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Moroccan Railways is fast and punctual

June 2,

My wife and I had a lovely experience in Morocco in March, visiting Marrakech and Fes. We opted to take trains between the two cities.  Here are my real-time impressions of those trips.

We were delighted at the Marrakech station, where we found Caribou Coffee, Starbucks, and KFC.

Also, a handy shop for snacks, as I wasn’t sure food would be sold on board, especially not during the Ramadan fast. Picked up some German peanuts and a Coke Zero to add to our supply of snacks and water we brought for the trip.

The station was modern and attractive, clean and functional.

Smooth boarding process was 40 minutes ahead of our 9:50 a.m. departure.

The train appeared clean, but it looked a bit tired. Certainly didn’t look “fast” but once underway, we were hitting over 100 mph in places according to Google Maps. I was thrilled and impressed by the operation, especially riding aboard conventional equipment.

Our seats in the rear of one of the two first-class cars were perfect, as both cars filled up. We had privacy and a big window. First class is three across, coach four across.

Mostly foreigners in first class by appearance, so eating during the daily fast wasn’t likely to offend anyone. That is, unless we walked through the rest of the train, chewing on nuts (we did not).

Our fare was $42 one way each in first class, which we deemed a bargain.

The departures board at Marrakech showed our train to be a combined operation to many different cities, including many not on the route to Fes.

Trains are scheduled from Marrakech all day at one-hour intervals on the 50-minute mark.

Despite laudatory reports of Moroccan trains having electric outlets for recharging phones, neither of the two first-class cars (of different vintages) does.

Nor do the seats recline as we’d read.

There were numerous small but significant maintenance issues, including loose and broken armrests, non-functioning lights, tray tables that would not close properly, and conductor metal panel doors at the car ends that were open. It wouldn’t shut and was swinging dangerously.

Toilets dump directly onto tracks, just as American rail passenger cars did until sometime after Amtrak began (). I probably should care, but I do not. Just reporting.

Anyway, hey, it’s North Africa, and I’ve seen more than a few maintenance issues on Amtrak equipment, too.

Stations and platforms were modern and worked well. Our train lost a lot of passengers at Casablanca (oddly, the station isn’t called Casablanca), but plenty more boarded. The train appears to be well-patronized between the many stops.

The train was on time. Punctuality comes closely after safety in my book as a prime indication of good operation.

161 kph (100 mph) seems to be the max track speed. I was not fond of the narrow, overhead, unsecured luggage racks that carried heavy roller bags at 100 mph. A sudden stop would crash those onto our heads.

We enjoyed the rural trackside beauty. Lots of sheep and green fields off to the horizon. Did not look like the Sahara Desert I expected.

Since we routinely zoomed along at 100 mph between stations, the low average speed was a function of the number of stops.

Speaking of which, stops were fast and efficient. And on schedule, as noted.

However, every railroader knows that constantly slowing down, stopping, and accelerating out of stations reduces average speed and affects end-to-end time. “Keeping to schedule” is not enough by itself to attract and keep customers in America if too many stops are scheduled.

In Morocco, it’s a different story. The option of cheap and convenient intercity rail travel is still essential, and time isn’t as critical as in the go-go-go USA, nor are distances here anywhere as great.

Moroccan Rail (ONCF) is mostly double-tracked and a left-running operation. French-designed and -engineered, I’m guessing.

Returning three days later from Fes to Marrakech, we were back on the train.

It would have been more convenient to fly home from Fes rather than from Marrakech, avoiding another six-hour train journey. However, we were traveling on Air France/KLM Flying Blue award tickets in business class at bargain mileage rates (before Flying Blue raised mileage required by 20% overnight). I had to take what I could get. Two award tickets to Marrakech round-trip were available, and I grabbed them. Then, I planned the trip around those dates.

Besides, we love riding trains!

Pictures are of boarding the train at Gare de Fes. Station personnel allowed us on the platform 30 minutes early to assure an on-time departure.

ONCF (Moroccan Railways) is a very impressive operation. Unlike U.S. railroads, the right-of-way has zero at-grade crossings and a continuous wall or fence to protect against pedestrian and livestock intrusion. It’s entirely electrified, too. All requisite attributes for a 100 mph railroad.

In prosperous America, stupid drivers are smacked by trains at grade crossings every day because railroads and state DOTs don’t make grade separation projects and closings a high priority. Yet Morocco has closed or separated every road-rail intersection.

Our ride was in an old-style European first-class car with compartments, each with six seats. Coach compartments have eight seats. I rode in many cars like this in the s across Europe. A nostalgic experience.

“Car 11” seemed to be the first-class coach on every ONCF train. Trainsets appeared to stay intact end to end between Marrakech and Fes. The electric locomotives run around the trains at destinations to couple up for the return trips. We were in the last car of the Marrakech to Fes train, and returning, Car 11 was the first car. Thus, my photo of the Alstom engine through the car door window.

If I counted correctly as we walked up the platform to board, our trainset was comprised of seven second-class and one first-class cars. Our train to Fes was nine cars long.

We arrived dead on time back in Marrakech after a comfortable ride. We left the station impressed with Moroccan Railways and glad we’d chosen the train.

SAS wins me over

April 30,

Scandinavian Airlines (SAS) is a carrier I had never flown until recently. Their affiliation with the Air France/KLM Flying Blue program caught my attention with an attractive fare sale in SAS Plus (premium economy) from Newark to Stockholm, a city my wife and I had never visited. With insufficient Flying Blue miles for two tickets, I booked myself on a Flying Blue award and my wife on a paid ticket at the discounted fare. The flying experience began below expectations, but by the time we touched down back at EWR, scrappy, polite SAS had won me over. Here are my impressions as they occurred:

The SAS lounge at Newark was poorly run. Incompetent local staff manned the doors and refused to let us in at first because there were no SAS personnel to check us in (SAS would not let me check in online). So I was told we could not get into the club without a boarding pass. Catch-22. I showed them my Delta 360 card, which they dismissed, even though SkyTeam super elites are allowed in. They had never seen a 360 card and thought I was a phony. I finally convinced them, and we entered.

What a sight! Chockablock full of departing passengers, and a huge mess with stuff strewn all over the place. Still, it had enough food and beverages, and we found a place to perch.

Fiddling around on the SAS app, I was suddenly able to check us online. What? Crazy! It was just 90 minutes before departure. I’d been trying since the day before. Well, now we had e-boarding passes, at least.

Austrian, Air France, Lufthansa, LOT Polish, and two SAS flights (to Copenhagen and Stockholm) depart from the 60 gates on Newark’s tired B concourse, which is inelegant and like a bus station. I’d be very disappointed if I paid a fortune to fly in the few First Class seats on the LH 747 or on AF. 

The contrast between friendly, civilized Scandinavians and Newark grunge was stark. I think, in retrospect, that SAS does the best it can under trying EWR conditions. Every real SAS person I encountered was the epitome of courtesy and professionalism.

Things improved at boarding. PE (SAS Plus) is as comfortable as other offerings (Airbus 333). I could have upgraded for $549 each, but I wanted to try premium economy.

Door closed 508p for a 530p departure. Four empty business seats, half of PE empty, lots of empty in the back. we pushed back 521p.

Except for the bread and butter, a truly horrible meal was served in SAS Plus. My wife had despicable “pasta” (how do you screw up pasta?), and I had the inedible “chicken” with mealy potatoes and unidentifiable veggies. The “salad’ was chicken (again) with corn and black beans. Even the “cake” was distasteful.

The sea salt cashews up front were delicious, the only thing making the insipid sparkling chardonnay palatable.

At least the faux champagne was chilled, a compliment akin to saying rancid possum meat was at least tender.

Worst meal ever in any premium economy. I blamed the necessity of catering at Newark.

On the plus side, I was impressed with the friendly, efficient, ever-helpful cabin crew. They stayed upbeat and cheerful throughout the flight.

Good thing the meal was not important. Seat in PE (SAS Plus) was adequately comfortable, and the cabin was uncrowded.

The flight arrived in Stockholm nearly an hour early after departing early from Newark, another plus. Pretty soon, we were on the Arlanda Express train, a fast 18-minute ride into central Stockholm.

Three days later, we were on SAS again from Stockholm to Berlin. The Arlanda Express airport train from downtown Stockholm is fabulous. Dead on time, clean, and races at 183 kph (114 mph) to reach Arlanda in 18 mins.

SAS terminal 5 at ARN is spacious, clean, and unstressed.

We arrived at the airport 2.5 hours early because I am obsessive-compulsive. The SAS Service Point (the SAS service desk) staff were polite, but would not put us on an earlier flight to Copenhagen (CPH). Later, I saw why not: All SAS flights were full.

There was no passport control when we left because Sweden, Denmark (our connecting country), and Germany are part of the “Schengen” pact of EU countries (of 27 EU nations, 25 are Schengen members). However, there was a Customs check in Berlin.

I spent an extra $22 on each ticket to get “SAS Plus” benefits (Fast Track, better seats, lounge access). It was worth it. Fast Track had its own queue, like TSA Pre in the States.

We walked to the SAS lounge and passed an American Express lounge for Platinum Cardholders. I didn’t realize Amex had clubs outside the USA. Joe Brancatelli later enlightened me that Amex clubs started overseas.

SAS has both regular and Gold sides of its lounge. SAS Plus offers only standard access, which I thought was fabulous.  Great food and quiet atmosphere.

A brief snow squall seen at our departure gate reminded us we were in Scandinavia.

Slow boarding our A320neo to CPH. Late 20 minutes to CPH, but snacks and beverages en route from a friendly, efficient crew. I was relieved to be seated in the front of the plane so we could run to our connecting gate.

SkyTeam Elite Plus status enables Boarding Group 1, but so does SAS Plus. I was glad to be first aboard.

Copenhagen Airport was very crowded like ATL and other busy American hubs, though much smaller, of course.

The BER (Berlin) flight from Copenhagen was a CRJ900 that boarded on the tarmac. I guess I can claim that I’ve been to Denmark. Fast and friendly service en route, and arrived early.

After three nights in Berlin, it was time to head home again on SAS, connecting in Copenhagen. SK909 BER/CPH in-flight service was friendly, upbeat (extremely nice cabin crew).

I bid on upgrades from PE to Business on SAS for my wife and me (different record locators because one was an award ticket and the other paid). I bid one dollar more than my wife’s. The SAS system accepted her bid and rejected mine, so she was up front from Copenhagen to Newark, and I rode in PE again. I suspect her paid ticket got upgrade preference over my free one. Unlike the long haul to Stockholm, every seat was full in all cabins.

The senior gate agent in Copenhagen said I had to be Sky Priority to board early and refused to honor my Delta 360 card. She said she had no idea what 360 was. I boarded early anyway and didn’t get arrested. Since SAS is a new SkyTeam partner, training on Delta’s elite levels is likely incomplete.

Copenhagen is an extremely busy, cute little hub. Doable, walkable, friendly.

Another A333 returned us to Newark. Once again, we pushed back early and arrived early. I’ve since read that SAS is Europe’s most punctual airline and number two in the world (after Saudia). Considering the long winters of ice and snow, that’s darned impressive.

The chicken meal was quite tasty because it was catered in Copenhagen. This is another contrast to inferior Newark services.

Water was offered at frequent intervals.

A cold snack was brought 90 minutes before arrival.

The lavatories were in sad shape because of the cabin layout: four lavs in mid-cabin economy to serve all economy and all PE. Queues were normal. Cabin crew frequently cleaned and replaced paper.

SAS Plus seats were again comfortable. Good pillow and blanket.

The seat pitch was not sufficient to account for the fully reclined seats ahead. I had to recline mine just to get in and out. 

If SAS is a future option to Europe, I will only travel in business class. PE on most carriers has become too much like economy, except for the seat, which is undoubtedly true of SAS and others.

Perfect flights? No, but focus on punctuality and genuinely nice service on all five SAS flights left a great impression on me overall. Now that I know better how to navigate their service offerings, I will give them preference in the future over giant Air France and labyrinthine Paris CDG when flying to Europe. And I like AF. But SAS feels more personal, and its CPH hub is on a human scale.

Morocco first impressions

April 10,

These impressions were jotted quickly, and some are not in chronological order. We were en route to the coast, four hours west of Marrakech, for a day trip.

Marrakech is described in guidebooks as the pink city, an apt description.

General feeling of safety in Morocco, but we always keep our passports and money in neck pouches.

Breakfast at 715 a.m., prepared by assistant riad manager Aziz, was spectacular. It included granola, fresh fruit, scrumptious yogurt, outstanding coffee, two kinds of round flat bread, jam, honey, butter, fresh-squeezed OJ, cake, and milk. We were also offered eggs (but declined).

Left at 8:00 a.m. for the coast in a van. We planned a seafood lunch on the Atlantic at Essaouira (pronounced “essa-weera”). How many Anglicized words contain four vowels run together and three consonants to six vowels?

Dating back to the Phoenicians, Essaouira is famous for its year-round fierce coastal winds, making surfing and kite-surfing popular.

The maximum speed on main roads between towns is 80 kph (50 mph), except for some 100 kph on parts of divided highways.

Seat belts are mandatory and enforced except in the Medina walls.

Police presence was everywhere, including on the roads. 

Good roads. Well-maintained.

Morocco is quite prosperous, even outside the city.

Concrete electric poles – scarcity of wood? Termites?

Desert landscapes between towns, but green as we approached the ocean.

€25 round-trip each to the coast—much cheaper than a guide. The van is filled with tourists and locals, and we like mixing with locals.

Goats in trees, a tourist opportunity (photo). Maybe the goats learned to climb trees in Portugal and Spain? Women and girls offering to hold baby goats (kids) for a price.

McDonald’s billboard advertises chicken nugget bags to take home to break the Ramadan daylight fast. I think any Moroccan food is better than chicken nuggets, no matter how hungry one is.

Lots of signs in English, even ones aimed at Moroccans.

The large Mercedes van had a manual transmission. Wish we could get stick shifts back home.

Burro and horse carts are pervasive in Morocco.

Olive and orange groves everywhere.

Weather: 50s F. nights, 70s days. Refreshing.

Morocco, at least where we are, runs on tourism with friendly, enthusiastic guides and drivers.

Excellent pervasive 4G cell service.

Good Wi-Fi is available in most public places. 

Women are always covered, many totally with only eye slits. Many men were covered as well.

Ochre, light tan, cream, white, and light brown are the predominant colors of the mostly adobe-like concrete block structures everywhere.

The tourist stop en route was impressive and modern, but cans of soda were $2.50. It could have been in Iowa except for the Arabic signs.

Essaouira was splendid, a subject for next week.

Marrakech first impressions

March 31,

I have little time to write this week, so I am posting my raw notes from my arrival in Marrakech two weeks ago:

I’ll make this a short report because we are exhausted from (literally) running through several Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport concourses and then backtracking to find our flight to Marrakech. I am no longer a speed demon perambulating airports. The Raleigh-Paris leg was late, and we had just 55 minutes to connect. The Air France flight attendants said to forget it, that we’d never make it. But we did, finally, by the skin of our teeth, no thanks to the Kafkaesque airport. 

First impressions of Marrakech are of modernity and prosperity. The airport is new and architecturally impressive, and the city appears to be thriving and well-off.

After a €14 drive from the airport, we arrived at our hotel, the Riad Tizwa Marrakech, in the old city (the medina). A riad is a traditional Moroccan house with an indoor garden and courtyard. Many have become lovely small hotels, including Tizwa, as you can see.

I usually don’t photograph bathrooms, but the beauty of this one is worth documenting.

We’re taking a nap, then exploring the souk, a typical Arabic maze of shops.

…

We sure got our steps in today in rat’s mazes: Paris CDG Airport and the Marrakech souk. Is there a difference?  No!

The photos demonstrate some of the dizzying variety of stuff for sale in the market.

Not pictured are the cobra snake charmers and the man arguing with his ornery monkey over control of the chain secured to them both.

It’s not every day I see big cobras loose by my feet. Didn’t cost to look, but did to photograph.

The first two photos above are again of Riad Tizwa.

The Marrakech medina (old town) is charming.

Motorbikes rule everywhere, not least in the narrow passages of the souk. The crush of people makes way for the flying bikes. God knows how they don’t hit people. It’s a crazy dance between two wheels and two feet with a few millimeters to spare.

Staying in lanes is optional on the roads. Think “Mad Max” driving. The ride from the airport into town cured my drowsiness.

Google navigation worked in the Marrakech souk maze, as did my wife’s offline map, which she downloaded earlier. Breadcrumbs weren’t enough to keep us from getting lost.

…

Last message tonight. We’re crashing after a day and a half, mostly without sleep, getting here. We have to grab life while we can, so we are running fast.

Riad Tizwa Marrakech manager Hassan arranged our dinner tonight after sunset when the Ramadan fast broke. Hassan suggested a restaurant called Kossour Es Sauossan, and we agreed. Turns out it’s in a breathtaking 16th century lavishly-restored mansion adjacent to the souk and hidden in the winding alleys of the medina. We walked there (about 20 minutes) but would never have found it without Hassan’s instructions.

My wife is near the unassuming door to the restaurant in the first picture. We didn’t anticipate the once-in-a-lifetime experience that unfolded for us there over two and a half hours.

The pictures give an idea of the grandeur of ancient Kossour Es Sauossan.

The place offers a fixed-price menu with five courses: olives and peanuts starter; “salad,” which in Morocco means a variety of cold plates to share (photo with 8 stacked plates); main course (we chose traditional Moroccan dishes of pigeon pie and tagine chicken); dessert (we selected traditional Moroccan pastry with nuts); petite fours and sweet hot tea (last photo of the tea-pouring spectacle).

The set price included a bottle of water, a wide choice of cocktails to start, and a bottle of drinkable Moroccan wine to accompany the meal.

It was very expensive for Morocco: $35 per person, all in. With the tip, the total for two was $80, a bargain in the States.

This was likely our one big meal splurge in Morocco. Fine dining isn’t why we came, but had Hassan not suggested it, tonight’s great culinary experience would never have occurred.

And this was just the first afternoon and evening in Marrakech!

Air France from Raleigh to Morocco

March 26,

The happy confluence of direct service on Air France to Paris from my home airport (RDU) and a bonanza of AF/KLM Flying Blue miles enabled my wife and me to fly from Raleigh to Marrakech, Morocco, in business class on just two flights. Living in a non-hub city, it is such a convenience to reach Paris on a nonstop flight and connect to much of the world from there.  

Before Flying Blue upped the ante on miles required for business class by a reported 20%, I was able to grab two tickets up front all the way at a reasonable rate. That was relatively easy when I did it, though frustrating enough that I am no longer invested in the Flying Blue game.

Although the booking was guaranteed, I was still a bit wary of the coming flying experience. Two previous Air France segments in business returning home from Johannesburg to Raleigh via Paris CDG had been barely okay in .

When departure day approached, I was given an encouraging taste of what might come: Air France had the easiest, quickest online check-in of any airline I’ve experienced, and check-in was open 30 hours in advance.

At RDU, I stopped at the Priority counter to double-check that our boarding passes were correct and to ask about flight status. The Delta agents representing AF were cheerful but not well informed. No big deal, I thought. We arrived two hours early, so there was plenty of time for updates in the SkyClub, which is used as the Air France lounge for business class customers.

However, weather delays caused a 32-minute wait to get into the RDU SkyClub. Once inside, agents assured me the Paris flight was on time. We quickly imbibed a glass of excellent French champagne and slurped a bowl of Thai soup. It was then less than an hour before departure, prompting us to leave 20 minutes after entering the lounge.

At the gate, there was scant information again. Looking for an update, I identified the person supervising the flight. She was polite but vague and unhelpful, mumbling something about not boarding on time due to belly freight and luggage delays. She walked away without speaking when I asked why that might prevent us from taking our seats to be ready for pushback.

Boarding, scheduled for 6:30 PM for a 7:20 departure, began 15 minutes late. My wife and I had a short 90-minute connection at highly confusing CDG, so I was nervous about getting airborne on time.

We left 38 minutes late. The captain apologized and explained that the delay was caused by a loader stopping dead on the tarmac, though I still could not see the logic of why that had delayed boarding. He advised that we would arrive in Paris half an hour late. I thought we’d likely miss our connection and looked for alternate Air France flights from CDG to Marrakech. There was another two hours later than ours, but would space be available?

The problem connecting in Paris CDG on Air France is that all the terminals are labeled 2E—well, except for terminal 2F, which is sometimes more of a mirage than reality. I asked the lead flight attendant to please consult the captain to see which 2E gate we would pull into. She did, and he said the flight crew would not know until shortly before landing because CDG inbound gate assignments are “fluid.”

Our connecting flight boarding passes did not show a definite gate, either, only “Terminal 2E” and “Gate –.” Thus, we left Raleigh late without knowing which arrival or departure gate at Charles de Gaulle. This was all beyond my control, and since we were in sharp end seats, I determined to relax and enjoy the service.

Air France presented an exquisite meal, though it was served an hour late due to turbulence. I could have stopped with the fabulous cheeses. The carrots and asparagus accompanying the beef tenderloin were outstanding. The raspberry cheesecake was to die for—and I don’t even care for cheesecake.

At Paris, we pulled into an L gate (Terminal 2E, of course) at 8:42 AM, 37 minutes late. I consulted the AF app when we touched down for the connecting flight to Marrakech. AF CDG/RAK was shown leaving from Terminal 2F, gate L31. I consulted my downloaded CDG map and began our trek to wherever that was. When we left the aircraft, just 45 minutes remained to get to our Marrakech flight.

Neither AF nor airport personnel were available to help us get from CDG 2E on our marathon of hurdles through security and passport checks.

Why security and passport control? We weren’t staying in France. It slowed us down in long queues and didn’t make sense. Time was running out.

Connecting at Paris CDG is always Kafkaesque. Because every flight, as Joe Brancatelli says, arrives at and leaves from the confusing, labyrinthine Terminal 2. I was huffing and puffing and thinking how stupid and maddening it was.

We followed signs to Terminal 2F (note 2F on my screenshot) only to be told the L gates are only at Terminal 2E where we had disembarked.

Thus, we backtracked, again passing through passport control to leave France. Insane!

But 2F was shown on the Air France app and all airport flight boards.

We ran to L31 in Terminal 2E as fast as possible and reached it just as the last passengers were boarding. We made it to AF CDG/RAK by the skin of our teeth.

