" to steer foreigners to them.

Wandering in and out of the hutong streets, we eventually made a three-quarter circuit around a huge block from the Days Inn Forbidden City. On one of the main streets leading to downtown Beijing and away from the Forbidden City, we suddenly realized that we were standing in front of the Kapok Hotel. The Kapok, my wife's guidebook has said, was a superior property with large rooms and modest prices. We stepped inside out of the bitter cold to have a look and check out their ratecard.

The staff was extremely helpful and even took us for a tour of their two basic room types, one a very large regular room with a fancy bath, and the second one a huge room with a single king bed but with an L-shaped sitting area that could be made up into two single beds (called a "suite" but really more like 50% larger open space than a regular room). The bathroom in the bigger one was not much smaller than our individual rooms at the Days Inn.

Best of all, the rate for the "suite" came to just over $100/night all in, which was cheaper than the two rooms at the Days Inn. We counted our blessing on finding this gem of a hotel and booked one room for our final two nights in China. Later I cancelled our reservations for the Days Inn for the same two nights, and we breathed a sigh of relief that we would not have to spend another night there.

In the early afternoon we checked out of the Day Inn Forbidden City, and I reflected on what we liked about the place: the very kind and helpful staff. Day or night, they aimed to please and would go beyond the call of duty to make us happy. Our bill was exactly what we had calculated, too.

Joe picked us up and drove us to the airport, stopping at a McDonald's (again) for our kids en route. We reached the airport terminal just 25 minutes (at 2:40 PM) from the CBD, and Joe never broke the speed limit. It's a lot closer than it seems, but Beijing traffic makes the ride seem interminable during rush hours.

This is a good place to mention that my mobile phone, a Blackberry Torch with AT&T service, worked perfectly in China from the moment we landed. Before we left the States, I purchased (for one month) a special AT&T Wireless overseas package that included substantial email and text time for China and Vietnam, but not voice. I was mainly interested in keeping up with email while away and opted not to buy the expensive voice plan for China. I never missed it, either, but processed hundreds of emails while there for 16 days. It's popular to diss Blackberry these days, but I stand by mine, and though I am no big fan of AT&T mobile service, their overseas plan worked perfectly for me, and I'd do it again.

Our internal Asian flights had been arranged through a Chinese agency by us in the USA. Our options from Beijing to Hanoi were surprisingly limited. We decided on China Southern because it was much cheaper, but it involved a stop in Guangzhou.

And of course there were no business class deals on these flights, either, so we were all in coach.

Checking in at China Southern I asked about the possibility of an upgrade and was politely informed that for an extra $700 per person (one way), we could ride in Business Class.

What about the possibility of a complimentary upgrade? I asked.

Not in this lifetime, I was told politely.

I guess one's chances for an upgrade when competing among 1.3 billion souls are slim (compared to having to compete with a mere 300 million in the USA for one). After all, even if you were identified by your favorite airline in China as a one-in-a-million super-duper-elite frequent flyer, there would be another 1.3 million elite frequent flyers just like you. Be hard to get a standby upgrade with those odds.

China Southern got tough with our carry-on, too, even though we had one legal carry-on per person (five of us) plus two small backpacks. We arrived extra early, so I took my time trying to reason with them to let us carry on everything, but in the end, China Southern would not let us check in unless we checked at least two bags. My only consolation was to get Business Class "Priority" baggage tags added to each of them which, I was told, would assure they came out first.

We let them go, much to my chagrin. Our 17 year old Italian exchange student asked why it was so important to me, and I explained that, aside from the risk of damage or loss, the bags would take forever to arrive at Hanoi, and we were already arriving close to midnight. She opined that with the Priority tags we would have them in no time.

I take no pleasure in reporting that she was wrong, and I was right. When we finally arrived in Hanoi at 11:45 PM, we waited until 12:51 AM for our bags to arrive on the belt, costing us an extra hour when we were already spent and totally exhausted from the flights. More on that later.

After checking in, we looked for a Chinese restaurant for the adults, having decided to skip eating at McDonald's when we stopped for the kids. Astonishingly, however, Terminal 2 at Beijing lacks a restaurant serving home country victuals. Our growling bellies had to settle for the completely inauthentic fare at a so-called Irish pub which was as boring as it was mediocre.

Making our way to Gate 50 for China Southern 371 to Guangzhou and Hanoi, we passed through a security screen boasting an unpleasant and rude Chinese official, the first instance of such behavior we experienced in the country. The officious lady ascribed to the hurry-up-and-wait military school of queuing, and she was insensitive to the need for us to stay with our seven year old daughter. Despite the security lady’s tough approach, our daughter got a Coke through the security screen unnoticed.

The flight was due to depart at 5:30 PM. After waiting by the gate a long while, passengers were herded onto a bus at 5:10 PM. This was December, and the air was frigid. The bus was devoid of any heat or light. After a long period of uncertainty by the gate, the bus lurched across the tarmac to our plane, where mass confusion ensued up the shaky old boarding stairs.

Once inside the cabin I realized that Business Class and frequent flyers had been sequestered and transported to the plane by a separate bus, for they were comfortably seated and receiving complimentary beverages as we lowly coach passengers lumbered past to our seats in the back.

Ours were 39ABC and 39HK, fours rows back from the frequent flyer coach cabin and quite a distance from the front of the plane. There were no windows in row 39, which made us all feel claustrophobic. The feeling was magnified by the hordes: Every seat was taken. Never have I felt more like a sardine than on that plane.

Airborne at 5:41 PM, my kids pulled out the ancient stethoscope-style headphones from the seat pocket and marveled that the passage of air through the flimsy antiques brought an echo of sound to their ears. Not enough, though, to really understand what was being said, and they quickly abandoned that particular diversion.

A Chinese meal was served, along with two beverage services, and though the food wasn’t much above that one might expect in a prison cafeteria, I was impressed and happy to get it. For starters, it distracted all of us from the nagging claustrophobia (vivid memories danced in my head of the hundreds of flights in coach I endured early in my career as a consultant before realizing that I could not tolerate cattle class any longer).

Three agonizing hours later we landed in Guangzhou, where we were ordered into the terminal with all our belongings. Stupid though it sounds, we were forced to go through Immigration and Customs there rather than in Hanoi. It was 8:40 PM.

Disembarking was chaotic on another rickety old set of stairs, at the bottom of which we all loitered around waiting for a bus. One Chinese man waiting with us on the ramp started to light up a fag (many Chinese still smoke) before I stopped him, pointing to the nearby fuel truck pumping jet fuel into the wing. He got the message and put away his lighter.

Passengers were separated into those destined for Guangzhou and those going on to Hanoi. Once inside the building we had to endure another security screen and Immigration check before being allowed into the gate area. At 9:30 PM we boarded the same plane, and once again, it was full. We were assigned the same windowless seats in row 39, and I buried my head in a book to reduce my stress. After all, this was a vacation.

The plane took off at 10:04 PM for its two hour flight to Hanoi. A second meal was served en route, identical to the first one, but I ate some of it anyway. Again there were two beverage services before finally touching down 30 minutes late (with no explanation why) at 11:45 PM Vietnam time (one hour earlier than Guangzhou time).

Hanoi airport at midnight was bedlam: crawling with people, poorly lit, badly organized, under-staffed, trashy, and ramshackle. What a poor first impression, we all thought.

Immigration desks were slow but the staff was friendly when our turn finally came. Thence to the baggage carousel to claim our luggage. Where we waited. And waited. And waited.

I would have worried except that I recognized many of our fellow travelers (after spending the past nine hours with them from Beijing), and they were waiting morosely for their bags to appear as well. I was more concerned about our kids than about my wife and me. The kids had endured a very long afternoon and evening of flying with very little food they enjoyed, and it was now 1:00 AM their time.

Our luggage, complete with China Southern “Priority” tags intact and hard to miss, finally showed up at 12:51 AM, over an hour after arrival, with no explanation or apology. I feel sorry for the folks whose bags lacked the special privilege ours enjoyed as “Priority.” They are probably yet waiting at the Hanoi Airport to be reunited with their belongings.

To my relief our driver was waiting patiently for us just outside Customs, and we followed him to his van for our one-hour ride into Hanoi. The driver had the annoying habit of alternating up and down on the accelerator pedal in a rhythmic tick-tock fashion at intervals of a few seconds. Thus did he irritate me for the entire ride through the dark countryside on the beat-up highway in the middle of the night. Zoom ahead; slow down; zoom ahead; slow down. Over and over and over. At one point his bizarre driving pattern struck me as so nutty that I burst out laughing. I always get the weird ones, I thought.

We reached our hotel at 1:45 AM, utterly exhausted.

Next installment: Hanoi!

2011-03-03T07:48:00.009-05:00

Beijing Blahs

There are moments in every adventure that are dull and boring, and driving back to Beijing again from the Great Wall at Mutianyu was one such time. Our kids nodded off in the back seat, and I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Closing in on the city and pointing in the general direction of the old emperors' Summer Palace, traffic thickened as always in the capital, slowing our progress. Nearing the city center, our driver, Joe, pressed us to visit the Bird's Nest stadium, the principal site of the 2008 Summer Olympics.

"It's on the way!" he exclaimed urgently. "We're almost there! We could stop!"

Why, we asked, would we want to see another boring stadium? Wasn't the world just chock-a-block full of big, boring stadia, each one more bloated and outrageous than its predecessors?

Joe was crestfallen that we didn't want to kneel before the most holy symbol of China's success in the modern world, so we agreed to compromise and drive past the edifice.

Frankly, I found the odd-shaped buildings nearby more interesting, but maybe that's my hard-wired bias against sports pleasure domes.

With Joe's national pride expiated, we drove on to the Summer Palace where I took this photo of Joe and his Chevy. Amazing to look at it and see that the picture might have been taken anywhere in the world:

It had warmed considerably, thanks to the sun, a rare treat on a Beijing winter day, and we enjoyed a relaxing stroll through the extensive lakeside Summer Palace grounds.

For those who have never been, it's worth it, but don't expect anything as dramatic as the grandness of Forbidden City. The Summer Palace is a place to enjoy natural beauty and achieve tranquility, possible even amongst the throngs walking the grounds. Visitors are usually respectful and relatively quiet, quite unlike, say, an experience visiting Sea World at San Diego.

I enjoyed watching the many Beijing cityfolk taking in the afternoon and old men deftly creating beautiful but ephemeral traditional Chinese characters in water on the walkways using huge handheld brushes:

In a more frivolous vein, I was delighted to purchase (for $5 each) several watches from the inevitable hawkers that featured a Chinese red background with the face of Mao Zedong and a waving hand:

Those of us who grew up watching the old communist-to-the-bone Mao's horrendous Cultural Revolution decimate the quality of life on an entire generation of Chinese appreciate the bittersweet irony of oh-so-modern China now using his once-revered image in an overtly mocking, commercial way. Mao must be turning in his grave. I bought four of the watches to take home as gifts; predictably they began to fall apart before we returned to the hotel.

From the sublime to the ridiculous, we left the natural beauty of the Summer Palace for the office of a Chinese foot massage doctor. Joe had enthusiastically endorsed the experience of foot massage as relaxing and healing, and he cited several of our friends who had enjoyed this particular place. Ignorant and curious (a dangerous combination anywhere), we caved into his entreaties, but not before stopping at a McDonald's for our son to take in some calories.

Thank goodness that McDonald's has stores throughout China. Otherwise our son, 12 and a picky eater, would have withered away. Most Mickey Ds there are built into the urban fabric of the city, that is, they are not stand-along stores as we are used to here in the States. The stores then become less obvious; they blend in as just another restaurant rather than standing out. This is a practice I'd like to see with all fast food restaurants in the USA. The menu is nearly identical to here, as evidenced by our son's super-sensitive taste buds that reject the slightest differential to the bland tastes of McDonald's American fare. In China, he ate every bite.

On to the foot massage therapy we went. Parking the kids in front of a TV, the adults were taken into a room with lounge beds and huge buckets of steaming hot water laced with foul-smelling herbs. We stripped our shoes and socks off and were forced to endure the painful heat of the water to cleanse and prepare our lower extremities for the ordeal to come.

Foolishly, I realized later, I was looking forward to the appearance of the massage doctors so that I could stop pretending to enjoy the boiling water bath. The strong-armed massage experts did troop in soon enough and removed our feet from the buckets and dried them thoroughly.

Thence began a grueling series of deep massages to my feet and legs which unexpectedly brought back bad memories from high school wrestling days. Those of us who participated in that ancient sport can never forget what it was like to have one's flesh burn as it rubs hard against the mat while being overpowered by a strong opponent. That's the best analogy I can offer for the experience of a Chinese foot massage.

Suffice it to say I wouldn't recommend it to my worst enemy. For the privilege of suffering this pain we paid about $16 each, not including tips.

My wife on the companion bed didn't seem to be emitting the grunts and groans I found spontaneously emanating from my body, so I opted to continue with the torture and make the best of it. Later she admitted she didn't enjoy it, either. Had I known that in the moment, I'd have terminated the session and simply paid them off. I can still feel the pain of the small bones in my feet crunching in the massively-muscled hands of the so-called doctor. Only a masochist would willingly return.

Afternoon light was waning fast as we departed the foot massage office, and Joe suggested an early evening experience unique to Beijing: the kungfu show at the Red Theatre. Still not quite rational from the foot massage, we agreed too readily, and Joe made calls to get us tickets.

Truth be told, we were not anxious to return to the depressing confines of our tiny rooms at the Days Inn Forbidden City. We wanted to take in as much of the city as we could, knowing that we'd have only a half day more tomorrow before leaving for the airport to fly to Hanoi, Vietnam. So we headed in the car to the Red Theatre.

Late afternoon drive-time gridlock in Beijing is notorious, and we hit the traffic at the height of rush hour. It was agony for the kids and the adults to be stuck in traffic that inched along and was frequently at a dead stop. Joe managed to get us off the second ring road and onto city streets, which were also horribly congested. But we kept moving, albeit slowly, and a trip that might have taken 15 minutes at 1:00 PM took well over an hour.

The Red Theatre's architecture has nothing special to recommend itself aside from the lighting that makes it red, yet it is well-known. The night we attended the kungfu show many Chinese and foreign officials and dignitaries were among us, and their limousines littered the parking lot.

As with many public spaces in China, the theatre was not heated. Despite the crowd of bodies filling most every seat, it was cold, and we kept on our heavy coats, scarves, hats, and gloves throughout the performance.

The show was interesting and quite well done, but by then I was so tired from the long day (and still mildly jet-lagged) that I drifted off to sleep several times during the performance. I missed one entire scene. Turned out our kids also slept through most of it, as did my wife.

Aside from delaying our arrival back at the dismal hotel, it was a waste of time and a lot of money (tickets for so-so seats were an astronomical $30 each). We don't recommend it unless you are very interested in kungfu theatre or have no other options.

Traffic was not bad at 9:00 PM when we started for the hotel, and it took no time to arrive. We were asleep within a half hour. As I drifted off, I contemplated what we would do the following day, including visiting nearby Forbidden City and finding a better hotel for our return visit to Beijing.

Next time: a walk through the hutongs, seeing Forbidden City, locating a fantastic hotel, and the long ordeal of flying to Hanoi.

2011-02-09T07:55:00.008-05:00

Best Beijing Breakfast Cost $3 for Six People; Delicious Donkey Meat for Lunch at the Great Wall

On our first full day in China, we hit the culinary jackpot with a one-two punch, first at breakfast in Beijing and then at lunch at Mutianyu.

We awoke at the Days Inn Forbidden City in the heart of the hutong of old Beijing having mostly adjusted to the time change. The claustrophobic and spartan rooms of the property didn't seem so bad in the gray dawning light of a cold December morning. Besides, we were all cheered by the notion of getting out to experience China again. We wouldn't have to see the inside of those depressing rooms again until late in the day.

Our driver, Joe, picked us as planned promptly at 7:00 AM. We wanted to get an early start on the two hour drive to the Great Wall at Mutianyu. On the way we had decided to stop for a local breakfast, eschewing the Western breakfast buffet at the Days Inn. I knew this might be a problem for our 12 year old son's limited palate, so we stocked up on junk food for him if push came to shove.

We let Joe pick a place for breakfast, and later for lunch. He knew from previous experience with us that we are adventurous eaters.

Joe meandered through some nondescript neighborhoods to a forgettable-looking restaurant about halfway down a boring back street. It had the usual dingy door and windows, and I couldn't make out the sign if indeed there was one. He explained that the restaurant, like many, was open only for lunch and dinner, but that in the mornings leased its space to families who brought in their own cooking pots, pans, steamers, foodstuff, and serving bowls and plates to offer a quick and dirty traditional Chinese breakfast to folks going to work along the avenue.

Inside we were the only Round Eyes to be seen, and no one spoke English. We joined the queue for ordering, and Joe suggested a plentitude of pork-filled dumplings, fried bread, and two kinds of soup. We eagerly complied, and the bill came to under $3.

At the table I wondered how good this could really be and whether we'd bought too much, but when we tucked into the soup, bread, and dumplings, everything was so delicious that soon everyone wanted more, and then more still. It was a madhouse of elbows and chopsticks vying for more. We feasted on that simple breakfast!

Truth be told, we were only mildly hungry when we arrived, but the wholesome and good food stimulated our appetite. Only our son was not sated by the fried bread and had to be placated with some sweetbreads we purchased at a stand next door as we left.

It was a memorable breakfast, made more special because of our low expectations.

The ride out of Beijing into the countryside was a pleasure, with little traffic once the city was left behind. En route we passed under one of the region's main rail lines, with long unit coal trains moving behind electrified locomotives.

Closer to the Great Wall at Mutianyu we also passed through the surrounding village where Joe pointed out that land prices had skyrocketed. I thought the new housing developments looked bleak, depressing, and prison-like. I couldn't imagine why anyone would like to stay in them unless contemplating suicide, and I mused as much. Joe said the cool, clear mountain air beat the heck out of the unrelenting summertime heat and traffic pollution of Beijing, and I realized that, yes, everything is relative. I could understand suddenly why people would tolerate the dismal dreariness of these unimaginative developments to escape the hell on earth that Beijing has become.

We reached the Great Wall at Mutianyu by mid-morning and bundled up against the winter cold in the mountains. I was surprised that the prices seem to have increased considerably since 2004, but the $20+ equivalent per person did also pay for the chair lift to get us to the Wall from the valley. It would otherwise have been quite a hike.

My fear of heights got a good workout on the flimsy chairlift ride over the valley to the top of the wall. Our kids loved it, though, and wanted to do it again. No, thanks. I had a death grip on the chair rails going up which, of course, wouldn't have helped had the overhead cable snapped or if the car had simply slipped off the cable and crashed into the rocky ground far below.

I read that the Great Wall at Mutianyu has been considerably rebuilt, but it looks and feels appropriately ancient. We never tire of walking the Wall. It's a marvelous experience every time, especially on such a cold, clear, blustery winter's day in December. The vistas are magnificent, and it's a sobering reminder of the determination, ingenuity, and longevity of the Chinese spirit. Being there is to admire China.

This is the place Chinese officials bring foreign dignitaries. Bill Clinton has been to Mutianyu, as have countless others. A few days after we were there, Secretary of Defense Gates was brought to Mutianyu on a state visit.

Another benefit of going to the Wall in winter is that there are few tourists to ruin the experience by, well, by being there. Selfish, yes, but one wants to take in the Wall alone in a reverent state that is difficult to achieve when scores of foreigners are cleverly quipping to one another in a multitude of languages, "Hey, it sure is a long way down!"

Traipsing over the Great Wall is all up and down, and often seems like a lot more steep ups than downs. It's a unique, wonderful experience that makes one believe that mankind's abilities are limitless.

The way down was a simulated bobsled run on a stainless steel sinuous track. Once again our kids enjoyed it more than I did, but at least the track was on or close to the ground. We left the Wall for lunch, now somehow famished from the mild trekking despite having been filled to the brim at breakfast.

Joe chose a local restaurant not far from Mutianyu because he wanted us to enjoy one of the local mountain delicacies, donkey meat. The restaurant, like most in China, was clean, neat, but not much heated. We were shown to a small private room that did heat up quickly, and we ordered several dishes, including the famous donkey meat.

Soon the dishes began to arrive, along with local beer. Everything was scrumptious, including the donkey, which was served in thin slices and looked much like country ham slices in the South. But the donkey had a very distinctive flavor reminiscent of nothing I've ever eaten before. Everybody tried it, and all liked it, even our picky son.

Once again we consumed the food as if we hadn't eaten in weeks. The bill came to Y146 (about $20) for beer, water, donkey, snow peas, chicken, pancakes, rice, and Sprite--enough for six people. We left ready for a snooze in the car en route back to Beijing for further adventures.

Next time: Summer Palace, Beijing McDonald's (for our son), a Chinese foot massage, and the Kung Fu show at the Red Theater (getting there in PM traffic was a nightmare).

2011-01-27T22:46:00.011-05:00

Hutong Hotel

Two Weeks in China and Vietnam, Part 2

We arrive in Beijing

Our flight to Beijing, China via Hainan Airlines from Seattle in Business Class (see previous post) went off without a hitch but for a delay. After the door was closed and we pushed back from the gate, the Captain announced that due to strong headwinds en route we would arrive PEK 45 minutes behind schedule.

Twelve hours later we did indeed land at Beijing exactly 45 minutes late.

On the way Hainan treated us well. The Flight Attendants were, well, attentive from start to finish, and always cordial. The on-board staff was especially solicitous of our two kids' well-being.

It appeared that at least one of the male staff on board was not an FA but for security. He loitered about the front cabins and galleys throughout the entire flight keeping an eagle eye on passenger comings and goings. Thankfully, his skills were not needed on our flight.

The meals were good but not great. I had eel (Unagi kabayaki) for my entree, the only memorably good dish. The usual multiple courses of small dishes served before the main dish varied between recognizable and mysterious, but we nibbled on the lot out of curiosity. None was worth describing in detail.

The wines were tasty (I tried several whites and reds) but not anything to rave about. After sampling the wines on offer, I went back to the delicious Mumm Cordon Rouge NV Brut Champagne. After all, Champagne is always appropriate when traveling, and I never tire of it!

Disclosure of hard-wired bias: Any airline that doesn't serve a French Champagne (and is there any other kind?) in its premium classes loses me as a customer forever.

The two menus (one for the meals and one labeled "Bar Service") were a bit tattered, either a cost-saving sign or one of neglect. (On the return flight PEK/SEA two weeks later, Hainan had no Business Class menus at all to offer, saying they had not been catered with any.)

I found it odd that there was no ice on board to cool the Diet Coke I requested mid-flight.

The Business Class lavatories were always clean, and were in fact VERY clean, throughout the flight. FAs were seen tidying up and refilling paper in the toilets behind every passenger. We were happily impressed.

The hours dragged on, as they always do on these interminable trans-Pacific flights, even in the comfort of a lie-flat seat in a luxurious and spacious cabin. I slept, as always, intermittently, even though the seat in the bed position was parallel to the floor and wide enough not to feel cramped in.

On arrival at the gate in Beijing at 5:15 PM local time (45 minutes to the second behind schedule), my wife and I agreed that we had made an excellent choice in Hainan Airlines. We would definitely use them again in Business Class.

Incredibly, we were out of security and looking for our driver by 5:45 PM. It helped that we had only carry-on luggage; we hoofed the long distance between gate and the Customs/ Immigration portal at a brisk pace and had only a short wait to get our passports stamped.

Once out, we were perplexed to find that our driver, Joe, who is reliable and well-known to us, was not there to meet us as expected. We paced up and down looking for Joe.

Late afternoons are dark and cold in Beijing in December, and terminals at Chinese airports are not heated to American standards. The kids were tired, and so were we; the exhaustion, darkness, and chill made us irritable. I was on the verge of booking a taxi when Joe suddenly turned up, bright and cheerful as usual.

For Y220 (about $28.50) Joe had agreed by email to transport us to the center of Beijing to our hotel, the Days Inn Forbidden City. We piled into his Chevy (Chinese-made Chevrolets and Buicks are extremely popular) in the freezing parking lot and were soon en route on the toll road to the city.

I managed to stay awake somehow through the entire 60-minute ride, but my family fell into a deep, if short, sleep, waking only as we exited the 1st Ring Road (innermost Ring Road) and drove down the main drag by the fancy hotels, such as the Peninsula, as we neared the hutongs (the ancient residential neighborhoods that used to make up central Beijing) surrounding the Forbidden City.

Don't ask me to name the street because it changes names at least once or twice, and I could never decipher the English translations of either from our maps. But I know the central part of the city well enough now that I could take you there on foot or by car.

The area was dressed up fancier and more Christmassy than Times Square after Thanksgiving. Christmas decorations and lights festooned every building, street corner, and alleyway. We gawked as we made our way down the boulevard.

It's no secret to anyone who's visited China in December that they are mad for Christmas. A resident German scientist we later met confidently explained to me that the penchant for blue Christmas lights in China is due to the Chinese association of the color blue with nature.

As if that explained why the Chinese, who have no Christian tradition, have adopted the American Christmas culture with a vengeance. It's a bit unnerving to enter an elevator in China and hear Bing Croby crooning "White Christmas" through the overhead speakers. It seems more alien than seeing whole snakes roasted on a spit in the Beijing Night Market.

Joe soon pulled into a narrow alley along the wall of hutongs close to the Forbidden City, and there before us in the cold darkness loomed a squat gray building with a familiar Days Inn sign affixed to it. I recognized the boring rectangular box of a building at once. It could have been any modest Interstate-exit hotel in America, but here it was wholly enclosed by the centuries-old hutongs adjacent to Forbidden City.

Next to the property's residence building was a smaller building with a front entrance and small lobby. I headed that way to check in, and completed the formalities in ten minutes (credit card, passport, etc.).

Keys in hand, we traipsed over to the gray building to find our two rooms. Two rooms because our research indicated that five people could not comfortably occupy one room at this hotel. Each room ran about $63/night, so I didn't mind paying for two.

Three, or even four, rooms would not have been sufficient, however, to overcome the disappointment. Both rooms were tiny and utterly devoid of charm. There was no closet, and no place to hang clothes. The bathroom was uncomfortably close to the one bed, lacking in privacy. That and the low ceiling intensified the claustrophobia I felt just upon entering my room.

I knew at once that we needed to find another hotel for our return to Beijing in two weeks, but I resigned myself to making do with the situation for a couple of nights. It was, at least, clean, and the heat worked fine.

I discovered the shower dispensed plenty of hot water with good water pressure, also a plus, but there was no shower soap provided.

Oh well, only two nights, I thought. But I wouldn't recommend the property to anyone I liked. The Days Inn Forbidden City's guest rooms were at the far end of the spectrum from those of the Hilton Beijing where we'd stayed in a grand suite on our last visit to the Chinese capital.

Dazed from the trip, my wife and I unpacked a few essentials. Knowing we needed to adjust quickly to our new time zone, we mustered the kids back out into the cold and dark and walked out of the hutong area to the main street, looking for a restaurant.

Family-owned restaurants abound in Beijing, something first-time visitors discover on their first day, and most are good. We stuck our heads into one or two along the street until we found one we intuitively liked and ordered several dishes off the laminated plastic menu.

Menus in such restaurants rarely have English language translations of the food items, but most have pictures of each dish next to their descriptions in Chinese. We sometimes don't know whether the meat we are ordering is pig, chicken, beef, goat, or dog, but it all seems to taste good when it arrives. The important thing to get right is not the source of protein; it's the sauce and the amount of red pepper cooked into the dish.

My tolerance for and love of very spicy food is legendary. My kids, though, won't eat hot foods. We lucked out that first night; when the food arrived, the kids liked some of it. My wife and I liked all of it and drank two beers as well. The bill for five of us came to less than ten dollars.

With dinner warming our bellies, we retraced our steps to the Days Inn and our unlovely rooms and all fell into a much-needed deep sleep.

Next post will continue the tale of two weeks in China and Vietnam, covering one of the best meals we had on the entire trip, a breakfast for six (including our driver, Joe) for under $3 (Y19); a day trip to the Great Wall at Mutianyu, where we enjoyed donkey meat for lunch; and the excutiating experience of a Chinese foot massage.

2011-01-13T18:50:00.017-05:00

Who Knew Hainan?

Two Weeks in China and Vietnam

Getting to Beijing

Planning a 16-day trip to China and Vietnam over the Christmas holidays, My wife and I were determined to make all the arrangements ourselves, just as we always did B.C. (before children). Our kids, ages 7 and 12, are good travelers, but their tastes in vacation places gravitate to tropical environs with white sandy beaches and warm pools. They don't yet enjoy exploring new places unless those key features (beaches and pools) are among the rewards.

We placated them two years ago by going to Tahiti (beautiful and relaxing, but boring to the adventurous soul). So this year we aimed for a return to China, with a trip south to Vietnam built in, a much more interesting sojourn to us adults.

Beijing, we know from experience, can be brutally cold in December, but we wanted to give our daughter, adopted from China, a first opportunity to see the capital of her native land. Besides, the frigid weather of Beijing in winter puts downward pressure on hotel prices and, we hoped, air fares.

So I took the lead on finding a Business Class fare from Raleigh to Beijing that we could live with. I almost wrote "reasonable" Business Class fare, but those are as dead as the dodo.

The search began with a look through the usual portals (Orbitz, Expedia, etc.) as well as the direct airline sites. Contacts were made with discount travel agents, frequent flyer award brokers, and consolidators; I frankly expected to find a good deal with one.

But nothing worked with broker and consolidator deals within the dates we could live with going and returning. Maybe it was due to the time of year or starting from RDU.

I ended up back at Orbitz where an intriguing connection showed up between Raleigh and Biejing using American Airlines RDU/SEA and Hainan Airlines from Seattle to Beijing. The price was $3400 per ticket all-in round trip in First Class on AA to/from SEA and Business Class both ways SEA/PEK.

We cringed at the price (times four people), but decided we could live with it to avoid the torture of Sardine Class across the vast Pacific.

But Hainan Airlines? Who ever heard of Hainan Airlines?

I knew Hainan Province is an island in the far south between China and Vietnam and that it's considered to be the Hawaii of the People's Republic, but I didn't know the airline of the same name. After making some inquiries, however, I found that Hainan Airlines is one of those up-and-coming Chinese carriers that is growing by leaps and bounds and wants to carve out a niche for itself.

Thus we booked Hainan and American. Right away I was pleased with the choice when the airline's reservation folks cooperated in giving us good seats together in advance.

I'll save the description of the AA flights from Raleigh to Chicago to Seattle, our overnight at a Doubletree near the airport, and our morning of fun walking around the Seattle waterfront (Pike Place Fish Market, etc.) for another post and skip right to our initial impressions of Hainan from Seattle to Beijing:

It was altogether a fine experience in every way, superlative in some ways and average in others, but nothing at all occurred that marred the flight for any of us. These days that's a remarkable commendation for any airline's overseas service.

For our 1:20 PM departure we arrived extra early at Sea-Tac at 11:00 AM, partly out of curiosity to see what Hainan would do. The usual dedicated Business Class check-in counter took care of us promptly, including invitations to the lounge near our gate, and they didn't give us any grief about our carryon luggage.

You see, we never check our bags unless forced to, not even for a weeks-long international trip like this one. But we pack smartly, and our luggage will fit into any airline overhead. We also carry only one piece per person except for me (I take a small second bag with essential documents and electronics). Hainan gave us carryon tags for each piece of luggage.

The General Manager-North America for Hainan Airlines, Mr. Joel Chusid, cruised the check-in counters, and he courteously introduced himself to us. Mr. Chusid was solititous of our experience and gave me his card, encouraging me to contact him if there was anything we needed, even from China.

He also informed me that Hainan Airlines provides courtesy limousine service for Business Class customers from the Beijing Capital Airport to their hotel, and again from the hotel back to airport when returning. Mr. Chusid said that the service requires 24 hours notice, so it was already too late to enjoy the free ride upon arrival to PEK, but he admonished me to contact the Hainan Airlines office in Beijing to line up the limo back to the airport when we returned on January 1.

We'd already lined up a driver to pick us up (a trusted friend we had used before, Joe, and who drives for many people we know), and we couldn't have canceled quickly, so it made little difference at that point, though it would have saved us about $30. Still, I was impressed that Hainan offers the complimentary service.

Boarding and lounge passes in hand, we survived the security screen with no trouble and took the underground train to the S concourse, arriving at 11:35 AM. Because of the circuitous underground journey, I had no idea where the S concourse was relative to the main terminal.

There we cooled our jets and enjoyed the pleasures of the BA Terraces Lounge. I took the opportunity to imbibe the excellent nonvintage brut Piper-Heidsieck Champagne on offer and toured the BA facilities. I was delighted to find them clean, quiet, and spacious. Showers were available, too.

Hainan provided fancy, high gloss brochures on its airline and its services, all the better to project and establish its rising image. The international route map inside indicates Hainan flies to two North American destinations (Seattle and Toronto), while it flies to five Russian cities, three in Western Europe, one in the Middle East, two in Africa, and three in Southeast Asia. Thirteen destinations outside China is a bit thin perhaps, but a good start.

Boarding began with Business Class at 12:40 PM, forty minutes before scheduled departure. The A330-200 aircraft is configured with two classes, business and coach. Two Business Class cabins are divided by a door and galley area; the front cabin houses rows 1-3, and the back cabin rows 4-7. The Business seats themselves are identical in both cabins.

Since 1973 I've flown in so many business and first classes on so many airlines that I have to consult my records to be sure of them all, and I tend to be rudely critical right away of the seats if I don't like them.

For instance, I don't care for the current American Airlines international Business Class seats. They look and feel crowded and claustrophobic because they are. AA's seats also extend out to a weird angle that is "flat" but not parallel to the floor, and in that position one feels pinned in. To make matters worse, it's difficult to get in and out of the AA seat if it's not on an aisle without stepping all over your neighbor.

By contrast, the Hainan Business Class seats are extremely roomy in every way. There is an abundance of room to move in and out of the seats, and they are comfortable in every position. They extend out to a true lie-flat position that is parallel to the floor and are wider than most Business Class seats I've experienced.

The entire Hainan Business Class cabin is spacious and inviting as well. We liked the look and feel of our surroundings as soon as we boarded and took our seats (4AB and 5AB). I was both relieved and delighted that the next 12 hours on board was going to be a pleasant experience even if the meal and beverage service turned out to be mediocre (which it wasn't).

After all, the difference between Sardine Class and Business Class is really the seat and the cabin. That's what you are paying all that extra money for: relief from pain. A modicum of good service helps, but if the seat and cabin are stressful, nothing can rescue the experience.

The Hainan Airlines folks did a superb job of designing a cabin and seats for their premium customers that is comfortable, relaxing, and open. I never felt close to our fellow travelers, though every Business seat was taken.

Our coats were taken and water or juice offered within minutes of boarding. Champagne and other alcohol is not allowed on the ground in Seattle, they said, but I still had the the taste of Piper-Heidsieck Champagne in my mouth from the BA lounge, so was not troubled by the wait.

OK, a few nits:

The very spacious overhead compartments over our seats were partially filled with flight attendant luggage. As we were traveling realtively light, I was able to make room for all our pieces, but it was irksome just the same. I suppose the habit of using the overhead space arose because most Business Class passengers check their big bags. Indeed, few seated in our cabin brought aboard luggage in number and size of ours.

The movie screens, though sizable, were not as crisp and clear as those I have become used to on other airlines. And the headphones were neither noise-canceling nor particularly high fidelity models. (These drawbacks were not noticed by our children, I might add.)

Because our section of Business Class was behind the main entry door (rows 4-7), coach passengers streamed past to find their seats in Sardine Class in the rear of the plane. This procedure was egalitarian but not particularly elegant, and I had to remind myself that China is a classless society.

There is much more to tell about this very good experience on Hainan Airlines, and a GREAT DEAL MORE about the places we visited over the remaining 15 days, including: Beijing (getting bamboozled by fake students in the hutongs); the Great Wall at Mutianyu; chaotic but intriguing Hanoi (visiting Ho Chi Minh's mummified remains and the bustling dog market on the same day) and HaLong Bay (a World Heritage site) in Vietnam; a cross-border, overnight train ride reminiscent of a spy novel in a Chinese "soft sleeper" from Hanoi to Nanning (China); visiting a restaurant that serves Chairman Mao's favorite foods in Yulin and drinking corn juice; another journey by Chinese train, albeit in daylight, Nanning to Guilin, during which we were regaled by hucksters; gorgeous Yangshuo (also a World Heritage site) and the Yangshuo Mountain Resort (spectacular!); Xingping and the trained fishing cormorants; and finally frigid Beijing again (10 degrees fahrenheit didn't stop the Night Market from flouishing with weird foods) before flying home on Hainan Airlines, retracing our steps through Seattle back to Raleigh. It will take many more posts to tell these tales.

2010-12-15T13:30:00.002-05:00

Pisa to Raleigh was Hairy Through CDG and JFK

With a heavy heart, I bid farewell to my ailing cousin, Aubrey, and caught a taxi for Firenze S.M.N (the Florence main train station) on September 27. This time I remembered to validate my train ticket on the station platform before boarding, and in no time, the train was moving west toward Pisa. It began to rain en route which highlighted the trackside scenery, especially the river Arno which we paralleled for some distance.

In Pisa Centrale I changed to the airport shuttle train, and from there hopped into another cab for my nearby hotel, the My One Hotel Pisa (booked and paid for in advance through a Florentine travel agent). Strange name, and though very close to the airport, it was impossible to walk to it, and the property was isolated as airport hotels tend to be in the USA. It was in the city of Pisa, but not of Pisa. I resigned myself to the sterility of the place and worked on email until dinner.

The room was small and depressing, but clean, modern, and comfortable. Internet cost an extra €10, a trifle since the room was cheap. The dinner buffet was a pricey €25, but proved to be quite excellent both in selection and quality. Boundless dishes of seafood and delicious meats and pastas challenged anyone counting calories. As guests were captive there, I was surprised the hotel buffet was so plentiful and good.

My wakeup call the following morning came 20 minutes late, which could have been disastrous had I not set an alarm clock. I left the hotel at 5:20 AM determined to be first in line at check-in for my 7:25 AM Air France commuter flight to Paris CDG, where I was to connect on to JFK.

While the taxi to the hotel had been €9 the previous afternoon, going the very short distance back to the hotel at that early hour left me €15 poorer, a hefty sum considering the ride was five minutes. The cabbie dropped me at the airport at 5:25 AM.

At the poorly-marked check-in A05 counter, I found there were 9 families with children ahead of me already, and the line moved at a snail’s pace. After a half hour I reached the sole check-in agent at 5:55 PM and received my three boarding passes (PSA/CDG, CDG/JFK, and JFK/RDU) and lounge access card for CDG. In contrast, the lines for the Lufthansa flight checking in at A03 and A04 were moving very fast, a tribute to German efficiency even in Italy, no doubt.

Pisa is a small and over-crowded airport, as I wrote in an earlier post, but it has a certain charm about it, perhaps because it doesn’t take itself too seriously. Small, even if crowded, is often preferable to mega-places like Paris Charles de Gaulle. Security was quick, thorough, and, importantly, friendly, and I arrived at gate 1 by 6:05 AM, an hour and twenty minutes before scheduled departure.

The bus to take us out to the waiting plane on the ramp came at 7:05 AM, and the boarding process was completed by 7:30 AM, five minutes past departure. Unfortunately, the pilot then announced an ATC delay in Paris, and we didn’t get airborne until almost 8:00 AM.

My scheduled connection was only 85 minutes, and given the eastbound nightmare of sweating it from CDG Terminal 2E to the dinky and distant Terminal 2G where commuter flights are relegated (see earlier blog post), I was now worried about not making my flight to New York (AF 012), due to leave CDG at 10:30 AM.

But we landed at 9:15 AM, parked at CDG Terminal 2G gate at 9:27 AM, and I thought I might at least have a fighting chance of making my connection.

But a nice surprise awaited me. Turns out that going between 2G and 2E when leaving France/EU is far easier than entering the EU coming in from the USA. Terminal 2G has its own passport control for exiting the EU near gate 26, and from there a bus service takes outbound connecting passengers to the other terminals. I got my passport stamped at 9:39 AM, boarded the bus, and finally arrived at 2E (almost the last stop) at 9:57 AM (gates 27-46). I ran to gate E39 and boarded AF 012’s Airbus A340-300 at 10:04 AM. Though hurried to get on the plane, I noticed that the E39 gate area was very large and attractive. Unfortunately, I was not able to try out the Business class lounge because of the late inbound flight.

Settling into seat 3B in the Business cabin, I sighed in relief and turned on the vibrating seat to sooth my nerves. AF 012 has no First class cabin, though the earlier Air France flight to JFK, AF 006, is an A380 with three classes of services, including what is reputedly an especially luxurious First class. AF 012 also had three classes if you include the Premier Economy, a small economy seat cabin with more legroom and better service sandwiched between Business in the front and regular coach in the back.

My anxiety about making the connection was mooted by a half hour delay at the gate. We pushed back at 11:00 AM, after which the cabin crew was finally allowed to serve Champagne (flight attendants say they are not allowed to serve alcohol until the door is closed), and the plane left the tarmac at 11:20 AM. The cabin crew acceded politely to my request for a second full glass of Champagne, which softened my concern about being late into New York.

I checked NYC weather and discovered thunderstorms were forecast, not a good portent for on-time flights. However, I put those worries aside for the duration and settled into another extraordinarily delicious meal on Air France (see previous blog post about the eastbound flight’s meal).

Perhaps my expectations have become so dulled by the recent two decades of international flights that I could not have helped being delighted, especially given my extra low grades given to Air France in-flight service in the late 1990s and early 2000s. That admission on the record, I have never anywhere on land or in the air experienced a better fillet of guinea hen, set off with the perfect herb sauce and green and yellow zucchini. It was so good that I asked if they had another portion (sadly, no).

The courses before and after the entrée were equally imaginatively well done and well prepared, finished by an extraordinary salt and caramel ice cream made in Brittany, a positively ethereal culinary treat. I was lucky to be served even one modest scoop; apparently the salt and caramel ice cream is as popular as it is good. If AF sold it, I would buy it.

I watched movies and dozed through the rest of the flight. Overall, Air France on the two trans-Atlantic flights offered excellent service and comfort with polite and efficient cabin staffs. The downside was the connection maze and uncertainty through CDG, but I would still fly AF again—at least in Business class—and I haven’t said that in twenty years.

Amazingly, we landed at 12:57 PM ET at JFK and parked at the gate at 1:06 PM, just a few minutes late and in plenty of time for my connecting flight on Delta at 3:05 PM. The weather didn’t look threatening, either, so I had high hopes of getting home to Raleigh at a reasonable hour.

But I was wrong.

Hoofing it over to Delta’s terminal from Air France, I found that my commuter flight connection was already more than two hours late. The plane was coming from DCA in Washington, and it had not even arrived there due to bad weather in the region. From long experience I knew the flight was likely to be cancelled and decided to make alternate plans ahead of the curve.

Two very nice sisters in the Crown Room (or whatever Delta calls the club these days) helped me change to flights JFK/ATL and ATL/RDU. Yes, that routing is a long way around to get to Raleigh from New York, but one does what one must to connect. The trick is to take the first flight out that has a reasonable connection to home, regardless of where it’s going (though usually it’s going to a hub).