After the ridiculous race, Champagne was especially good on the connecting flight. The three-hour passage through the air landed at Marrakech on time. A small meal was served en route on the A320.

So-called “European business class” is unlike American domestic first class, which is distinguished by 2-2 seating on most aircraft as opposed to 3-3 in coach.

But Air France and every other European airline offer no comfortable seating up front. Instead, every plane has 3-3 seating installed front to rear. The first few rows are designated “business class,” with center seats left unassigned. Slightly better service is offered in those rows, depending upon the carrier, but not better comfort.

I don’t like it. I care more about a more comfortable seat than a croissant with fancy jam on flights like those to and from Marrakech.

A week later, another Airbus A320-200 carried us from Marrakech to Paris.  The 6:00 AM departure offered a pathetic tray of distasteful, tiny sandwiches and miniature breads, rather than anything resembling breakfast. But the crew was friendly.

Unlike the journey outbound, we had plenty of time to connect in Paris: just over three hours. We found a lounge and enjoyed pretty good food and a quiet environment.

Air France was on time from Marrakech and then again from Paris. The eight-hour leg from Paris had respectable service and another friendly cabin crew. The CDG/RDU flight, an A350-900, also provided an excellent meal. To top it off, I relished a small glass of superb Armagnac XO.

We arrived in Raleigh on time, the first off the Airbus, at 5:15 PM. We went through Global Entry at 5:27 PM and were home by 6:04 PM.

Air France can be imperfect, but these four flights redeemed my view of the carrier. Or maybe we just got lucky.

Money makes the world go around

March 18,

“A mark, a yen, a buck, or a pound is all that makes the world go around.” Fred Ebb’s great lyrics to the song “Money” in Cabaret was so correct. But when traveling, which money, in what denominations, and how much? Currency considerations for an upcoming trip to Morocco made me ponder the issue of money. Thinking about the dough required for past and future trips, I reflected on how different the world remains regarding paying for things.

Multiple friends told my wife and me that credit cards are not usually accepted in Morocco and to take cash—lots of it. Euros are preferred over greenbacks, we learned, but we should keep a good number of Moroccan Dirhams on hand. That currency is worth zilch elsewhere and can’t easily be purchased until arrival.

We were warned not to use rapacious money changers at the magnificent new Marrakech airport but to wait to do it in town for far better rates. Guidebooks and friends advised that ATMs are just as good. Everybody said to get small bills, too, as change is hard to come by.

I’m used to adapting to other countries’ money idiosyncrasies, so I inculcated that information and totaled up what we would need for a week. Airfare RDU to Marrakech and train tickets from Marrakech to Fes and back were paid in advance by credit card. I calculated the cash required in Euros because our accommodation and guides were quoted in Euros:

498 – Riad (hotel) Marrakech

318 – Riad (hotel) Fes

106 – Hotel near Marrakech airport last night

520 – Marrakech guide + driver

120 – Fes guide + driver

156 – 10% Hotel staff gratuities

800 – Food, including tips

500 – Miscellaneous “just in case” money

€3,018 – GRAND TOTAL

That’s nearly $3,300 required in cash. I had a bunch of Euros on hand from previous jaunts and cobbled together some dollars, but probably not enough. We don’t usually take wads of bills.

Wow, I thought Morocco was pretty prosperous and civilized, and yet it is still on a predominately cash basis? I considered other places we have gone recently or are going to soon and their currencies:

Germany, Finland, and Estonia are EU members and use the Euro—no problem. They all widely accept credit cards, mostly Visa and MasterCard. AmEx, not so much. Still, we’ll be okay there with no special cash planning.

A number of European countries still use their own currency, with “crown” being a favorite moniker: Sweden (krona), Norway (krone), the Czech Republic (koruna), Iceland (krona), and Poland (złoty). Credit cards—at least MasterCard and Visa—are generally accepted, so little cash is required.

That’s good because I don’t expect to find foreign exchange dealers longing to buy my Icelandic krona. But then, on a trip last year to Iceland, I never even saw a krona because credit cards (including American Express) were the preferred means of payment everywhere. I can’t recall visiting a country other than Iceland without a few local coins jangling in my pocket.

South Africa has been one of my favorite destinations since my first trip there (for work) in .  Thirty-four years ago, it was mostly a cash economy, and I always had a stack of Rand bills to pay for my needs. However, South Africa gradually got into the credit card craze. Heck, even the remote Kruger National Park now accepts plastic. Nonetheless, I always carry enough cash in Rand to pay for things during blackouts. Cash is king when the power goes out, a universal truth even in America.

Last year, I was surprised to find that merchants in Botswana are now set up to take credit cards, a real convenience at gas stations. Widespread solar power installations coupled with satellite Internet connections have made that possible even in remote regions of the Kalahari. I always carried fistfuls of Botswanan Pula on previous trips.

Ditto for credit cards catching on in neighboring Namibia. Also, the South African Rand is at parity with the Namibian dollar and accepted everywhere, eliminating the need to carry another currency (assuming a pocketful of Rand, which I have).

I carry some won in my wallet in South Korea, but credit cards make cash payments unusual there, too.

The only other similar (to Morocco) cash-based economy I can think of was our trip to Cuba a year ago. Credit cards are not accepted, so we had to carry large rubber-band-wrapped stacks of dollars in one, five, and ten denominations. A twenty-dollar bill is a fortune in Cuba and impossible to change except to Cuban pesos. Cuban money, like Moroccan Dirhams, is worthless outside the country.

I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my ATM card closes the gap between cash on hand and what we need in Morocco. If bandwidth is available, I’ll report on the trip from Marrakech and Fes. If not, I’ll do so when I get home.

Star Alliance fares hammer SkyTeam, again

March 11,

Putting together an August trip to Europe coincided with an from Air France heralding their limited “Rendez-Vous deals.” But when I compared Air France, KLM, and Delta fares to Lufthansa and United, Star Alliance was hundreds of dollars cheaper in Premium Economy than SkyTeam.

As a Delta 360 member, I am biased in choosing Delta and its SkyTeam partners, especially when going overseas. Delta gives me the highest upgrade priority, and, usually, the international operation and service are a notch or two better than United—many notches better if connecting through unreliable Newark. 

Too, I have zero elite standing on United, despite having been what was called “1K” (100,000 annual miles) status for many years.  The stark elite differential between being the highest level at Delta and the lowest (nonexistent) at United helps, especially when things don’t go as planned.  Delta and ilk care for me first and better than United and co.

However, price sensitivity can drive me to book United (and despicable EWR) over Delta (and better-by-comparison JFK).  During and immediately after Covid, I booked three trips in Premium Economy or Business via Newark to Johannesburg on United/Lufthansa. I saved thousands of dollars in total, as I wrote about here.

I always compare fares leaving from my hometown airport, Raleigh/Durham (RDU) versus self-connecting through New York because the variance can be enough to offset having to book a separate flight to NYC, as I discussed here. I was surprised this time to find RDU-originating versus JFK to be close in costs.

Looking at an open jaw itinerary RDU to Tallinn (Estonia) and returning from Warsaw (airport code WAW) in mid-August, AF/KLM’s special Rendez-Vous fares in Premium Economy were around $ per person.  Delta’s were a few dollars more. 

Lufthansa, like Air France, now flies directly to Europe from RDU. Checking LH fares RDU/TLL (Tallinn) and returning WAW/RDU, I was stunned to discover a one-stop schedule on Lufthansa for $ in Premium Economy.  AF/KLM and Delta do not charge for seat assignments, but Lufthansa does, so I had to add that cost for an apples-to-apples appraisal. 

Checking the Lufthansa website for the RDU/FRA, FRA/TLL, and WAW/FRA flights, I found LH charges $63 each way in Premium Economy for seats on the RDU transatlantic flights and $23 for each of the two intra-European flights.  Adding that $172 total brought the Lufthansa fare total to $.  Then I discovered that issuing the ticket on Star Alliance partner United would save another $25, bringing what I would pay down to $.

That’s a $534 difference per person—$ savings for two (my wife is going), a no-brainer decision.  Looked at differently, the Star Alliance fare is 22% less than what SkyTeam wants, even during the Rendez-Vous sale period for the exact dates, destinations, and class of service.

Yesterday’s news from Delta that it is halving the carrier’s profit forecast made me ponder whether the airline might cut fares when demand softens. The rest of SkyTeam’s partners, too, because, just like I noted in , Star Alliance is trouncing SkyTeam on price, at least in this market.

Charter flight miracle conversion

February 27,

Last week’s post about finding a dead body on a pre-deregulation student charter flight inspired me to share another story from my -76 year managing the operations of a large New York-based European gray market charter flight business. This story, which takes place in Amsterdam, requires a little background to set the stage:

In the summer of , several student charter flight dramas spelled the end of bogus “affinity” charter flights operating in or out of Amsterdam for all time. Staid and proud KLM didn’t want “hippies” flying out of its home airport and made a fuss, a classic example of how dangerous it could be to arouse a country’s bureaucracy even though the government preferred to cast a blind eye on the truth. Because, despite the technical illegality, charter flights in the pre-deregulation era were bringing badly-needed hard currency business to their airports and the travel industry.

But KLM’s objections did not hamper the operation of legal affinity charters. Such charters, though, composed entirely of people in a recognizable membership or affiliation (hence, the “affinity”), such as a church or social organization, were difficult to get. Normally, such groups would fail to materialize despite excellent marketing and drumbeating for such a trip. Hence, poor Transavia Holland Airways, now deprived of gray market passengers, found it nearly impossible to organize contracts for purely affinity charters and also impossible to generate sufficient business beyond the North Atlantic market. The carrier died slowly on the vine, and in that period existed only as an insignificant charter airline offering intra-European service with small planes, their inter-continental jets long gone.

Some affinity charters did, however, operate from Amsterdam, even though Dutch officials closely scrutinized every embarking passenger as they proceeded to the gate. During the summer of , I received word that such a flight, another Dutch supplemental air carrier, Martinair, was scheduled for late July. We’d been offered 50 seats on this flight from its organizer, and the only catch was that the flight would be flying to Boston rather than New York. It was sponsored by the First [Blank] Church of Boston (I’d rather not identify the real name), whose pastor was, at that time, a colorful and enterprising fellow who didn’t mind bending a few silly rules if it meant that he could treat part of his congregation to a European holiday. The only trouble was he couldn’t fill all the seats on this DC-10 (about 330), and he’d offered us 50 of them. We simply made all passengers official church members, complete with ID cards, to get them past the C.A.B. in Boston and the Dutch officials in Amsterdam.

My company accepted his offer, and asked me if I’d have trouble filling the seats, since they were to Boston. This would the first time any “illegal” passengers would be attempted from Amsterdam since the fateful summer of , and there was some danger involved, requiring great care to pull it off.

I liked a challenge and knew this meant a great deal to my company, as a small revenge against the Dutch would be sweet. Therefore, I assured them I could handle it. Two other flights were scheduled for the same day, with 50 more passengers on Sabena tickets from Brussels and 250 on SATA from Zurich. Late July heralded the beginning of the busiest westbound travel period, and I knew I could muster another 50 hearty souls for this Amsterdam/Boston adventure.

Over the few weeks preceding the Amsterdam flight, my Munich office found 50 willing volunteers who indeed preferred to fly to Boston. They were instructed to meet me at five in the morning on the day of departure behind the main Amsterdam rail station where the KLM shuttle buses left for the airport, a spot I knew any damn fool could find without much trouble. They found this a bit odd, as always, but agreed.

I flew to Amsterdam the evening before, checked into a seedy hotel on the square, and made my way on the tram to the address of the good pastor, whom I was to meet and receive my tickets. I found him enjoying a large glass of Amstel in the hotel’s lounge.

I wish I could recall his name, but I cannot now; he was a jovial fellow with a gleam in his eye, and spoke in a proper New England Boston accent. He was delighted to meet me and was only too happy to be engaged in this present arrangement, as otherwise, he said, the trip would have been canceled for lack of 50 people to fill the empty seats.

As we chatted, he finished his beer, and we headed up to his room, where he produced a vinyl flight bag. From this, he extracted a bundle of 50 envelopes, each one containing a Martinair ticket blank and a packet of information about the [Blank] church, including an official ID card. His church needed new members, anyway, he said happily, and gave me instructions as to filling out the cards and other data to make it all official. He also gave me my own card in case I needed one at the airport, as I had assured him of my intentions to escort my passengers as far as the security area.

I left this worthy man of God, went to bed early, and found my way to the train station next morning just before 500a. I’d been worried that all might not make it, but in taking a roll call, only two were missing, and they appeared within a few minutes. I announced to them with as much contrived excitement as l could muster at the ungodly hour that today’s flight would require a small ruse to fool the Dutch authorities, who were anyway a constipated lot, and that all present were to be made official, card-carrying members of the First [Blank] Church of Boston. To my relief, they were much amused, and none more so than the five Israeli Jews who were among the group, just returning to America from Aviv.

“Oy vay!” a swarthy man with a full black beard and curly black hair exclaimed in a heavily accented lilt, “I was a fighter pilot of Israel in the Yom Kippur War, defending my faith against Egyptian infidels, and now you’re going to make me a CHREEE-STIAN! What irony! I can hardly wait to tell my Rabbi! This is so, so American!”

And no doubt he was right; ingenuity was what made America great, and I thought how too bad it was that a good deal of the severe and strict Christianity of the Puritan colonizers probably was at base in the tight-assed attitude of our government in keeping such charter flight operations illegal. While I mused, another Israeli approached me with a large grin on his face to express his keen joy at being involved in this small but deft deception. I was a little worried about his yarmulke and said so; he laughed and pulled it off, promising to replace it only after they were safely airborne. I wondered what the real church members would think when they saw this man seated on their flight, yarmulke on noggin, and asking a stewardess in Yiddish for a kosher meal. Charter flights make strange seatmates, I thought, as I began filling in names on the ID cards and distributing tickets and ID packets.

Once all were made official church members, I kept my small band together and took them to the first KLM bus now in line for the airport; activity around the train station was growing now that the city had awakened. We made the 20-minute trip to Schiphol and on the outskirts of Amsterdam with no problem. I led my merry band of “church members” to the designated gate area for the Martinair check-in. Sure enough, as we approached, I noted three Dutch officials checking the ID cards of the main group, which was in the process of passing into the secured boarding area for their 800a flight. I had admonished my passengers to righteously and indignantly protest should they be questioned about their church affiliation. However, to my relief, they were all passed through quickly and with no fuss as I stood by up the corridor and observed.

The Israelis looked back and waved their new church membership cards with big grins after passing the Dutch officials. A miracle conversion from Judaism to Christianity!  All thanks to the strange world of charter flight rules.

“Nothing to worry about…”

February 21,

This is a true story from my -76 days in the pre-deregulation student charter flight business, about which I wrote in late under the title “I was an airline pirate.” Wary of airline law departments even after 50 years, I changed the name of the airline to Dome:

It was a Dome Airways flight, the second of two that late December day, just prior to Christmas, , scheduled from Brussels to JFK. Both inbound flights were, as usual, quite late in arriving from New York. The Dome people gave me a host of reasons for the delays, ranging from bad weather to ”minor mechanical problems, nothing to worry about, just the usual … ”, none of which I found particularly reassuring as I checked in 251 people for the second 252-seat DC-8-Stretch aircraft (reserving the last seat for myself). This was my last check-in before the holidays, and I would soon be joining the milling crowd in boarding the plane for home, where I would visit for ten days before my return to Europe after New Year’s. Travelers on the first flight were lucky; despite the inbound delay, the aircraft had left Brussels around 5:00 PM, and would arrive in New York at a reasonable hour that evening.

As this was close to the Winter solstice, the day was extremely short, and the usual Northern European cloud cover hastened the approach of darkness in the late afternoon. After mechanics had tinkered with one of the plane’s jet engines for some two hours while we watched with increasing restlessness from the waiting area, the gate was finally opened at about 7:00 PM, and the aircraft slowly filled with itinerant students and me.

It was pitch dark and a typical Northern European winter storm was whipping up wind gusts sufficient to be felt inside the plane by the time we were finally pushed back from the gate around eight o’clock. With the six-hour time difference this time of year and our mandatory stop in Gander, Newfoundland, for fuel (these planes, so-called first-generation jets, could not make the westbound trip nonstop with a full load and bucking the Jetstream), I figured we’d land at JFK around ten or eleven New York time. Of course, I wasn’t counting on any further delays to slow us down. The crappy weather, the depressing early darkness, and the questionable quality of Dome’s aircraft maintenance program combined to imbue me with a vague sense of foreboding. I’d been around airline people enough to know one should never feel absolutely secure and safe when flying, especially not with a charter carrier.

We had just gained cruising altitude somewhere over the English Channel when the captain announced one of the engines was giving trouble (presumably the same one the Belgian mechanics had toiled over for eternity in Brussels) and, therefore, would have to make an unplanned landing at Shannon Airport in Ireland. The flight attendants had barely had time to open up the folding serving carts, let alone offer beverages to the multitude, and I, for one, was parched for a stiff drink to calm my jangled nerves.

It wasn’t just the long day and endless succession of human flesh that had been cleared for the flight; no, indeed, I was wary by now of the whole haphazard Dome operation, and it was fair to say I was coming a little unglued as I let my mind consider the possibility that the alleged ”minor problem….nothing to worry about” with one of the engines, as the captain had said so offhandedly, might be worse than he was letting on. Consequently, my fingers dug deep into the armrests as we descended quickly, ears popping and sinuses swelling. Piercing the interminable cloud cover, we lost the stars and made an altogether too-swift and bumpy landing in buffeting winds at Shannon International Airport.

The wind blew up all sorts of debris over the tarmac in the harsh airport lighting. It was bitterly cold outside, evident from the heavy clothing and hunched backs of the mechanics and ground handling personnel who swarmed over the aircraft as we stopped at the gate. With no explanation, thirty minutes passed, and the door was not opened; the temperature inside fell dramatically, bringing out sweaters and jackets. While others grew testy over this extra delay, I watched nervously out my window as the engine cowling was stripped away, and a bevy of men brought tools to bear on the recalcitrant power plant. To my horror, I saw them break off a large bolt, which appeared to be seized up, then shake their heads in disgust and begin to replace the engine shroud. My sense of foreboding was beginning to have more than a little basis in fact.

I was interrupted at that point by the girl next to me, who had done her best since Brussels to engage me in conversation. She had failed to break my death reverie, too busy was I in conjuring up images of the plane smashing into the drink with engines ablaze to find the desire or composure to answer her. This time, however, responding to a low guttural and abnormal moan, I gave a visible start and made a quick sideways glance to study a red, flushed face and rolling eyes on the weaving head seated next to me. My instincts immediately told me a potentially larger problem could be found closer than the engine out on the wing: This was clearly not the sweet-faced youth who had approached me earlier. Here was a person suddenly dripping with sweat and highly feverish, falling into a heated delirium, completely out of place in the piercing cold that had seeped into the plane, forcing me and many others by now to wrap up in the small and thin sheets of Dacron which airlines euphemistically call blankets.

A sense of pure fatalism swept over me as I realized that, even if the aircraft somehow was able to limp crippled into America, I was sure to share soon whatever vile microbes were now frying the brain of my seatmate. My memory flashed with bits of her vain earlier banter; hadn’t she said she was just returning from a stint with the Peace Corps in Africa?  Wasn’t this the Dark Continent from which sprang, practically weekly, new and exotic, persistent and deadly, infectious diseases at which even the unstoppable geniuses of modern medicine had thrown up their hands in frustration over their inability to cure?

Whatever Christian charity I had fancied might dwell in my good soul vanished as she tried to stand and then fell over into my lap. My hand leaped for the call button overhead, and I repeatedly rang for a flight attendant. By the time one finally made her way through the crowd of passengers now milling and grumbling in the aisle, I had managed to raise the girl back to her seat and recline it. Somehow, I scrambled over my sick companion into the aisle, the better to reconnoiter with this airline employee in whose hands I fully intended to place all responsibility for the poor, suffering waif. This took some persuading, as the F.A. was no less fraught with imaginings than me over the range of possible diseases that one might casually collect in the septic reaches of some backward African nation.

It was only my thin authority as a charter flight operator (of sorts) that enabled me to turn over my sick friend’s keeping to the cabin crew, and I felt more relief than guilt as I began to follow other passengers up the aisle for the door, which had recently been opened. Once outside, l made quickly for the nearest men’s room, where I scrubbed my face and hands well, the better to expunge any creeping viral or bacterial lifeforms that might have invaded my exposed skin, settling in to colonize a fresh victim. As I washed up, the cockpit crew came in to relieve themselves at the urinals, and I was not pleased to overhear their remarks, catching the drift of their conversation without much effort.

“Jesus God! There’s another engine failure on top of the first one, and the Chief Mechanic said they won’t be able to free up the oil seal tonight. Do you want to top off with lubricant and see if we can make Gander?” said the uniformed man I took to be the Flight Engineer, posing this question to the Captain.

“Yeah, I think we can make it OK even with both Dopplers out; we had the same problem last week. The leakage is slow, right? Worst that could happen is we shut number three down close to Gander.” Responded the Captain, “But first, let them work on it awhile to see if they can get that oil seal unstuck.”

I knew he was referring to the Doppler radars, the primary means of navigation for these old birds, and I didn’t like the sound of it. Furthermore, I doubted any of the crew would be going out into the cold wind to see that what I now assumed to be the oil seal bolt in question had already been wrung off. More nervous than ever, I made my way to the only small bar still open this time of night in the so-called transit lounge, where folks such as our group, not entering the country in whose airport facilities we were stranded, are held in isolation. It was predictably crowded with students, but I managed to get a double G&T, and soon, I was feeling more composed, if no less secure, about the prospects of restarting our trip homeward.

Two hours later, I had consumed several more doubles. Without sustenance (as no airport purveyor of comestibles was receiving customers this time of the evening), I had become quite drunk; my spirits, however, had lifted considerably, as I was by now completely oblivious to whatever perils might be forthcoming. A rasping metallic voice with a severe Gaelic accent announced over the P.A. system that our flight was ready for re-boarding, and I moved like a trusting sheep to the gate with the crowd. Many did not share my present tranquility, judging from the belligerent remarks emanating from fellow travelers whose consumption of equally great quantities of alcohol during our long solace had, alas, produced the opposite effect on their demeanor from my own. In fairness, they had a hard point. It was now close to midnight, and many long hours had passed since any had taken solid food; whatever plans all had for radiating homeward from JFK upon arrival were now futile, as we would get home (if at all) in the middle of the night. No explanation or apology of any kind was yet forthcoming from the air transportation company which had rained down this misery upon us.