Even the flight to Atlanta suffered a 90 minute delay due to ATC ground stops in the New York area, but eventually I got to Atlanta (very late) and high-tailed it to my connecting flight on a different concourse (naturally). They were just about to close the door when I arrived, but I made my connection to RDU and finally arrived home in the early evening, some three hours later than my scheduled connection direct from JFK.

But at least I was home, thanks to my situational awareness and quick action. Otherwise I’d have spent a night in New York, because my scheduled commuter flight JFK/RDU had indeed been cancelled.

2010-11-12T00:44:00.002-05:00

2010 Florentine Impressions

My experience of Florence in September was defined by mostly pleasant revelations of a city I came to know and love in the early 1970s. Despite it being a hastily planned trip to visit my ailing cousin (see previous posts below), it went better than I expected or, frankly, could have hoped for. I felt guilty for having enjoyed it because my cousin, an old and dear friend, had only days to live.

Some impressions of Florence in 2010 compared to my first visit nearly forty years ago:

· If you need Euros, it’s much more difficult to change money now at a reasonable rate. I used to go to the American Express office, but it has long since closed. The banks were also reliable in previous decades, but these days none offer Forex windows. Instead, most people use their ATM cards to extract money, which of course gives Euros against the dollars in one’s home account. I resorted to my ATM card in just that way, having been advised that it was the only reasonable method to get cash. But my next bank statement (Wells Fargo-Wachovia) showed two hefty service charges tacked onto an already poor dollar/Euro exchange rate. An alternative to ATM machines are a handful of specialty foreign exchange booths found in central Florence, but their charges exceed even what you’ll pay using an ATM card. Bottom line: Changing money has become quite expensive for individuals.

· Italian banks now require patrons to pass through phone-booth sized security portals with built-in metal scanners to thwart robbers. If you have any metal on you, it must be deposited in a locker outside (similar to the ones in bus and train stations in the USA). Then one enters the outer door of the security portal, which closes behind. If the scanner doesn’t detect any metal, the inner door slides open to allow entry to the bank. Too bad if you have any metal INSIDE you from, say, hip surgery.

· For twenty Euros I purchased an Italian SIM card from a walk-in store of Italian mobile provider WIND for my American (service through AT&T) cell phone that included €15 of phone service at the rate of 12 cents per minute. I had intended to do just that, so called AT&T Wireless before leaving the States to get my particular phone’s special unlock code so that it would accept non-AT&T SIM cards. It took me all of five minutes to unlock my phone and activate the new SIM card, which worked like a champ. I forgot to mention that the SIM card comes with its own number which can receive inbound calls. My family got through to my new number daily for updates. This was an easy, convenient way to have a temporary mobile phone while in Italy.

· Toilets at the Florence main train station (Firenze S.M.N.) charge one Euro to enter. I thought this was an unreasonably steep price to use a public convenience.

· By contrast, toilets aboard Italian trains are free. However, they do dump directly onto the tracks below the car, just as passenger train toilets used to do in the United States. Amtrak toilets have long been self-contained chemical systems similar to airline toilets.

· Internet cafés were in surprisingly short supply in Florence. I located one about 5 blocks south of the Arno run by Pakistani businessmen that was open from 9:00 AM to midnight and charging reasonable rates. Trouble was, the Internet service was abysmally slow. Since I had traveled with my laptop, I looked for wifi hot spots but found only one, a café operated by a Tunisian clan that was a bit closer to my apartment. It was open only from noon each day, and the wifi speed was tolerable, but not great. Mostly I was able to work through my email traffic by stealing wifi signals from the surrounding apartments. Most were encrypted, but a few were not. I had to lie in wait for the open wifi networks, however, as the residents turned off their systems when they were not at home. Altogether, staying connected worked out OK, with only a little hassle and inconvenience.

· Taxis in Florence seemed in short supply, and that was confirmed by my cousins who have lived in the city since the 1950s. They claim the taxi union refuses to expand the license pool, keeping the number of drivers low but busy. Good thing central Florence is small; I was able to walk almost everywhere I needed to go.

· It’s also a good thing I didn’t need to drive or park in central Florence. The city has instituted very strict zone-based driving and parking rules for residents only. Fines for entering—even accidentally—an unpermitted area start at 84 Euros and are automatically recorded.

· Third generation cousins among my relatives now living in Florence are in their early to mid twenties. They were born and raised in Milan and migrated to Florence of their own accord. They tell me that the many young adults I saw scurrying about are typical of Italians their age. They say they have come to Florence because they like it, and they plan to make their homes and their lives there.

· The food was magnificent and memorable! I vividly recall many glorious gustatory experiences in Florence and Tuscany over four previous decades, and the city’s chefs didn’t disappoint this time, either. Florentine food was as good as ever. I highly recommend, for instance, Trattoria del Carmine in the Piazza del Carmine on Borgo San Frediano. There I dined on exquisite funghi porcini (porcini mushrooms) over egg noodles (first course) and a veal scallopine with lemon (main course), washed down by a simple yet elegant Tuscan vino rosso della casa (house red wine). Just when I didn’t think it could get any better, the restaurant’s simple dessert of homemade panna cotta with homemade strawberry syrup was a gift from the gods in its delicate, divine perfection. Trattoria del Carmine delivered a meal of a lifetime.

· A strong second for eating pleasure in Florence came at the Ristorante Dante, also on Borgo San Frediano at Piazza Nazario Sauro. My cousin, sick though he was, scoffed at my choice of that establishment when I raved about their egg noodles topped with enormous quantities of precious porcini mushrooms in a truffle cream sauce and their out-of-this-world white beans in oil. “Too expensive!” he barked, “And the food is just so-so!” No, I said, I enjoyed all that, plus dessert and wine, for a mere €35 including gratuity. And the meal was heavenly! Compared to most Americans, my Italian relatives have far more discriminating palates. But to me, each bite of each dish in the restaurants of Florence was scrumptious.

Overall, my impression is that Florence has gracefully entered yet another century with its glorious history in trail and its dignity and reputation mostly intact. By my reckoning, anyway. The city’s core has changed hardly at all in 500 years, and yet the place retains a perennial vitality. I’ve only been home a few weeks, and I want to go back already.

2010-10-27T23:14:00.008-04:00

Things Bugging Me Now

A miscellany of recent travel issues and experiences make me ponder the meaning of life on the road, including my premier encounter with the TSA's latest advance in security screening, the controversial show-all body scanner.

The unintended consequences of high-tech security screening: traveler delay & tedium

Sunday afternoon, October 24, at Raleigh-Durham Airport (RDU), my hometown air terminal, I discovered TSA had installed the brand-spanking-new full body scanners at security.

No problem, I thought. I am not embarrassed for some TSA person in a distant room to see me naked through to the bones.

But I was dumbfounded to discover how slow and inconvenient the new process is. Now I must add belt removal (yes, EVERY time) to my excursion through the TSA security portal. And every last thing in my pockets, including ballpoint pens from my shirt pocket, boarding passes, Kleenex tissues, gum, throat lozenges—literally everything must be removed. And, of course, shoes, outerwear, and the clear plastic bag with small quantities of creams, fluids, pastes, and ointments.

Having been stripped to just my clothes and underclothes, and with the pile of my personal stuff languishing on the belt after being X-rayed, I was directed to step into the new scanner, to turn ninety degrees with feet planted on the little foot marks painted on the floor of the scanner’s interior (so that I was unable to watch my belongings on the belt), and to raise both arms high.

The scanner then made a cheap sci-fi movie noise as it moved up and down. After a short interval, a TSA person wearing headphones authorized me to step out of the scanner. The delay, they told me, was due to waiting to receive a verbal OK from TSA staff manning the scanner monitors in a remote location that my body looked safe to fly.

Only then was I allowed to retrieve my many belongings from the belt: briefcase, laptop, suitcase, shoes, belt, wallet, keys, cell phone, loose change, money clip, boarding passes, tissues, and the odd lozenge or gum. Slowly I put everything back into its proper place: belt on trousers, various stuff in appropriate pockets of pants and shirt, shoes on feet, laptop in briefcase; toiletries in suitcase, jacket on body.

Yes, it’s a tedious, time-consuming process. Strangely, even the newest-of-the-new high technology (the spiffy full body scanner) has the unintended consequence of making our passage of the security portal slower and more aggravating than it ever has been. I predict longer lines and wait times at busy periods unless TSA is staffing these gates with more personnel to account for the slower individual transaction time.

Traveler speed and convenience through the airport security barrier are not part of TSA’s mission, only safety.

Have visas become profit centers?

My family is planning a trip to China and Vietnam soon, and we naturally applied for visas to both countries. I knew already that the Chinese Embassy requires would-be visitors to show up in person to apply for a visa, or to hire a surrogate agent if that’s impractical. Of course it IS impractical for 99.99% of us who don’t live close to their embassy in Washington. Agents charge a modest fee per passport. The one we use, called the Assistant Stork, specializes in helping Americans seeking to adopt from China, and charges $50 for one visa, dropping to $35 per passport for two or more. In other words, not too bad.

What I DIDN’T know is that China charges $140 per visa for Americans, while charging only $40 per visa for most other nationalities. In other words, visas are a profit center for the Chinese Embassy. Strangely, single entry and multiple entry visas are priced the same, which makes me wonder why anyone would ever ask for a single entry after finding out the price. Vietnam visas are more reasonable.

Altogether, therefore, for our family of four, including the agency fee, visas to China and Vietnam cost over $1,000. And that’s before we spent the first dollar on airfare. OK, we ARE four people, but I think that’s a lot to fork over just for the right to enter their countries. I would think it makes the cost of international travel out of reach for many Americans.

Not all airline club privileges for Amex Platinum Card holders are created equal

Like many travelers, I suppose, I dropped my Delta and American club annual memberships when my Amex Platinum Card granted me entry to them. But we Amex interlopers are not allowed full and equal membership privileges after getting into some clubs.

For instance, both Delta Sky Clubs and AA Admiral Clubs offer free wifi Internet for members, in both cases offered by the same provider. Amex Platinum Card holders will find the complimentary wifi works just fine for them in the Delta clubs, but not at the American Airlines clubs. There, one has to enter one’s Admiral Club number to gain access to the network.

Thanks for making me a second class citizen at your clubs, AA. With every visit to your clubs, I remember that inconvenience, and yes, it is influencing my booking decisions. For instance, this week, I chose Delta to a market well-served by AA.

Checking handguns: Who knew how simple and routine it is?

Without going into details, I’ll just say that I had a first-in-a-lifetime opportunity to check a handgun at my home airport. My carrier, Delta, like every other U.S. airline, is very happy to let passengers travel with weapons as long as they are in checked luggage and meet certain conditions (e.g., must be in a locked case approved by TSA). To my surprise (surprise because I never before needed to bring a gun with me), the information is on most airline websites if you look, and TSA has posted rules and regulations as well.

I read all the rules, and I complied, but when my wife dropped me off at RDU for my flight, I still asked her to park somewhere close by until TSA and Delta had cleared the luggage containing my pistol. Frankly, despite the helpful info I had read, I feared I might be arrested for bringing a handgun into an airport.

But it went like clockwork. Delta issued me a special form to sign, and they notified TSA. I then took my bag to a special TSA door for testing. TSA personnel had me stand behind a line while they checked my bag and its contents with special equipment. I was then cleared to leave while the bag went through additional screening that I was not allowed to witness.

And when I arrived at my destination, the bag popped out on the conveyer belt with everyone else’s overdue luggage—to my very great relief.

Delta devolves

I mentioned this in a recent post, but I must repeat how galling it is that Delta has stopped making on-board announcements prior to arrival for connecting gates at hubs like Atlanta. Arrival gate and connecting gate info was very useful, especially for tight connections due to late flights.

2010-10-12T10:16:00.022-04:00

Raleigh to Pisa the Hard Way (the joys of connecting through Paris Charles de Gaulle)

Before my Air France 747-400 from Atlanta shuddered to a stop at Paris CDG's 2E concourse, the helpful AF cabin staff had instructed me how to make my connecting flight to Pisa (PSA) in Terminal 2G at 10:00 AM. I walked off the plane at 8:10 AM, confident that almost two hours was surely enough time to make it. It wasn't that easy.

The flight attendants had pointed me to a map of the CDG airport, showing me how “close” the 2G terminal (where my connecting commuter flight departed for Pisa) was to terminal 2E. Unfortunately, the scale of the map was exaggeratedly simplified, and, anyway, the map’s God’s eye view of the airport was scaled to about the distance of the space shuttle when orbiting the earth and looking down on Paris, so naturally everything looked close together.

In fact Charles de Gaulle is humongous and sprawling; both the cabin crew and naïve me underestimated the distances between terminals.

Even getting from my gate to passport control in the cavernous terminal 2E consumed 15 minutes after a long walk, a shuttle train, and another long walk. Signage was poor, too. I had to stop twice to confirm I was still headed in the right direction. I am used to this at other big airports, like Heathrow in London, but CDG 2E seemed to be especially difficult to traverse.

Signage was again an issue at passport control. I was greeted by exceptionally long lines of travelers moving at a snail’s pace to open windows. After 10 minutes in a line that had moved perhaps ten feet, I noticed in the center of the massive room an agent letting people into a faster-moving queue. Now worried that I might not make my connection, I broke ranks and made my way to her position. The agent said, “Are you connecting?” When I showed her my connecting boarding pass and replied in the affirmative, she remonstrated me for not being in her special “for connecting passengers only” line in the first place.

Alas, I could see no sign that indicated that’s what her special queue was for, but I didn’t argue. I accepted that some things are unknowable and rushed down the velvet ropes to my place at the end of the line, now only 25-30 persons from the front instead of a hundred or more.

This line, too, though designated for close-connecting passengers, inched along slowly, albeit faster by far then the regular ones. God help the poor people who had arrived only to see Paris, thwarted from their goal by the understaffed French passport control point.

Where is Terminal 2G?

After waiting in the special “connecting” line for 20 minutes, I finally cleared the area at 8:55 AM, 45 minutes after deplaning. With just 65 minutes to make my connection at a different terminal, I was mildly panicked. Like a rat in a maze, I was directed first downstairs from passport control to baggage claim (which I had no need of, as I always carry on all my luggage), then a long walk to the customs declaration area (I rushed through the green zone with nothing to declare and wasn’t stopped), then out the security doors to battle my way past the hordes of meeters-and-greeters. Beyond the crowds I found another escalator up to the 2E departure area where, I had been told, I should look for the N2 bus to terminal 2G.

Why would they label the shuttle bus N2 when it moves between terminal 2E and 2G? You’ll have to ask the French for the nugget of logic behind that decision; I couldn’t fathom it, and my French is inadequate these days to make the inquiry. After running through the 2E departure concourse almost to the very end from where I had come up, I finally spotted the sign for bus N2 and the door—but the door was blocked as defective. I rushed back to the previous door, and came out finally to the cool, crisp Parisian morning air and spotted bus N2 just arriving up ahead. It was now 9:05 AM.

Standing adjacent to the bus stop was a throng of people waiting to get to terminal 2G that appeared to be at least two times the capacity of the bus, and I thought for a second that I would have to wait for the next bus. But because I had come through the wrong door, I was ahead of the bus stop, and the N2 bus stopped beyond its stop location just as I reached it. I was first on board.

OK, that’s unfair, as obviously many folks had been waiting, and apparently for a long time judging from the grumbling I heard in English. But somehow every person managed to squeeze in, and packed like a Tokyo commuter train, we wobbled off to terminal 2G.

The bus took a leisurely 10 minutes to reach tiny terminal 2G, but I was relieved that I had a fighting chance to make my connection. My watch showed 9:15 AM as I waited for the bus to disgorge its passengers. We all ran inside, and I followed folks I took to be veterans because they looked like they knew where they were going.

It was the right decision. Coming into 2G immediately to the left is the security portal (yes, I had to re-enter security) for people like me who already had a boarding pass in hand. Though the security staff was slow and inefficient, I made it through in about 5-6 minutes and headed up the long escalator to the departure waiting area.

Reaching the 2G waiting area inside security, I was again confronted with hordes of people milling around. No seats available anywhere. The area reminded me of the Delta/Comair commuter terminal at Cincinnati, though a different shape. First thing I did was to check a monitor to see if my flight was boarding. I thought surely my 10:00 AM departure would be boarding.

It was now 9:30 AM. Despite the marathon I had run, with some dead-ends along the way, I had made it to my connecting flight 80 minutes after deplaning from my inbound international flight. But, after all that anxiety, the monitor showed my flight was 40 minutes late.

Oh well, I thought. What else is new? Might as well sit down for awhile. Knowing I was entitled to entry into the Business Class lounge (if there was one), I walked the length of the hall before finding some Air France customer service staff manning a very busy desk who I presumed would give me a lounge entry card.

What? No Business class? But Cook Travel ASSURED me there was Business on this flight!

After waiting my turn, I showed my ticket receipt and boarding pass for the CDG/PSA flight showing Premium Affaires as the class of service (Affaires is the Air France Business class designation) and politely asked for directions to the lounge.

The young lady furrowed her brow and said dismissively, as only the French can, “But you are in ECONOMY. You are not ENTITLED to use the lounge.”

Not possible, I retorted. My ticket says “Affaires” and “Premium Affaires” which are Business class.

“But there is no BEEZ-NESS class on this flight, sir,” she replied. “The plane is very small, only an Embraer 145 commuter jet with all ECONOMY seats.”

My heart sank. Just like flying all those stinking Embraer commuters that AA uses back in the States, I thought.

I realized in a nanosecond, too, that Cook Travel had well and truly bamboozled me, first doing a bait-and-switch by selling me a $4000 ticket in Business class after saying it would be $2600, and then claiming the Paris/Pisa legs were in Business class when they were actually just crummy commuter flights leaving from an over-crowded, distant terminal. So I paid all that money for a ticket that really only included Business on the two overseas legs between the States and Paris.

I decided to cut my losses and showed her my inbound Air France Business class boarding pass. At least I could wait out the delay in the lounge. But that cut no ice with her, and she wasn’t going to let me in the Business class lounge because I was just a peon now riding in coach like every other gypsy and backpacking student. Forget about the fact that AF had invited me to the terminal 2E arrival lounge for a shower and breakfast—but, oh, wait, you have a close connection, so maybe next time…

About to give up, I asked if my Delta Platinum Elite card had any juice, holding it out for her. To my surprise, she said, “Oh, OK, why didn’t you tell me?” and gave me the code for the lounge door, which is self-serve.

The lounge in 2G would be modest, I thought, but I never imagined it to be as small and over-crowded as I found it. It was like the rest of the terminal: wall-to-wall people. I lucked out by entering just as one person left, and I grabbed his seat, the only empty seat in the place. Leaving my luggage to hold it, I went for a Coke and a croissant. The croissant was shameful (consider: I was in Paris) and the Coca-Cola warm, but I consumed both for sustenance, and settled down to try to read a book.

Impossible. The din, the claustrophobia, the lack of order and cleanliness, and the constant shuffling of patrons drove me out. Also a factor in my leaving was that lounge service personnel were nowhere to be seen. The place was a mess, with overflowing trash containers and the remainders of food and drink piled up everywhere. There was no toilet, either. I found a seat near the ramp leading down to the commuter gates to wait out the remaining delay.

By then I was sweaty, tired, and POed that I’d been gypped by Cook Travel. But I remained calm, and finally my flight showed boarding on the monitor. After walking the long distance down the ramp, down stairs to the gate, and out on the tarmac to the plane, at last I boarded the plane and took 3A on the one-seat side, small but important recompense for having to fly in economy after paying Cook Travel for Business class.

An Embraer to Pisa

Air France allowed us to gate-check our carryon luggage just as in the States, which was a relief. They told me that such flights are considered domestic for country-to-country segments wholly within the EU and therefore rules for luggage are more flexible.

Sleep overtook me for most of the 1 hour, 40 minute flight, but I do recall a modest beverage service. Otherwise the flight was unremarkable. On landing at Pisa Airport (PSA) I collected my bag planeside, and a bus took us across the tarmac to the terminal.

Walking inside the Pisa Airport I was struck by old memories of Central American airports: the shoulder-to-shoulder crowds; the shabby, rundown feel; the accumulation of dirt and dust; the peeling paint and general state of disrepair; the subtle air of organizational chaos, as if the officials running the place had lost control but pretended not to notice. I liked it!

In the boisterous arrival hall, I noticed a rail ticket window and joined the queue. Pisa Airport had, I knew, its own two-track rail station, with connecting and direct service through Pisa Centrale to Florence, just 84 kilometers away. I bought two one-way tickets (one for the return) for a mere € 5.80 each (less than $ 8.00) and paid a small commission, then proceeded to find the train.

I owe a fine for not validating my ticket

Just outside the airport terminal I located the tracks with a train sitting there, the 12:43 PM departure, direct to Florence (that is, not requiring a change of trains at Pisa central station). Exhausted, I climbed aboard and stowed my luggage in the overhead rack. My car soon filled up with other travelers, many of them English-speakers. We left on time and soon had cleared Pisa altogether.

The conductor made his rounds, and upon entering our car I was the first he asked for tickets. I showed him mine, and he handed it back, saying “No valid” or some such words. When I pressed him, he struggled in English to get across that I had failed to validate the ticket in the little yellow machines by the station platform back at the airport. I then showed him my receipt from the airport ticket vendor.

The conductor smiled and said, “No matter. You must pay five Euro fine. You no stamp ticket at station.” And he whipped out his fine receipts and began writing one for me.

At this point I was exhausted and already angry over being screwed by Cook Travel. I saw this conductor's action as a mild extortion of foreigners who’d just landed at the Pisa airport and didn’t know the rules. I had not seen any signs saying the ticket had to be validated, and the ticket vendor had not mentioned it. Later I looked at the fine print on the back of my ticket and did find a reference to it, but it never occurred to me to look for that when I bought the ticket.