For myself, the gin had not taken away my foreboding with respect to my former seatmate. So it was with great relief that the reluctant flight attendant who had taken over the care of this woman approached me as I entered the aircraft and offered to let me, since I was practically an airline employee, sit with her on the fold-down jump seat at the rear of the plane for the duration of the flight. While this may not sound like a happy alternative, one must remember that seats on charter-configured airplanes are placed as close together as human anatomy will allow, with the consequence that even a person of fairly short stature such as myself is shoe-horned tightly in place once seated, with little prospect for further movement until the plane reaches its destination. By comparison, a crew member’s jump seat was practically a leap to First Class (of course, all charter flights had only one class: Cattle Class). The girl in question, it seemed, had come around sufficiently to explain she was suffering from malaria, and she had taken medication that she carried in her purse for the purpose. She was now sleeping wheezily in a tight ball, having lifted the folding armrest to stretch over two seats, her own and mine.

Even my scant knowledge of this tropical ailment was sufficient to make me feel a little less anxious, as l seemed to recall one had to be bitten by an anopheles mosquito to become infected, none of which I had noted buzzing around me whilst seated next to the hapless victim. Nonetheless, she might be lying, or suffering from a deranged fantasy as one was apt to do in a fever, and I passed her as quickly as possible, giving only a furtive glance to the supine figure as I ambled back to my new quarters adjacent to the two toilets located at the rear of the plane.

As the boarding process continued, I dwelt on the reality that I was surely the only person on this death-plane who knew the truth about the headless bolt in the oil seal of the number three engine. I envisioned the essential lubricant, the virtual lifeblood of a whirling Jet engine, dripping out even now onto the ramp in a steady stream. Just then, I felt a sudden and urgent call of nature beckon me to open my organic valve and complete the liquid cycle through my body. I got up to enter the right-side restroom, having just made way in that fairly cramped area for a large woman to disappear into the left toilet. To my great irritation, the starboard lav was locked. I could not fathom why, as I was the first to reach the back of the plane and could not have failed to notice someone going into it. It was impossible to think of making for one of the front toilets, bucking the crowd of humanity now attempting to find their seats again, so I caught the attention of the nearest flight attendant and asked her what the trouble was with this W.C. She informed me that she didn’t know that the crew getting off in Brussels had told her the door was locked when they left New York. It was assumed the toilet was not functional. No matter, I thought, I would wait for the other one.

An eternity passed before the bolt slid open on the left toilet, and the obese woman ambled like a baby hippo down the aisle. I rushed in, fearing my bladder would burst, locked the door, and turned to raise the lid on the stainless steel commode wedged into this small space. As I did, a vile and putrid odor wafted up to singe my nostrils; I looked down into the device’s throat to witness what could only be evidence of the final stages of fatal amoebic dysentery. Fighting a wave of nausea, I reached like a madman for the small flush lever to vanquish this sight down the long blue tube forever.     My efforts were met with a coughing and spitting noise, and a pathetic stream of the bright blue disinfectant liquid utilized in aircraft sanitation systems flowed uselessly down the side of the bowl. I slammed down the lid again, unbolted the door lock in the tiny cubicle, and evacuated quickly lest I be overcome by the noxious fumes now filling this hellish compartment.

Most of my traveling companions were now in place, and cabin crew preparations were well underway for the pre-flight ritual of seat belts/emergency exits/no-smoking-until-airborne instruction, which no one, of course, would pay the slightest attention to. Bladder throbbing, heart racing, mind reeling, olfactory nerves still twitching in revulsion at the recent assault to their sense in the little room next to me, the best effects of the airport imbibing ran away from me now. I hastily fastened my seat belt in the jump seat, resigning myself to wait until after takeoff to discuss the matter of the toilets with the flight crew.

My perturbation was soon made known to the ambivalent flight attendant who came to share the jump seat on the takeoff roll. Her own list of priorities, so she said, placed crowd control, in the form of the liquor cart and dinner preparation for the now angry mob of passengers, ahead of plumbing problems in a toilet. Still, she agreed to verify my assessment that the left rear W.C. was not out of commission for the duration. Her sarcastic smirk gave way to an expression of pure disgust when she emerged from the left toilet after a rather speedy inspection as we were gaining altitude somewhere over Ireland, and she gave me a curt acknowledgment that I was right. She then tried in vain, as I had, to wrench open the right-side toilet door and headed for the plane’s front section, presumably to confer with her fellow FAs now preparing for beverage and meal service in the galley.

Others, obviously moved by the same human needs as I, now wandered back to utilize the rear toilets, some coming from far up the aisle, as a long line had already formed at the front toilets. Charter configurations of these steeds of the air were long on seating capacity and short on amenities, even such basic features as restrooms. So it was that the airline had deemed four toilets, two in the front and two in the rear, sufficient for the needs of 252 passengers, 6 flight attendants, and 3 pilots. I had little trouble agreeing with the increasing hostility of the disappointed who now discovered, as I had, that no minimal satisfaction was to be found in these rearmost conveniences. The overall mood grew surly as the word spread through the plane. My own need was so great that I had fought my way up the aisle to join the long line waiting for the front toilets. I came to the end of the line at the same time as did one of the pilots, himself no doubt in need of relief and who was obviously disturbed by the growing disquiet and general ugliness of his complement of passengers.

I hurriedly introduced myself, perhaps claiming to hold more sway in this organization and other Dome charters than was the truth. Still, the situation seemed to demand quick action, and I had exhausted all other possibilities in my search for remedies on board this nightmarish flight. Having explained the circumstances of the rear toilets, I suggested that perhaps the right-side compartment door had been inadvertently locked in New York and that it was worth trying to open it, even if by sheer force. Looking around, he quickly grasped the logic of my thought and said in a low voice that the cockpit crew carried a special tool up front for just such emergencies, one designed, he said, for the sole purpose of jimmying open the door of a toilet in flight if need be. And off he went, pushing himself through the milling crowd to fetch this wondrous device.

Others, by now, were in line behind me, as fully a third of passengers jammed the aisle to answer the call of nature. Very soon, I was relieved to see the uniformed officer making his way back down the aisle with a small metal object resembling a modified crowbar in hand, and as he came past me, he gave me a knowing wink and beckoned quietly to follow him. We approached the right rear toilet, where a number of people now waited impatiently, obviously ignorant that it was empty, as no one had been present to explain this unhappy fact since my departure to join the queue up front. Someone had had the decency, at least, to place an “out of service” sign on the left-side door.

The pilot first tried the right door manually, then placed the tool in a small indention adjacent to the sliding bolt mechanism and gave it a yank. The bolt gave way, and the little indicator sign on the door moved from “Occupied” to “Vacant”. Turning to give me a self-satisfied smile, the officer reached for the small knob to open the door. The door swung open with unexpected rapidity, and a hulk of a body dressed in full-length coveralls slumped into the aisle at our feet with a loud thud.

“HOLY SHIT! THAT GUY’S DEAD!” shrieked a slurred, drunken voice slightly behind us. Screams and pandemonium broke out in the plane’s claustrophobic tube as the news spread like a bolt of lightning through the passenger compartment. The pilot and I stood in stunned silence, looking at the body at our feet, mouths agape, eyes bugged out. Some recoiled in their seats, looking backward fearfully, while others leaped across the seat tops to crowd around us and the body. After a few moments, the turmoil dropped to a low murmur as each seemed to hold their breath in horror, and the most penetrating sound became that of the rumbling jets and the air passing over the fuselage outside at 550 mph as we streaked westward at 35,000 feet. It struck me as a deeply disturbing and lonely sound, as I peered down at this immobile mound of flesh. I took this as the last in a series of terrible omens; the Gods did not like charter flights, and I wondered why I was part of the industry.

Simultaneously, the pilot and I came back from our brief mental sojourns, as I doubt not that he was also seriously contemplating the meaning of this thing. The man was stiff as the proverbial board in advanced rigor mortis: knees bent as if in prayer and arms hanging straight down from his shoulders as his body reclined sideways, facing the rear of the plane.  For the first time, I noticed he had a full black beard which contrasted uneasily with his off-white overalls. “Must have been in there since New York,” mused the officer, and I muttered vague agreement. I leaned down to view his face; with apprehension, a shudder ran down my spine as I saw that one eye was fully open, staring straight ahead, the other half-closed and quite dead-looking. Together, we tried to turn him on his back, the better, I suppose, to have a look at him, but his feet were still stuck inside the small toilet, and the resistance was too much.

By now, the flight engineer from the cockpit had forced his way to us and appeared to be in a quite understandable state of agitation. “What the hell is going on back here, Ed?” he hissed breathlessly, looking down in astonishment at our 253rd passenger.

“I…don’t…know,” came the slow response, “You know I came back to get this toilet open….and……well, this body just FELL OUT! Must have been in here since New York. Looks like one of the mechanics from JFK. I mean, he’s dressed like a New York mechanic, anyway.”

“Well, I gotta let the Captain know what’s going on,” said his partner, gazing intently at the body and reaching for the intercom on the wall above the folding jump seat. “We thought we’d had explosive decompression when we heard the screaming…Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ!”

I lost interest in the ensuing discussion as the aching reality of my unrelieved bladder impinged once again on my consciousness. While the officer was on the intercom with the Captain, an inspiration struck me. “Look, Ed,” I said hurriedly, “We can’t leave him here on the floor, and we still have the toilet problem. Why don’t we move him into this other toilet, which is broken anyway? It’d be the perfect place to ‘store’ him until we get to New York. We’re in international airspace now, and if we go back to Shannon, they’ll probably impound the plane pending a long investigation. Not only that, but the police will probably want to interview each and every one of us; hell, we won’t get out of Ireland before CHRISTMAS! Of course, I guess we could drag him down the aisle to the cockpit, where you could strap him into one of the jump seats, but…”

“NO, we can’t do that!” Ed retorted quickly, “Why…why…the passengers might riot, and anyway…I don’t want that stiff up there on the flight deck. Bad Luck. No sir! We’ve got enough to worry about, what with the oil leak and everything…better to keep him back here as far away as possible…not up front…”

I could see Ed’s eyes glaze over as he imagined riding back to New York with a corpse not twelve inches away. He brought himself out of the reverie and obviously had made his decision. With righteous authority, he grabbed the intercom from the second pilot, and with a rush of urgent words, his arm gesturing for emphasis as he talked, Ed convinced the Captain of the merits of my plan. I heard Ed saying, “Well, I KNOW the police in New York are going to want to search the toilet for evidence, but if we don’t open this one up, what with everything else that’s happened, we’re going to have real problems with the passengers. No, I think we should just make the decision that, under the circumstances, this is what we have to do, and SCREW the police if they don’t like it. After all, WE have the authority to make decisions in international airspace…”

Shortly, the three of us managed to dislodge the deceased’s feet from the right-side lav and placed him in his set-in sitting position in the left-side toilet, which still smelled like the cesspool it was. I quietly backed out as they were making him “comfortable” for the remainder of the journey, and almost unnoticed, slipped into the right-side W.C., to great relief.

Neither did the stigma of the privy from whence sprang the cadaver long forestall others in need of its essential appliance, and I settled into a philosophical muse about the meaning of life and death. I was most glad to partake heartily of the liquor cart when it came my way (as the Captain had ordered an “open bar” for the duration of our crossing to quell the nerves of those in his temporary stewardship) and then ate a typically forgettable airline mush-meal. The thought of my dead companion now ensconced in the left toilet didn’t even faze me, so intent was I in my contemplations of life’s delicious ironies. Indeed, all anxiety had seemed to wash away with the flood of urine that poured into the now-open right-side washroom.

We made a fuel stop in Newfoundland, where the local Royal Canadian Mounted Police commander gave authority to continue to New York (a most reasonable decision, as he was not desirous, I’m sure, of conducting a long-distance investigation from those far reaches of Northern Canada at great and unnecessary expense to the government).  We didn’t crash and burn, and I did not contract any heinous disease. We landed at JFK, finally, at about 4:00 AM. The police were on hand to collect names and addresses, and I checked into the JFK Hilton as dawn broke to sleep for a few hours before catching a connecting flight to Raleigh.

I never found out how our strange stowaway met his end or how his body came to be locked inside that toilet, eluding detection across the Atlantic and halfway back. And I went home thinking nothing so bizarre could happen again in the charter flight business, but I would be proved wrong, as usual.

Fly to work, or work to fly?

February 13,

A four-day trip from Raleigh to Seattle and back on Delta this week reinforced my opinion that the airline’s operation has never been better.  From start to finish, all went well, even in stormy weather.  Relishing in the coast-to-coast flights led me to a surprising revelation: Did I toil away in consulting all those decades just to be able to fly millions of miles around the world?

I booked the RDU/SEA nonstop in both directions, but returning, I switched to a connecting itinerary via Cincinnati that got me home two hours earlier.  As a Delta 360° member, I was accorded the top priority for an upgrade.  That worked to get me up front from Raleigh to Seattle and Seattle to Cincinnati, but I was in Comfort+ CVG to RDU.

DL302 is a 737-800 RDU/SEA scheduled 720a/a.  At 6 hours, 10 minutes, it is a very long domestic flight and directly competes with Alaska’s nonstop to RDU. At 515a on a Sunday in early February, I mused that the RDU TSA Pre queue was pretty darn busy, even with four lines open. I look old, I guess (I’m 76); a middle-aged woman offered to help me retrieve my small roller bag from the TSA belt.  I politely demurred.

Once through the security barrier, I made a beeline for the Delta SkyClub for precautionary caloric intake in case I didn’t get upgraded.  The lounge was as crowded at 530a on a Sunday as on a weekday.

I needn’t have worried about being hungry, as I was elevated at the gate to seat 1A—the sole empty seat in the front cabin—thanks to my 360° status. I was originally in 11C (Comfort+) and didn’t think I’d be upgraded because when I looked in advance, there were zero F seats available.

Efficient gate boarding management and cabin boarding supervision (all went like clockwork), with deep overhead bins that facilitated quick seating, helped us to push back early. The cabin crew were all young men with mod haircuts.  Their practiced, courteous teamwork was 100% professional.

I found a blanket and pillow in first class. Wow, just like the s in coach on all flights. It was a nice touch on such a lengthy flight.

Breakfast was served right after reaching altitude, then nothing except snacks on request. I intended to watch a movie but rediscovered the joy of looking out.  It was my first window seat on a domestic flight in over 20 years. Sunlit open skies invited me to thrill again at being seven miles above the earth. Passing through the Midwest, I saw endless snow on a frozen landscape for miles. Passing over Iowa, North Dakota, and farther west, I had clear skies.  The snowy terrain was spectacular, especially crossing the Montana Rockies near Glacier.

The cabin was clean but showing signs of wear.  The lavs were also clean, but after 6 hours, filthy and messy despite frequent “refreshment” by the flight attendants.  The last four or five rows were purposely unsold for fuel management.

Early arrival was appreciated, but I could not pick up my rental car until noon.  I went to the SEA SkyClub to wait and have lunch before driving to Olympia.  The lounge was nearly as crowded as Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras. I had trouble finding a place to sit.

Three days later, I flew home after a harrowing two hours on I-5 driving from Olympia to SEA Airport.  I was relieved to find the convoluted exit road to reach the remote rental car facility was easy and had a convenient Union 76 station to refill.  $4.99/gallon was a shock compared to Raleigh’s gas at $2.69.  The crowded rental car bus dropped me at the North Terminal, where Delta booked me on two earlier flights (SEA/CVG and CVG/RDU) that arrived in Raleigh 2.5 hours ahead of the nonstop I originally booked.

Once again, I waited in the overcrowded Seattle SkyClub until my flight boarded. Not complaining, though, as I had access to hot food.

Ironically, the inbound 737-800 that made up my Cincinnati flight was the nonstop from Raleigh I took Sunday. Thankfully, I was upgraded to first class again.

No blanket and pillow on that flight, however, likely because it was a shorter stage length and did not have to compete with Alaska Air. Boarding was just as efficient, and once in the air, service and comfort were good, though the mushroom ravioli wasn’t great. I didn’t care, as I’d filled up on breakfast stuff in the SkyClub. 

I moved from 1B to 2B to accommodate a couple who wanted to sit together. More legroom in 2B, but I was not happy when the man reclined the seat I’d given up into my face. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess. Not by a window, I could not look out. I instead enjoyed watching two movies. We landed CVG on time in fierce, blowing rain.

Cincinnati to RDU was a SkyWest E175. Though not upgraded, I snagged the prime Comfort+ seat 5C. We left a little early and arrived Raleigh/Durham on time after 58 minutes. Swift, friendly service of just water and pretzels in Comfort+. Considering the turbulence from the storm and the short duration, I was amazed the crew managed to serve even that.

Coming home, both flights were staffed with cheerful, enthusiastic FAs.

Reflecting on this trip, I found myself, unprompted, quite delighted with the cross-country adventure. It made me wonder if I had been faking it for 30 years in consulting just so I could fly. I suddenly remembered how I was often reluctant to deplane at my destinations, even when arriving home after a long work week—and I loved my family.

Funny only to realize that at the end.  Now that I do, I will anticipate the joy consciously before future flights.

Flying Blue is dead to me now

February 4,

In mid-January, I wrote about the failed transfer of Amex Membership Miles to my Air France Flying Blue account.  After calling both FB and MM customer service, the problem was not resolved. I was told that the unsuccessful transfer probably stemmed from my name not matching the two accounts.  However, neither party could say for sure. I asked why my Capital One miles transferred to Flying Blue even though the names don’t precisely match.  My answer was the primal shrug.  I gave up, remembering to stop digging when finding myself in a hole.

For two weeks thereafter, I obsessively haunted both the Air France and the KLM Flying Blue portals on my laptop and on my apps, looking to use the 88,000 miles in my account without adding any Amex miles. I learned:

• FB award travel that shows up on KLM versus AF can differ.

• FB award travel that shows up on my laptop versus my can be different.

• FB awards on SAS flights can only be booked on my but show up on my and laptop.

• Constant searches of FB awards over an hour or more can often bring up surprisingly different itineraries and award levels for the same city pairs and dates.

• If I used RDU as my origin, FB award itineraries were outrageous compared to JFK or EWR.

These discoveries were odd but fun at first, then maddening and enervating.

Ultimately, I booked an open jaw FB award itinerary in premium economy on SAS Newark to Stockholm in early April, returning from Berlin to Newark a week later for just 62,500 miles.  That left 25,500 FB miles in my account that I’ll probably never use. The co-pay was $172, and I also spent $130 for seat assignments.

I bought the same premium economy itinerary for my wife on the SAS website (flysas.com) for $, including seat assignments. We are now seated next to one another on the SAS flights; hers is a paid ticket, and mine is an award ticket.

Using Delta SkyMiles, I booked two award seats RDU/EWR/RDU on self-connecting flights for about 40,000 miles + $22.

Thus, my out-of-pocket in dollars is $888 per person for premium economy. That will do for Flying Blue; I am done with the program now. I’ll halt using my Air France Flying Blue MasterCard and stop obsessing over how to use the FB miles.

Two days later, Amex reached out about the failed attempts to transfer MM to FB. They said it was a common problem easily fixed and sent me a link to change the name on the account to match Flying Blue, which I did.

After performing the official name change as directed by American Express, I tried again a week later to transfer a token 1,000 Membership Miles to Flying Blue.  Once again, it was rejected immediately. 

I don’t care any longer because I’ve been transferring MM to Delta in dribs and drabs (only as I am ready to book) to claim reward travel that’s 15-25% cheaper in miles than in dollars.  We have a great trip coming up using Flying Blue in Business on Air France Raleigh to Marrakech, plus the premium economy itinerary on SAS to Stockholm and Berlin, so I am satisfied.  I wish I could use the remaining 25,500 FB miles, but what the heck?  Flying Blue has frustrated me for the last time.

Stunning northern New Mexico

January 28,

Leaving Santa Fe to explore points north, my wife and I leisurely drove the so-called “high road” route to Taos and the “low road” back. We were keen to visit Taos Pueblo, Los Alamos, and Bandelier National Monument, highlights of the magical northern New Mexico area.  The pictures give only an inkling of the natural beauty.

My wife suggested stopping in Chimayo along the way for breakfast at Rancho de Chimayo. The proprietress is Florence Jaramillo; she and her husband opened the restaurant in , and she has been cooking New Mexican delights ever since.  Her unique cinnamon pillow puffs, Sopapillas, are like baby New Orleans beignets and just as good. My wife ordered the delicious breakfast burrito with green chili, pictured below. I thought it was the most delectable green chili of many we enthusiastically consumed.

Recently featured on NPR, the century-old Potrero Trading Post is famed for its Chimayo red chilies. We left with two kinds of peppers.

Also, the old chapel in Chimayo is known for at least one miracle. It was miraculous just to be there in such beautiful and peaceful surroundings.

Chimayo is also known for its traditional blanket weavers (for 400 years). We stopped at Ortega’s Weaving Shop, pictured above, to gawk but not buy. We’re downsizing, so we only acquire consumables these days.

Taos would call me if I were a skier, and Taos Pueblo was awe-inspiring. But otherwise, it’s another “pretend town” replete with fake adobe, even McDonald’s, and an ugly commercial main street. Getting there was beautiful, with fascinating places like Chimayo.

Taos Pueblo, occupied since 900 A.D., is well worth visiting. I wondered if the crow and dog in the pictures were real or intermediary spirits. Spiritually enthralling, fulfilling. The highlight of the trip.

Just beyond Taos, the gorgeous gorge of the Rio Grande River cuts a deep gash dramatically through the plain. The wind and dust were ferocious, and the low angle of the afternoon sun made for a great picture. The bridge’s shadow hints at the marvelous engineering feat to span the chasm.

It was a balmy 16° F. at 7:30 a.m. in Taos as we packed to leave, with frost aplenty on the windshield. We navigated off the main drag via residential streets, which gave us an opportunity to see the real Taos. Very little stucco was used once out of sight of tourists, which made me like the little town ( pop.) more.

Whatever snide observations I may have made about Taos and Santa Fe, both burgs enjoy far lovelier settings than Raleigh. The West!

Our previous night’s dinner in Taos was at local no-nonsense Guadalajara Grill. The antithesis of fancy serving a wide variety of scrumptious New Mexican fare in simple surroundings with Frida Kahlo peering down from the wall, just as at ritzy Sazon in Santa Fe.

The “low road” back to Santa Fe parallels the Rio Grande River in a lovely canyon. At the town of Española, we turned off the low road to reach Los Alamos. The route took us through more stunning Southwestern terrain. I have always loved the West for its big outdoors. Nothing like it.

The Oppenheimer & General Groves statues stand at the beginning of the “bathtub row” of houses for the Los Alamos scientists. So named because only the top guys in the Manhattan Project got a tub. Cast iron was in short supply in World War II.

Leaving Los Alamos, we stopped at Bandelier National Monument, part of the National Parks Service, and hiked the 1.5-mile Pueblo Loop Trail. It took my breath away. Hikers weave through the canyon and up to the cliff dwellings. Some are open for inspection if you can climb up there, and several feature petroglyphs.

We were back in Santa Fe by late afternoon. Our historic room at Santa Fe’s famous La Fonda satisfied our yen to experience the old hostelry. In , as I mentioned last week, La Fonda became a top “Harvey House” property developed by the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railroad (ATSF, or just the “Santa Fe”) to stimulate tourism along the company’s 2,246-mile transcontinental route from Chicago to Los Angeles. The ATSF hired designer and architect Mary Elizabeth Jane Colter, famous for her buildings at the Grand Canyon, to transform La Fonda into the grand and glamorous property it remains today. She designed over 800 pieces of hand-painted furniture and created its unique interior beauty.

Northern New Mexico captured my soul like the rest of the Great American West. I’ve traveled the globe, and nothing rivals the natural beauty of our western states.

A novice in Santa Fe

January 21,

Never having been to Santa Fe, Los Alamos, and Taos, my wife and I looked forward to spending six days there in early January. I was able to use an expiring companion ticket and two expiring upgrades to make our Delta flights to Albuquerque cheap and comfortable.  

For a rinky-dink airport like ABQ, why add to the interminable flying experience by putting rental cars offsite 15 minutes away from the terminal by shuttle bus? It’s already a time-killer both picking up and returning at big city airports like SFO and DFW, but you’d think a place like Albuquerque would want to make it easy for visitors.

We considered not renting a car at all, instead relying on the free Albuquerque bus service to get us to the Rail Runner commuter station, where we’d catch the great train service to Santa Fe. However, we planned to see Taos, Los Alamos, and more, necessitating a car.

After picking up a Nissan Rogue AWD from Budget at Albuquerque Airport, we reached Santa Fe (el. 7,199 ft.) in less than two hours and checked in to our wonderful little apartment at the Pueblo Bonito Inn.  We were excited to be in the storied city.

My unvarnished, admittedly superficial view of this revered and ancient ( is ancient by American standards) town is, yes, it’s charming and steeped in history. I’m told there’s a deep undercurrent of commitment to the arts, and I believe it. On the surface, however—the only way I could see it on a short visit—the scourge of over-tourism appeared to have overwhelmed much of what I imagine was the authentic charm of past years.

When my maternal grandmother, then in her nineties, returned from Florence (her sole overseas visit, which occurred in the late s), she described the grand Italian city, already beset by tourists, as “dirty and decrepit.” I wouldn’t go quite that far with Santa Fe, but the streets and plazas certainly had the grimy, grubby look I associate with the New Orleans French Quarter. Littered, Santa Fe isn’t keeping up appearances; instead, it looks to have surrendered to the hordes. 

That did not keep us from having fun. On our first night, we had a marvelous dining experience at the famous Coyote Café, and the following morning, we were among the first for breakfast at equally celebrated Pasqual’s. One bite of their fresh-from-the-oven bear claws made the entire trip worthwhile. Indescribably scrumptious!

Later that morning, we visited the Georgia O’Keefe Museum and Gallery, where I realized most of her art was not to my taste. It’s too abstract for me, though I recognize her brilliance. I found her life, though, to be fascinating. I thought the museum depicted her 98 years and art well. It’s a must-see in Santa Fe.

Afterward, we walked all over the unique round New Mexico state capitol, one of the few U.S. legislative buildings without a dome. We enjoyed the artwork along its corridors.

The capitol sits in the unpretentious New Mexico capital complex, something I found highly appealing. No grandiose buildings anywhere, just folks going modestly about the people’s business. No Palace of Justice, like in Olympia, Washington, and no puffed-up Greek revivalist marble structures. Architects may find the capital campus boring, even ugly, but I liked it.

Our wonderful apartment at Pueblo Bonito Inn was just a block from the state government complex. A bargain at $122, all in.  The small touches, like bronze snake lamps by our bed, gave the roomy accommodation character. We were booked at the esteemed La Fonda later in the week, which was fantastic, but Pueblo Bonito proved a treasure.

On the second afternoon, we walked to the Loretto Chapel before dinner at Sazon, another Santa Fe cuisine temple. We skipped lunch to prepare for the evening feast.

Our meal at Sazon (under portraits of Frida Kahlo priced at $18,000 and $14,000) was an exquisite experience, start to finish. So good in all respects that it may have been our best meal ever, from the beginning (chef’s moles) to the end (Princessa—light pastry and cream with fresh berries) and Carajillo (Mexico City style coffee with Licor 43, Godiva Dark Chocolate Liqueur, espresso, and cream). Up front came a glass of Pommery for me and a Sazon margarita for my wife. We shared Sopa de Amor (fittingly named to-die-for poblano soup), Xochimilco (huitlacoche), and black pepper-encrusted aged Angus beef tenderloin. All perfectly prepared and delectable.  The refined service and quiet ambiance intensified the experience.

Not hyperbole: best meal ever. I’m sure we could never repeat it. You never can, so we would never go back to Sazon even if we lived there.  Afterward, we lit the fireplace in our apartment (for an extra $15—and well worth it).

On the third day, we found a Java Joe’s for breakfast, followed by visits to the Wheelright Museum, Canyon Road (galleries), the Museum of Indian Arts & Culture, and the Chocolate House. The MIAC displayed pieces dating back 13,000 years. All fascinating windows into Indigenous peoples before Europeans invaded.

Walked to the Spanish Palace of the Governors, America’s oldest building by Europeans in continuous use, to browse Native American handicrafts for sale.

That night we dined at a local eatery, La Chosa, famed for traditional New Mexican cuisine. Very down-to-earth and delicious. I can’t reliably name the dishes, but lots of green chilies, beans, red chilies, and various cheeses and meats. A local favorite, La Chosa doesn’t take reservations and fills up the minute it opens. Another memorable experience.

Santa Fe was in the 20s at night and 40s days, so not frigid. The brisk wind made it feel much colder just the same, and we bundled up. We walked everywhere around Santa Fe. I loved leaving the car parked.

The dead of winter was perfect for us. We enjoyed the cold. We scaled back nothing, with plenty of hikes and long walks in Santa Fe, Taos, Los Alamos, and the Bandelier National Monument (stupendous).

Only seedy little strip malls hide a few blocky Santa Fe buildings sans adobe fakery.  As I said, Santa Fe is 100% touristy, a bit dingy, and striving for Disney. We did our best to overlook those drawbacks.

That said, the faux-adobe, required by city code since to maintain the “character” of Santa Fe, was oppressive to me.  Every gas station was adobified, even McDonald’s. Adobe hell.

But George R. R. Martin (author of the books made into HBO’s Game of Thrones) calls Santa Fe home and loves the green chili dishes Santa Fe is famous for. Martin rebuilt a spectacular cinema near the old Santa Fe rail station specializing in classic movies. He’s also invested in the town in ways the locals appreciate.

For foodies, Santa Fe is a paradise of Southwest cuisine. We were lucky to have reservations at the esteemed Coyote Café, Sazon, and Geronimo. I didn’t expect they’d be Disneyfied, and I was correct.

On the fourth morning, we checked out of the delightful Pueblo Bonito Inn and headed to Taos on the “high road” so we could visit Chimayo and other little towns en route.  I will make Taos and explorations to Los Alamos and Bandelier National Monument via the “low road” the subject of next week’s post. 

Returning to Santa Fe for our final two nights, we booked into La Fonda, the grand old dame of the city’s hostelries.  La Fonda has a rich history and was once a primo “Harvey House” on the Santa Fe Railroad. Winter rates got us in for a mere $162 per night, though it was an extra $30 daily to park the car.

The first thing early the next morning, we stopped by Café Pasqual to grab two more of those heavenly bear claws. They were as good as we remembered. We needed a snack to take to Hyde State Park for a hike.

The day was cold and overcast. Just 7.6 miles from downtown, Hyde State Park rises to 8,600-9,400 ft elevation and retained a lot of snow and ice from the big November snowstorm, the area’s only snow thus far. So close to Santa Fe, but it felt like the wilderness.

The state park proved too icy for a hike, but I enjoyed reading the warning about cougars. Lots of mountain lions in New Mexico and throughout the entire West. I’m glad the lions have made a big comeback, though occasionally they like to gnaw on people. Small concession, in my opinion, for respecting the natural world.

My wife found an alternative hiking trail near town owned by the Nature Conservancy. Afterward, we rested a bit at La Fonda and then walked to the “Railyard” (old Santa Fe yard). The area is now given over to tourist hooey except for being the terminus of the Belen-Albuquerque-Santa Fe commuter trains called Rail Runner. Then, we went back to La Fonda for another rest and reading.

We like to walk, so left the car and hiked 0.9 miles from La Fonda to our final fancy meal, this one at renowned Geronimo along Canyon Drive in the gallery district. It was a 5:00 PM reservation and dark when we arrived.

Geronimo staff graciously seated us in a quiet back corner booth. I spotted a Turley Old Vines Zinfandel on the wine menu, and it was soon uncorked at the table. The Turley was deep, rich, and velvety, an excellent companion to our shared beet salad and elk tenderloin with mushrooms, sugar snap peas, and mashed potatoes. Dee-lish!

We left about a third of the bottle for the wait staff (neither my wife nor I can imbibe much these days). The dessert of tiramisu was as perfect as it gets this side of Italy, likely owing to Geronimo’s dedicated pastry and dessert chef.

Walking the mile back “home” to La Fonda in sub-freezing temps was invigorating. We found Santa Fe’s ancient plaza still lit up for Christmas.

Final thoughts as a novice in Santa Fe:  I recognize that not everyone shares my enthusiasm for Africa and the African wilderness. I never tire of it, whereas many are indifferent to seeing it.  In the same way, I was not enamored with Santa Fe and Taos per se. However, my feelings about the towns are not binary, and I’ll get to the good stuff I like momentarily.

First, I was dismayed by the ersatz adobe hell of Santa Fe and Taos. I assume it’s just stucco smeared on concrete or something else and painted rust-colored or tan to look like adobe. Real adobe is just water, dirt, and straw dried in the sun to make structures. Adobe bricks were a Spanish innovation in the s, but they were and are made only of water, dirt, and straw.

The adobe look there has gone too far for my taste. Whether real or just stucco, there’s too much of the adobe look everywhere. Every million-dollar home—and there are many in Santa Fe—tries to out-faux-adobe the neighbors.

Enough grousing. Things we loved about Northern New Mexico and our visit to Santa Fe and Taos:

• The spectacular natural environment! The snow-capped mountains, the buttes, the riverine valleys and gorges, the deep volcanic rifts, the high desert flora and fauna. Unrivaled natural beauty!

• The deeply spiritual experience we felt at Taos Pueblo—the feeling is hard to describe. The same extraordinary sense of wonder and appreciation for what it means to be human was felt at the cliff dwellings of Bandelier National Monument. I’ll elaborate more on those next week.

• The food! Back home in Raleigh, we won’t find the likes of the heavenly green chili breakfast burrito at Rancho de Chimayo, the scrumptious bear claws at Café Pasqual, the otherworldly poblano soup at Sazon, the simple yet unmatched nachos at Tomasita’s by the depot in the Santa Fe railyard, and so much more. Red and green chili dishes are everywhere tasty.

• The people of New Mexico! Everyone we met everywhere was friendly, open, genuine. Every interaction was upbeat; everybody made us feel welcome.

• Our room (258) at La Fonda had remarkable feng shui . Harmonious with the world. Just entering the room felt right, relaxing, calm. Sheer good luck, I suppose, that 258 was assigned to us. 

• The memorable charm and spacious comfort of Pueblo Bonito, our apartment hotel the first three nights in Santa Fe. 

Travel is a luxury. I am humbled to have enjoyed a small taste of Taos and Santa Fe.

The Stockholm Syndrome

January 15,

Transitioning from a business flyer, I’ve become an opportunistic traveler.  As a vacationer (hopefully not a “touron,” the new term for “tourist moron”), I can and do grab whatever sweet deals come along.  I could never do that when flying for business.  When I had to be somewhere on a specific date, that dictated when I went.  The airfares to get there were intractable.

Now traveling for fun, a recent spate of winter fare offers from SAS and other carriers enticed me to plan a trip to Stockholm in February using Air France/KLM Flying Blue miles.  Yes, it’s cold there during midwinter, with a few tourists likely headed up north.  But that’s when opportunistic flyers fare best (literally and figuratively) looking for cheap deals. 

Sure enough, premium economy was just 28,700 Flying Blue miles one way (per person) from Newark to Stockholm on SAS metal (returning required more miles).  I checked FB from RDU to STO and, as expected, found mileage requirements were 60-80% higher.  No problem: Delta RDU/EWR and back was available for very few Skymiles. 

Since I didn’t have enough in my Flying Blue account for two tickets EWR/STO (my wife wanted to go, too), I figured transferring Amex Membership Miles for a top-off would be fast.  Boy, was I wrong.

When I looked at the KLM app over a week ago (KLM is the easiest gateway to Flying Blue on my ), I found Newark to Stockholm roundtrip in premium economy at less than 66,000 miles each, plus a co-pay of about $115 per person.   I needed 132,000 miles, but only had around eighty-eight thousand. 

No sweat, I thought.  I’ll transfer 43,000 miles from Amex Membership Miles to Flying Blue and then grab the deal in a jiffy.  After all, when I transfer MM from American Express to Delta, they show up immediately in SkyMiles, and when I transferred Capital One points to Flying Blue a month ago, it took less than an hour for the credit to show up in my Air France/KLM account.

Well, it’s been nine days as I write this, and no miles have yet been credited. Meanwhile, the fabulous 66,000-mile round trip deal in Premium for the dates I needed evaporated two days later. 

Stung, I phoned Flying Blue (accessed through the Air France number) and spoke to a lovely lady somewhere in France (she said).  What happened? I asked.  After verifying I had used the correct FB account number, she took all the details and tracked down someone who could explain. 

The program definitely did not have a record of my 43,000 Membership Miles yet, but I was assured that they would be credited…in about two weeks. The Air France staff was polite but had no idea why transfers from Capital One came quickly but not from American Express. Flying Blue is apparently unhurried in crediting Membership Miles.

Just great, I thought.  Now I will have a surfeit of Flying Blue miles to use up.  Oh, joy!  And when I need the miles, it won’t be the same number.  I will either have too many or too few.  Lesson learned about moving Amex MM to Flying Blue, though.  I won’t do that again.

Not to be thwarted, but determined to see Stockholm, I thought the current SAS winter sale might yield something.  Sure enough, booking directly with the Scandinavian airline on nearly the exact dates I wanted (one day later returning), we could fly on convenient nonstops between Newark and Stockholm in premium economy for $—just $860 apiece.  And, unlike Flying Blue awards, that great low fare included seat assignments.

In February, central Stockholm fine hotel rates are also the lowest of the year. I found Frey’s for $162 per night and even the aptly named Grand Hotel (the abode of Nobel laureates) at just over $300. Those are great overnight rates for expensive Stockholm.

Northern Europe destinations in the dead of winter are good bets for bargain fares.  The same opportunist strategy applies to other places.  I find April and October perfect for western national parks like the Grand Canyon, Arches, and Mesa Verde, as there are few tourists in those months (kids are in school), and airfares are cheaper.  Likewise, mid-January through March is the uncrowded and least expensive period to visit South Africa’s Kruger National Park.  Airfares to Johannesburg rise steeply in April.

Examples go on and on.  For now I have my sights set on Stockholm, which is hard to resist at giveaway prices.

Yes, I know the way to Santa Fe

January 8,

With apologies to Burt Bacharach, Hal David, and Dionne Warwick for shamelessly plagiarizing their song title “Do You Know The Way To San Jose?”   Warwick won a Grammy for the catchy tune that year; it still happily rings in my ears.  I was twenty years old in ‘68.  Unlike one lyric (“Put a hundred down and buy a car”), my wife and I flew from Raleigh to Albuquerque on New Year’s Day and rented a car.  Then found our way to Santa Fe, not San Jose.  We have traveled the world, but had never been to that part of New Mexico until now.

Our 540a departure from RDU meant getting up at three—ugh! That was the only schedule that worked for my free companion ticket on Delta, so I took it.  I was delighted to find, even at that ungodly hour on the first day of the year, that every Delta employee was chipper and cheerful. Fast and efficient boarding process despite six wheelchairs and a totally full A321, with excellent preflight service in first class (I used expiring upgrades). Overall, the bright attitude of gate personnel and cabin crew was worthy of a marketing video.

The loud advertisements after leaving the gate, however, were unpleasant, especially at five-something in the morning.

En route, I was acknowledged as a 5.5 million miles and Delta 360 member (appreciated), something that doesn’t always occur. 

Connecting in Atlanta, we found the B concourse SkyClub slammed even before 700a on January 1st.  I wondered, Is it ever uncrowded?

Early departure after another fast boarding process in Atlanta led to an early arrival at Albuquerque.  Up front, we were fed a pretty good hot breakfast during the three-hour ride in the sky.

My consulting work for railroads included stints through Albuquerque, but I don’t recall ever flying into the ABQ “Sunport.”  It’s a modest, adequate facility serving a regional medium-sized city (560k) and northern New Mexico.  Given the airport’s small size, I was surprised to be pointed to a rental car courtesy bus for a 15-minute ride to a remote facility.  Time-consuming, like DFW, but Albuquerque isn’t in their league.  I found our Budget car and started the 90 minutes to Santa Fe.  I had specified a 4WD vehicle in case of snow, and Budget came through with a Nissan Rogue AWD, perfect for icy conditions.

We returned to Albuquerque a week later to go home (ABQ/ATL/RDU). Westbound RDU/ATL/ABQ on New Year’s Day, we had two hard-working cabin crews. Coming back on the ABQ/ATL flight (a bluebird day), the crew didn’t even arrive at the gate in Albuquerque until boarding time and showed no sense of humility for being tardy.

On board, the front cabin FA and her companions provided indifferent, perfunctory service—the bare minimum, then chatted about their lives—asses down in the jump seat—ignoring first class. No second drink service on the three-hour flight. I had to ask for a glass of water.

I could hear everything they said from seat 1C. Echoes of United flight attendants back in the 90s, and that is no compliment. They certainly didn’t bother to notice my 360 status, even though I’ve been told Delta encourages flight attendants to do so.

Because I’m a Delta 360 member, my wife and I got the royal treatment at ATL: a Porsche SUV ride from the D concourse to B. Not that we needed the speed with a 2.5-hour connection.  Still, it felt posh to tool across the ATL airport apron for six or seven minutes. I’ll take being chauffeured any time.

Hospitality on our fourth and final Delta flight was the antithesis of the previous one. The efficient, meticulous crew came around repeatedly during the short 56 minutes to Raleigh. Two FAs came independently to thank me for five and a half million miles. All Raleigh-based. Had great conversations and laughs with them all. They love being based in Raleigh.

Yes, I now know the way to San Jose Santa Fe, and I will probably write up my perhaps surprising (to some) impressions in future posts. For now, I will say that Santa Fe didn’t dazzle.

Lagniappe of life

December 17,

Despite suffering from acute myeloid leukemia (AML), I am planning a lot of flying in .  I’m up to it again, thanks to the superb chemotherapy regimens developed by my outstanding medical team at UNC Oncology Hospital in Chapel Hill. Their great care has put my cancer in remission.  I’ve regained much of my energy, strength, appetite, and joy of life. 

That said, AML always returns.  So I am grabbing all the travel I can while I am able.  I see it as a lagniappe of time on earth. 

In New Orleans and the French-Cajun communities of South Louisiana, a tradition of lagniappe is common.  Wikipedia defines it thusly: 

“A lagniappe (LAN-yap) is ‘a small gift given to a customer by a merchant at the time of a purchase’ (such as a 13th doughnut on purchase of a dozen), or more broadly, ‘something given or obtained gratuitously or by way of good measure.’ It can be used more generally as meaning any extra or unexpected benefit.”

As I said, I’ve been granted the unexpected benefit of extra life.  How much extra remains to be seen.  Considering how rotten this disease made me feel from March to November, I recognize my present state as a miracle, something I don’t take for granted.  I couldn’t walk our dog around the block a few months ago.  I spent most days in bed.  Even the thought of traveling on an airplane was disagreeable. 

Thanks to excellent healthcare, I slowly climbed out and began to feel, well, more normal.  I am not 100% of my pre-sickness energy level, but I will take my current 75-80% stamina. 

Only someone who has, without warning, come close to the end and then yanked back for an indeterminate period can understand how strange and wonderful I feel. How long this may last is unknown.

I use this extra time in many ways, from the mundane (decluttering) to relishing the company of family and friends.  I’ve also re-engaged with community work that is important to me, such as contributing to development and transportation planning for the Blue Ridge Corridor Alliance here in Raleigh.  

To satisfy my lifelong yen to experience other places, I have devised extensive travel plans for next year.  On the first day of , my wife and I go to Albuquerque, where we’ll rent a car and drive to Santa Fe and Taos.  There we’ll explore the natural beauty and deep cultural history of that part of New Mexico.  I was able to use an expiring companion ticket on Delta and several upgrade certificates that are only good through early to get there.

February will see us off to Morocco (Marrakech and Fes) on Air France, connecting via the direct RDU/CDG flight and using Flying Blue miles in business class, about which I posted earlier.

If I can swing it (I have not yet had time to plan this trip), we might go to the Grand Canyon, Monument Valley, and the great national parks of southern Utah in April.