Now I’d only paid € 5.80 for the ticket and this guy wanted me to hand over another € 5.00 in fines. I decided I wasn’t going to pay it. So I told the conductor, “NO! I won’t pay it! This is extortion.” Everyone else in the car, especially those who understood English, suddenly got real quiet and stared at me and the conductor. The conductor grimaced, obviously unused to protestations, holding his pen in mid-air above the half-written fine receipt.

“Then you will have to get off the train,” he finally stammered, after a long silence.

“Fine, I will. Please stop the train,” I retorted. We were flying along at what felt like close to 100 MPH.

“At the next station!” he shouted, frowning, moving on to the next ticket-holder. I watched him move through the car, collecting a fine of € 5.00 from many of the foreigners who, like me, didn’t know about the validation process. He didn’t notice as we came to the next station that I moved veeery slooowly to get my bags down. By the time I got to the door in the center of the car, I mad missed my opportunity, and the doors slammed shut and the train began moving again.

Furious now, the conductor ran up to me and howled: “OUT! NEXT STATIONE!”

And at the next station, a very small town I don’t remember, I did get off. It was 2:00 PM exactly.

At 2:09 PM the next train for Florence stopped, and I got back on, determined to do the same thing as long as I had to, until I got to Florence.

But the very nice conductor who came to check my ticket on that train merely punched the ticket and moved on. She didn’t care that it wasn’t validated, she told me (I asked her), because all conductors punch the tickets so they can’t be used again. Why, then, was I harassed on the previous train? I asked her. She shrugged and said, “To get the fine.”

Full disclosure notice: Friends who travel often in Italy by rail have since told me that the Italians are obsessive about validating their tickets and that the conductor's conduct in fining me was normal. I believe them, but why then did the second conductor, and another conductor on my return train a week later, not give a flip about whether the ticket had been validated? Ah, the mysteries of travel! Like why the French designate the shuttle bus between the 2E and 2G terminals "N2," some things are not knowable.

Florence at last

I arrived Florence at 2:25 PM, about nine minutes later than I might have. But I didn’t have to pay the blasted fine that would have doubled my fare.

Firenze SMN (Santa Maria Novella), the main Florence train station, lives in my memory as a fine and beautiful place when traveling to and from Florence in the seventies and eighties and even in the nineties. But my first impression on arriving was much like that of the Pisa Airport: Firenze SMN seemed a bit seedy, ill-kept, rundown, and dirty. It bothered me because I love the old lady, and I wondered if it was just my exhaustion after the long trip.

I made my way to the taxi stand and had to wait almost 20 minutes for a taxi at 2:30 PM on a Tuesday afternoon—and there was no one in front of me. Turns out Florentine taxi drivers have been resisting efforts to expand the license pool of drivers, and there’s a dearth of taxis in the city as a result.

When I finally reached Borgo San Frediano one block south of the Arno (not a long drive from the station) it was 3:00 PM and I was € 11.00 poorer for the short cab ride. Still, I had reached my destination and was very glad to be reunited with my cousins.

Next time: reflections on Florence, Tuscan cuisine, gettting Euros, and the trip home.

2010-10-08T15:49:00.001-04:00

Sad News

My cousin Aubrey, whom I visited on short notice in late September, died earlier today in Florence at home.

He was a good man and will be missed.

2010-10-06T13:56:00.002-04:00

Florence on Short Notice

Florence and surrounding Tuscany have always held special places in my heart. My first trip overseas, in fact, was to Florence in the summer of 1973. I was visiting Italian-American first cousins who’ve been there since the 1950s and became part of the fabric of the city.

That first experience was memorable and sweet. I couldn’t get enough of the beauty, culture, architecture, history, and food of Firenze and Toscana. And most everything I learned came from the generosity and spirit of my second cousin, Aubrey, a tireless bon vivant and gourmand.

In addition to sharing with me his encyclopedic knowledge of the art in the Uffizi and his broad historical perspective on the structures of Florence from the ancient Porta Romano to the relatively modern Duomo (well, modern for Florence; the Duomo was completed in 1436), Aubrey took me to every nook and cranny of the city. That first trip only whetted my appetite, and I kept going back to visit the city, the Tuscan countryside, and my cousins.

We frequented the little-known trattorias and osterias in the back streets of Florence and in the rural countryside of Tuscany. I never had a bad meal, though I never developed Aubrey’s taste for tripe. Usually we ate like kings, surrounded—no, engulfed—by history and incomparable art and architecture.

My grandmother (my mom’s mother, born in 1882) visited Florence late in life (she lived to be 104), her first visit out of the United States. After my cousins proudly took her on a tour of the city’s best features, she described Florence as “mighty medieval and dilapidated” with her jaw set firmly in a disapproving scowl.

My impressions of the city, however, couldn’t have been more different from hers. I fell in love with Florence, and my cousins fueled my passion for it with their own infectious love of their hometown.

Late to start my international adventures (I was 25 in 1973), I went on to visit scores of countries on every continent except Antarctica. But during the seventies, the eighties, and into the nineties, I returned often to Florence. Firenze was the start of it all for me, and I owe my cousins, especially Aubrey and his mother Jane, a world of thanks for opening up the world to me.

In mid-September I received word that Aubrey, now 56, has been diagnosed with pancreatic and liver cancer that is already beyond treatment. I dropped everything and made plans to visit him in Florence one last time.

I spent a week with Aubrey in late September, and I am very glad I went. He felt well enough to get out at least once, but mostly we sat around his apartment on Borgo San Frediano, the street one short block south of, and parallel to, the Arno, and reminisced about all we had done and seen over the past four decades.

Trip Planning

Now that I am back home in Raleigh I’ve been reflecting on the trip itself, that is, the travel elements (air and rail) and the experience of being in Florence again. With less than a week to make arrangements, I was able to book flights and other travel plans, but at a significantly higher cost than if I’d been able to make reservations weeks or months in advance. I first checked flights to Pisa because PSA has competition and is a short train ride from Florence, but I also looked at possible flights to Rome and Milan.

Looking at the expensive prices of economy tickets available on short notice (less than one week out), I decided to check Business class fares, especially those available through consolidators. Orbitz quoted Iberia/AA in Business through Madrid at about $4400, so I figured there must be even lower business fares.

Sure enough, one of Joe Brancatelli’s recommendations, Cook Travel, came up with a $2600 round trip fare in Business class on Delta RDU/JFK/PSA using the Delta 767 nonstop JFK to Pisa. I was delighted and emailed my acceptance, in the meantime courteously cancelling three other tentative reservations in Business being held for me by some of Cook’s competitors.

Hoodwinked by Cook Travel

A day later came back an email from Cook Travel informing me that they couldn’t get the Delta flights after all, and offering only a $3980 round trip in Business using Delta and Air France in its stead.

Having cancelled my alternative reservations and with less than a week remaining before my travel date, I had no other options. I needed to get to Florence to see my cousin.

The Cook Travel bait-and-switch cost me almost $1400, $2600 quoted versus $3980 charged, plus adding the hassle of an extra leg in each direction (the AF/DL itinerary was RDU/ATL/CDG/PSA instead RDU/JFK/PSA). Extra flights add time to a trip and increase the risk of missed connections, and who wants either?

Cook Travel vehemently denied the bait-and-switch tactic and promised to “make it up” to me in my next booking. In the face of facts they were incensed that I had even suggested a lack of professionalism.

Time did nothing to assuage their bad attitude: When I email Cook Travel early this week to ask what they would do to “make it up” to me, I got no reply.

The Eastbound Trip Begins

Going to the AF website the day before the flights enabled me to check in (after entering all my passport details) and to print all 3 boarding passes at home (good), but not to change my seats (bad). The seats had been selected for me without input from me (bad). I found by calling AF that their customers cannot not change seats within 30 hours of the first AF flight on account of being under “airport control” (bad).

I was, finally, able to get the seat on the overseas flight Atlanta/Paris CDG flight I wanted (good), but only by going to the gate in Atlanta way early and standing in line a long time (bad). Thus through patience and perseverance I was able to change to seat 4F, the lone center seat in the nose of the AF two-class 747-400. Air France customer service didn’t impress me on this matter.

After passing security at RDU in a jiffy, I tried the new Delta “Sky Club” (goodbye to the Delta Crown Room brand) and then later the E concourse business class lounge in ATL. Both had free T-mobile wifi and were comfortable enough.

However, I was surprised that Delta, now claiming to be a Big League international carrier, still serves no Champagne, not even cheap American stuff, in their best and only Business class lounge at their biggest hub. Makes no sense to me from a branding and marketing POV, especially since the old Delta is well and truly gone. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Delta has stripped out the big McKinsey video screen technology at all its gates. I didn’t think I would miss them announcing upgrades, weather, boarding, and connecting gates, but I do.

No more on-board announcements, either, of arrival gate and connecting flight gates, a real bummer if your flight is late and the connection time narrow. When I asked a flight attendant why they weren’t announcing gates any longer, she said I could log on to the Delta website for free using the on-board wifi to find out my gate. That, of course, supposes that every passenger has a laptop with him or her. I did have my laptop, and I checked my connecting flight’s gate and found it was wrong when I got to Atlanta. (Ditto for the connecting return flights from JFK to ATL: the website info was wrong.)

Air France Experience

AF681, ATL/CDG, boarded 60 minutes ahead of its departure time, which I thought was a fine idea. Boarding the 747-400 and turning left into the nose (my favorite section of my favorite aircraft), there were four Business class rows (17 seats). Just behind the forward door were another 21 seats, for a total of 38 Business seats. There was no First class on AF681.

Questioning why there were just two classes on the Air France 747-400, I was told by the purser on board that AF has international First Class service now only on its new A380s and its 777s. I was not able to verify that, but both my flights over the pond had only two classes—well, OK, three classes on the A340 from Paris to JFK, if you count the enhanced economy class right behind Business.

Seat 4F is in the center at the rear of the 747-400 nose section, the ideal seat because there is no seat on either side or in front of it. Luggage stowage for 4F is in the bottom of the center console that holds papers, magazines, and sometimes flowers (a weird but ingenious storage area).

The gracious Air France staff took my jacket at once and hung it in the forward closet behind the nose cone. No boarding Champagne or cocktails could be offered, they said, until the doors closed and locked. I took the time to fiddle with my AV system and the infinitely-variable seat. I also went through the cheap plastic Air France amenity kit and found, at least, the minimum one needs in a premium class for an overnight flight: disposable socks, a decent eyeshade (some are too hot or don’t block the light well), and earplugs. I threw away the useless skin cream but retained the toothpaste and brush.

Refreshments were promptly offered as soon as the door closed, a choice of a half-full glass of Champagne, orange juice, or water. A half glass wasn’t enough for me, and I had to ask for a refill, which also came promptly. The Champagne was tasty (Lanson Black Label Brut NV) but warmish; it had no doubt lost its chill after sitting too long in the glass waiting to be served during the long boarding period.

A cost-cutting measure in AF Business: Two standard “one size fits all” glassware, a small one and a medium size one; no more stems or flutes or other specialty glasses.

The overstaffed cabin crew in Business (when have we last seen that?) was consistently polite and attentive, a minor miracle considering there seemed to be 8 or more people (with so many, there is usually a bad apple among them).

I observed that the flight had just 4 empty seats in Business; I didn’t check the back of the plane. The 747-400 is equipped with a huge toilet on the starboard side behind nose and a not-so-big one on the port side. Both stayed cleaned and well-serviced throughout the flight, which was almost 8 hours.

We pushed back at exactly at 5:50 PM as scheduled and were miraculously airborne at 6:25 PM.

The meal service started swiftly after takeoff, beginning, as always, with beverages. I tried small tastes of the several, supposedly carefully-chosen reds and whites and found them to be mediocre even by American standards, let alone French, so I went back to the Lanson Champagne. You can never really go wrong with real Champagne, and I enjoyed every drop.

The modest AF menu called the meal “Lunch” (Déjeuner), which I took be lighter fare than a full dinner. Honestly, I didn’t expect much, but it was surprisingly good, fresh-tasting, and in just the right portions. A small crab mayonnaise appetizer was remarkably delicious, and the main course I selected, Duck À L’Orange, was moist, tender, and as good as I’ve had in any American restaurant. Counting dessert, there were five courses, and they all came at just the right times, with the sorbet at the end the perfect finish.

Perhaps it all seemed so good to me because my expectations were low (most Business class meals are a cut above cafeteria food—if you are lucky). Whatever the reason, I have nothing but good things to say about Air France on-board cuisine in Business.

Sated and sleepy, I settled in for a nap, hopefully a long one of several hours to minimize the coming day’s jetlag. I’d been careful to restrict my thirst for fine Champagne to a few glasses so as not to let alcohol interfere with my rest.

And therefore alcohol had no part in my ensuing discomfort. It was the seat. AF’s current generation of Business class seats are very narrow and horribly uncomfortable. In this regard they are much like everyone else’s Business class seats, but somehow I expected more.

No matter how I adjust the seats’ infinite variations of up, down, and sideways, I could not sleep much. The cabin gradually became hot and stuffy as well, which added to the low-grade misery.

A bright note, however: The seat did vibrate, or rather massage up and down the middle on my back. Thus I was able to work out some of the kinks in my back brought on by the architecture of other parts of the seat, a relief.

The massage action lulled me, finally, into dreamland. I awoke knowing we must be close, because I heard dishes and glasses being arranged in the galley just behind me, a sure sign breakfast was coming. I skipped it and took the opportunity to splash some water in face and brush my teeth. Then squeezed my feet back into my shoes somehow (why do feet swell several sizes on overnight flights?) and read until we landed at 7:50 AM local time in Paris.

CDG being so large, it took us 20 minutes to find our gate at Terminal 2E. I walked off the plane at 8:10 AM, headed for my connection flight to Pisa (PSA) in Terminal 2G at 10:00 AM. I thought almost two hours was surely enough time to make it.

But I was wrong. [To be continued.]

2010-09-12T23:05:00.003-04:00

China Rail Travel: Advice Needed

Having traveled in China, I am familiar with getting around by air, but not by rail. My wife and I are planning a family trip to Beijing, Lhasa (Tibet), Guilin (Gangxi), and possibly Hong Kong in December, and we want to take several long legs by train.

However, we have discouraging information from native Chinese sources about travel by train in China, even on the supposedly posh "D" trains and "Z" trains. We have been warned that smoking is rampant on even the upscale trains in China, including in the most expensive private "soft" compartment cars.

We are told that even on the newest high speed trains passengers smoke everywhere and ignore non-smoking signs. Rampant smoking occurs, we've been advised, also on the trains to Lhasa, Tibet, from Beijing, a two-day trip which feature piped-in oxygen at the high altitudes en route.

We will be bringing our two kids, ages 12 and 7, with us, and none of us wants to be subjected to clouds of smoke from one end of a Chinese train to the other.

Is there anyone out there who has recent experience traveling by train in China and can give us some reliable, hard facts on this subject? If people smoke only in club cars and diners, we can tolerate it, but not if the smoke is pervasive and impossible to avoid.

We are especially (but not only) concerned about the Beijing-Lhasa trains.

Many thanks.

2010-08-26T09:04:00.002-04:00

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

In the many months since my last post I have kept my nose to the grindstone in Raleigh and haven't done much traveling. My family and I drove from Raleigh to New Orleans in April close to Easter, and I thought I would miss the pain of flying.

I rediscovered that going the Interstates route is not much better than flying in one respect: The Interstates may weave through the countryside at ground level, but drivers are stuck in the tube and almost entirely removed from the the highway experience of yore. The old U.S. routes passed through tank town after crossroad after podunk speedtrap, spanning the continent in all directions. Remember quaint little Mayberry? More recently the movies "Cars" is based on the same premise; that is, that if you get off the Interstate and slow down a little, there's a lot of interesting places and people out there in the hinterlands.

Thus did we take occasion en route to NOLA and back to discover the backwoods two-lane blacktops of parts of Mississippi, Alabama, Tenessee, Louisiana, and Florida. In rural upcountry north of New Orleans, for instance, we came across an eclectic museum of touristy kitsch that charmed us for an hour. I walked away with a huge preserved alligator head bigger than my own noggin (and arguably more attractive) for what I thought was a pittance of a price.

The Gulf coasts of Mississippie, Alabama, and Florida did not yield as much of interest, being all over-crowded (this was just prior to the BP oil disaster). I did, however, get a good feel for why the strip is dubbed the Redneck Riviera. After creeping along between hundreds of ill-placed and badly timed stoplights from one over-developed (and often shabbily-developed) beachfront burg after another for a couple of hundred miles, we decided it wasn't going to get any better, and we drove inland. My opinion: We fouled our nest along the Gulf Coast beaches by ugly development long before BP put the oilslick icing on the cake.

Later when I locate my copious notes on the trip I will share experiences in some of the hotels along the way: all cheap and decent!

A few weeks later I took my family by air to San Francisco for a long weekend. To my great consternation the trip (in coach on Delta) went so well that I have no scribbles to mark the complaints I usually pile up. The rental car (Hertz) was OK and reasonably-priced, and the hotel (a Hampton close to SFO) was also extremely accommodating. Jeez! What's the world coming to when you have a near-perfect trip?

In early August my family and I flew Delta again (but this time in First Class) Raleigh to Billings, Montana. Once again I was happily surprised that the experiences on all flights were excellent. And once again when I locate my notes I will post a more comprehensive report with specifics.

In-between these positive trips, however, my sister Foy flew from RDU to Florence, Italy to visit our cousins living there, and her experiences were not so good. Foy is a very experienced traveler, and loves it. She is also a person naturally inclined to make lemonade from lemons when she gets them, so I was pained to read her report.

Here is what Foy wrote, with her preface:

"[I want to tell you about] a recent experience I had flying with American Airlines Flight 0235 on Wednesday, May 19, 2010. Though I’ve worked as a city planner and business consultant/systems analyst, I’m not familiar with intricate workings either of the airline industry or airline business models. I traveled to Europe [see full account below] this spring and was deeply saddened by the events that occurred during the flight. I’m tired of hearing that the air industry is simply a “broken system” with no hope of improvement. Some of my thoughts for moving forward toward more pleasant and healthy air traveling experiences are included [in the below report]."

Foy's full report:

Some thoughts on moving forward toward more pleasant and healthy air traveling experiences:

1. I think that localities are missing a wonderful opportunity to involve themselves with flyers passing through their airports. When I enter an airport, any airport I’ve ever been to, the entire experience is so disconnected from the geographical community in which it resides that all airports seem to make up one large, isolated and remote business entity instead of a real place near real cities. If chambers of commerce and civic organizations sent trained local residents to offer services like current information, airport diagrams, and regional maps to airport visitors, I think the rewards in terms of goodwill would be lasting and ultimately recoup the costs. It’s truly amazing what a different and lasting impression it can make to weary travelers when they emerge from an airport gate in a new place and find a friendly, smiling face offering to help instead of being pushed forward in the midst of a crowd of strangers. Local high schools could also offer civics classes to study the relationships between people who pass through airports and the local communities. Students could get credit for going to the airports to query passengers about what works and doesn’t work when they travel, then outline ideas for how airports can rearrange things or provide a more supportive environment. Their findings could be forwarded to local city and county councils.

2. I could be a better consumer of airline services if I understood what I get when I purchase an airline ticket. Is an airline ticket a contractual agreement between the airline and myself to provide specific services? Does it include parameters like getting to my destination “within a reasonable period of time”? If I miss a connecting flight because the previous one is late, what happens to my seat on that flight? Is it sold? If it is, is it sold for what I paid for it or more? Is there a website that clearly spells out my rights as a passenger or do I have any rights? I know that the airlines have many and powerful lobbyists. Is anyone lobbying for me?

3. I fly on many different air carriers; so joining an “air club” with one airline wouldn’t serve my needs. Instead, I’d like to join an organization similar to AAA but for flyers, perhaps something called Air Travel Association, that could book flights, then follow them as they unfold, and be a proactive go-between for both travelers and airlines. They could provide a presence in airports that offers weary travelers a clean place to recoup, with comfortable seating and reasonably priced concessions.

4. As more flights and travelers go farther and farther, there are health consequences that can ultimately impact everyone in an airport. Are there studies of travel fatigue? If there are, what steps can be taken to offer support for people who are sick or vulnerable? Why aren’t airports required to maintain and staff first aid stations? And there are many, many stressed people in airports. I’d like to see a safe haven provided in airports for people with health, including mental health, issues.

5. Airports are no longer places that we simply pass through. We're often in them for long periods of time, yet the designs still reflect short distance travel. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if a fire broke out at one of the many gates where there are so many people waiting that there’s barely room for everyone to stand.

6. Air travel is continually changing; thus, I need all the good and helpful current air travel information I can get. I’m confused about why people today think they have to leave any concern for the welfare of humanity at home when they travel. After the recent episode with Steven Slater, it’s clear that both airline personnel and passengers regard each other skeptically. We’re all here together whether we’re sitting in a paid seat on the aircraft or behind a counter at a check-in point. We already know about declines in services due to a shrinking world economy. I’d rather hear about how other people have found solutions for making air travel a more civilized and positive experience. Is there one central web site where airline employees can partner with flyers to exchange creative ideas that would help both parties? Here’s one of mine: Why do the airlines provide a special check-in desk for people who belong to their “club” or travel first class? Often there’s no one in the line in front of those desks while other passengers wait and wait to check in at other desks. Shifting first class and club members to check in at individual airline clubs would streamline the process for everyone.

7. I’m willing to pay for additional services that make my trip faster and more comfortable. Perhaps prepaid cards could be made available to speed up purchases for things like golf carts carrying concessions that can help me get to other parts of the airport quickly. I'm willing to pay for a safe and clean reclining chair with space underneath for locking up valuables where I can lie down and sleep safely for a few hours when flights are delayed for long periods.