After our daughter graduates from college in May, she will accompany us to Prague and Norway for 10 days.  I booked Lufthansa on this trip in premium economy.  Though I preferred to fly on the direct RDU/FRA flight, connecting via Washington Dulles was hundreds cheaper.

June is our month to spend a week or two in my wife’s family cabin in the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness of Montana.  The exact dates of that trip are flexible, which will allow me to find the most reasonable fares.  If it’s early June, chances are that we will get a few inches of snow some days.

As I marveled in last week’s blog post, we fly in October to Johannesburg on Delta in business class, miraculously upgraded from premium economy.  Our destination is the Kruger National Park, a 50-minute flight on Airlink from Jo’burg.  I love the Kruger and have been visiting since when I lived and worked in South Africa.

After that, I don’t know.  I hope by late to feel as well as I do today.  The old expression “life’s too short…” is literal for me now, spurring me to race around the planet ahead of my expiration date.  I am grateful for the extra time.

Delta comes through

December 11,

When the unexpected occurred—that is, something beneficial that worked against the odds—my dad used to say, “Even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then.”  That was me and my wife last week when Delta Air Lines confirmed us in Delta One Raleigh to Johannesburg and return using four Global Upgrade Certificates. I felt like the lucky blind pig.

Because getting those upgrades to clear even for one person on a single international flight is devilishly difficult. 

Let alone for two people traveling together. 

And both outbound and return?  That’s four segments.  Hardly ever happens on Delta.

A greater challenge: getting a seat upgraded to Johannesburg and returning.  Unheard-of!  

Delta frequent flyers like me know that business class seats on the Atlanta to South Africa flights (Johannesburg and Cape Town) are in perpetually high demand.  I found that Delta One goes for as much as $9,000 round trip and is rarely priced below $.  In painstaking searches, I learned to forget about SkyMiles award travel up front unless I was willing to fork over up to a million miles.

So how did getting every segment upgraded for us both happen?  It was a calculated risk that the Global Upgrades might work.  However, the Delta strategy was not my first choice.  As I explained in last week’s post, I hoped to use Air France/KLM Flying Blue points for business class award seats to Johannesburg.  When that didn’t work, my backup plan was Delta.

Truth be told, I prefer Delta.  That’s evident from the five and a half million miles I’ve recorded in the SkyMiles program.  Most of my trips to South Africa over the past thirty-plus years have been aboard Delta airplanes.  The problem is that lots of others also like to fly on Delta in premium classes, which has pushed up fares.  Bargains are difficult to find now.  So here was my approach:

First, I looked out 330 days, the max most airlines, including Delta, post fares. 

Second, I booked in Premium Select (premium economy) knowing that Global Upgrade Certificates only work to boost up one fare level.  Delta One (Delta’s business class) fares are next above Premium Select.

I also knew that if the Global Upgrades were denied, then Premium Select is not a bad way to fly 16 hours to South Africa.  The seats are roughly comparable to domestic first-class seats.  Width and space between rows is much better than economy or Comfort+.  So, buying into premium economy was a comfort hedge, considering that some segments were unlikely to be upgraded.

Third, I was fairly flexible in travel dates and routing for next October.  Even 330 days in advance, fares can vary based on…what? I presume the AI algorithms in Delta’s capacity planning software take into account historical day-of-travel demand to Johannesburg and Cape Town when setting prices.  Looking at seats open in Premium Select in my date ranges that far out, premium economy was wide open on every flight.  Yet fares were different on different days despite the empty cabins. 

The other price variable is demand for connecting flights from my home airport (Raleigh, which is RDU Airport) to and from Atlanta.  How the capacity planning algorithms take into account the domestic segments is airline black magic.  But the results could be seen in sometimes quite considerable fare differences depending on which RDU/ATL flights were selected.

Altogether, there were a lot of different fare possibilities to wade through.  Therefore—and fourth—I engaged the assistance of my old friend Steve Crandall, owner of Discount Travel in Jacksonville (FL), to pour through the Delta system and see what he could come up with.  Of course, I looked hard on my own, but agency software tools are faster and capable of finding more options.  In short, if Steve can find an optimal fare, then it’s worth $30 per ticket to give his agency my business.

And, sure enough, he found the cheapest Premium Select fare for acceptable dates out and back. I paid $2,940 RDU/JNB per ticket and had them issued to my wife and me.

The routing is absurdly circuitous, however.  We fly to Cape Town, then backtrack to Johannesburg on South African Airways (in first class) that operates as Delta codeshare flights (all included in the fare).  This adds unwanted travel time, but booking the nonstop ATL/JNB was an extra $600 per person.  Crazy, I thought, especially when the Premium Select cabins on both ATL/CPT and ATL/JNB were completely empty.  That’s the quirky Delta capacity pricing algorithm at work.

To save $, I accepted the nonsensical itinerary.  Checking it myself online, I couldn’t do better.  Delta had decided going to Jo’burg was worth more, yet were happy to charge less to Cape Town and then share the revenue with South African Airways to get us to and from Johannesburg.  Like I said, makes no sense.

Then, with Delta tickets issued, it was time to try my luck with the Global Upgrades.  My strategy’s fifth and final element was hoping my Delta 360 status would increase my chances for upgrades.  While I greatly appreciate being a Delta 360 member, I’ve learned that there is no blanket guarantee that things like Global Upgrades will work.

Looking at our booked flights on Delta.com, I could see both long-hauls were totally empty up front in Delta One.  That would perhaps help, I reckoned, though Delta One fares on those segments were awfully high.  Seats seemed to me to be priced at levels consistent with half or more of the cabins sold.

To my astonishment, Delta upgraded my wife and me on all four segments operated on Delta metal:  RDU to Atlanta, Atlanta to Cape Town, and later returning from Cape Town to Atlanta to Raleigh.  It probably didn’t hurt that I made the request so far in advance; that is, before the business cabin filled up with revenue passengers.  We were already in South African Airways first class, the codeshare flights between Cape Town and Jo’burg in both directions, a privilege granted for having purchased Premium Select seats.

I am delighted to report this to give Delta credit for honoring its implicit commitment that Global Upgrades have value even on their highest revenue-producing flights.  Thank you, Delta Air Lines.

Flying Blue fell through

December 3,

Air France/KLM’s Flying Blue travel award program didn’t work for me flying to Johannesburg in business class.  My failed scheme began two years ago:  Having discerned that Flying Blue was offering extraordinarily low mileage award seats in business—well below what other carriers were charging—I devised a strategy to acquire as many FB miles as I could, quickly. 

I already held a Capital One Visa Card that would allow transfers to Flying Blue, and I have long had an American Express Platinum Card that also enables me to move Membership Miles to the Air France/KLM program.  To those, I added an Air France/KLM Flying Blue WorldElite MasterCard (issued by Bank of America).  I believe AF was offering bonus miles when I opened the card, but I don’t recall how much.

Over two years, I accumulated 112,000 Flying Blue points using my AF/KLM MasterCard.  I already had 214,800 Cap One points and well over 252,000 Amex Membership Miles.  I believed, therefore, that I would be well-endowed with Flying Blue points to obtain two business class award tickets from Raleigh to Johannesburg once all 600,000+ miles and points had swelled my AF/KLM account.

Thus, I began testing dates in October , 330 days in advance (the most distant that airline fares are posted) for a two-week trip RDU/JNB.  The Air France website will show day-by-day minimum points for Flying Blue awards between two cities if the outbound and return dates are left blank, a neat way to troll. I chose business class and eagerly awaited the website results.

Airlines in the USA typically show round-trip prices, whether for awards or dollars.  Not so most overseas carriers, including Air France.  My hopes were deflated when I saw the lowest one-way award travel for two in business was 526,000 miles in October and September.  At that rate, I barely had enough miles just to get there, let alone to fly home.  

And that was for just one or two dates in those months.  Most one-way award seats for two people were 1,400,000 miles in September and October. 

Looking for two weeks, plus or minus a day or two, it was impossible to find out-and-back dates that worked. 

In earlier months, I found the lowest business award was 209,000 miles (one way), but that came with a 13.5-hour layover in Paris. Some of the other awards required 27-32 hour layovers in Paris. 

And the returns were over 500,000 miles for dates around two weeks out. 

Not to mention that the awards came with stiff co-pays of nearly $2,000 for two.

In a post, I detailed the difficulty finding reasonable fares in premium economy and in particular in business class to Johannesburg and Cape Town. I should have known that demand would be as high as, or higher, than three years ago.

Disappointing, but I took it in stride.  I conceived of a new strategy for my wife and me to get to Jo’burg in Business next October, about which I will write next week—it worked!

Not to be thwarted from using my Flying Blue miles, I instead found a reasonable business class award from Raleigh to Marrakech (Morocco) in March and booked it.  That required fewer miles, too, so I transferred only enough from Capital One to cover it—and none from American Express—leaving me with other options for the remaining banked miles in the credit card accounts. 

Lesson learned.  It pays to be creative and flexible these days when building award-based trips.

RDU international growth not a bargain

November 19,

Raleigh/Durham International Airport, my home airport, is living up to its middle name, with more foreign countries than ever that can be reached on a single flight.  The convenience, though, often means higher fares than booking connecting itineraries on the same carrier. 

RDU has eleven direct international routes (some seasonal) either announced or flying:

• London LHR
• Paris CDG
• Frankfurt FRA
• Iceland KEF
• Toronto YYZ
• Montreal YUL
• Calgary YYC
• Panama PTY
• Mexico City MEX
• Cancun CUN
• Bermuda BDA

New airlines serving RDU this year include Lufthansa, WestJet, and BermudAir.  That totals 19 airlines touching down at Raleigh: Alaska, Avelo, American, Delta, Lufthansa, WestJet, Air France, United, Air Canada, Copa, Southwest, Breeze, Spirit, Sun Country, Icelandair, Aeromexico, BermudAir, Frontier, and JetBlue.  Nineteen carriers and eleven direct foreign destinations aren’t bad for a non-hub airport, and competition is a good thing.

Of course, those of us old enough to remember know that Raleigh/Durham was a hub for AA -.  American Airlines ushered in the first European nonstops from RDU, too, with service to Paris-Orly beginning in and to London Gatwick (later moved to Heathrow) in .  

The American flight to Paris carried a lot of horsemeat in belly freight to satisfy the adventurous French palate and was discontinued when AA lost the horsey contract that had subsidized margins.  Carrying passengers alone didn’t make Orly profitable from Raleigh back then.  American’s London flight remained, however, and has done well despite occasional market hiccups (e.g., the Great Recession, Covid). 

Delta brought back nonstop flights from Raleigh to Paris (this time to CDG) in , and then ceded that service to partner Air France in .  Neither carrier flies daily on the route, nor does Lufthansa serve RDU to Frankfurt every day of the week. 

It’s great to have all these foreign destinations from my hometown—cities I can get to on just one flight. My experience, though, booking to London and to places on the Continent indicate that AA, AF, and LH charge a premium for their direct flights from Raleigh, even when connecting to onward cities through London, Paris, or Frankfurt.  And especially if one of those nonstop metropolises is where I want to go.

For example, I’ve found for decades that it’s almost always a good deal cheaper to get to LHR via JFK on American than it is to book a direct flight. Every now and then, I lucked out with a comparable fare on the RDU/LHR flight compared to a JFK connection, but not often.

Recently, I discovered the same is true for going to Prague and Oslo on the new Lufthansa flight in May.  My itineraries were several hundred dollars cheaper if I opted to connect through IAD than on the LH nonstop from Raleigh.  The IAD routing time difference to and from those places wasn’t painful, so I booked the connection.

Ditto for Air France flights connecting through CDG from RDU.  Checking three future itineraries planned from Raleigh to Johannesburg, to Warsaw, and to Casablanca, I found both award seat miles on Flying Blue and fares for money were almost always considerably more expensive using the AF direct flight to or from Paris than connecting at JFK.

Icelandair does it, too.  Fares on the carrier’s direct flight RDU to Keflavik can sometimes be beaten by booking a connection.

Despite the higher fares on direct flights, I am pleased with the many options now available from RDU.  I figure those connecting fares are cheaper because of the demand for seats on the nonstop flights out of Raleigh. Without the direct flights, those folks would be competing with me for fares on connecting flights.

An accessible tropical beach paradise

November 13,

Roatán Island, part of the Honduran Bay Island chain, is two short flights away from Raleigh.  I discovered that last week when my wife and I spent a week on the beach there.  So much easier than previous trips to enjoy tropical islands. 

For instance, we flew halfway around the world to sample the Maldives several years ago.  After the long flights, the gorgeous island resorts dispatch small planes or boats to the airport to collect guests, another added expense and wasted hours on the clock.  We were not enjoying the beaches while just getting to them and later returning.

Another time we endured many thousands of miles to reach Tahiti in the mid-Pacific Ocean via LAX—a long trek.  Mo’orea met our expectations of tropical heaven, yes, but its remoteness from Raleigh is daunting.

Fiji is even more distant, a place I visited en route to Australia.  Dazzling but distant.

We stopped in the Philippines once after another crossing of the entire Pacific, a two-day ordeal.  The Philippine vacation island of Boracay was a highlight.  It’s a long way there, though.

Beautiful Rorotanga in the Cook Islands of the Pacific required flying cross-country to Los Angeles, then an overnight Air New Zealand long haul. We were exhausted on arrival.

Ko Chang is a Thai island with all the coconut palm charm one expects of such places, but again after two days circling the globe to reach it and then taking trains and ferries from Bangkok. 

Going from South Africa to Singapore some years ago, I stopped for a few days in Mauritius in the Indian Ocean, but 9,600 miles is a long way from Raleigh.

Two trips to Bali in Indonesia were delightful, but of course required trans-Pacific flights and connecting ones, which ate up a lot of time we might have spent on the beach.

Even in the not-too-distant Caribbean, Grand Cayman disappointed us beach-wise and price-wise.

Barbados was nice, but a hike due to its position way south and east.  And the beach at the Hilton was sadly man-made.

Our recent trip to Cuba was exhilarating, but not for its beaches, which were just okay.  Cuba presents obstacles, too, in basic infrastructure, such as dependable power, and due to the necessity to carry lots of dollars in small bills (no credit cards accepted).

I was in and out of Puerto Rico several times many years ago on business, but the beaches didn’t thrill me. 

Trinidad was fascinating, but no beaches (they are on neighboring Tobago, which I didn’t get to), and the nation is even more distant than Barbados.

St. John was fabulous, if expensive; requires a rental car to get around but has little parking; and to get there, we had to fly first to St. Thomas, then take a bus to the other side of the island, and finally a ferry to St. John.  So, despite our relative proximity to the U.S. Virgin Islands, reaching St. John is actually quite a bit of trouble.

That brings me back to Roatán.  Delta, United, and American all serve Roatán directly from the USA.  I opted for Delta, and they treated us right.  On the one-hour early morning flight to Atlanta, I napped most of the way. 

RDU/ATL was a 737-900ER with seat rows behind First Class laid out oddly.  Lots of space in the first row of Comfort+, with legroom enough for a giraffe.

We were upgraded from Raleigh to Roatán both going and returning.  The 737-800 planes assigned to the route were comfortable, and the meals served in First Class were actually tasty.  The three-hour flights went by quickly. 

Roatán airport is tiny but efficient.  Immigration and Customs were fast, and our courtesy bus to the Paradise Beach Hotel was literally a few steps from the terminal. 

The Paradise Beach property is on West Bay Beach near the famed reef.  Roatán has the second largest coral reef on earth, and prime snorkeling spots were a short swim from our hotel.  We booked a week, aiming to relax, read, snorkel, swim, and relish in the tropical weather.  We achieved those vacation goals.

Things on Roatán Island were quiet and relaxing. No rain most days, though we greatly enjoyed the occasional fast-moving thunderstorms. Lots of sun. 85° was usually the high. November was a good time to go due to the absence of tourists, and it was not too hot. Not much to do except swim or snorkel, as well as eat and drink. No complaints.  

We liked the Paradise Beach Hotel, which bills itself as a resort. I had to squawk to get us better digs when we checked in based on what we’d paid. We landed in a comfy two-room suite much more spacious than the tower room with very little furniture originally assigned.

The property doesn’t quite live up to its “resort” claim, but we didn’t care. The Four Seasons, it’s not. It’s a little bit third-worldy, which actually appealed to us better. The people there are super nice. Some things were spectacular, like being beachfront amidst beautiful tropical foliage (lots of coconut palms and exotic flowering plants) and daily room cleaning that included fresh towels and sheets. No American hotel does that now.  Sustainability practices eschewing plastic waste included paper straws at the bar and refillable water jugs in every room

Electricity was reliable (a huge plus in the developing world). Drinks were all about $10 along the beach. Food was okay, not great, and pricey. Every meal for two at the restaurant-beach bar (the sole dining option) was $50-60.  On Tuesday, however, we dined like kings on lobsters down the beach at a special once-weekly price: a mere $18 for three lobster tails per person plus vegetables.

We especially appreciated the friendly Honduran people everywhere, not just the hotel staff. All in all, Roatán lived up to our expectations for a tropical beach paradise to recharge. 

Best of all, getting there was a snap from RDU.

The Fare Squeeze Up Front

Just as I am gaining strength enough to travel again after six months of cancer treatments, I’m dismayed by the very high fares in premium cabins that, in my old age and somewhat infirm state, have become my flying norm.  Of course I’ve kept up with the news of record bookings in the forward cabins, but still, it’s a shock to find no bargains even 6-10 months in advance.  Stubbornly stiff prices for Premium Economy and Business seem especially true for international flights.

My airfare research is hardly scientific.  However, I’ve always been clever about finding the least expensive ways to make myself more comfortable flying overseas.  Whenever I could, I’d aim for Business and often found good deals if I was airline-agnostic.  Though I am a Delta 360 member, for example, and generally prefer Delta, I flew several times from hated Newark to Johannesburg on awful United Airlines in Business for under $3,000 during and after the pandemic.  Delta wanted more than $1,000 more for Business for the same dates.  I could endure UA’s poor service to save a grand.

I was an early adopter of Premium Economy on many carriers as PE was cautiously introduced.  It was reasonably priced then—the term “reasonable” personally meaning I could afford $- on Delta metal Raleigh to Johannesburg rather than $- in Economy or Comfort+.  I raved about those PE experiences on United, American, Air New Zealand, Lufthansa, Air France, Emirates, and others.  Food and beverage services weren’t going to win awards, but, for me, it’s mostly about seat comfort, and PE was and is light years better than cramped, claustrophobic coach seating.

Some examples of fares today:  Hoping to return to South Africa’s Kruger National Park in the fall of , I looked out 330 days for RDU/JNB itineraries—the maximum advance time airlines post fares—which took me to September, .  The least expansive Economy prices are $- on most airlines, about where plain old coach seats were selling for pre-Covid. 

Whereas Premium Economy fares range from $ on UA and Swiss for a 40-hour ordeal (a mind-numbing 26.5 hours over 3 layovers before touching down in Jo’burg) to Delta wanting $ for a reasonable 19 hours en route.  Air France was asking $ with a 13.5 hour layover in Paris (no, thanks).  That’s $800 to $ over coach—and just for PE.

The cheapest Business fares in September, are $ (via United and Ethiopian) and range skyward from there.  UA now wants $ and up for Business via EWR, and Delta thinks its Business cabin is worth over $. 

Wow-ee! I thought Delta must have already sold a lot of sharp end seats to justify that stratospheric fare.  So I checked Delta’s website for the dates and flights and found every forward seat both domestic and international to be open.  Not one seat was showing sold. 

Maybe it’s a South Africa thing, I reckoned—lots of forecast and real demand—that’s driving such advance pricing.  So I checked another planned itinerary, this one about 10 days in May from Raleigh to Prague, returning from Oslo, and I looked for mid-week flights (usually cheaper than weekends).  Coach fares hover around $700, with the lowest Premium Economy I could find $ and Business around $-.  It’s hard to justify an extra $ to sit in the PE cabin for seven or eight hour flights to and from Europe. 

Altogether, it is not good news for me hoping to be at ease in the air going overseas. Hell, I don’t even like to sit in the back flying domestically now.  Are there really that many people willing to pay that much for PE and Business when going abroad?  I’ll continue probing fares and schedules in search of something in my budget. 

Short of another recession or pandemic, though, I am not optimistic that fares for comfy seats up front will drop.  Apparently, the flying public is awash with far greater wealth than mine, pushing me back to the high rows where I began flying 65 years ago.

Undoing a complex itinerary: Winning the travel insurance game

Recently I was diagnosed with AML, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. Without treatment, AML would kill me within a very few months. Fortunately, I was able to get into an AML chemotherapy clinical trial program at UNC Oncology Hospital with the help and guidance of a physician who is a nationally-recognized AML expert.

That’s why I have not posted recently. Extending my life has become my top priority. Travel is also off the board for now.

But nearly a year ago, before I was sick, my wife and I planned a trip to the Nordic countries for late August to early September. My oncology team strongly advised canceling. I must adhere to the strict regimens of chemo rounds in the trial, and I cannot be away for two weeks until these treatments are completed, which go on for months.

Like all our trips, I put it together myself—every component of air, rail, ship, and accommodation—in excruciating detail. And like all our trips, we did not buy cancellation insurance. It always seems exorbitant, not to mention impossible to comprehend what’s covered and what isn’t.

I didn’t know how much money I’d spend cancelling this trip, and, for a moment, I wished I’d purchased insurance. But I was surprised by how little I ended up losing.

My first act was to acquire a “can’t travel” letter from my doctor specialist, after which I set about canceling everything.

Here’s the list of refunds and no-penalty cancelations in chronological order of our itinerary:

Delta Air Lines (Raleigh to Stockholm, returning Oslo to Raleigh) – full refunds (about $4,200 total)

Stockholm Thon Hotel – canceled, no penalty

SAS (Stockholm to Helsinki) – $44 of $240 in airfares

Helsinki Finn Hotel – refund of 50% deposit (about $200)

Viking Line (cruise ship Helsinki to Talinn, Estonia) – $70 credit for future use (in other words, no refund)

Bern Boutique Hotel in Tallinn, Estonia – canceled, no penalty

Finnair (Talinn to Copenhagen) – full refunds due to schedule change (about $440). Schedule change was lucky for once. Otherwise, I would have received zero refund.

Copenhagen Thon hotel – canceled, no penalty

Norwegian Air (Copenhagen to Oslo) – zero refunds (lost about $260)

Oslo railroad station hotel – canceled, no penalty

Fjord Tours (Oslo to Bergen via the fjords) – full refunds (about $500)

Bergen Clarion Collection Hotel – canceled, no penalty

VY Norwegian Rail (Bergen to Oslo) – full refunds (about $380)

Oslo Airbnb – full refund of 50% deposit (about $240)

Oslo Radisson Blu airport hotel – canceled, no penalty

Overall, we lost about a total of $540, which is less than comprehensive trip cancellation insurance would have cost.

I’ve never had anything like this happen, so I was not sure what to expect. Cancellations took only part of one day, whereas building the itinerary had taken weeks.

Delta 360 has no upgrade guarantee

June 18,

Starting earlier this year, Delta designated Five Million Milers like me Delta 360 members.  I am grateful to be at the top tier. After all, Delta is mighty proud of its 360 elite treats. What could be finer than unlimited upgrades? I wondered how it would work, and on a recent five-leg itinerary, I found out that having first-priority upgrades is no guarantee that a seat in sharp end will come through.

Flying Raleigh/Durham (RDU) to Billings, Montana (BIL), a Delta schedule change rerouted me RDU/ATL, then ATL/SLC, and finally Salt Lake to Billings. Three flights, in other words, instead of the usual two via MSP (RDU/MSP, MSP/BIL).  That’s an exhausting, all-day itinerary.  The new schedule had me arriving in Billings at 11:00 PM.

Well, at least returning would be Billings-Twin Cities-Raleigh, a more forgiving schedule.

My original itinerary had me upgraded on both flights (RDU/MSP, MSP/BIL), but of course when the schedule changed, then I was starting over, albeit at least in Comfort+ seats.  I decided I would pay to upgrade on each of the three segments if need be to mitigate the torture of the roundabout route.  But checking the website, only the SLC/BIL flight was offering a reasonable fare to first class.  I paid for it and decided to rely upon my Delta 360 privileges on the other two (Raleigh-Atlanta and ATL to Salt Lake City).

Being a Delta 360 didn’t help me on the long flight, however.  Delta upgraded me to Atlanta all right (just a one-hour flight), but not on the four-hour slog to Salt Lake City.  I considered paying for it, but just couldn’t justify the several hundred dollars Delta wanted for the ATL/SLC flight. 

I kept checking the Salt Lake City flight and found that four seats in first class were available, which later went to three seats.  As flight time approached, those three seats vanished, and I endured the longest leg in Comfort+.  It was not terrible, but neither was it pleasant, especially given that the protracted itinerary wasn’t my choice.

After that experience, I opted not to gamble on Delta 360 for upgrades on my return flights.  Instead, I paid in SkyMiles to access first class on both Billings to Minneapolis and MSP to Raleigh flights.  That worked out well, especially as Twin Cities weather going home was a mess, and the flight was late by an hour. Sitting up front made the delay a good deal more tolerable.

The bottom line, then, is that I paid to upgrade on three of the five legs, and Delta upgraded me on one segment.  Being Delta 360 didn’t help me on the longest flight from Atlanta to Salt Lake City.  Lesson learned.  I now have a more realistic expectation regarding upgrades that may come from being a Delta 360 elite.  My personal choice will be to pay for upgrades when I can afford them rather than hope for a Delta 360 freebie.

Breeze Airways worked for me, but…

May 28,

When startup carrier Breeze began service to Raleigh, I was initially disinterested until I noticed a nonstop (only on Fridays and Mondays) to New Orleans.  Despite being an indulged Delta 360 member, I relished the idea of bypassing ATL to visit friends in NOLA and thus booked my wife and me on Breeze.  One round trip couldn’t hurt, I figured, and I was right.

It might not have worked out, however. Breeze, like most airline start-ups, is untrustworthy by nature. The newbies cut corners like the big airlines but without major airlines’ backup infrastructure (planes, crews, maintenance armies). And because Breeze does not interline or have other flights for days on their routes like RDU/MSY (as I said, only Mondays and Fridays from Raleigh to New Orleans), booking Breeze is risky, as I’ll illustrate below.  Our experience going to New Orleans and coming home, though, was smooth and comfortable. 

OUTBOUND RALEIGH TO NEW ORLEANS

When we arrived at RDU, I already had boarding passes, but I wanted to enter our TSA PRE numbers in the record (when I made the reservation, Breeze wasn’t a participant). Two gate agents were on duty, surprisingly, and I approached them with my request. I had our global entry cards with me. One agent promptly entered both and reprinted our boarding passes with “PRE” on them. The entire process took 2-3 minutes, and both agents had obviously been trained to do it.

At the gate, the inbound flight was on time and appeared to be full. Deplaning, even of wheelchairs, was efficient. Cleaning and turning were prompt. Boarding began 28 minutes before scheduled departure.

E190s are small planes with 2-2 seating. We were in 1DF because I’d paid for “Nicer” seats. Breeze calls its seats “Nice” for regular coach, “Nicer” for extra legroom coach, and “Nicest” for what passes for first class.  Only “Nice” and “Nicer” are available on E190/195 planes, with “Nicest” on the new A220 aircraft.  The interior looked clean and inviting. It was a full flight. “Nicer” worked for us just fine.

We pushed back 10 minutes early on account of weather delays en route. That would, the captain said, get us into NOLS on time. I was excited to be trying a new carrier.

On board, I noticed small but telling wear and tear: dog-eared safety cards in the pockets, a peeling sign on the bulkhead, and a ripped right pocket at our seats. All were unsightly indications of sloppy maintenance. Similar signals were evident in the forward lav, where the water wouldn’t stop running and the paper towel dispenser was empty. 

The plane must be old, I reckoned, because of the signs of wear. Later, I discovered that the Embraer 190 and 195 planes were recycled from Azul in Brazil, which founder/CEO David Neeleman also controls.

Flight attendants (3) did a quick, early beverage service (only water was free) and disappeared. Light mid-flight turbulence lasted 15 minutes and didn’t account for the FAs long absence on the two-hour, 12-minute nonstop. On the plus side, the FAs were very cheerful and efficient throughout. They seemed to be having fun, and I haven’t said that about a cabin crew in a long time.

Overall, a pleasant experience sitting in the first row with two windows and no one in front of us. The $30 extra pp for “Nicer” included carryon and checked bag privileges, though we each brought only a single carryon. Capacious overheads, too, a nice surprise on a small E190/195. My wife’s giant fat backpack fit easily.

Our route detoured to skirt thunderstorms over Alabama, yet we landed a few minutes early. I always appreciate on-time performance.

Even as a Delta 360 member with unlimited top priority upgrades, I would fly Breeze again for the convenience of a two-hour nonstop such as Raleigh-New Orleans rather than hubbing it via ATL for almost four hours. That is, as long as I could fly in “Nicer” or “Nicest” and the total fare was no more than Delta, AA, or United.

RETURN NEW ORLEANS TO RALEIGH

Breeze pax for our flight returning from New Orleans to Raleigh outnumbered seats on the plane because their computer showed a larger aircraft (an E195) than the one on the tarmac (an E190). Some ticket holders appeared to have confirmed seats that didn’t exist. The flight attendants had to ask ten people to deplane during the boarding process when this was discovered. A delay seemed likely, along with some disappointed flyers.

For a few people flying MSY/RDU on our return, that’s exactly what happened.  Breeze is based in Utah, and someone there entered an Embraer 195 aircraft for our flight rather than the actual plane, an Embraer 190. The aircraft models look much the same, but the 195 has 10 more seats than the 190.  So some people didn’t make our flight to Raleigh. I did not find out exactly how Breeze dealt with the overbooking, but I heard they were asking for volunteers.

The Captain candidly announced: “I apologize that someone in Utah completely dropped the ball … and we’re figuring out a solution. We might get away a little late, but it’s a beautiful day for flying and just 1 hour, 41 minutes to Raleigh [implying we should still be on time since the flight time scheduled was 2 hours, 6 minutes].” In addition, I appreciated that he made this announcement from the galley, where passengers could see him, rather than hiding in the cockpit.

My wife and I admired his utter candor and cheerful attitude. But it was then past the scheduled departure time of 800am, and I needed to get to RDU before noon (scheduled in at am). The door closed at 817am. We pushed back 819am.

Once in the air, the upbeat cabin crew couldn’t make up for the delay. We got to the RDU gate at a, 14 minutes behind schedule. Not much time lost, but the experience will make me think twice before booking Breeze again.

Decline of Etosha National Park

May 14,

Thirty-three years ago, I visited Etosha National Park in Namibia and loved it!  I stayed at all three of the World Heritage Site’s self-contained villages, euphemistically called “camps,” and they were all well-maintained and well-run.  Since then, I have been many times to the far more accessible Kruger National Park in South Africa, which, like Etosha, is a self-drive experience.  But I always yearned to return to Etosha.  When I finally did in February, it was a big letdown to grasp Park roads, facilities, and management had significantly deteriorated.

I resisted accepting my first impression that Etosha seemed rundown and inefficient—especially, but not only when compared to the Kruger in South Africa. The people were wonderful, and things always move slowly in Africa. But at my first stop (at Okaukuejo Camp), the long queue to get a permit from one Namibian bureaucracy (Ministry of Environment & Tourism) and another long, slow wait to check in with a second bureaucracy (Namibian Wildlife Resorts) despite having prepaid began to wear me down.  Made worse by what the staff said was a chronically broken A/C unit in their office.  The heat was stifling, and we all sweated together waiting for the interminable process of simply getting keys to our long-ago-prepaid-online bungalows. In the Kruger, this takes less than a minute per renting visitor.

Later, I noticed the camp stores were poorly stocked and hardly lit. Barren and basic. The grocery and curio shops had pitiable selections, nothing like Kruger stores, which overflow with goods. It wasn’t like this in .  Even during the day, I had to use my ’s flashlight to see anything on the shelves and in the coolers.  When I asked why the lights were out, I just got a shrug.

The gas station there had no petrol, either, despite assurances from the Namibian Wildlife Resorts that it would. “Truck coming Monday,” the attendant said but shrugged when I asked when. I would be at Namutoni Camp by then (2 nights at Okaukuejo, 1 night there).

I asked if Namutoni had a gas station, and the answer was yes, but it was also out of gas.  Is the truck coming Monday there, too? Again, the shrug. Who would know? Another shrug. Lots of shrugs for answers on Etosha, it seemed.

Thanks to having rented a Toyota Land Cruiser truck with double fuel tanks, I had plenty of gas then, but decided to drive out the next afternoon to find a filling station. Seems like an easy task to coordinate ensuring the camp gas stations are routinely refilled. But, then, this is Africa. Nobody knows anything for sure. The uncertainty has a certain edgy charm that I just as soon not experience every day.  I did find gas at a private lodge some 15 miles outside Etosha the next day.  Folks there just shook their heads and said Okaukuejo rarely had gasoline despite what they’d told me about the “truck coming Monday.”

Two days later I passed through Halali Camp en route to Namutoni Camp, and sure enough, no petrol.  I was assured Namutoni would have it, but when I arrived there, they, too, were out and again said, “Truck coming Monday!”  This was Sunday night.  No one seemed to care that the stations were empty of fuel when I asked.

The accommodations at both Okaukuejo and Namutoni were shabby and shopworn.  The air conditioning barely functioned at either place despite the hundred-degree temps. Several lights were out, including one in the lav. My maintenance requests went unanswered.  I expected more for $140 nightly.

Like the Kruger, Etosha is a self-drive wildlife park.  Kruger’s roads are top-rate, although the annual summer hurricane-like storms that sweep in from the Indian Ocean can cause temporary wash-outs or ruts which are repaired quickly.  However, Etosha roads were the worst I’ve ever seen in my life, with potholes and severe wash-boarding that went on for miles and miles and miles on every road. No speed except dead slow worked to get through.  Even my most rugged of vehicles, the tough-as-nails Toyota Land Cruiser, would have been shaken to pieces there at any speed above dead slow. I spoke to several other American and European visitors who had highly unpleasant driving experiences like mine. Due to the road conditions, substandard camp infrastructure, and lackluster management, no one wanted to return to Etosha despite the natural beauty and the African wildlife. Such a shame. Inferior management is avoidable.

Game sightings in Etosha were meager compared to the Kruger, where you can hardly drive five kilometers without seeing animals.  Etosha was still always rewarding to me, of course (that’s principally why I am there), even if very little wildlife, and oddly, I thought, sparse birdlife. 

Back in camps, meals in Etosha camp restaurants were the lifestyle highlight, though selections were often out (or “finished” in the local vernacular).  The remaining choices of victuals served were tasty, I admit (I have a wide palate), but didn’t make up for the other disappointments.

Maybe I’ve been spoiled by the far superior infrastructure, competent management, and plentiful wildlife in the Kruger.  I was surprised to be glad to leave Etosha, and, reflecting now, I don’t care if I ever return.  It’s a long way to go for a dissatisfying overall experience when I know from personal experience that it could be so much better.  The next stop in Africa for me will be back to the rich world of the Kruger National Park, where every trip is gratifying.  A lot cheaper, too.

Living large in the Caprivi Strip

May 1,

Thirty-plus years ago I spent a week driving over large parts of Namibia, but I didn’t get to the thin northern panhandle of the country called the Caprivi Strip.  In the early s that odd little bit of Namibia was still recovering from military upheavals with neighboring Angola.  Caprivi has a fascinating origin story.  On my recent return to Namibia and Botswana, again on a self-driving adventure, I was determined to visit the area, and I did.  My expectation of rustic accommodation in what I assumed would be a primitive village of Namibia called Divundu was dispelled upon reaching the Shametu River Lodge I had booked, more or less blind, online using Expedia. 

I’d never even heard of Divundu until I began making plans to go there.  It was all a leap of faith and yen for adventure.  I was leaving Etosha National Park, a place I was familiar with, after three nights there and heading into the unknown.

When the gate opened at 650a (sunrise) at Namutoni Camp on the eastern edge of Etosha National Park, I hightailed it for the 600+ km to Divundu. All on paved roads, so I was able to keep up nearly 120 kph, the legal max.  Stopped twice for petrol (since all Etosha Park gas stations were out—another sad story) and reached Divundu in the Caprivi Strip by 100p. Most of the last 200k was a stone’s throw from the border with Angola.

The Shametu River Lodge lies on the Okavango River that feeds the Okavango Delta in Botswana from the Angolan highlands. Photos are of the lovely Shematu River Lodge luxury river tent I booked ($147/night, including full dinner and breakfast).

Arriving so early, I was able to book a 430p sundowner river cruise (using the small craft visible from my deck), a bargain at $23 including snacks and drinks.  Then dinner at 700p and early to bed.

I still had one more long day of driving across the Caprivi Strip to reach the Botswana border at Ngoma, then on to Kasane, where I’d booked two nights at the Chobe Safari Lodge.  I hoped to arrive by 200p the following day to enjoy another sundowner cruise on the Chobe River.

Shametu is a luxury lodge on the Okavango River just downstream of Copa Falls, which I could hear roaring from my riverside tent. Never would I have guessed that such deluxe infrastructure was available in the Caprivi Strip.  Once there, I discovered that Copa Falls, though not much of a drop, was enough to make Divundu a “destination” worth investing in such facilities. Several other similar lodges are just downstream.

When planning the trip, I viewed Shametu as simply a stopover place to hang my head en route across the entirety of Caprivi to reach Ngoma and then Kasane in Botswana at the end. My expectations of its offerings were low. It was, however, hard to leave the beautiful and restful lodge the next morning.  A return visit to the tranquility and comfort of Shametu River Lodge and the natural beauty of the Okavango River at Divundu is on my radar.

Turn left at that elephant

April 17,

In March I achieved a colossal personal adventure milestone of driving into the heart of the Botswana wilderness.  It was something I longed to do myself, not with a guide.  I did it at age 75.

Leaving the Chobe Safari Lodge in Kasane at 6:00 AM, I drove 737 km (458 miles), the last 65 km of which took 2.5 hours because of maneuvering on sandy, muddy, rough roads sometimes blocked by trees pushed over by elephants. I arrived at the Khwai Guest House, a rustic Bushways camp 1.7 km from the Moremi Game Reserve North Gate, at 3:10 PM.

My rugged Toyota Land Cruiser (rented from Africa On Wheels in Windhoek, Namibia) proved its worth that day. It performed splendidly in 4H (four-wheel drive, high gear), the tough chassis with high clearance, and huge tires taking the roads with ease, if not with speed. Often couldn’t go over 30 kph due to road conditions, but great fun to maneuver through the African wilderness.

Many, many elephants at various places blocked the way in, as did a giraffe and some warthogs, but not much else. Too hot, I think.  I had booked a morning and afternoon game drive the following early morning back into Moremi National Park and saw much more then.

The bush roads to get to Moremi have deep holes, but the flood season was mostly over except for residual mud in some places. Lots of deep sand that the Toyota LC tackled with hardly any effort. I was surprised to see that the flora was predominantly mopane woods.

Entering the Park near the Moremi South Gate, a tree blocked the dirt track a few kilometers in, knocked down by nearby elephants, with no way around. Other trees were toppled all around.  I could not make my own path to avoid all the downed trees and the elephants busy chewing on the foliage.

I was forced to drive back to the gate to solicit advice from the Moremi Park Ranger. Just a few feet away were more elephants munching on trees by the road.  He pointed to one, saying, “See that elephant? Drive to it and turn left on the track to the staff village, then straight to North Gate about 30 km.”

By then I’d become so inured to elephants in Botswana all over the roads that I just nodded and thanked him. I am careful around elephants, as always, but having them always proximate by then seemed normal, even comforting.  It was only later that I reflected on the circumstances.  No one has ever directed me to “turn left at that elephant.”  Certainly guidance unique to parts of Africa, if commonplace in Botswana,

At the Khwai Guest House in the small, remote community of Khwai, I was told not to leave my cottage after dark because elephants come through regularly. Other creatures, too. I followed that advice.  No sense getting smushed or eaten. I was glad to have my own private toilet in the little cottage.

The Moremi North Gate log bridge is very famous (above). Even in 4WD, steering across felt dicey. I loved it.

The day was exhilarating.  I miss Botswana, Namibia, and all of southern Africa terribly now that I am home.  For me, there is nothing like the experience of driving myself in the African wilderness.

Even business class can be exhausting

April 9,

Sometimes a point-to-point itinerary can be so long and wearying that flying in business class isn’t enough to make the journey tolerable.  I was reminded of that in early March coming home to Raleigh (RDU airport) from Windhoek, Namibia.  My total time in transit was 37 hours, and even with fancy lounges and modern lie-flat seats, I was a wreck by the time I cleared Global Entry at RDU.

Several circumstances came together to make the trip so long.  First, Windhoek has lousy air service to the world.  Thank goodness Airlink, the excellent South African carrier, connects WDH Airport to the international networks at Johannesburg and Cape Town, and that’s what I booked.  I snagged a great business class fare on Delta RDU/JNB (Johannesburg) last year and needed to get back to Jo’burg to board my Delta flight back to Atlanta, then to RDU.

Except that Delta had a major schedule change when the airline stopped flying (for the first time in about 20 years) directly JNB/ATL.  Using new A350 aircraft, Delta began flying only Atlanta-Johannesburg-Cape Town-Atlanta.  Rather than rebook me to ATL via Cape Town, Delta put me on SkyTeam partner Air France Johannesburg/Paris and Air France again CDG/RDU on AF’s new nonstop to Raleigh.

All that sounded good on paper.  That is, the schedules worked.  But only with long layovers.  I left Windhoek facing this marathon of travel:

• Ride downtown Windhoek to WDH Airport way outside town (1 hour)
• Wait four hours for flight to Johannesburg (5 hours)
• Two-hour flight on Airlink WDH/JNB (7 hours)
• Four and half hour layover Johannesburg (11.5 hours)
• Ten-hour Air France flight JNB/CDG overnight (21.5 hours)
• Seven-and-a-half-hour layover at Paris CDG (29 hours)
• Eight-hour Air France flight CDG/RDU (37 hours total)

The Priority Pass Lounge in Windhoek which I wrote about two weeks ago was a godsend during some of the time there, but I first had to wait two hours at the Airlink counter before it opened.  I was already getting tired then.

The Airlink flight went off like clockwork, as it usually does.  I cannot recommend Airlink more highly for flights in southern Africa.  It is a well-run and polite operation.  We were fed well and twice offered beverages en route to Jo’burg and landed on time.

The layover in Johannesburg included a ninety-minute wait at the “international connecting passenger” queue for the Air France personnel to show up.  Then I could proceed finally to the overcrowded Air France business class lounge which also happened to be one of several JNB Priority Pass lounges.  It was fine, but not a quiet, private environment that might have assuaged my stress level.

Boarding as a business class passenger on Air France at Johannesburg was a nightmare of insensitivity and misdirection.  I got to the gate early (my habit) and found a chaotic scrum of every class of passenger vying to be admitted.  I literally fought my way to the front of the confused masses because people took pity on me as looking elderly (which I am) and reluctantly let me through.  The agents directing boarding traffic did not have good communication with the AF personnel on board.  Air France flight attendants were in no hurry to get themselves and their cabins ready and three times halted business class boarding while they fiddled around.  It was stifling hot and exhausting waiting in the Jetway for another half hour while the AF crew made their late preparations.

Once on board, I found my 777 compartment comfortable and private.  It’s a good thing I wanted to be left mostly alone because Air France’s service on board was minimal all the way to Paris.  I managed to get a few naps, but I was hungry because the meals were nearly inedible.  Unsurprising, I thought, as what sounded so delicious on an airline business class menu was often not.

The madness of CDG Airport has to be experienced to comprehend.  To know it is to hate it.  As Joe Brancatelli is fond of saying (dead accurately), since everything at CDG is terminal 2, you’re always lost.  I had to ask several airport staffers for directions to get to the correct wing from which my flight to Raleigh would eventually depart.  I didn’t have to rush, as I had seven and a half hours to wait.

After an hour of walking, asking repeatedly for directions, and taking the terminal 2E concourse-connecting train to figure out 2E-L was my concourse and to find L, I entered the department-store-sized Air France business class lounge (the “Salon”) in terminal 2E, L gate concourse. Worked okay for me, as I had a very long connection. Would not have worked for a 60-minute connection. CDG is, as I said, not a friendly hub at all. Had a shower and changed clothes, then had a good breakfast.  I noticed the snooty AF personnel did not seem to care that all but two of the men’s rooms were shut down for “cleaning” but never cleaned.  The Salon was packed, and men were forced to leave to find outside toilets.  The experience did not endear me to Air France.