8. I want to be part of a solution that makes air travel convenient, safe, and a pleasure. Are there rankings of airports that include things besides the statistics regarding “on time” flights—things like how easy it is to navigate, how clean the airport is, what information is available, variety and pricing of food, what facilities are available for children, the elderly and other special needs groups, average ages of travelers, how many business versus pleasure travelers? Are those studies available on the web? Does Consumer Reports gather air travel statistics? I certainly want RDU International Airport, the closest to my home, to be the best, most responsive airport in the country, maybe even famous in the world, so that people will want to come here often and stay to visit, but I need to know more about who comes here, what they need and want, and how we compare to other airports before I can support change.

9. Clear and helpful signage, especially digital signs that can give passengers timely updates, especially those relating to security, is low cost and would save airport employees a lot of time answering repetitive questions.

10. I believe that there are amazing, intelligent minds in the world today that can study the human body in the space provided by an aircraft and develop a comfortable, ergonomically correct seat. Perhaps a contest can be held internationally or a network television show can offer a large sum of money to the person who creates the winning design. This is the 21st century. I know we can do better. The person who wins this contest will not only be rich, but a hero.

11. Beauty and art are restorative but underused assets and can often be found at little cost. If local art, including school children’s creations, were regularly displayed in airports, it would give travelers a welcome distraction during wait times. Changing exhibits could also provide observers with impressions of and connections to local communities.

12. Finally, courtesy and kindness are free and some of our greatest weapons in the war to bring back civilized air travel. I grew up in the rural south during the 1950s when all of human activity was not just focused on profit. While folks often lived simple lives with little or no disposable income, we all wanted more than just individual survival. No matter how little people had, they always shared, offering sincere hospitality, which, of course, is a low cost activity. We all knew that a simple smile could help anyone in a difficult situation. There was always a desire to make the world a better place. We also recognized that learning from and about visitors was broadening; it raised our consciousness and provided remote communities with a new way of perceiving the world. Yes, the economy is bad relative to recent years, but when we work together toward common goals like improved air travel conditions, we can go forward in a better way.

Details of the return experience:

Wednesday 19 May 2010
American Airlines Inc - Flight AA 0235
Depart:
Rome Fiumicino Airport
Rome, IT
Seat:
13G

10:00 AM
Class:
Q-Economy/Coach

Terminal 5
Mileage:
4280

Arrive:
New York John F. Kennedy Int'l Airport

New York, NY, US
1:40 PM

Aircraft:
Boeing 767-300/300ER

Wednesday 19 May 2010
American Airlines Inc - Flight AA 4403
OPERATED BY AMERICAN EAGLE
Depart:
New York John F. Kennedy Int'l Airport
New York, NY, US
Seat:
01A

3:50 PM
Class:
Q-Economy/Coach

Arrive:
Raleigh-Durham Airport
6:15 PM

Aircraft:
ERD

I've flown to and from Europe on various airline carriers five times during the last eleven years. All of the overseas flights included connecting domestic flights to Raleigh-Durham Airport, the closest one to my home. Not one of the overseas flights arrived in time to make the connecting flights.

Though I was not in good health this year, I traveled from Rome to JFK in New York on American Airlines in May. As passengers gathered at the departure gate, the airline reported that the plane, scheduled to depart at 10:00 AM local time, was delayed getting to Rome by one and half hours, not because of the Icelandic volcano, but because it had been "switched out" in New York. So everyone involved with Flight 0235, including the AA personnel, knew when the plane arrived in Rome that it was going to be late arriving back in New York City. Boarding began at 11:15, and the plane closed its doors soon after. The plane then sat at the gate for an additional hour and a half before taxiing to a runway and taking off. At one point the pilot came on the PA to say that he was waiting for “his turn” to come up before moving the plane to a runway. The flight was due into JFK at 1:40 PM EDT and arrived at the gate at 3:30 PM EDT. My connecting flight left JFK for RDU at 3:50 in another terminal; so I missed the connection.

During the Rome to New York flight, passengers asked the AA staff what arrangements were being made for connecting flights they would miss as the originating flight, 0235, would arrive too late to land, claim bags, go through customs, recheck bags, then get to domestic terminals. The AA flight crew was defensive and avoided contact with passengers. In fact, they eventually made an announcement on the loud speaker that they knew nothing about rescheduling any connections. This made clear to all of us that we were totally on our own to solve the problem how we would get to our destinations.

By the time I cleared customs at JFK, it was 4:00 PM EDT. I approached an AA flight attendant in the airport to ask what arrangements had been made for me to get to RDU. She was astonished that I assumed any arrangements had been made, typed information into her computer, then told me that all the flights to RDU were full until one that left at 10:05 PM arriving close to midnight. I’m not sure how many hours I had been traveling at that point, but I was not in good health. I called my husband in Raleigh who informed me that he had consulted the AA website when he went to work that morning and was immediately aware that the Rome to JFK flight was going to be badly delayed. He called his travel agent, who booked a flight on Delta airline that left JFK at 7:30 PM. I then turned to the attendant and asked how to get to the Delta terminal. She pointed to a sign that said “airbus”. I quickly took my bag and followed signs to ground transportation where I waited for a bus. No bus to another terminal came. I tried to ask for information inside the terminal at an information desk, but there was a long line of people waiting to talk with the one attendant and I was afraid I’d miss the bus when it came. Eventually, some airport maintenance workers passing through the area explained to me that airbus is actually a train that runs between terminals. I found the extremely crowded Delta terminal and learned that I’d have to pay $25 if I didn’t want to carry on my luggage. So I paid the additional baggage fee and took the flight.

When I found the gate for the Delta flight, there were four planes being boarded there simultaneously. No desk displayed a flight to RDU; no attendant was available to confirm that the gate hadn’t been reassigned. I sat next to an elderly couple who had also been on AA flight 0235. They had risen at 3:00 AM local time to make their connection to Rome. The wife was so fatigued that she was stuttering and appeared on the verge of needing medical assistance. My Delta flight did arrive at RDU on time. American Airlines has not reimbursed us for the connecting flight nor for the additional baggage fee. I can’t help but wonder what happened to my seat on the connecting domestic flight. Was it sold to someone else? I didn’t give permission for it to be sold. If it was, was it sold for more than I paid for it?

End of Foy's report.
-----------------------------------------

I thought Foy was ill-treated, and it all seemed unfortunately familiar.

Next time (and much sooner than months from now) I will provide more details about our trips these past few months and I will muse on the future.

Until then, safe travels.

2010-01-18T08:24:00.004-05:00

Astonishing Digital Recreation of the "Miracle On the Hudson"

If you have not seen this incredible digital recreation of US Airways flight 1549 and its miraculous landing on the Hudson River after a mid-air collision with birds caused both engines to shut down, you should watch it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=tE_5eiYn0D0#t=109

2010-01-05T10:29:00.012-05:00

London: The Rest of the Story

Christmas and New Year celebrations with family followed my return home from London in mid-December until now. Here, finally, is the rest of the story.

Only a lost soul could fail to find fascination with Central London around Christmas. My few days on foot in and around Mayfair were uplifting. Recovering from the shock that posh areas of London real estate no longer support more than a paltry number of traditional English pubs, I settled into the routine of dining at fast-paced shops like Itsu (fresh, delicious Japanese fast food, a new take on the Pret a Manger business model).

The Millennium Hotel London Mayfair continued to disappoint in small ways. Like being nibbled to death by ducks, a series of little things galled me. First, it was the bait-and-switch tactic of refusing my early check-in request, instead trying to make me pay for an upgraded room that was miraculously available while my standard room was supposedly not ready. Then the heating failed around midnight during a cold snap and wasn't fixed until almost 24 hours later. I was given an electric space heater to tide me over.

The bank of three hotel elevators never seemed to be sufficient for demand despite going up just 8 floors and the hotel not being fully booked. The hotel service providing Internet connection to my laptop double-charged me, or, rather, said it did on screen. When I called the business center for help, no one knew exactly what to do. "Take the matter up when you check out, and tell them not to charge you," I was told confidently. In the end the hotel comped my ISP charges because they could find no record of them when I did check out.

Two high spots at the Millennium: On a rainy night I was offered a complimentary umbrella for my walk to dinner and told not to worry if I lost it, and I found the depressing-looking lobby bar to have a very nice staff which took pride in delivering genuine service. None were English, which I found typical everywhere in London. The manager was Filipino, and the waiters came from Latvia, Macedonia, and Italy.

On the whole, however, I could not recommend the Millennium Hotel London Mayfair again. A short stay several years ago brings back fond memories, but not so this one. In addition to not receiving good value for the money spent there, the property is a wee bit shabby and frayed and not up to first class standards for such a location.

The journey home was divided into three parts: the cab from the hotel to Paddington Station; the Heathrow Express train ride Paddington to the airport; and the flight itself.

Whereas the taxi inbound stuck to city streets and took about ten minutes to reach my hotel, the driver to Paddington took me on a wild goose chase that chewed up 30 minutes to Paddington and cost double on the meter what I paid arriving London. He knew I wasn't happy about the delay and accepted his fare sans tip without a protest.

I had left the hotel early at 8:00 AM for my noon flight just in case. Lucky I did, because the next leg on Heathrow Express was also delayed. Our train left Paddington late without an explanation, and I noticed some people were fidgeting already and murmuring about being late for their planes. Regulars take the 15-minute train schedule as an article of faith, apparently.

Then the train stopped numerous times en route to Heathrow, resulting in a mild panic among the train's patrons. The driver finally came on the P.A. and announced a train had been sidelined due to a fire earlier in the morning and was left sitting on the tracks ahead, dead and impeding the flow of trains between Paddington and Heathrow. She apologized for the delay, but that didn't go over well on board because it didn't get us to the airport any sooner.

Having left Paddington at 8:48 AM (scheduled departure apparently had been 8:30 AM), we arrived Heathrow at 9:31 AM, about three times longer a journey, once moving, than Heathrow Express explicitly promises. I stood out of the way as the doors opened and the wild-eyed sea of humanity exploded onto the underground platform and then bolted en masse for the elevators and stairs. Once again I was glad I'd left early.

Once off the train I stopped by the Heathrow Express ticket window to see about a refund (Heathrow Express promises one if they are late). I was told no refunds are given if the delay is "not our fault."

But it was your train that caught fire and was left dead on the tracks after the passengers had been evacuated earlier in the morning, I said. Well, the nice lady explained, the passengers on THAT train DID receive a refund, but not patrons of ensuing trains. I failed to see the logic of her official line, but I knew a lost cause when I saw one, and departed to find my flight.

The night before I was delighted to find an email informing me that my business class upgrade came through on American Airlines for my nonstop LHR/RDU flight. It was worth the miles and the $350 to escape coach, where every seat was filled. AA has a dedicated check-in area for premium customers (first and business) at Heathrow Terminal 3, and I made my way to it. It's a strange small glass-enclosed area jutting out from one side of the terminal and not easy to spot.

Once inside, the bitter cold morning air followed me and dozens of others as the automatic glass doors stayed more open than closed. I found lines at the two check-in counters open and joined one. By the time I received my boarding pass, it was past 10:00 AM.

I cleared security (this was before the mad crotch bomber of Christmas Day, but I still thought the security portal was pretty tough) and walked around aimlessly looking for the AA premium class lounge. Terminal 3 is not well-designed to get one to boarding gates and lounges, but it is exceedingly good at luring unsuspecting people like me into the maze of stores. My native navigation skills for getting around places like Terminal 3, usually superior, let me down that morning, and I finally asked for directions. Even with help, I made a wrong turn before finally arriving at the lounge.

AA has done a nice job appointing and stocking the Terminal 3 Heathrow lounge. It's light, airy, spacious, and offers excellent selections of food and beverages. My time there was limited to 40 minutes, though, as it was approaching 11:00 AM, and I knew I had a long walk to my gate.

Sure enough it took almost 20 minutes to reach the boarding area. Not more than 10 minutes later boarding was announced. I was standing by the door, now open, and waiting for an agent to check my documents for a third time, but one never arrived. People started streaming down the jetway ahead of me, so I joined them.

On board I had been assigned the aisle right-side bulkhead seat, 2H. I thought it odd that the window seat beside me, 2J, remained empty during boarding, and later realized 2J is the designated pilot crew rest seat. I was up and down the entire flight letting pilots in and out as a result, but I still prefer 2H on the AA 767 international seat configuration.

A surly, rude deadheading AA flight attendant was seated one row back in the center section (3G), and she had apparently brought every suitcase she owned with her. She'd been allowed to board ahead of us paying customers and proceeded to fill every overhead bin, including mine, in the first two rows. I had to go back to the third row to stow my carryon bag and briefcase. It was irritating to see at least two nonrev passengers (the pilots and the F.A.) reducing the 767 business class section from 30 to 28 seats and also taking the overhead space available for customers paying up to $6,000 for the privilege of flying in business.

Every seat was pretty soon filled, and not a square inch of overhead space remained. The miniscule 767 coat closets in business class were stuffed completely full. The FAs in business provided cheerful service despite the crowding. As I accepted a glass of boarding Champagne, I mentioned to the FA that I sure would be glad when AA put a 777 back on this route. She sighed and concurred, saying every flight attendant hates working the international 767s in both classes because the spaces are so small.

Our noontime departure came and went, and I began to fret over the delay. It had begun snowing, just a few flakes at first, but now it was snowing hard. I didn't want to get stranded in London. (Little did I know that Heathrow and Gatwick would shut down later the same day due to heavy snow and would not reopen for several days.)

Turns out we had to be deiced, a first for me in London, and the plane pushed back at 12:21 PM. We endured a lengthy wait in line to take off, but ultimately we arrived at Raleigh early, so my worries were in vain.

I have been a harsh critic of onboard service in US/Europe business class on AA and on Delta the past few years, so I am pleased to report that the 6-course meal served me on this flight was outstanding. Every dish was tasty and fresh, barring one dried-out piece of fish. The FAs just kept the service coming the entire flight.

The AA business seats were somehow more comfortable than I recalled, too. When they were first introduced, I didn't like them.

I also enjoyed the movies and entertainment on the flight. Altogether, my LHR/RDU flight was a very pleasant experience. (When have I said that recently?) Of course the crotch bomber rules were not in effect then, so I have no idea what that's done to diminish premium class service on US-bound flights now.

Coming in from overseas gave me the opportunity to check out the new international arrivals area at RDU. One of the long escalators was not working along the dedicated overhead concourse from the gate to the Immigration and Customs desks, and that made for a long, slow walk. Otherwise, it was as friendly and quick as it used to be. Again, I wonder what, if any, impact the crotch bomber rules are having now at the Raleigh/Durham Airport port of entry.

I am glad and surprised to have enjoyed this trip as much as I did. After all I didn't expect much--just another business trip. Going with a neutral attitude and low expectations can sometimes lead to a happy adventure like this one.

Happy New Year!

2009-12-13T20:11:00.005-05:00

London So Far

On a brief business trip to London (Sunday-Wednesday), these quick impressions after a Sunday walking around central London:

Arrived a few minutes behind schedule at Heathrow this morning after a miserable 7 hrs 45 mins from RDU in coach on American Airlines--truly one of the worst flights I’ve ever endured in 49 years of flying. I slept in fitful on again, off again 5-10 minute naps for several hours but could never really get rested. Too many people and too cramped. Two lavs were out of order, which added to the misery, and almost every seat was taken. The onboard AA crew was nice as could be, but there was nothing they could do to make the cramped and uncomfortable seating conditions any better.

A good reminder why I always spend miles to upgrade. I tried to upgrade on this flight, but AA took away its 3-class 777 last year and replaced it with a 2-class 767 on the RDU/LHR route. There simply are not enough Business Class seats to fill the demand on this route, so it's difficult to get upgraded.

Plane landed at 9:26 AM. After an interminable walk through the new BA terminal at Heathrow, I breezed through customs/immigration with no wait, then walked another several miles (felt like—not really) to get the Heathrow Express train into Paddington (a 3 minute wait once I finally reached the Heathrow Express platform underground), and was grabbing a cab to my hotel by 10:07 AM. Very quick to the city after getting off the plane (I never check luggage, so didn’t have to wait for it).

Despite promising me an early check-in, the hotel (Millennium London Mayfair in Grosvenor Square near the American Embassy) jerked me around by saying my room wasn’t ready unless I wanted to pay an extra $70/night (times 3 nights = $210) for a better room that was ready. I told them to stuff it, left my luggage with the porter, and walked around for 4 hours until the 2pm check-in time.

Thanks to a friend’s recommendation, I went on a grand tour of Spencer House (only open on Sundays ten months of the year—and saved £3 by being over 60), the finest 18th century townhouse still standing in Europe.

Weather typically English: partly sunny for a half hour, then cloudy, then rainy, then cloudy, then rainy, then partly sunny. Chilly for London (30s-40s Fahrenheit). Had to use my earmuffs and gloves until I walked enough to warm up.

Mayfair is one central London district that charges tolls to all vehicles except London Transport buses at certain times and days for traffic congestion. Mayfair has also installed a number of electric meters where electric cars can park and “refuel.” I saw one small electric car, which looked somewhat like a Smartcar, parked and plugged into one of the electric stands (and took several pictures) around Berkeley Square (between Grosvenor Square and Piccadilly).

Mayfair (and perhaps the rest of London) also now has a system (assuming you can find a parking place) to use your cell phone to call and pay for on-street parking—innovative, I thought.

Walked the length of Piccadilly Street from Regent to Hyde Park Corner, around and through most of Green Park, around part of Buckingham Palace, part of Birdcage Walk, St. James, much of Mayfair, Regent Street, Burlington Arcade, Swallow Street, and more.

Stopped at Hamley’s, Liberty’s, and Burberry’s, all jam-packed with shoppers. Nothing is discounted here. You’d never know we are in the midst of the worst recession in living memory. Prices are astronomically high for all goods. Food seems a bit more reasonable. Main London shopping drag, Regent Street, was wall-to-wall with people shopping. It was difficult to get into some stores or even to walk past them.

Bought two fuzzy animals at Hamley’s Toys for the kids (the store is celebrating its 250th anniversary).

Also bought a shockingly expensive black business overcoat at Burberry’s (don’t ask; don’t tell), but I had to have something presentable tomorrow to look prosperous and professional—and that fits. I am too fat to wear the Burberry coat I bought 30 years ago this month in the same Regent Street Burberry store.

I am very disappointed to find that London pub life has all but vanished. I went into 4 Mayfair pubs this afternoon/evening looking for a pint and supper (including the Connaught), and they’ve all gone upscale. Not one had English bitter on tap. They are all selling very expensive wines and liquors, and I found each one to have just a single draft beer, often Stella Artois. Prices for fine wines were predictably through the roof, but no English bitter or even draft beer? I take it to mean that there’s no market for traditional English beer, either.

Another sad trend: Even at the Connaught’s vaunted bar and restaurant, there was not one English server. All speak with heavy accents and are from the Continent. Out of curiosity I began asking where they are from, and got these responses: France, Italy, Macedonia, Philippines, Bulgaria, Russia, Ukraine, Turkey, Lithuania, and Belgium. The French are particularly numerous and annoying. They seemed to have taken over Mayfair wait service.

Another phenomenon I somehow overlooked on previous trips: Pret A Manger outlets have sprung up everywhere. They are good but, again, no English person need apply. Every employee I met in the two I visited was from somewhere else and could hardly understand my order, nor I their thick accents in reply. (According to my cursory research, some years ago, of the company's London employees, 19% were from Britain, and 60% were from other European Union countries, mainly Eastern Europe. Pret A Manger employs 1 in every 14 applicants.)

So London is not the city I left 30 years ago (I lived and worked in the UK 1979-80). Of course I’ve been back many times since, but always with someone and usually on business with no spare time. Sunday was the first day in 30 years I’ve had to spend on my own (that is, alone) looking closely at things and comparing to my 1979-80 memories of living here.

I was quite surprised to see the levels of conspicuous consumption in the major shopping districts Sunday. A bartender told me that last Saturday (8 days ago) total UK retail sales topped £220 million, setting an all-time single day sales record. I don’t understand why they are not feeling the pinch of the recession as we are, but honestly you would never know there is a recession here.

Same with Mayfair hotels. I wandered into several upscale hostelries (well, of course they are all upscale in Mayfair) and asked for their rates and discounts (trying to plan ahead for better hotel rates if my business deal moves forward, since I know I’ll then be back with some regularity). All said this fall had been one of their busiest in years, with virtually no vacancies. I could find no hotel discounts in Mayfair, and I don't think it's simply because of the proximity to Christmas.

Who knows? These are but a few impressions with no quantitative analysis to back it up, but there’s a palpable sense that Christmas sales are way down in every Raleigh store, and that is not the case here in London.

Still and all, a surprisingly good day as a pedestrian in London that made me recall how much I loved London when I worked here in the UK and how much I enjoy walking around a European city. All my old haunts are still here, too, even venerable Fortnum and Mason.

2009-11-18T16:16:00.012-05:00

Weekend at the Waldorf: Still Incomparable After All These Years

My wife and I try to take our kids to New York for a few days in Manhattan at least every three years, and we made such a visit last weekend. The fall lull between Labor Day and Thanksgiving is a good time to go because the weather usually turns crisp, and New York City is not as crowded as it is during the summer and Christmas holidays. We also plan a few Broadway shows into the mix, and then we do a lot of walking. All in all, very relaxing.

Six months ago when I planned our NYC trip, I was happy to find the Hilton's Waldorf=Astoria (the "=" is not a typo--that's the way Hilton markets the hotel's name) was selling rooms at a reasonable (for Manhattan) asking price. I booked a room with 2 double beds for $315 per night with a potential free upgrade to the Waldorf Towers, the hotel within a hotel where every president since Hoover has maintained a suite.

It's been over a decade since I last stayed at the Waldorf, so I didn't know what to expect. It was always one of my favorite places in Manhattan. I love its location, its posh and lovely decor, and its service. I never had a bad night at the Waldorf=Astoria.