Boarding my final flight was marginally better than in Johannesburg but with familiar delays.  The Air France flight attendants on board made business class passengers on the Jetway wait standing for twenty minutes after the gate agents had cleared us.  No apologies or explanations,  Just a long, uncomfortable wait, this time in the cold, as it was still winter in France.  I retrieved a jacket and needed it.

The Air France airplane from Paris to Raleigh was a Boeing 787.  Both A350s and 787s are smaller than 777s like the one I was on the previous night from Johannesburg to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. Consequently, the business class cabin configuration were also different. Seats were far less spacious, though comfortable.

Air France has opted for the angled seat option rather than staggered like some business class cabins. Thus, seats on the port and starboard sides all partially face the windows. Inside (center) seats are scalloped inward, with a center partition that can be lowered for couples or friends traveling together.

I was in seat 2A. Had I known the seats were angled and not staggered (not obvious from the seating chart), I’d have selected 1A for more privacy.

Some design aspects are similar to my 777 experience the night before coming from Johannesburg. There was a roomy cabinet where I could safely put my eyeglasses when napping, for example. The blanket and pillow were the same (both perfect, in my opinion). No private business class compartments with doors, however, as on the 777. Because there’s very little room on the 787. In fact, passing flight attendants inadvertently brushed my arm.

One design element I neglected to mention last night was the built-in Air France noise-canceling headphones. The phones sit on the ears rather than over the ears, but work remarkably well and were comfortable. I didn’t bring my Bose noise-canceling phones this trip because I had no space in my bag, so was happy the AF headphones were effective. 

Air France biz class boarding was the same skimpy, fleeting service as the previous flight: a single glass of champagne or water or OJ was offered, then no more until airborne.  I was so weary by then that I didn’t care except that I remember thinking there was little value for money in paying for business class other than the seat itself.  Maybe that’s enough for most travelers these days.

Meals to Raleigh were markedly better than from Johannesburg. I ate up and then napped.

By the time we reached Raleigh, however, the thirty-seven hours had taken its toll.  Sure, I had been in business class and airport lounges all the way, but I was running on empty.  Never will I again let myself be subjected to such a long and tiresome trip.

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe remains a study in contrasts after 33 years

April 2,

I first visited Victoria Falls in and was stunned by its majestic natural beauty.  Truly a place that must be seen to be comprehended as it defies verbal depiction.  But also a study in stark contrasts, as the endemic, deep Zimbabwean poverty of was impossible to reconcile compared to the grandeur of the falls and the expensive tourist infrastructure designed for the very wealthy.  I went back again in late February , and nothing has changed in 33 years.  The Falls’ timeless splendor persists, paired with pervasive poverty that’s painful to observe.  No change except perhaps the tourist infrastructure is even more attuned to rich clientele.

Knowing the risks of driving into Zimbabwe and the reluctance of my rental car company to insure my vehicle, I opted to book a day trip to Victoria Falls from Kasane in Botswana.  It’s less than a two-hour drive from Kasane.

Only two of us signed up for the day trip from the Chobe Safari Lodge in Kasane to Victoria Falls. The logistics seemed complicated to me for the tour operator: One van to transport us from the lodge to the Botswana-Zimbabwe border and to shepherd us through the immigration formalities ($30 in US cash for a visa, or 420 Pula).

Our first driver, Robert, who picked us up at the lodge, was from Kasane and dismissively waved his hand at the ruin (which looked like a junkyard) when we drove into the Zimbabwean side of the border post, saying, “This is Zimbabwe.”  Robert was plainly glad to be a Botswanan.

Then wait at the decrepit border post for another van on the Zimbabwe side to come with a driver and guide. A warthog comfortably mingled with the folks loitering there like a family pet.

Elephants on the potholed road delayed our progress towards Victoria Falls. We also saw herds of Cape Buffalo and Impala en route.

At one point, a Black Mamba slithered fast across the road ahead of us.  I couldn’t convince the guy with me to jump out for a selfie with the most dangerous snake in Africa.

Our Zimbawean driver-guide, Kali, was a Victoria Falls native. He made the round trip from the Kasane border post to Vic Falls and back. He expertly guided us through the Falls, to a delicious peri-peri chicken lunch afterward in the park, to the Overlook Cafe that sits precariously on the Zambezi River gorge, to have a gander at the magnificent grandeur of the Victoria Falls Hotel (below), and to a crafts market. Kali was an expert, patient, and good-humored professional.

The Falls create a spray that nourishes the adjacent rainforest. We wore rain parkas and still got soaked.

We stopped briefly at the famous “Big Tree,” which is a -year-old baobab that has long served as a traditional meeting place, including for Livingstone when he came through.

The railway bridge connects Zimbabwe and Zambia. The bridge was designed and built in England and shipped in pieces. Lots of freight traffic in both directions. Copper from Zambia to Zimbabwe, and coal to smelt copper from Zim to Zam.  Occasionally Zim Railways still fires up one of the ancient Garrett-type steam locomotives. I saw one parked in the yard.

The bridge also carries truck & car traffic as well as lots of pedestrians and bicycles between the adjacent countries.

The statue of Livingstone speaks for itself, the first white man to “discover” the Falls in his long search that began looking for the headwaters of the Nile. Victoria Falls was a surprise only to him and Europeans, hardly to the locals who’d lived there for millennia. Still, it was named for Queen Victoria. I wonder why it still is named after a 19th-century British monarch.

The picture above was taken from the Overlook Cafe perched on the precipice of the Zambezi River gorge. You can see the railway bridge across the deep gorge in the distance. The falls begin just beyond the bridge.

Another picture of the splendid Victoria Falls Hotel is below. The hotel is old-school luxe and a world unto itself, frozen in time. Rooms reportedly start at nearly $600/night.

It was a very wonderful day, but the station and economic opportunities of everyday Zimbabweans have not improved one iota since .  The disparity in quality of life was excruciating to observe. 

Priority Pass jewel of a lounge in Windhoek, Namibia

March 26.

Flying home to Raleigh from Windhoek, Namibia recently with a long airport wait, I discovered a wonderful Priority Pass affiliate in which to relax and pass the time.  Called the Paragon Premium Lounge, it is the sole oasis of its kind for premium customer needs in the remote Windhoek airport.  I was impressed with its roominess, comfort, quiet, excellent service, and array of food and beverages.

Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, is a curious place of 431,000 located in the central highlands at ′ above sea level. Curious to me, as a Westerner, because it appears so busy and modern compared to the rest of the sleepy, mostly empty country, and also curious because Windhoek is located on steep, undulating hills unlike most of the rest of the country.

Because of the city’s craggy terrain, Hosea Kutako International Airport is located 45 km away from downtown where the topography is relatively flat. It’s a long haul out there, and expensive by local standards. I was able to negotiate a courtesy ride with the rental truck company, Africa On Wheels, after returning the Toyota Land Cruiser 4×4 following a two-week trek over parts of rugged Namibia and Botswana.  Getting into the city when I arrived cost $14 plus tip plus airport parking fees. May seem cheap, but that’s a fortune in Namibia.

The airport is tiny for an international facility serving the capital of a country. It looks like a big small-town airport.  Facilities for passengers are Spartan.  Thank goodness Paragon Premium Lounge accepts Priority Pass Club members.   

Paragon offered very strong wi-fi, top-shelf food and liquor, and comfortable, well-kept furnishings and appointments that made the lounge appealing. Paragon was delightfully over-staffed with friendly people eager to help. The toilets were spotless and modern. Paragon is not gigantic, yet seems more spacious than expected for such a modest airport.

It was the refuge I needed for a three-hour wait for my Airlink flight to Johannesburg, where I was connecting to Air France to Paris CDG and on to RDU the following morning. Once again, Priority Pass saved my bacon in an out-of-the-way place.

International business class is the new coach

March 12,

I stole that quip from a fellow frequent flyer.  He and I independently concluded that, except for the seat (the hard product), international business class on every carrier is not worth the fare.  Airlines now offer little or no personalized, differentiated service in business-class cabins.

This fact dawned on me after several recent business class legs to and from Asia, Europe, and South Africa on Delta, Lufthansa, American, Air France, and United.  The slight service differences among carriers are not worth parsing.  They are all mediocre and very similar.

Starting with boarding. Flying up front with Swiss Air in the 80s and 90s—back when up front was still called First Class—sharp-end pax would be called from the First Class Lounge only after every other passenger had boarded.  We’d be escorted to the 747 and individually seated with smiles and care.  As soon as the last First Class customer was comfortably belted, the door would close, and pushback would immediately commence.  That recognition process would be repeated on arrival.

Nowadays, business class passengers must don helmets and padded jackets to run through the ugly scrum to board.  Some airlines board by numbered sections, but without the slightest personalization or sense of irony that business class travelers have paid many thousands more than the next highest class (premium economy). The numbered queues remind me of cattle chutes at a meat auction. The stampede to board is stressful and dehumanizing.  Many airlines don’t even use queues, particularly nerve-wracking.  It’s every person for himself/herself.

Once in my business class seat, I must fight for overhead space with neighboring passengers among the acres of seats now crammed into the front cabin.  The seats are bigger, but the crass feeling of competition for a place to put my carry-on luggage is no different from coach.  The large bins are over the outside seats only, leaving inside-seat flyers to shove theirs in as best they can.  No assistance from flight attendants, either.  Just like coach.

In business class, flight attendants usually come around (sooner or later) with glasses (often plastic) of warm “boarding beverages” that are often orange juice, water, and cheap prosecco.  On a recent Delta One nonstop Atlanta to Johannesburg flight, on which Delta was asking almost $ round trip, I asked why no real champagne and why the prosecco was not at least chilled.  The rote, unhesitant answer was that the crew could not open the real champagne until after takeoff (Why not? Other airlines do) before hurriedly moving on to the next passenger and without offering an explanation why everything was at room temperature. 

Air France did offer real champagne on boarding, but it was not chilled. I overheard two people near me ask for a second glass during the long boarding process.  Both were ignored.  That happened to me on two different Air France flights.  I assume the flight attendants have been trained not to refill or even to speak to passengers who have the temerity to ask for more.

Tray meals have become common in every business class.  They don’t call it that because individual trays are usually provided for each course.  But that’s what it is.  Trays are unceremoniously plopped down onto my foldout table without warmth or question or eye contact by the FA before moving on down the aisle.  Just like coach.  It’s a better meal than coach, but…

Usually, a beverage cart follows or just precedes the meal cart with a different flight attendant doling out drinks as fast as possible, like an octopus.  I’ve learned from experience to ask for water as well as wine right then because there are long gaps in time between beverage services.

And usually only two beverage services.  If I want more liquid, whether wine or water, I have to go to the galley to ask for it.  True on every carrier.  Just like coach.

After the dinner trays are cleared, that’s when business class FAs disappear.  One or two may be relegated to galley duty, but the rest vanish.  Just like coach.  No one comes down the aisle to ask if I want more water or help with the infernal seat controls when napping.

That process repeats itself for the second meal and beverage service.  Wham, bam, trays out, clean up, disappear.  Just like coach.

The spacious lie-flat seats in business are the main advantage over the lesser classes.  That said, the degree of comfort and privacy is highly dependent upon the seat type.  On a recent Air France 777-300, I was astonished at the amount of room.  Then my next Air France flight was on a 787 in a biz class seat that was claustrophobic

Meanwhile, one cabin back in premium economy, meal and beverage services are a notch above coach and inferior to business. 

But the PE fares are thousands less than business. 

Premium economy seats are roughly equivalent to domestic first-class chairs in the USA, perhaps slightly larger and with slightly better recline.  Certainly light years better and more spacious than coach.

All things considered, I’d still rather fly in business for the seat, but only on a deep-discount sale or a free upgrade.  I’m not wild about premium economy comfort for very long flights, nor am I raving about the ordinariness of service in that cabin. 

However, PE fares sure are the sweet spot for value compared to business these days.  If money was no object and I could afford to go up to real international first class, not much offered now, I would.  But for me and my budget, I‘ll mostly stick with premium economy for now.

Havana street scenes

March 5,

My February 6 post on Cuba contained just three photos. Here are some Havana street scenes that give a flavor of daily life in the capital.

Three generations of Cuban women above.

Cubanos like to dress up (above), and art deco facades dot Havana.

A friend suggested I edit out the plastic bag (above), but this feels authentic as-is.

Spontaneous street music pops up regularly in Havana (above), and Cuban people gather to dance. They are very good dancers!

Beautiful old cars all over Cuba (above is a model) are not just for tourists. 

Lots of busy streets in Old Havana (above) and (thankfully) not many cars.

Waiting for the bus (above). Note the lack of traffic.

The view (above) from our casa particular (Airbnb). 

Lots of sweet and lonely-looking mutts wander Havana (below).

Love the adaptive reuse of old cannons in Havana and elsewhere.

Forgot to mention that Cuba was very safe.  We never once felt in danger anywhere.

And this tidbit: The Cuban government takes 90% of what farmers produce (e.g., tobacco, coffee, sugar, eggs, tomatoes, and so on).

A very merry After-Christmas in Reykjavik

February 27,

After spending the week leading up to Christmas in Seoul, where my wife and I marveled at the beautiful Korean Christmas decorations all over the city, followed by the week of Christmas in Raleigh, we were in Iceland in early January.  Lucky for us, we got an unexpected third dose of holiday décor.  Because Iceland keeps its trees up and twinkling lights on well into January.  Partly by tradition, partly because the dead of winter is so dark and depressing there (sunrise was around 11am and sunset near 4pm).

One surprise led to another:  It was far colder in Seoul than in Reykjavik.  Our visit lasted five days, and the temperature never got below 32° F. and was in the 40s one lovely afternoon.  Lots of heavy ice on streets and walkways persisted from earlier winter weather that we missed. But the brisk, unrelenting winds there made it feel much colder than the actual thermometer reading.

A weak sunlight appeared around 10am, and skies darkened just past 4pm. To be expected, I guess, at 66° North in midwinter. The dark and chill didn’t inhibit us from exploring the city on foot for most of the first day (with a 2.5-hour nap interlude to overcome jetlag the morning we arrived).

The two photos above show off the Harpa, the stunning performing arts center where we attended a symphony performance because our Northern Lights Boat Tour was canceled due to overcast skies.

Then a pix of an impressive Iceland Coast Guard vessel moored in the harbor with mountains behind.

The iconic Hallgrimskirkja (cathedral) can be seen from all over Reykjavik.

My better three-quarters, Ruth, is standing by a marvelous bakery she found. I loved the ’60s look of the facade, and the baked products were scrumptious!

Here are a few pictures from the Viennese Favorites spectacular concert with the Iceland Symphony Orchestra tonight. The performance was the final one in a series celebrating the New Year.

The Harpa Concert Hall is stunningly beautiful. Jaw-dropping.  Phenomenal acoustics as well. Its presence, grandeur, and performance popularity speak volumes about the culture of this country of just 373,000 people.  Icelanders are committed to the musical arts.

How fortunate we were to have been able to immerse ourselves in that beautiful sample of Icelandic high culture.

The final photo is Ruth by one of the many Christmas trees lit up and twinkling all over Reykjavik. The season lingered there long after the actual calendar date. This was good for us, as we got to experience Christmas in Seoul, Raleigh, and a bonus third time in Iceland!

In Seoul, don’t miss the Gwangjang Market

February 20,

A very short post extolling the virtues of the famous Gwangjang Market just a block from our Seoul hotel (Hotel Atrium) which we visited briefly upon arrival the week before Christmas. All manner of Korean edible delicacies is on offer. It’s immensely popular with the locals, as you can see. 

Most of the little eateries offer al fresco benches with no heat. It never got above 22° F. today, with a stiff wind, but that didn’t deter the hearty Seoul souls who came to dine. I admire their tolerance for frigid weather, a trait I do not share.

We found one of the few heated places with indoor tables to enjoy a mung bean pancake with pork and a Korean lager (Terra, the label of which reads in English: “100% real carbonated beer”).

Every food stall offers “live” octopus, which means freshly killed and cooked so that the dismembered tentacles are still wriggling when served. I’ve seen too many documentaries recently demonstrating octopus intelligence and couldn’t bring myself to try it.

Gwangjang Market is a must-see/must-eat in Seoul!

American Airlines to Cuba

February 13,

When I signed on with an “old Cuba hand” friend to support the Cuban people, I had no idea how we would get there.  I was caught off guard to discover that American, Delta, and United all serve Havana.  Only AA, though, serves both Havana and Santa Clara (via Miami) and with several flights every day to both cities.  I booked my wife and me on American from RDU to Havana, with the return from Santa Clara, which turned out to be a great choice: all four flights were punctual, friendly, and delivered good service. Perfect, no, but well within tolerable limits.

Despite being a Lifetime AAdvantage Gold member, I didn’t wait for an upgrade, instead paying a little more for Main Cabin Extra and grabbing bulkhead seats right behind first class.  The fare was around $400.  

When the day came, I was glad to be able to stretch out after boarding and doze on the 620am flight RDU/MIA.  The only drawback was arriving in Miami at the nebulous gate D60, designed for RJs.  It’s at the far end of the concourse and was a half-hour walk to the connecting gate.

A damnably long trek on foot because the MIA Airport “Skytrain” is broken with no definite timeline for reopening and because there are no moving sidewalks in Miami.  Nor are there sufficient numbers of courtesy carts.

Nonetheless, my wife and I had plenty of connecting time (almost 2 hours), and we made it to D12 in time.  We stopped to buy a bagel along the way, which took 20 minutes, and consequently didn’t have long to wait to board.  Getting the teeming masses aboard went smoothly despite the usual crowds rushing to the door and ignoring the ropes and group numbers.  The plane pushed back on time, and we landed at Havana ahead of schedule.

Returning, I was delighted to receive an notice 24 hours in advance that we had been upgraded from Santa Clara to MIA.

The quaint little Santa Clara airport had an efficient check-in counter, passport control, and security screen.  Followed by a very professional AA staff that got the 737-800 boarded in no time using tarmac air-stairs at both front and rear doors.  We were ready to depart 20 minutes ahead of schedule.

Our first-class flight attendant, Joey, made sure we were happy from Santa Clara to Miami. He plied us with lots of delicious, ice-cold Cava and even took one back to my cousins sitting in coach. I praised his service in an to AA after the flight.

We landed early and had to clear immigration and customs, of course.  Except it was another extremely long walk from the gate due to the MIA Skytrain being broken and most moving walkways also broken. But it took only 30 seconds at Global Entry, and then no questions at Customs (I could have brought cigars). Quick, but a bit chaotic at the subsequent security re-entry.

We were going to take it easy at the Amex Centurion Club at D12 but decided to stand by for an earlier RDU flight from D55 so didn’t have time.  I paid $5 for a cart to get from D6 to D55. Without Skytrain or moving escalators, it would have been a 30-minute walk.

The earlier flight’s inbound aircraft was an E175 arriving from Tortola (I checked it on FlightAware) and had 40 empty seats to Raleigh. We were soon confirmed in MCE, and the plane boarded and was ready to go before 550p (611p scheduled departure). 

But after the door closed, the captain announced that last-minute passengers would be boarded and that they were “just coming down the Jetway.”

I knew that was a lie.  Once the door closes, no carrier will accept late arrivals to the gate.  Sure enough, the stragglers turned out to be two arrogant non-rev pilots who didn’t even pretend not to be incensed that they had to walk halfway down the cabin to find overhead space for their bags, plus one revenue passenger who got lucky.

“Just coming down the Jetway” turned out to mean a 30-minute wait.  The plane finally pushed back 14 minutes late but arrived at RDU nearly on time. 

Despite the typical airline dissembling, all four flights operated at or close to schedule.  We made the MIA connections, too, even with Skytrain down (apparently forever?).  It was on balance a good experience with American Airlines, good enough to keep me booking AA in the future.

Trying to describe what Cuba was like

February 6,

Visiting Cuba to support the Cuban people for a week, as we did recently, was spectacular, though we were drinking from a fire hose from the moment we landed at Havana until we flew home from Santa Clara.  (We had good flights on American Airlines, about which I will report next week.)

The experience doesn’t lend itself to easy explanation.  Being in Cuba was difficult to process. 

Every American who goes to Cuba reports that it feels like stepping back 70 years because of the old cars—a first and powerful visual impression—and that’s true, but far from the whole story.  The beautiful old cars can be a distraction from what is a land of peculiar and often subtle contrasts.

Cuba is an all-cash economy for Americans, with a preference for U.S. dollars or Euros.  The official government rate for pesos is 120 to the dollar, but the real street price is $1 = 250 pesos.  We used both dollars and pesos.

Credit cards are not accepted in Cuba from Americans (the inverse of Iceland where credit cards are the preferred means of payment for the most trivial payments—I never carried or saw Icelandic currency when we visited).

No credit cards, but every Cuban now has a smartphone, a relatively new phenomenon (I believe only 8 years old). 

One of our guides quipped that “Cubans could rather have a cell than eat.”  And often that’s a real choice, as food can be scarce for Cubans, not to mention how little money most Cubans make.

Cell phones and the Internet are transforming the economy in the same ways our own pocket computers have.  Phones have made it much easier for guides to coordinate with visitors like us, for example.

The Cuban government can turn the Internet (and service) on or off, but so far lacks the sophisticated, nuanced surveillance technology over the population that China routinely exercises.

Most American cellphone provider plans don’t work in Cuba, and wifi is spotty and slow.  Mostly, I was off the grid for 8 days.  Unlike, say, Tanzania, where I was rarely off the grid, even in the Serengeti. 

Many of the old buildings are literally crumbling (pieces fall off into the street), especially in central Havana (less so in old Havana), which gives a vague air of ancient Rome.  Yet plenty of buildings are intact.  Looks can be deceiving.

Our Havana “casa particular” was a third-floor private home turned into an Airbnb rental with four large, comfortable bedrooms, each with a private bath and shower, a large common area (living room), a big kitchen, multiple balconies, high ceilings, gorgeous old furnishings, air-conditioning (and fans), and a rooftop bar and dining area for our exclusive use (see attached photos).  It was, I thought, palatial and on par with a gorgeous penthouse apartment we shared in Rome several years ago.