Not that the room was cheap. With taxes the room was going to set me back about $800 for two nights, which isn't chicken feed. Ever since booking it, I scoured various hotel sites for a better deal someplace else just in case some fabulous room rate in a midtown hotel suddenly popped up. But one didn't, so I stuck with the Waldorf. Secretly I wanted to stay there again anyway, and to give my two kids a chance to experience it, too.

Meantime, I copped Orchestra center seats five rows from the stage for Disney's Mary Poppins at the gorgeous New Amsterdam Theater (a Saturday matinee and absolutely not to be missed!), and I found a good deal for similar seats at the Radio City Christmas Spectacular show (on Sunday morning and just OK). We figured we could work in a lot of walking and gawking around the shows, and we'd let our kids decide that they wanted to do on this visit.

Our arrival at the Waldorf was two hours later than we planned, thanks to inbound La Guardia flight delays. The hotel staff immediately won us over with the upgrade to a Tower room, 38F2. Technically, I think, every Waldorf Towers room is called a suite, but ours was the runt of the litter. Not that we didn't like it; we did. It's just very tiny to be called a suite. It has a small foyer, adjacent to which is the roomy bath, a decent-sized closet, and the bed room.

I was very pleased, as was my wife (always important). The extremely high ceilings made the smallish interior of the bed room feel much larger, another plus. The appointments were sumptuous if not luxurious, and the beds extremely comfortable.

The Waldorf Towers only go to 42 floors, so my kids were thrilled to be so high up. 38F2 offers a slightly obscured view of the Chrysler Building which did not disappoint them or us.

The bath room had the usual complement of so-called luxury liquids and doodads, but the bottles were all cheap plastic. The bath soap was the winner. It smelled wonderfully of allspice and cloves.

The tub and shower did not have the now-familiar Hilton curved shower rod and curtain, but it was very large and didn't need the artificially expanded interior. Best of all, the shower's water pressure was strong enough that my six year old daughter had to brace herself in its stream. No water conservation in the Waldorf Towers, thank God! With all that water pressure pumped way up to the 38th floor, one wonders what a ground floor shower experience would be like.

Oddly there remained the vestiges of an extra set of water valves for the shower/tub. The presence of the naked holes where the now disused valve handles once emanated gave the appearance of an old, tired hotel whose owners could not afford the expense of removing the cosmetic flaw. It was the one glaring contrast to an otherwise fine experience.

At check-in a small notice was slipped into the little key holder, the small folded cardboard one gets in hotels. Its title: "Our Dress Code." The Waldorf=Astoria wanted patrons to know that they are "proud of our heritage and of the central role we have always played in New York's social community" and therefore "after 6:00 PM each day" guests were to obey the dress code "for all public areas including our main lobby and restaurants." For men, this was defined as "collared shirt and slacks; jackets are optional." For ladies: "Either slacks, a skirt or dress."

The Dress Code further stipulates that "no shorts, T-shirts, or other very casual attire be worn in the evening hours."

This met with my approval, especially as I was already dressed in a tie, and my family also met the criteria. However, when we ducked into the bar between the Park Avenue entrance grand foyer and the interior Main Lobby (the Waldorf capitalizes it, not me) for a $17 gin-and-tonic (plus tax and tip), my wife and I noticed more than half the patrons did not meet the Dress Code requirements.

In fact we observed throughout the evening and again on Saturday night that many hotel guests had failed to read, or chose to ignore, the Dress Code.

Frankly, I was disappointed in their behavior. I am not a snob, but there is civility, even dignity, in dressing up a bit, and the Waldorf dress code bar had not been set very high to begin with. I thought that at least guests would not present themselves in jeans and T-shirts after 6:00 PM, yet there they were all over the place looking like slobs.

The Waldorf Towers features two unique services. First, there is a separate elevator bank which may only be reached by guests holding Towers room key cards. Second, there is the separate Waldorf Towers entrance on 50th Street. Inside is a small but elegant lobby and exclusive Towers service desk for checking in and out. All very posh and manned by well-mannered, knowledgeable, and surprisingly friendly staff.

We used the Concierge Desk in the Main Lobby several times, and every experience was a good one. Staff were quick and cordial to take care of our every need. For example, my six year old daughter needed several band-aids after developing blisters on her heels from ice skating at Rockefeller Center Plaza (about $19 for both skating privileges and skate rentals--a bargain), and the Concierge desk came up with band-aids and ointment in about 3 minutes.

I have already mentioned the lofty prices for a mere gin and tonic in the Waldorf bars ($17 plus plus). Our light late night supper Friday evening came to a more reasonable $72 all in.

Mornings we enjoyed a complimentary breakfast in the Concierge Lounge on the 26th floor. Though devoid of cooked foods, the selection of comestibles was stupendous for a so-called Continental breakfast, reminding me of breakfast bars laid on at the best European and Asian hostelries. There was something for every taste, and it was all good.

My only nit was that the 26th floor lounge was the sole such facility for the entire hotel, including the Towers. Only guests who paid for or earned the privilege of lounge access were allowed in, of course. Even so, the 26th floor room is not a dedicated space. It is a converted suite with small round tables and over-sized chairs more suited for a smoking lounge than a type of restaurant. Its obviously adapted quality (as opposed to an elegant purpose-built room) was oddly out of synch with the otherwise grand beauty of the hotel's public spaces.

It also seems out of keeping for the Towers not to have its own exclusive lounge. Frankly, sharing the one lounge with the unwashed who must reside in the main hotel is declasse and cheapens the Towers experience.

Weekend hours at the lounge begin at 7:00 AM; Monday to Friday hours are from 6:00 AM. When breakfast is concluded guests may use the lounge for relaxing and enjoy complimentary soft drinks. We did not sample the lounge's evening offerings, if indeed any weekend food and beverages are even available.

So many luminaries from the worlds of politics, business, and entertainment have stayed in the Waldorf Towers that it's hard to make a list. Start with every president since Hoover (who lived in the Towers after leaving office) and go on to Cole Porter (who also lived in the Towers and whose Steinway grand still graces the Main Lobby bar), Queen Elizabeth II, Winston Churchill, Frank Sinatra, and Douglas McArthur. Only Buckingham Palace has hosted more heads-of-state than the Waldorf Towers.

I tried hard to find fault with the Waldorf=Astoria experience because no hotel stay is flawless. I mentioned above the few, relatively small chinks in the armor. Overall, however, it was a great experience, thanks in no small part to a great staff obviously proud to be serving at one of the most historic and graciously elegant hotels on earth.

Such an experience, however occasional, stays with me and helps me to endure the countless thousands of pathetic, pedestrian hotels that dot America like a bad rash. I realize, of course, that such a hostelry standard can only rarely be attained elsewhere. But I pray the next time I return to Manhattan that the grand old lady will still be there to enfold me in her arms, and that the Hilton upgrade gods will smile on me once more, enabling me to lay claim to another Waldorf Towers suite for a night or two.

2009-11-18T12:51:00.011-05:00

Rail, Air, Automobile: It's All Slowing Down! We're Doomed!

Usually I write about my trials and travails with the airlines, because that's my usual transportation mode. Familiarity with airlines does tend to breed contempt if you fly a lot, and for good reasons, mostly.

Recently, however, I've been experimenting with other transportation options, such as driving when I have to go somewhere less than 300 miles distant from Raleigh (my home), and even taking the train when one's available.

I could spew a lot of words with examples, but I'll be brief because I want to write another, more upbeat blog entry about a delightful weekend experience in Manhattan in the Waldorf Towers.

Regarding my several experiences driving during 2009, suffice it to say that none were entirely satisfactory. With 300 million souls in the USA, and with our Interstates not only over-crowded but crumbling, you just can't get anywhere fast without a police escort, and I am no governor or senator.

Driving a few weeks ago to Washington, DC was another in a growing list of personal disasters to get anywhere near our nation's capital. It took just a bit over two hours to get to Richmond (161 miles) but another four and a half hours to drive the remaining 130 miles. Reason? Traffic, simply too many cars on the road. Weather wasn't bad, just too many cars. No accidents, either. Just too many cars trying to occupy the same stretch of I-95 North.

Returning was no better. I tried to beat the traffic by leaving the city early at 11:00 AM. Apparently everyone else had the same notion because I was still creeping for miles and miles and miles on I-95 South. I can't believe I am writing these words, but flying to and from DC is better.

Or maybe rail? My experience with Amtrak last week right here in North Carolina put the lie to that possibility. I took my children to Greensboro last Wednesday (Veterans Day school holiday, formerly known as Armistice Day) on the train because they love going anywhere by rail. Thanks to North Carolina DOT-Rail Division, which offers several NC-funded trains, there is a good out-and-back connection from Raleigh to Greensboro with a one hour wait time for the return train.

You might recall last week that the remnant of Hurricane Ida was making its slow way up the Atlantic coast, and we got a lot of rain. But not so much to cause floods.

Enough, though, that Norfolk Southern Railway dispatchers, over which Amtrak operates in parts of North Carolina, declared a 15 MPH speed limit for passenger trains and a 40 MPH limit on freight trains.

Why the speed limits? Because NS has cut their track maintenance staff so deeply that they have no one to inspect the roadway when it rains.

Why do they need to do that? Well, they really don't need to do it, barring a deluge and serious flooding (and last week was not that circumstance). The NS culture, however, is so risk averse now that they are scared of their own shadows, so the speed limit was a CYA by management.

Why did they allow freight trains to run faster than Amtrak in the rain? Another CYA. However remote, they don't want the liability or bad press of a passenger train accident.

What was the effect last Wednesday? A 3 hour and 59 minute delay on our return train from Greensboro to Raleigh (which was then going on to New York). I had to call my wife and plead with her to drive the 60 miles to Greensboro to rescue us. The Greensboro Amtrak station, though beautifully restored, is a cold, austere environment with no restaurant or diversion to fritter away a long delay, and it's remote from downtown, too.

The worst news, though, is my discovery (after making some inquiries) that such 15 MPH speed limits are ROUTINE when it rains for Amtrak trains over the Norfolk Southern Railway tracks, and that they are likely to be routine when it rains even for the NY-Washington-Atlanta high-speed trains that eventually come through here.

So much for traveling by rail in that part of North Carolina over the NS Railway.

Can you imagine slowing every train down every time it rains? Trains once gave the post office its proud slogan that went something like this: "Neither sleet nor snow nor rain nor fog nor gloom of night shall prevent the Post Office Department from delivering the mail." The P.O. could make that boast truthfully because mail moved mostly by rail, and trains ran at the fastest allowable track speeds through any weather. And they did that for more than 100 years! So why not now?

Meanwhile, ICE trains in Germany and TGV trains in France are never slowed by a little rain, and they often make close to 200 MPH. Shame on us in the USA.

Finally about my air experience last Friday RDU/LGA: Getting in and out of any New York airport (EWR, LGA, or JFK) is always iffy, but last Friday that darn hurricane (what was left of it) remained stalled over the northeast dumping rain. Clouds and rain at La Guardia always produce miserable delays. Friday was no exception.

Long story short, my AA Eagle flight was 2 hours late, and I was happy it wasn't canceled altogether given the weather. Just another waste of time combined with sheer boredom.

So where does that leave us in the United States in terms of transportation options? I don't have any answers. Every time you head for the train station, the airport, or take to the Interstates, it's entirely a crap shoot.

My advice? Go anyway. Travel is always worth it. Just make sure you bring a book along, or maybe two.

2009-09-30T20:41:00.012-04:00

Hertz's Secret Agreement With PlatePassCom Charges You $30 For 30 Minutes on E470 Toll Road Out of the Denver Airport

Be warned that this true tale has so many layers of "wrong" in it that my head is swimming.

In the summers of 2007 and 2008 I have flown into Denver airport and then driven 600 miles up to Montana via Cheyenne, Wyoming to visit my wife's family. Both years we rented a Hertz car.

The most direct route to reach the Interstate to Cheyenne when leaving the Denver airport is via a short stretch of Colorado toll road E470. The E470 link takes about 15 minutes in each direction.

In 2007 and 2008, I paid the tolls in cash. On 8-03-08, for example, I passed two E470 toll plazas and paid $2 + $2 for a total of $4, and then returning to DEN two weeks late on 8-18-08 again paid $2 + $2 for a total of $4 in cash, for a grand total of $8 in tolls.

This summer, however, I paid a grand total of $30, $22 more than last year, to travel the same 30 minutes (15 minutes in each direction). Here's what happened:

In August, my family and I again flew into DEN and rented a Hertz car. Just as in previous years, we traversed the short stretch of E470 to reach the Interstate to Cheyenne, but this year (on 8-08-09) we found the cash lanes have all been closed, leaving no obvious way to pay the tolls.

In place of the permanently closed cash toll booths, I saw new overhead license plate readers, but Hertz never warned us of any automatic billing based on reading our license plates. I wondered how this would play out, but since it was only a few dollars, I didn't worry about it at the time.

Two weeks later on 8-22-09, we returned from Montana through Cheyenne, Wyoming, and once close to the airport we traversed the same short stretch of E470 to get back to DEN. As before, we found all cash lanes permanently closed.

I asked Hertz about it when I returned the car at DEN but the people processing returns had no information.

Then on my 9-15-09 American Express Platinum Card statement I found two charges from an entity called (exactly as printed on my AmEx statement) wwwplatepasscom for $15 each. There was no reference to Denver, to E470, or to the dates we drove on the E470. The charges were dated 8-27-09 and 9-10-09. There was also no reference to Hertz.

I phoned American Express and had them remove the charges as unrecognizable pending an investigation, and I then phoned 1-877-411-4300, the number American Express gave me for wwwplatepasscom.

The wwwplatepasscom customer service rep who answered, Mary Coon, told me that they indeed had charged me for driving on the E470 out of the Denver airport, and that they had a contract with the State of Colorado for toll collection—now entirely cashless—on the E470.

Ms. Coon also told me platepasscom has a separate contract with Hertz to obtain Hertz renters’ credit card numbers so they could charge the tolls direct to the renters instead of through Hertz.

Funny, I thought, that Hertz would be giving third party companies like platepasscom my credit card number WITHOUT MY KNOWLEDGE OR CONSENT.

As if the shock of finding Hertz was willy-nilly handing out my AmEx number to companies I never heard of was not enough, I got another jaw-dropping bit of info from Ms. Coon: She said that the actual tolls were now $2.50 at each toll point (up from $2.00 in 2008), so my actual toll charges were $2.50 + $2.50 for a total of $5.00 on 8-08-09 and the same amounts ($2.50 + $2.50 for a total of $5.00) on our return journey across E470 to get to your airport on 8-22-09.

Not too bad, I thought, just a fifty cents per toll plaza increase from last year.

But then Ms. Coon dropped the bomb on me when she further explained that wwwplatepasscom charges a $10.00 per week “administration fee” on top of the actual tolls for Hertz renters as part of their agreement with Hertz. Yet Hertz did not make me aware of any wwwplatepasscom charges, either in writing or verbally.

Thus I was charged by wwwplatepasscom $2.50 + $2.50 + $10.00, for a total of $15.00, on 8-08-09, and wwwplatepasscom charged me another $2.50 + $2.50 + $10.00, for a total of $15.00, on 8-22-09.

Later that day I contacted the Denver Airport authority, and they are still investigating (they knew nothing about the scheme).

I also phoned the DEN Hertz Station Manager, who identified herself only as Vicki. Vicki told me that I was supposed to have been given a one-page flyer among my Hertz paperwork that explained the wwwplatepasscom charges if I drove on E470. I told her I still have all my paperwork from the rental, and there is nothing there about wwwplatepasscom.

I asked Vicki to mail the wwwplatepasscom flyer to me so I could see it, and I gave her my address, and also my Hertz Rental Agreement number. To date, one week later, I had not received any such flyer from Hertz.

Vicki also advised me to avoid E470 at all costs, saying she and her colleagues NEVER use the toll road any more since it went cashless because of the ridiculous charges.

I then called Hertz Corporate Public Relations to ask:

1. Why I was not apprised of these charges and thus warned before driving on Denver-area toll roads that are part of these agreements;

2. Whether Hertz Corporate knew of the absurd $10/week “admin fee” tack-ons to the actual toll collections: and

3. Where in my Hertz Master Agreement or Rental Agreement that I gave Hertz the right to share my American Express card number with another entity.

Hertz Corporate had no immediate answer, saying they were unaware of the details, but they promised to look into it and get back to me. To date, one week later, I await their callback.

That’s where we are today on the Denver part of the story about Hertz and platepasscom.

But there are more unexpected charges for unwary Hertz renters out there across the country: I also discovered that platepasscom has an agreement not just with Hertz at Denver, but also with Hertz through the Northeast (e.g., NY and NJ tollroads), in the Chicago and Indiana areas, and in Florida and Texas, to collect tolls and charge renters from the license plate tied to your Hertz Rental Agreements.

And there is no relief, no opt-out possibility, when you rent from Hertz. Thus I will henceforth stop renting from Hertz, even though Hertz is my preferred vendor of rental cars. This is not something I do out of spite, but what am I to do? My clients won't pay for these stupid charges, and I am not going to swallow them myself.

This is so wrong on so many levels:

- Colorado, along with Indiana, Texas, Illinois, Florida, New York, New Jersey, and other states rip out their toll road cash lanes, forcing drivers to pay electronically or be subject to huge fees and violation charges;

- Hertz makes a secret deal and doesn't tell its renters about the unreasonable admin fees;

- Hertz dispenses confidential credit card information to third party vendors without the cardholder's knowledge or consent;

- American Express has no idea what the charges are and doesn't really care;

- Denver Airport has no idea what the scam is about; and

- Hertz Corporate claims ignorance of its own company's outrageous scheme.

And nobody, NOBODY seemed to care when I questioned it!

FOOTNOTE: Here are two references to the platepasscom/Hertz deal, the original of which says you are charged only for the days you use it. Then the Flyertalk thread makes it clear that the terms changed:

www.businesstravellogue.com/accommodation/hertz-rental-cars-hertz-platepass-program-allows-drivers-to-use-ez-pass-lanes.html

www.flyertalk.com/forum/hertz/947200-caution-platepass-daily-admin-fee-charged-entire-length-rental.html

If others have had similar experiences with Hertz and platepasscom, or with platepasscom and any other car rental companies, I hope they will comment here.

2009-09-27T00:01:00.003-04:00

British Airways: Stupid Is As Stupid Does

Even Forrest Gump's jaw would drop at this news from British Airways, courtesy of my friend, Joe Brancatelli, from his weekly newsletter at www.joesentme.biz:

"British Airways has told travel agents (but not customers yet) that it will begin charging for advance seat assignments effective on October 7. If you want to choose a seat more than 24 hours before departure, it'll cost you $30 in most coach or premium-economy (World Traveler Plus) rows and $75 for an exit row.

"But wait, it gets more insane. Spent thousands of dollars to book a business-class seat on British Airways? You'll pay $90 for the right to choose your seat more than 24 hours before departure. That's not only each way, but per segment. Which means you'll pay upwards of $360 roundtrip in business class if you fly on BA to somewhere via London. Apparently the only exceptions are premium members of BA's Executive Club and full-fare business-class passengers.

"I'll have further details next week as I get my hands on more specifics, but let me give you a quick read: Why would any sane human being give British Airways $90 a segment more after paying thousands of dollars for a business class seat? And why would BA, which is still trying to overcome justifiably negative perceptions of Heathrow Terminal 5 and desperately needs premium-class connecting passengers, think anyone would pay them $360 more roundtrip for the "privilege" of flying over London in a pre-assigned seat? This is the height of stupidity from an airline that increasingly looks like it is being run by top executives who are in over their heads. This is Mickey Mouse.

"This isn't how you treat premium-class customers, who, even if they are flying at a discount, are paying $2,500 or $5,000 or more. It was bad enough a couple of years ago when BA told business-class customers that they couldn't have an advance seat assignment until 24 hours before departure if they traveled on anything but walk-up fares. But to turn around now and try to sell a premium-class customer an advance-seating option is simply pouring salt in an open wound.

"I'll tell you what: Business-class customers have other options if they are flying to and from London. And they can surely find reasons not to connect over London with BA. I suggest you talk with your wallet. If you're booking international business-class travel, avoid BA until it drops this insane fee. And boycott any other carrier that tries to match BA."

Usually posts here are entirely my own writing, but this little item was so astonishingly dumb that I felt it deserved the widest possible audience. It's just stupid, stupid, stupid.

2009-09-11T14:38:00.007-04:00

In memoriam

"Wisdom of the grace of God that as we act,
we do not become the evil that we deplore."

- Rev. Nathan Baxter, Dean of Washington National Cathedral

Suffering from jetlag, I woke up in my Sydney CBD hotel room in the early morning hours (Australia east coast time) of 9/11/01 and switched on the TV to lull me back to sleep. It took me a moment to process the horror I was seeing broadcast from New York City, Washington, and Pennsylvania.

Like everyone, I'll always remember where I was when I learned about the attacks on our soil. Yet still, eight years later, I cannot fully understand them.

I agree with what Joe Brancatelli said in his column this morning:

"Today is the eighth anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, when four passenger aircraft were used as weapons against us. Three thousand people died. Their names and some of their pictures, if not their stories, are here:

http://www.cnn.com/SPECIALS/2001/memorial/lists/by-name/

"What else is there to say? I never seem to know."

2009-09-10T13:37:00.007-04:00

To Rental Car Or Not To Rental Car

Every summer, usually in August, I take my family to visit my in-laws in Montana.

For over a decade we simply flew from Raleigh to and from Billings because that's just 90 miles away from the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness area in the Stillwater River valley, which is our destination.

And every year the airfares went up and up and up, until my wife and I were paying as much for the four of us to fly to Billings as we sometimes do to fly to Paris, London, or Belize. After all, $700+ per person round trip is nothing to sneeze at: times four, that comes to almost $3,000.

In August, 2008 we experimented by flying Southwest to Denver at less than half the airfare to Billings (a savings at the time of over $1500), and then we drove the 630 miles each way up through the heart of Wyoming to reach southern Montana. I rented a car, and that was an interesting trip--the first time.

We did the same thing in late August of 2009: flew into Denver, but this time on American for a bit over $200 per person and thus saved almost $2,000 on the air costs. And then drove the 630 miles up and 630 miles back again as last summer.

This time, however, the drive seemed a lot longer and more tedious. Perhaps that's because I put more than 2,000 miles on the vehicle after all was said and done, thanks to multiple scenic drives around Montana once we arrived.

However it happened, two thousand miles in the rental car seemed more wearying this year than last, and I am looking for a way to fly again into Billings in the summer of 2010 without breaking the bank. (So far, looking out 11 months on airline websites, the best I can come up with is around $550 per person RDU/BIL. But I digress.)

This year the rental car was more expensive, too. I originally comparison-shopped for a good rate, and I found every rental car company's rates high. I settled on Avis at around $700 (all in) for 14 days in a full-size four-door.

Then Avis "lost" the reservation when I called to give them a schedule change, and the replacement was quoted at $100 more by an incompetent and rude agent. I canceled, and checked Hertz online instead.

Just a few days from our arrival I was able to book a two week Hertz rental of a full-size four-door for under $700 (again, all in--even with the huge taxes and special airport surcharges and usage fees and other absurd extra costs). I was happy, even though last year's rental for the same period cost me just under $600.

Happy, that is, until we arrived Denver. Once at the Hertz lot I found that my assigned car reeked of smoke. (If you've read some of my earlier posts, this will sound familiar. I seem to be especially unlucky when it comes to snagging rental cars fouled with cigarette smoke.)

This necessitated a long wait back at the Hertz Gold counter for a replacement. I did a slow burn while waiting my turn. After years of being a Hertz Presidents' Circle member and having this happen repeatedly, I wondered how Hertz could be so consistently incompetent.

The hostler who parked the car, and the "cleaners" before him, would certainly have noticed the strong tobacco smoke odor, yet put the car out for availability anyway. Maybe it's because they themselves are smokers and didn't even notice.

After a long wait behind other irate customers, I explained the problem. The Hertz agent was not able to give me a comparable car (sold out!) but offered a Kia SUV--the larger of the two Kia SUV models--and I took it in the interest of time. We'd already lost 25 minutes by then.

It was a good choice. The Kia was roomy and comfortable, had excellent visibility, very tight steering, good turning radius, and was quick off the mark. Yet it returned over 23 MPG.

Our family settled in and learned to love the car through 2,000+ miles of occupancy. By the time we returned it to Denver, I was very glad the car's overall comfort and easy handling had minimized wear and tear on my psyche.

I have to admit that the only stressful part of the long drive was the first 100 miles north from the airport to get out of Colorado. Once at the Wyoming border, and all through that big state, driving was a breeze. It's nothing like the constant stress one feels on I-405 in L.A. or I-95 north of Richmond where, day or night, traffic is snarled.

But even an easy 2,000 miles, mostly at 75-80 MPH, still takes its toll on the driver.

There is also the considerable beauty of the landscape en route to recommend the drive. Wind River Canyon in Wyoming between Casper and Cody is gorgeous, and the ever-changing terrain from Denver to Red Lodge, Montana is never boring. If you've never driven through those parts of Wyoming and Montana, I highly recommend it. At least once.

While I never tire of the rugged mountain scenery of the West, the long drive still became tedious the second time around. I commented to my wife as we pulled into the Hertz return gate at Denver that next year we should think about spending a premium to fly to Billings again, and she agreed without hesitation.

I forgot to mention that covering such mileage on the ground requires an overnight stay in each direction, in effect cutting about 3 days off our time in Montana with family. However free of stress when compared to other highway routes, our road trip was not relaxing. The extra dollars spent to fly directly to Billings would have bought us more time to relax.

Is it really worth it to spend extra? Matter of personal choice, I guess. But even if you can afford to cough up $2900 to fly direct versus $880 to Denver (and then drive), it's hard to ignore the $2,000 savings. That's a big difference.

Another choice is simply not to go. I am considering staying home next year and sending only my wife and two kids, and letting them fly direct. If I bought the tickets soon for them, I could get them there for about $1650 for three flyers, which is twice what we paid this summer for four.

And in case you are wondering, it's nigh-impossible to get frequent flyer seats to Billings on any airline without a Papal Intervention.

Next post will describe our long Labor Day weekend trip to visit friends in New Orleans where things are back to normal: a 3-murder weekend in the city--which still didn't spoil a divine evening meal at Bayona.

2009-08-26T22:52:00.004-04:00

That Darn American Airlines Does It Again!

In early August my family of four flew from Raleigh to Dallas, and then from Dallas to Denver. Both flights went off smooth as silk, and were on time or early. The AA crews were nice, and so were the ground personnel at all three airports. We enjoyed great service in coach on both MD-80 airplanes, and we had great seats near the front of economy (10AB and 11AB).

Two weeks later we retraced our steps back to DFW and then to Raleigh on American, but with a big difference: We arrived at the Denver airport more than two hours early (I fretted over potential bad traffic between Cheyenne, Wyoming and DEN and allowed far more time for the drive than was necessary), then breezed through security, and arrived at the AA Admirals Club with carry-on bags only. The agent smiled and asked if we'd like to take the 11:55 AM flight to DFW rather than the 2:10 PM since we were there so early.

No-brainer, we said. She then confirmed all four of us on an earlier connecting flight DFW/RDU, and we arrived home to Raleigh at 8:00 PM rather than 11:00 PM. The only downside was having to endure row 32 (the last row on the airplane) from Denver to Dallas. Because the engines are attached to the fuselage on either side there, rows behind 28 have virtually no visibility, which for me is claustrophobic. It's also very LOUD sitting between the two powerplants! Nice AA FAs made life tolerable by plying us with beverages and good cheer.

On the other hand, the Dallas/Raleigh seats were in row 7, the first row behind first class (sublime!). Both flights were early, and the on-board service was provided by efficient and friendly flight attendants.

So why the headline of complaint?

Well, because this blog was originally established to COMPLAIN about the travails of travel, a sort of primal scream on the World Wide Web to purge my soul of evil spirits so I can keep on getting onto airplanes. I DEPEND upon the airlines to persist in screwing everything up, a reasonable expectation (without fear of disappointment until now) since airline service began declining so precipitously some 20 years ago.

Every year until this one the travel experience has worsened with sickening predictability. Yet in 2009 it seems I can't catch a break with American Airlines because they just keep doing everything RIGHT! I mean, how can a guy poison-pen a blog entry that fellow travelers will say "AMEN!" to if the damn airlines won't do their part?

Sadly, I can't find so much as a wad of gum under my seat to complain about with AA so far this year.

Why am I missing all the fun? While other airlines provide their customers with concrete, life-changing experiences of hellish service, like having to endure 14 hours of agony sitting on a tarmac within spitting distance of a gate with no food or water and overflowing toilets, American Airlines has hit it out of the park on nearly every flight for months.

Perhaps I should book a few segments on United or US Airways to get back into the ugly groove of late or canceled flights, missed connections, wickedly bad on-board service, and deplorably incompetent or indifferent ground staff. That would FEEL more normal...

And yet, all sarcasm aside:

I dream the dream that these recent flying experiences herald better days ahead for all of us who depend on commercial aviation to perform its role consistently well. Truly, the silver lining in depressed air travel demand during the recession seems to be, on American Airlines at least, an achievement of that heretofore elusive goal. May AA and all our domestic carriers continue this trend and perfect its practice routinely as demand returns.

Next week, another memorable road trip: 2038 miles in a Hertz car across Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana in 15 days.

2009-07-09T20:12:00.014-04:00

Nickel Plate Road 765 in the Mustang's rear view mirror, 7/20/09

Nickel Plate Road 765 drive rods, 7/20/09

Nickel Plate Road 765 photo run-by as we view from the Mustang, 7/20/09

Big Steam Locomotives Are Hard To Find! (And How Can So Many Things Happen On a Weekend Trip Trying to See One?)

Part 3 of 3

Continuing the story of our trip (my son and I) to North Judson, Indiana, via Chicago, please read Parts 1 and 2 below to get the context. We had finally reached the Hilton O'Hare Hotel after picking up our fire engine red Mustang convertible in Part 2. And then the fun began:

By the time I pulled into the unenclosed Hilton O'Hare entrance, the pouring rain had turned to large hail, and no Hilton doorman was to be found. Furious to be skunked the only time I needed to have my car valet-parked at a Hilton, I grabbed our bags and ran inside, leaving my son to guard the car. It was just a few feet from car to front door, but I was drenched and looked like a drowned rat by the time I reached the interior.

There a doorman tried to take my bags, looking at me cursiously as if I might be a vagrant. I retorted: "NO! Not my BAGS! Please get my CAR! Where were you, and where were your umbrellas when I needed you?"

T
There was no reasonable explanation offered for why no one was looking for guests arriving by car, so I settled for his somewhat reluctant movement to take my car keys and an umbrella and to escort my son into the hotel and then park the car. "You know, sir," he said, as if I thought parking might be complimentary, "Valet parking here is $45 per night, plus tax."

I replied that he should please bring my receipt to the check-in desk, and I waited for him to collect my son from the Mustang. The rain and large ice pellets of hail continued to fall unabated, and my son gleefully brought in some samples of the largest hailstones.

At the front desk I was offered free full breakfasts and a free movie because they could not accommodate us on an HHonors floor. I didn't much care about a room on a lower floor, and I said that we'd be leaving both Saturday and Sunday mornings too early to enjoy the breakfast coupons. Couldn't we exchange the full breakfast coupons for free Internet instead? "Oh, NO, sir!" said the clerk reflexively and with a hint of incredulity, as if I had asked for a free upgrade to the Presidential Suite, and I could see that he wished he had put it differently. But he offered no alternative, and I took the coupons, which I noticed were not dated and therefore could be used for a later stay at the property.

Sure enough the room was on the fourth floor and thus overlooked the parking garage, but my son didn't mind. He was just excited to be there and immediately wanted to redeem the free movie coupon. I unpacked and checked out the bathroom, where I noticed we'd been left a hand soap for the basin but no bath soap for the tub and shower. I phoned housekeeping asked about getting more soap. To my astonishment I was assured that one bar of hand soap was all the Hilton O'Hare now provided to guests!

I guess such a ridiculous statement finally tipped my mood. After the fiasco with the car (and still dripping wet from the experience), the coupons I couldn't use, and the soap I could not get, I phoned again and asked for a manager. Instead, I reached a Hilton O'Hare staff person named Vanessa, whose title was never clearly explained.

As it turned out, I was lucky to have been connected to Vanessa. She was very polite, well-trained, and compentent. I asked her first why such a fine hotel had instituted a third world policy of putting only one bar of hand soap in the room to be shared, presumably, between the basin and the bath. She vehemently contradicted the housekeeping person I'd spoken to and promised to send up more soap at once.

Vanessa then asked whether I was happy and pleased with my stay at the Hilton O'Hare so far. No, I said, not happy. And I told her that I'd stayed many times at that property and had never had so many things go wrong so quickly, explaining the Mustang parking snafu, the breakfast coupons I could not use, the HHonors room I didn't get, the upgraded room I didn't receive, and the single bar of soap.

Vanessa was able to remedy all my problems. She comped my Internet usage for the entire stay. Within moments I had an armful of soap. Five minutes later Admir Vujic, the doorman who had left me to park my own car in the rain, came to our room with a complimentary VIP parking pass for the Mustang. Admir profusely and humbly apologized, and thanked me for letting Vanessa know how unhappy I was. I actually began to feel bad for him and the hotel, so promptly and completely did Vanessa set in motion corrective actions. Altogether, she saved me over $90 in hotel parking and Internet access charges, but her customer service dedication meant as much to me as the cost avoidance. The Hilton is lucky to have her.

Though I had no need to speak to a manager after Vanessa's intercessions on my behalf, no manager ever returned my message, either. And though I have nothing but praise for Vanessa, the truth is we should never have been introduced. If the hotel had delivered seamless service, Vanessa's job would be unnecessary.

My son and I redeemed our bad start on the morning by taking the CTA into downtown Chicago ($2.25 per person each way) and back. I took him to the Museum of Science and Industry, the observation deck on the 99th floor of Sears Tower, Amtrak Union Station, and we walked around to give him a flavor of the city. Our return ride to O'Hare on the train was speedy while we watched car traffic in both directions stalled for miles.

When we reached the Hilton O'Hare about 7:00 PM, the day's bad weather had resulted in hundreds of cancellations, and the stranded zombie passengers had invaded the hotel to find food, drink, and overnight accommodations. They found plenty of sustenance and libation, but no rooms, so they naturally hung around eating and drinking. And overwhelmed the food and beverage staffs. My son and I couldn't even get room service, and I settled for some cereal boxes from the lobby deli for him.

The rest of the weekend went much better. Saturday dawned sunny and clear, and we cruised over to Indiana, some 80 miles, with the ragtop down, jubilant in the late June morning. I didn't even have to stop at the interminable toll plazas because the Hertz car came equipped with an I-Pass/EZ-Pass/I-Zoom device attached to the windshield (which I have yet to be billed for).

After a wonderful day seeing the steam locomotive up close and personal (see photos at top of this post), we headed back to Chicago in the late afternoon. All was well until we reached the east side of downtown, and there traffic just stopped. I guess everybody was out to enjoy a drive on the beautiful day, but it was awful. I used my GPS to take alternate routes through city streets. Yes, it was slow going, but at least we kept moving. I rejoined the freeway back to O'Hare at the last possible minute, but still the delay was more than two hours. I was very happy to pull into the Hertz lot to return the Mustang, even though we had enjoyed having such a great car. (I highly recommend renting one just for fun some time!)

Sunday morning's flight back to Raleigh again saw us both once again upgraded to first class at the newly remodeled but less roomy AA Admirals Club between the "H" and "K" concourses. However, the 7:30 AM departure did NOT serve breakfast in first class, not even a cookie. I asked the gate agents and the flight attendants about it, and they, too, couldn't understand it. Cutbacks, they thought. AA is cutting out most F class domestic meals, one told me, and this was likely part of the trend. I reflected that the dollars I'd spent to buy the upgrade credits didn't merit this segment, but it was too late to change it. Our flight arrived early in Raleigh.

In retrospect it seems to me that there was too much planning required, too much cost (over $1,000 all in for the two of us), and too much hassle en route for a weekend venture just to ride behind a live steam locomotive. No trip is simple these days, and I have to ask for future reference if I'd do it again. My answer is, yes, if my son really wanted to, as he did this time. The memories of our time together are more precious than the cost and the trouble.

2009-07-09T18:52:00.009-04:00

Hertz red Mustang convertible with my son at the wheel in Indiana, 6/20/09

Big Steam Locomotives Are Hard To Find! (And How Can So Many Things Happen On a Weekend Trip Trying to See One?)

Part 2 of 3

Continuing the story of our trip (my son and I) to North Judson, Indiana, via Chicago, please read Part 1 below to get the context. We were just about to take off from Raleigh/Durham Airport for our nonstop flight on American Airlines in First Class to Chicago O'Hare:

Service en route was excellent, with a very filling breakfast served--not bad for an 8:35 AM departure, I thought. The flight was about 5 minutes late by the time we hit the O'Hare tarmac, and storm clouds threatened off to the north and west. By the time we had reached the "H" concourse, lightning had begun to strike. Literally adjacent to the gate, our flight was ordered to halt as ground staff took safe cover.

And there we sat for more than two hours as an incessant series of fierce thunderstorms flew over the field. My son, and most people on the plane, were tortured by our close proximity to freedom. We idled on the pad within a few feet of the jetway, helpless to do anything, and stewed in our seats. I was very glad we had both eaten a hearty breakfast and had plenty of fluids. Nothing was served to anyone during the long period of entrapment.

Finally off the aircraft, my son and I almost ran to the exit and then waited 15 minutes for a Hertz bus. Meanwhile, I counted five Avis buses and three National/Alamo buses go by, and even a couple of Budget buses. By the time the long yellow Hertz bus pulled up, we had enough customers waiting for it to fill it completely.

At the Hertz canopy I looked for my name on the board and ran for our car in the pouring rain as yet another storm dropped a motherload of rain. As I opend the door, my heart sank: the stale smell of smoke permeated the interior.

Luggage and my son in tow, I made a beeline for the Hertz Number One Club Gold counter where I waited patiently for another ten minutes. The very kind and competent agent apologized profusely for the smoky vehicle and asked if I preferred anything.

As I pondered her question, I heard my son--remember, age ten--say loudly, "A RED MUSTANG CONVERTIBLE, PLEASE!" Somewhat startled, the Hertz agent and I both looked down at him. "Please, Dad?" he pleaded.

"Do you HAVE a Mustang convertible, and how much extra would it cost?" I asked the agent.

"Yeah, they have one, and it's RED, Dad!" my son exclaimed. "I saw it right down there." He pointed to a line of cars nearby.

The agent raised her eyebrows, smiled, checked her computer, and announced that, yes, it was indeed there and available because the renter had not picked it up (no doubt delayed as we were due to the rain). It would cost an extra $10/day, a deal she gave us because of my inconvenience with the smoky car.

Naturally, I took it, and within minutes we were exiting the Hertz lot in a fiery red Mustang convertible in a deluge of rain that Noah could have identified with.

It was a short drive back to the center of O'Hare to the Hilton O'Hare Hotel where I'd made reservations. My plan was simple: Park the car at the hotel Friday morning and leave it until Saturday morning; take the Blue Line CTA train to the Loop and show my son a bit of downtown Chicago that afternoon; return again on the CTA train to O'Hare; spend the night at the Hilton; leave very early Saturday morning in our red Mustang convertible for a pleasant drive to northwestern Indiana (North Judson); ride behind the steam locomotive for a few hours; drive back to Chicago late Saturday afternoon; return the car to Hertz; take the Hertz shuttle back to the airport; walk across to the Hilton for our second night; and, finally, walk back to American Airlines Sunday morning for our return flight to Raleigh.

Basically we followed the plan, and it worked. With a few flaws mainly at the Hilton O'Hare. But that's a story I'll save for next week's post. Look for it in Part 3 of this steam locomotive saga!

2009-07-09T11:55:00.030-04:00

Nickel Plate Road 2-8-4 Berkshire 765 at North Judson, Indiana, 6/20/09

Big Steam Locomotives Are Hard To Find! (And How Can So Many Things Happen On a Weekend Trip Trying to See One?)

Part 1 of 3

For those who like big American steam locomotives like the ones that powered trains in the United States until the late 1950s, there are few opportunities these days to see one operate. In fact there are only about six large steam engines running in 2009: two 2-8-4 Berkshire locomotives (Nickel Plate Road 765 and Pere Marquette 1225, which was the model used in the movie "Polar Express"): three 4-8-4 Northern locos (Union Pacific 844, Southern Pacific 4449, and Milwaukee Road 261); and one 4-6-6-4 Challenger (Union Pacific 3985).

There are a number of smaller steam engines kept operating by tourist railroads around the nation, and you can probably name some of them if you think for a moment, but the massive steam power that once ran on the main lines of our country's biggest railroads have dwindled to just those six.

The Union Pacific is the only major railroad that maintains a corporate Steam Program. The program is based in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and they keep up two beautiful examples of steam's greatest days, the UP 3985 4-6-6-4 Challenger and the UP 844 FEF-3 4-8-4. Both engines are used across the UP system in the west in public relations runs aimed at keeping the railway in the public eye.

The other four locomotives are kept up by various nonprofit groups, like the Fort Wayne Railroad Historical Society (http://www.765.org/)which operates the Nickel Plate Road 765 pictured above. It costs millions of dollars to rebuild and operate a steam engine, and the money comes from running short steam excursion trains for the public, usually on weekends, during good weather months.

My ten year old son and I purchased tickets on one such trip, a ten-mile ride behind the 765 between North Judson and La Crosse, Indiana on a recent Saturday. I didn't want to drive 800 miles one way to Indiana from Raleigh, so I found reasonably cheap seats on nonstops American Airlines flights to and from O'Hare, and I booked a good weekend rate room at the Hilton O'Hare to use as our base. The last piece of the logistics puzzle was a Hertz car to transport us the 80 miles each way between O'Hare and North Judson, Indiana.

Thus in order to satisfy our yen to enjoy a two-hour ride behind a steam locomotive, we had to plan a three day trip (Friday morning through Sunday afternoon) that involved two trips to the Raleigh/Durham airport for my wife, two airplane rides, two nights in a hotel, and a car rental. So many variable always increases the odds that something will go wrong, and of course we hit a few snags.

Luckily our flight RDU/ORD was on time, and even luckier, upgrades came through for both me and my son. I used to be an Executive Platinum flyer with AA but have since dropped to a lowly Gold, so I never expect an upgrade any more. The fact that I could get not one but two upgrades on a Friday morning flight to Chicago brings home the severity of this recession.

I've been staying away from airports as much as possible for the past few months, so I was unhappily surprised to find that the Obama administration's new TSA gurus have re-instituted random gate checks. I don't know any frequent flyer who was sorry to see those discontinued during the Bush years, nor anyone who thinks they really make a difference in tightening security. Instead, the poor schmucks who are pulled out of line on the jetway for patdowns and carryon searches watch helplessly as other passengers board ahead of them and take up all the overhead luggage space.

It became my practice in the years right after 9/11 when random gate checks were the norm to tarry when my section was called for boarding and only jump in the line when TSA had snagged a couple of poor fools to harrass. Thus engaged, TSA ignored me as I strolled by, and I never lost the narrow window of early boarding when sufficient overhead bin space is still available. Certainly if I, a good citizen, could routinely avoid being searched, a person intent on wrongdoing would have little trouble, either. So why do it?

That was the question I posed to the TSA employees waiting with rubber gloves at our gate before the flight was called. None had an answer, and because they never, or rarely, fly themselves, they could not envision the uninended consequences of their random searches for the frequent traveler. Having told them how I planned to avoid being searched, the TSA person in charge merely smiled and nodded, saying, "Yep, you don't want to be the first person on board!"

So I wasn't. And TSA pulled the first two people. My son and I boarded thereafter with no interference from TSA whatsoever, though had I been they, I might have suspected me for employing the very tactic I described to them in advance.

Next week I will continue this story with Part 2, which takes us as far as a stormy morning at O'Hare and seeking a rare fire engine red Mustang convertible from Hertz.

2009-06-18T12:22:00.002-04:00

Reflections On 14 Months of Not Flying Much

After 31 years of constant weekly flying to here, there, and everywhere while toiling away in the consulting game, one day I woke up in another strange hotel and found I couldn't take the horse feathers any more. So I left the life.

I took a breather in late April, 2008, 14 months ago, and stopped--just stopped--flying. Just like that. I went home and decided to stay home for a few months to see what it would be like.

I had no intentions of retiring, and I still don't. In fact I was planning to go back on the road to replenish the family coffers late last summer when...well, you know what happened to the economy. Now consulting's as dead as Adam's housecat, and I couldn't BUY a consulting job in today's economy.

Fourteen months seems like an eternity to be away. Yet I cannot fathom that it's been over a year since I left the airport/rental car/hotel grind. The time has passed so quickly, filled with mundane family matters that I have come to dearly love, and with reflection.

The reduction of stress and dropping out of my former forever-busy schedule have afforded me time to reflect. To my surprise, some days I have ambivalent feelings about life. I no longer think the pursuit of happiness means that I’ll ever find an everlasting pot of gold at the end of that rainbow.

Instead, with the usual ups and downs of moods, I find myself noticing and appreciating many small happinesses at home every day: my daughter (age 5) thrilled that she has lost her first tooth (and me scrambling to hide money under her pillow); my son (age 10) going to the piano time and again just because he likes to play; my son (same son!) asking to watch another Marx Brothers movie because he likes the humor so much; my wife pottering around in the kitchen making something she likes to cook just because she likes to cook; me trimming our giant hedge out front and finally finishing it; my ducks begging for attention by the back door like they were dogs; the chipmunks in the back yard gradually losing their fear of us; rain; sun; clouds; wind; cold; heat; a tiny spider crawling up my arm, just out of his egg; Mozart; eating bagels with my kids at Bruegger’s on Sunday morning (nearest thing we have to family worship).

Well, you get the picture. The sadness creeps in when I reflect that I spent over 30 years in a temporary job (consulting) and never found the vocation that I always felt spiritually I was destined to succeed in (I still have no idea what it might have been)—a terrible feeling of being unfulfilled like Prufrock in T. S. Eliot’s poem (“I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker…”).

I feel sad, too, when I think of the stupid things I have said to people sometimes, the small unkind moments, when I knew better but didn’t live up to my own standards.

I also feel sad that I am never likely to work again, or if I do, it will not likely be in any meaningful role.

On the whole, however, I have always ascribed to the quote that “Life is a struggle, but not a warfare.” I relish many more moments than either bore me to tears or beleaguer me with woe. Maybe it’s because I have a fine sense of irony and a wicked sense of humor, including about myself. Anyway, I can’t go back, so I focus on the present more than I ever have, and I don’t worry too much about what’s coming.

And I sure don't miss going to the airport!

2009-06-01T12:50:00.003-04:00

Reflections On the Air France Flight Lost At Sea

As of this writing the fate of the Air France flight between Rio and Paris is unknown. Like everyone everywhere, I hope searchers find everyone safe and sound bobbing in rafts on the Atlantic much like the miraculous US Airways that landed on the Hudson and safely evacuated the passengers and crew.

However, after thousands of flights over 49 years, many of them very long and over oceans, I am realistic about what probably happened. Anyone who has flown much has considered the possibility of going down.

I am not a nervous flier, but neither am I blase about any flight. Looking out a window from thirty thousand feet, one realizes how utterly dependent upon reliable technology and skilled piloting we have all become, not to mention good flying weather and the avoidance of bad weather. In the air I sometimes feel alone and at the mercy of good design, manufacturing, maintenance, and handling to keep us safe. I don't dwell on it much, but I do think about it sometimes.

It's especially lonely way out over an ocean. Far from ATC radar coverage, the fragile aluminum tube full of even more fragile human beings hurdles through the upper atmosphere in one of the last places on earth without continuous surveillance. Being tracked does not, of course, keep the plane safe, but when tragedy strikes, help can be dispatched at once instead of hours later if the event is monitored.

Flying nearby a massive electrical storm in the middle of an ocean is particularly humbling. En route from LAX to Tahiti last December with my family I thought about how pitifully small and vulnerable we were when, in the middle of the night, our pilots threaded the A340 carefully around and between several powerful thunderstorm systems in the South Pacific. I soberly contemplated how terrible it would be if those wind and electrical forces took hold of our plane and forced us down: certain death for my kids, my wife, me, everyone on the plane. I was glad we were well away from the storms, yet they still seemed too close.

People aboard last night's Air France flight across the Atlantic were probably lost at sea in just such a way. I am deeply troubled by the horror they must have faced. May God have mercy on their souls.

2009-05-28T12:18:00.007-04:00

From the Ridiculous to the Sublime: North and South on I-95

It's no secret that the Interstate 95 corridor from Maine to Florida has become quite congested and is sometimes impassable. As part of my yearlong experiment to avoid air travel whenever possible, I made two recent trips of just over 320 miles each way along significant portions of I-95, with varying results.

Summing up, I found that northbound, once past Richmond, you're likely to be creeping, and trying to avoid I-95 from Richmond north does not much improve one's travel experience; and southbound, despite some difficult miles in certain places once clear of Richmond, it's not as bad as its reputation. Richmond seems to be the dividing line between horrible traffic and intermittent but tolerable congestion.

Twice a year I try to attend the "York Train Show," shorthand for the biggest model railroad show in the nation held in April and October by the Train Collectors Association (TCA) at the York Fairgrounds in Pennsylvania. Raleigh is just close enough that it's stupidly expensive to fly to BWI and rent a car, but just far enough that driving up there presents the horrendous challenge of getting around or through Washington, D.C.

Maybe the train? Nope. You can't get there via Amtrak, so flanged wheels on steel rails are a non-starter.

The District of Columbia and surrounding areas of northern Virginia and Maryland have grown in a gargantuan metroplex gobbling up the lovely rolling, formerly horse-country countryside faster than L.A. did in the fifties and sixties. Traffic anywhere there is slow pretty much all the time. Trying to circumnagivate the city and its burbs via I-95 has become the gorilla of all gorillas in rubber-tired surface travel on asphalt and concrete.

So, having selected my automobile as the sole conveyor of body and soul to York, I set off with a friend on a weekday morning at 10:00 AM.

When I stayed on I-95 last October going to York, I became hopelessly snarled in stop-and-go traffic most of the way north of Richmond. Therefore, to avoid the worst of Washington, I planned to exit I-95 at Fredericksburg and take U.S. Highway 17 to the intersection of U.S. Highway 15 at Opal, and thence north through Virginia and a piece of Maryland to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where we could drive east about 30 miles on venerable U.S. 30 (the Lincoln Highway) to York. It should have taken us about six hours going this route to get to York.

Instead, we arrived there after 6:00 PM, some eight and a half hours after leaving home in Raleigh, proving once again that there's no good way to avoid DC's urban sprawl. We didn't even make any long stopovers. Our delicious barbecue lunch at a roadside dive in Opal, Virginia didn't take more than a half hour.

The extra two hours was partly due to the extra mileage caused by going west of Washington, but mostly due to the very slow traffic north of Opal, Virginia and south of the Pennsylvania state line. There's no evidence of a recession out there! Road construction, with more traffic lights and extra lanes, is underway at a fervent pace; likewise the mushrooming of yet more look-alike condo and mini-mansion development projects within view of the highway.

In short, it was a mistake to take that route. My experiment failed. I've tried every which way to drive around and through the Washington-Baltimore metro area with no success at avoiding creeping and often stopped traffic.

I've been told that the only sure way to avoid it is to go very far west. Going east doesn't work because you run out of geography and hit the Chesapeake Bay, the Atlantic Ocean, and the equally horrible traffic in and around Norfolk. Going west, however, means many more miles and also creates its own unique traffic issues, such as getting through Charlottesville, Virginia. There the town fathers long ago decreed limitations on road-building which causes chronic tie-ups trying to pass it by. The only advantage in going way west is a prettier and less stressful journey.

Returning home three days later, a Friday, we opted to take the same route, hoping that our morning and midday travel times would be improved over those of the mid- and late afternoon northbound trip. No such luck. The traffic didn't adhere to rush hour patterns and was slow throughout the entire route back to Fredericksburg, where we rejoined I-95 South. In some places on highways 15 and 17 we were stopped for 15-30 minutes for no apparent reasons. I-95 south was also slow until we reached Richmond.

This experience made me very glad that I don't live in that area, and it does not make me relish returning again any time soon. Driving anywhere in the greater I-95 corridor between Richmond and Boston has become a soul-wearying experience to be avoided whenever possible.

Going south to Savannah from Raleigh some three weeks later for a Memorial Day weekend visit with the family to the old city was, by contrast, a breeze. I was worried that the holiday traffic might slow us down on that Friday afternoon, but I was happily wrong.

We departed Raleigh just before 1:00 PM on I-40 east and joined I-95 south about 40 minutes later. I-95 was thereafter our route for about 260 miles through North Carolina and most of South Carolina. Close to the Georgia border, we took exit 5 to travel the final 10 miles on scenic U.S. Highway 17 to the Savannah River crossing into downtown Savannah. We had budgeted a bit over six hours for the trip counting a gas/rest stop, but we arrived in just five and half hours.

Most of the drive was pleasant with traffic keeping near or just beyond the speed limits. As usual, the section through Lumberton and Fayetteville in North Carolina was congested, but speeds were maintained. Extra vigilence was required in heavy traffic to keep safe distances through those areas.

After a great weekend walking the 21 squares of that fine southern city, her many magnificent live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, we headed home on Memorial Day Monday. I once again over-eastimated the traffic congestion, and the return trip was as speedy and relaxing as the southward one had been.

No question which direction I'd rather go driving up or down I-95: south! However, it begs the question of how practical it is to drive. Even these two trips of about 320 miles each would take too long for most business schedules. Ditto for the train. If automobile or train travel options require a time premium of more than, say, an hour each way, they won't replace air for most of us. Air, of course, costs much more, especially when factoring in a rental car once on the ground, but the time saved flying overcomes the savings for me and my clients.

And, frankly, even if air and car were about the same in time, going to D.C. I'd prefer to fly to avoid the traffic throughout the area. I can navigate the L.A. basin by car better than I can the environs of our nation's capital, and that's a sad fact.

2009-05-06T15:45:00.014-04:00

Another Near-Perfect Trip: Maybe the Recession Has a Silver Lining

Easter weekend in early April saw me and my family flying off for the Twin Cities, and thence the three hour drive up to Moorhead, Minesota to visit family. Of course I tried to book the great nonstop flights on Northwest between Raleigh and MSP, but Northwest (now Delta) had them priced about $80 per person higher than connecting flights on other airlines, and that premium adds up when four people are involved. I chose to save the $320 and to hope for the best by booking with American Airlines through O'Hare.

The two flights to Minneapolis/St. Paul went off without a hitch despite being chock-a-block full, and, to me, AA's concourses at ORD looked as crowded as ever. With full planes and wall-to-wall people making their way from one flight to another, I wondered why the operation seemed to be functioning so well. When I made informal inquiries with agents and flight attendants, they claimed that though flights were indeed full, the elimination of many ORD flights due to the recession's downturn in business had alleviated the congestion at Chicago, causing the air system to work well for the first time in years.

No emperical data to back that up, but it made sense. Whatever the cause--even if just plain luck--I was grateful to experience a trip by air that adhered to the published schedule. In fact both flights were early!

Another observation was that we flew on real airplanes on all four segments, not RJs. I hear many RJs have been grounded alongside larger aircraft--good news. Maybe RJs will become a bad memory that we can all joke about with our grandchildren one day: "Oh yes, it was HORRIBLE what we had to endure! The tiny tin cans they made us fly in often didn't even have flushing toilets! And we had to walk a mile uphill both ways on the tarmac to get on and off the dang things! In the SNOW! At 32 below zero! All the while dragging our luggage out to little carts by the planes!"

Once we arrived at MSP, we had to make the milelong trek to the cable-train (a train pulled by cables) which shuttled us even farther away to the rental car facility. There we navigated the confusing corridors to Hertz to pick up our outrageously expensive van (we needed it to haul ourselves and other family members from the Twin Cities up to Moorhead).

It was a brand new Toyota Sienna, and we piled into it--and then right back out of it. It reeked of smoke, and not just a plain tobacco odor (bad enough). The previous renter had defiled the vehicle with a plentitude of highly flavored pipe tobacco which had pervaded every nook and cranny, leaving a strong, sickening smell that persisted as if the guilty party had just that moment exited the van.

Twenty minutes later we were on our way in a different van, leaving me to wonder why Hertz or any car rental company could possibly have cleared the original vehicle for the ready line. Smoky cars have come my way several times in the last few years, more so than ever in well over 30 years of renting.

Our long drive up to Moorhead was uneventful, save the Dairy Queen stop we made to satisfy the kids. I never had a "Blizzard" before that afternoon, and I am sorry I ordered one. They could be addictive, and I am grateful there are no known DQ stores close to our home.

The stop, about 110 miles northwest of Minneapolis/St. Paul, reminded me once again how darn NICE Minnesotans are! Every employee at DQ (a wide range of ages) and every customer could have been a stock character out of Garrison Keillor's Lake Woebegone, polite to a fault and ready to take you into their family. Maybe it's not too surprising that Keillor took the name of his radio show from a Moorhead landmark, Prairie Home Cemetary, which is just a few blocks from my wife's parents's home.

On arrival at Moorhead, we found lots of civil engineering work afoot along the street where my wife grew up. An earthen dam over five feet high was almost complete, walling off the neighbors on the west side of the street from those on the east side. The notorious Red River of the North was threatening to reprise its record flooding of the previous two weeks cause by massive winter snows, and the city of Moorhead was ensuring that most neighborhoods would be protected.

The picture at the top of this post is of that well-made, temporary levee along Elm Street in Moorhead.

Plenty of snow remained in evidence around town, too, more than enough for my son and his granddad to make a very respectable igloo in the back yard large enough to crawl in and sit up (igloo video can be seen at http://www.vimeo.com/4232781). While overnight temps dipped well below freezing in Moorhead during our visit, back in North Carolina dogwoods and azaleas were in their full glory. I love the people of Minnesota, but I wouldn't trade our North Carolina weather for Minnesota's.

Our long weekend with the family allowed sufficient time for a road trip, so one morning we all piled into the van to see Lake Itasca, headwaters of the Mississippi and neaby Bemidji, home of Paul Bunyan and Babe, the Blue Ox. Lake Itasca was gorgeous and relaxing, a picture postcard of a pristine, ice-covered lake slowly releasing its frigid, crystal clear meltwater across an outlet of stones into the shallow narrow creek that gradually, downstream, becomes the Mighty Mississip!

While Lake Itasca is the quintessential North Woods state park, Bemidji is a quaint little burg built along the edge of a long lake through which the Mississippi River flows, in one end and out the other. It looked like it had seen better days to me, but don't tell that to the locals, all of whom seemed energetive and outgoing and right darned proud of the place! Big statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe sit by the lake near the center of town.

Going home from Moorhead proved as easy a journey as it had been going up. even on Easter Sunday. I was amazed that flights were full, yet schedules were kept. Here I am not flying nearly as much these days as I spend more time at home with my family, and for the first time in many years, flying seems to be more civilized! As it appears that I may be back in the full grind by fall, I can only hope this experience proves to be the norm and not an anomaly.

Next week I report on another road trip which takes me all over the greater Washington, D.C. metroplex. Some of the world's worst traffic? Who said that?

2009-04-02T13:33:00.009-04:00

Everything Went Right!

I should have been delighted about my day trip yesterday (Wednesday, April 1st) from Raleigh to Dallas and back. After all, everything went right! So why is it that I had a hard time enjoying it, at least at first?

Not one to get an airport late if I can help it, I showed up before 5:00 AM at RDU Wednesday for a 6:40 AM departure on American Airlines nonstop to DFW. The elite TSA security line was short, but the regular line even shorter. In no time I was inside the airport security bubble and padding towards my gate.

Passing the new club levels, I thought, isn't the AA Admirals Club open by now? I let my real AA membership lapse this year because my American Express Platinum Card now gets me into all Admirals Clubs (so long as I am flying on American that day). The incomparable Margaret Hutchens, grande dame of the RDU Admirals Club, was only too happy to let me in with the Amex card. Even better, she checked my flights and discovered that I'd been upgraded to first class.

This was something of a miracle, since my meager flying on AA in 2008 dropped me back to a lowly Gold. Golds rarely get an upgrade, and I was very pleased to have this seat just when I needed it most. RDU/DFW is about 3 hours (a bit over 1,000 miles), and I had not slept much Tuesday night. Sitting up front is always more conducive to sleep if that's what you need.

Not a bad way to start the trip, I thought. But wait! It's April Fool's Day! Surely it was only a matter of time before the swift, hard kick in the pants balanced out the unexpected upgrade. I therefore steeled myself for a delayed or cancelled flight or some other calamity.

But it didn't happen. My plane boarded on time, and we left the gate early, took off right away, had a fast, uneventful flight to Dallas/Fort Worth, and landed 20 minutes early on the runway nearest the terminals (the distant runways are a 15-20 minute taxi in or out, and are to be avoided at all cost). I slept most of the way, too, which made me feel more like a human being.

Twenty minutes early! I was stunned. Surely our gate would be occupied, and we'd lose the time advantage waiting out on the tarmac somewhere. Once again, however, I was wrong, as we pulled right up to the gate and deplaned quickly.

Well, I chuckled cynically to myself, the stupid DFW rental car shuttle bus is ALWAYS late, and slow to boot. That'll whittle down the extra time suddenly available. Sure enough, when I got to the bus stop, it showed 10 minutes on the digital overhead sign before the next bus was due. Probably just missed one, I thought.

But in less than 5 minutes, the rental car shuttle pulled up, and we arrived at the giant remote rental car facility within 20 minutes of my stepping off the airplane. Walking into the Hertz side of the building, I was certain that my car would be missing from the screen. After all, too many things had gone right so far that morning.

But there it was on the board, showing my car in stall 223 of the Presidents Circle area. It was an easy walk, and Hertz blessed me with a double upgrade, too.

Now traffic was bound to be awful going over to Fort Worth, and I reflected on the many slow crawls I'd experienced in past years going this same route over to Lou Menck Drive (and there's a hint at my client's identity). But I sailed along in moderate traffic enjoying the elegant and sporty car Hertz had assigned to me. In no time I was pulling into the visitors lot for my meeting.

My consultations complete much earlier than expected that morning, I retraced my steps back to the airport. My flight was booked for a 6:25 PM departure, but I had checked my April Amex Executive Flight Guide, the indispensable hard copy of all domestic (and many international) flights I get every month, and I knew there were two earlier nonstops I might catch, one at 2:25 PM and another just past 4:00 PM. Could my luck, running so extraordinarily good so far, hold out?

The drive back to DFW was as fast as the outbound, and even with a stop at the onsite Shell station to fill up before returning the car to Hertz, I was back at Terminal A by 1:00 PM and standing in AA's Priority Access line. Pretty soon a very nice and competent AA agent was handing me seat 7B, the premium bulkhead aisle seat on an MD-80, for the 2:25 PM departure. She had not only confirmed me on a flight that was absolutely chock-a-block full but had put me on the airport wait list for an upgrade, too.

After another swift trip through the security portal, I spent a few minutes at the A23 Admirals Club (using my Amex Platinum Card again to gain entry) before walking to A11 for my flight. By now I was in a sweat. I was waiting for the wallop of bad news.

The flight MUST BE delayed 2 hours, or cancelled, or SOMETHING! Just had to be something wrong now! Too much had gone RIGHT so far today, and nothing whatsoever wrong. The law of averages was overdue to certify the bell curve of flying.

Well, it's true that I didn't get the upgrade. The flight had 9 people ahead of me looking for an upgrade, all with higher "eliteness" than I. But I didn't care, having bought a new Robert Parker paperback novel, "Trouble in Paradise," from a Borders outlet en route to my gate and holding a boarding card for the best seat in coach on that airplane. I knew if the flight managed to get off the ground (I still half-expected a nasty surprise) that I would sleep and read happily all the way to Raleigh.

And to my astonishment, the flight did not suffer any delay or problem at all. Like my morning flight from RDU, it left the gate early, got airborne in no time, and we passengers aboard had another smooth and uneventful trip, this time eastbound to RDU.

Finally I found myself relaxing, after which I did indeed sleep and read. Around me the friendly cabin crew dispensed copious quantities of water and soda, and they even hung my jacket up. That had NEVER happened to me when sitting in coach, and I gave the FA one of my little AA "thank you" chits as a special reward (she was grateful).

Once again we landed early (just by 5 minutes, but early is early!) and parked at the gate promptly. I was in my car and headed home in no time, reflecting on the miracle of my day trip. Everything went right!

Did I say it was a miracle? Indeed it was, too. Anyone who flies nowadays can sadly attest to how rare an experience mine was. For at least one day, though, I managed to beat the devil!