The total cost for 4 nights in that beautiful Havana place was $955 all-in, or $59.69/bedroom/night.  On top of that, breakfast was less than $10/person/day, plus charges for optional laundry ($7 for me).  Of course, we tipped generously to each staff person helping us.  (In fact, we tipped generously to everyone we met, especially to guides and drivers.)

That was our housing.  Havana housing, we were told, is a problem because there is not enough, and apartments are tiny.  We visited one flat for a delicious meal that appeared to be less than 500 square feet.  The chef (booked through an Airbnb “experience”) had borrowed use of it because his friend’s place was closer to us than his own.

Cubans don’t flush toilet paper and often have none to flush, anyway.  We took TP with us.  Both places we stayed had paper and toilet seats, but most public toilets have no seats and don’t provide toilet paper.

I never had ice in my drinks because it was always made with unfiltered water.  Luckily, Cuban 7-year-old (and older) rum was pleasantly palatable to sip neat.  Another alternative was the excellent local lager, Cristal.

The Cuban people have little money, and prices by our standards are cheap.  We never bargained over items for sale.  When a large, robust woven straw basket was $3 and beautiful hand-embroidered linen runners were priced at $5 each, I felt we should be paying more.  We just forked over what they wanted.  Sometimes we did give them more than the asking prices.

Restaurants have impressive menus and serve delicious food (e.g., fresh Caribbean lobster tails for under ten dollars), yet most Cubans have little more than rice and beans and a bit of protein like chicken and beef.  We brought chocolate (a Cuban favorite and hard to get) and other food treats and distributed them liberally as the week progressed.

We also brought with us prescription antibiotics and OTC medicines to give away because pharmaceuticals are limited and much needed.

Healthcare and education are free, but common drugs like antibiotics are often nonexistent in clinics and hospitals.

Everyone who wants one has a “government” job, and every government job, from doctor to dishwasher, pays about $20-22/month.  Yes, per month.  That’s Fidel’s communism at work.

Since no one can live on twenty bucks a month, every Cuban has 3-4 jobs.  One sharp young IT professional (age 33) told us he borrows his dad’s car (cars are few, and he cannot afford one) to use as a taxi every night.  He boasted of making $20 per day as a taxi driver versus $20 per month in his government job of programming.  Even so, I tried to imagine how he lived off about $100 per week.

Everybody has a scheme to make money by beating the government system.  The chef I mentioned above said the groceries he used to prepare our meal came from the kitchen of a famous hotel property on the Havana waterfront now owned and operated by the government.  Our chef and others routinely buy foodstuff there from cooks and security guards meant for hotel dinner guests.

We were told of a man who was delighted to get a government job as a city bus driver so he could supplement his income with the standard bus transit scheme.  On starting his job, his supervisor explained his bus route was scheduled to operate 5 roundtrips per shift, but that he should instead drive only 3 round trips.  The government would provide diesel fuel for 5 round trips, and the drivers, mechanics, and supervisors would then sell the unused fuel for the 2 trips not made.  Everybody benefited, and everyone knew of petty corruption because everybody was engaged in some form of it.  They couldn’t afford to take those jobs without those “fringe” benefits.

This daily “struggle” (their term) of the Cuban people to get by is both inspiring and heartbreaking.  And isn’t getting better, only worse: Kids and mothers are begging on the street (for the first time, we were told) due to a desperate need for food. We gave anyone who asked a dollar or two.  (We carried a lot of small bills.)

The old cars need constant maintenance.  The standing Cuban joke is that when you get your driver’s license, you automatically become an auto mechanic because you have to.

Havana has an extraordinary national art gallery and is well worth the time to go through it, preferably with a good guide.  So good we went twice.

Electricity was always on when we were in Havana. Locals say usually it’s on in Havana but not always outside the capital.  That proved to be true in Trinidad where we stayed for the last 3 nights.  Blackouts there are routine and sporadic.  Sometimes announced in advance, sometimes not.  The power cuts usually last a few hours.

As bad and expensive as things are, we were told that fuel prices were going up soon 11x. When I asked our twenty-something cheerful guide what people would do then, she replied cheerfully, “Line up!”

That’s what Cubans already do for gas: line up.  Many gas stations run out of fuel every day.  One of our drivers said word gets around Havana quickly every morning which of the few gas stations have fuel, and everyone goes to line up.

It was hard to get exact cost figures, but if what I was told by one driver (who showed me his special fuel card), the current cost of gasoline is 30 pesos/liter, which at 250 pesos/$1 = $0.12/liter.  12 cents/liter × 3.69 liters/gallon = $0.455/gal (current price)—pretty cheap by our standards. 

But gas is soon rising to $1.30/liter (a cost increase of 10.8x), which will be $4.93/gallon.  If that happens, I wonder if the already fragile economy may collapse.  Only European and American visitors will be able to afford such a steep increase. 

Furthermore, Cubans were shocked that the new price ($1.30/liter) is officially in U.S. dollars, not Cuban pesos.  Buyers must pay in dollars.  That’s a first, and no one understands why.

Not that there are many cars on the roads and highways outside Havana anyway.  We drove to Trinidad, over 400 km from Havana, and had the opportunity to observe roadway life:

• Most of the few cars drive down the center of every highway outside Havana due to potholes and crumbling verges.
• No traffic to speak of outside Havana.  Mostly empty highways.  Eerie emptiness.
• Light automobile traffic (and very few trucks) on all highways, but heavy with pedestrians, bicycles, gas motorbikes, electric motorbikes, motorbike-like tuk-tuk contraptions, people on horseback, oxcarts, horse carts of all kinds, ancient tractors, old buses, and even people going along the roads in wheelchairs. Also lots of goats, horses, oxen, cows, and chickens browsing on or near the roads.
• Since horses and horse carts are the principal way of getting around, along with pedestrians sharing every highway, the few motorized vehicles weave politely and carefully around.
• Hitchhiking is a common and good way to get around. Several guides told us that hitchhiking is well-accepted in Cuba.
• Police/government checkpoints on major highways at regular intervals. Didn’t see any on secondary two-lane roads.

Fidel’s house just outside downtown Havana is off-limits to everyone and no photos are allowed anywhere close.

The Cuban jazz and dance scene was electric, both in Havana and in Trinidad!  I danced with my wife, Ruth; we ALL danced!  If I lived in Trinidad, I would go to jazz nightclubs every night (though perhaps go light on the rum).

The guide who showed us the French Town of Cienfuegos was older (2 grandkids) and had completely drunk the communist Kool-Aid, the only guide we encountered who felt that way.  Believed in the reality of a utopian society created by the revolution.  Insisted Cuba is not a third-world country (and I think he was partly right about that).  Lauded free universal healthcare and jobs for all.  Said the government had created 400+ private companies and lots of opportunities for those willing to work hard.  Yet he was dependent upon relatives in Miami and Spain to send much-needed pharma items for a granddaughter with type 1 diabetes.  He didn’t see the disparity in what he espoused.

The STRUGGLE: that’s what Cubans call getting through every day.  Cuba has grit, charm, and character.  But it defies a pigeonhole.

As one thirty-something guide, a brilliant woman, put it to me cheerfully, though seriously: “Don’t try to understand the Cuban people. We are an enigma and impossible to comprehend.”

When I asked her how she maintained her air of complete happiness with so many challenges, she said, “When I wake up every morning, I could be unhappy—VERY unhappy.  But I choose to be HAPPY instead, and I am!”

Another of our best guides and her driver briefly dropped the facade, their faces no longer in smiles, and spoke privately to me in detail about “the struggle” they go through every day here for food and supplies.

Yet another guide whispered in the national art gallery for us to wait until going outside to answer a question about how Cubans cope and stay happy.

In one way or another, all our guides said something similar, barring the old fellow in Cienfuegos. 

I can’t comprehend what they go through. I felt like a participant in a dark sci-fi or tragic movie. Like being in a bad dream unable to help those around me and at the same time rejoicing in the simple pleasures of their lives: family, children, food, friends, rum, music, dancing, laughter at the struggles, and the sheer natural beauty of their marvelous island.  Cubans are warm and wonderful.

No one can have any idea until you go there.  Our guide was right:  Don’t try to understand the Cuban people and what they are going through. It’s impossible to imagine the utter hopelessness and yet the strength of their spirit and character. It’s impossible to comprehend what they go through every day, every day.  That same guide added that Cubans don’t understand it, either.  I came to believe that.

All young Cubans we met want to travel outside Cuba and cannot. The place felt like a powder keg.

I’ve included a few photos of our Airbnb casa particular.  I wish I could write more, but this is the main report.  It’s too painful and difficult to write more.  We left with great admiration for the Cuban people, whom I hope we helped to support a little.

I won’t delve into a lengthy polemic, but how can this be just 90 miles from our shores? The Cuban conundrum has the look of an ugly political relic of forgotten relevance.

Monty Python in Iceland

January 30,

Recently, my wife and I bit on an Icelandair packet of offers to visit Iceland.  Once the airline began nonstop service from Raleigh to Keflavik over a year ago, I’d been bombarded with bundles that included air, hotel, and various attractions and excursions.  We finally found a package that seemed perfect, but I never dreamed that once in Iceland we’d find ourselves in a real-life version of the Monty Python “Cheese Shop” sketch.

One highly popular element of nearly every Icelandair package during fall-winter-spring dark times of the year is the “Northern Lights By Boat” tour.  Marketing descriptions are enticing:  Vessels leave from the Old Harbour in Reykjavik convenient to most downtown hotels at 9:00 PM every night and motor out to sea distant enough not to be impacted by city lights.  Then comes the reward as all look skyward to BEHOLD the magnificent luminescence shimmering amongst the stars!

A night on the ocean gawking at the aurora borealis certainly sounded romantically alluring to us, and we made sure it was part of our suite of deals. The Icelandair itinerary confirmed passage on the Northern Lights By Boat trip the very first night we were in town.  We looked forward to the exciting prospect!

However, upon landing in Iceland (on a Saturday morning), my beeped and displayed an from the tour company saying that night’s Northern Lights By Boat tour was canceled due to thick cloud cover.  That notice came at 6:30 AM. 

Hmm.  Disappointing.  But the said we could rebook at no charge for the following evening by replying or by stopping by their office on the wharf.  We planned to become acquainted with Reykjavik on foot and decided we would stop by in person.

Later that morning, we easily found the tour company’s office at the Old Harbour and popped in to rebook for the Sunday night cruise.  The cheery lady behind the counter was only too happy to do so.  An soon arrived confirming we were booked the following evening.  We made alternate plans for Saturday night since we would not be out on the ocean.

My wife and I continued our self-guided rambling on foot to become acquainted with Reykjavik and changed our Sunday evening plans to take the boat tour to see the Northern Lights. 

Sunday morning we joined an all-day tour of the island’s highlights called the Golden Circle.  In mid-afternoon, my beeped with a new from the Northern Lights By Boat tour company saying they were very sorry, but owing to overcast skies, the boat tour was canceled.  Again.  The message offered to rebook us for Monday night if I replied with certain specific booking numbers, which I did.

Pretty soon I received another confirming our Monday boat tour was rebooked to see the aurora borealis in cheerful verbiage.  What fun we could expect!  And all that sort of thing. 

Once again, my wife and I changed our plans for that evening (Sunday) to account for no boat tour.  We were lucky to get a last-minute reservation at a fine restaurant near our hotel.

Monday around noon was partly sunny, and I opined, optimistically, that this might be the magic day.  We had plans for the afternoon but of course. we had left the evening open for the boat tour.

A few rays of sunlight notwithstanding, more clouds rolled in as the day wore on, and my beeped again before 4:00 PM with the same canceled boat tour message.  Would we like to rebook for Tuesday night?  By then I was well-practiced at replying with the info required, resulting in the same happy confirmation about how wonderful the following night’s Northern Lights would be!

With the boat tour putting yet another void in our Icelandic vacation calendar, once again we had to scramble to make substitute plans for that evening.  This was becoming annoying and cutting into our fun.

Hmm, I pondered. Canceled three nights running, and Tuesday was our fourth and last chance.  We were flying home to Raleigh on Wednesday.  I thought it prudent to budget time Tuesday morning to visit the tour office in person again.

Wednesday’s skies were heavily overcast even early in the day.  My wife and I walked to the tour company quayside office once again and were met by two smiling and jovial staffers.  I explained that their Northern Lights By Boat tour had been canceled three nights in a row and asked about this, our fourth night and final opportunity.  Did they know if the boat was going?

“Oh, no sir, we can’t say this early!” The beaming duo exclaimed.  “We must wait until the weather forecast this afternoon around three or four o’clock.”

“But,” I retorted, pointing to the thick clouds plainly visible through their big plate glass windows, “The sky isn’t visible, and the weather forecast says this will continue for at least 24-48 hours.”

“Oh, you just never can tell around here, sir!” The fellow said, smiling broadly with teeth gleaming.  “It could clear up by tonight!”

“Tell me,” I queried.  “Do you even HAVE a boat? Seems like this boat tour is more a fantasy than fact.”

“OH, YES SIR, we HAVE a boat!” came the quick reply in unison, with more teeth flashing and a furtive glance at one another.  Followed by a pregnant pause.

My wife then asked, “How many nights have you actually operated the tour?”

Mumble, mumble, click, click on their keyboards.  “Um, looks like we operated five nights since January 1st, ma’am.”

“And on how many of those trips did people actually see the Northern Lights?” said my wife.

More clicking and clicking, and a few murmurs while they conferred.  “Um, looks like they saw the lights on three nights out of five!”

“So you don’t go out much due to the weather, and when you do, seeing the lights is still no certainty.” I followed up.

“Oh, NO, sir, we don’t EVER guarantee that you’ll see the lights, but we always provide a voucher to book another night if you don’t,” came the fellow’s jubilant reply.

“But with so many tours canceled and with tourists like us who aren’t staying long enough to beat the odds, what then?” I tried to smile.

“Then you must ask for a refund,” said the young lady. “But since your tours were booked through Icelandair and not us, you must go through the airline for a refund, sir.”

“And,” added the man, quickly, “That’s ONLY if the boat tour is canceled again tonight—your final opportunity.”

“But you already know it will be, don’t you?” I said, glumly, knowing I was in a no-win argument.

“You never can tell!” replied the fellow, cocking his head and beaming with good cheer.

Defeated in the Monty Python cheese shop utterly devoid of cheese, we left.

Around half past three that afternoon, I received the we knew would come: the Northern Lights By Boat tour was canceled due to overcast skies, and we could rebook for the following evening.

Except we’d be in Raleigh the next night. 

A few days after returning home, it took several calls and online queries to find the right portal, but Icelandair eventually did refund us for the ephemeral Northern Lights By Boat tour.  If we ever return to Iceland, we will know better.

Who needs name-brand hotels in Seoul & Reykjavik?

January 23,

Two recent hotel stays in vastly different places and cultures were both excellent despite neither being a major brand.  Korea and Iceland, half a world apart, have plenty of accommodation choices with names recognizable to American travelers, but I chose to book local instead. Looking back, I would happily return to the Hotel Atrium Jongno in Seoul and to the Center Hotels Plaza in Reykjavik.  Each one had its own charms and peculiarities.  Those refreshingly different aspects appealed to me as opposed to what I feel is often the bland sameness of Hiltons, Marriotts, and their ilk.

I chose both places primarily based on location in Seoul and Reykjavik.  My wife and I love to see cities on foot as much as possible or to be close to metro lines that will give us the freedom to explore. Competitive rates relative to location and time of year were another factor.  Both hotels met those criteria.

SEOUL

The Atrium Jongno is branded as a tourist hotel.  It is part of the SeAn hotel group, which strives for “customer-oriented service, the best price and quality, enjoyable hotel” as they become “the best hotel management company of Korea.”  Well, I don’t know about all that, but I thought it was very good. Jongno, by the way, is an area of Seoul, so adding that as part of the hotel name identifies where it is, like the “Grand Hyatt DFW.”

After arrival at the modern, gleaming Seoul Incheon Airport at 413p in mid-December, immigration & customs took just 15 minutes and we found the airport train to Seoul by 458p.  We opted to wait until 533p for the express train to Seoul (43 minutes, about $8.50 each) rather than the regular airport train that stops everywhere (1 hour, 20 minutes). Timewise, though, it was probably a wash. After changing to a different metro line, we walked about two blocks from the Jongno-5 station and reached the Hotel Atrium Jongno around 700p. It was extremely cold.

The friendly hotel front desk staffer spoke English and had our room ready on the 11th floor. He explained that breakfast was served 700-900a, was included, and pointed to the dining area in the lobby.

Our room was clean, quiet, well-heated, and with a great bathroom.  The view from our window gives a view of only one small part of the sprawling modern city of Seoul.

The following morning it was a chilly 16° F. outside.  To my chagrin, it did not feel much warmer in the hotel lobby and adjacent dining area when we went down for breakfast.  It was a shock to discover those public spaces were mostly unheated. I wondered what the dining room would feel like the next day when the overnight low was predicted to be in the low single digits.

We adapted to the lobby breakfast need for coats to be comfortable.  On the plus side, the Atrium had laid out a veritable cornucopia of Korean and Western food items. It was quite filling and good and mostly served cold.  Only the scrambled eggs and bacon were warm.

The low temp predicted overnight of 5° F turned into a relatively balmy 6° (the temp at 756a).  The slight difference sure didn’t help to warm up the unheated breakfast area, just as I had feared. I kept on my coat during that morning’s short, unpleasant dining experience and wolfed down a few bites of eggs and bacon.

Hotel Atrium Jongno was otherwise quite fine: tidy, comfortable, genuinely polite staff eager to please, with well-kept and (as I mentioned already) well-heated rooms, excellent showers, and old-fashioned, pre-Covid daily room cleaning. We received new towels and extra bottled water every day. The cold lobby was my only complaint.

That noted I saw one teenage boy in shorts and a tee shirt at breakfast (the hotel was hosting a Japanese-Korean exchange group) who appeared oblivious to the icy temps. Ah, youth!

Seoul is a gigantic metropolis of more than ten million people with several “downtowns” here and there.  I chose the hotel’s location for several reasons.  First, because it was fairly close to Korea University where our daughter was just completing her semester abroad studies; second, because Hotel Atrium Jongno is a quick walk to the Seoul Metro’s Jongno-5 stop that connects to everywhere in the city; and third, because we could easily walk to the main CBD.  In Seoul, being by a metro stop is a huge plus.

REYKJAVIK

Reykjavik’s Central Hotel Plaza is part of a local Icelandic chain with a good husband-and-wife backstory.  We were very happy with its ideal walkable location in the city center as well as the overall comfort in every respect, its quiet, the room amenities, the entire wonderful staff, and notable cleanliness. It’s a very well-maintained property, too. 

Getting there from the airport was a bit of a challenge, but that wasn’t the hotel’s responsibility.  We had booked a package deal with Icelandair that included Iceland’s FlyBus service between Keflavik Airport and Reykjavik. 

We’d arrived at 630a and found the FlyBus idling outside in a light snowfall at about 700a.  The big bus took 45 minutes to reach the Reykjavik bus terminal, and there we were told to transfer to a mini-bus to take us to our hotel. 

That sounded easy and straightforward. In practice, however, instructions from the airport bus driver were nonspecific (“You take a small bus HERE!”), and the bus station was chaotic, poorly signed, and confusingly had two sides with buses constantly coming and going.  Also heavy ice and snow packed up everywhere, making it very slippery and hard to walk. 

I stopped a driver at random, and he pointed me to one area and said “Take the bus from there with the blue sign—THE BLUE SIGN!” 

So we did, eventually, and I assumed we’d be dropped at our hotel.  But I was wrong. The driver asked for the name of our hotel as we boarded and said, “You get off at Bus Stop NUMBER ONE!” 

Pretty soon we reached bus stop number one, and he put us out.  I didn’t see a hotel and asked where it was.  “Go to the right—TO THE RIGHT!” He gestured, closed the door, and drove off.

As it was early January and pitch dark (sunrise that day was at a and sunset at 400p), finding landmarks wasn’t easy. But Google Maps worked in walk mode, and we carefully made our way through the dark, unfamiliar, and icy streets to reach the hotel.

One of our Icelandair packages (to the Blue Lagoon) had been canceled due to the recent volcanic activity, which meant we arrived at the hotel early at 815a.  Check-in wasn’t until 200p. I emailed the Center Hotels Plaza a few days before asking for early check-in, saying we were happy to pay the cost (about $39).  The extremely nice front desk staff acknowledged my request but had no rooms yet available.  They offered us breakfast and to store our bags.  We accepted and headed to the basement breakfast rooms.

In Seoul, I think we were the sole Americans in the Hotel Atrium Jongno. The breakfast area of the Center Hotels Plaza, though, was almost entirely American—and sheer bedlam.  Food items were displayed in the usual buffet style in several parts of two large rooms, and muddled queues snaked this way and that going in opposite directions for the same lines.  My wife and I fought to grab a few things and wolfed down what we could before exiting in haste. 

Exhausted after the overnight flight, we nonetheless spent a happy couple of hours meandering around the city.  A map we’d picked up either at the airport or the hotel—I don’t remember which—proved its worth.  We returned to the hotel at about a to find our room was ready.  The front desk staff of three impressed us as genuine, kind, quick-witted, and obviously well-trained.  Altogether professional.  Over our four nights and five days at the Center Hotel Plaza, those attributes would be reinforced again and again.

I was pleased to find our 3rd floor room extremely quiet, spacious, and well-heated (like Seoul, the heat was needed!), with an excellent bathroom.  In fact, we experienced the strongest shower water pressure of our lives (if only every hotel could match it!). 

Oh, and German-style duvets on the bed were a nice touch.

I mentioned quiet. Wonderfully quiet!  The room proved to be so well sound-insulated that we never heard anything in the corridors or from rooms above, below, or adjacent to ours.  Like the water pressure, a marvelous benefit that every hotel should emulate.

The single black mark was the lousy breakfast included in the room rate (whether we wanted it or not). To be fair, my wife was satisfied with it, but I think the meager and mediocre food choices were an embarrassment to an otherwise fine hotel.

And, like the Seoul hotel breakfast, the few hot dishes (scrambled eggs and undercooked bacon) were at best lukewarm.

Unlike the Seoul hotel breakfast, the Center Hotel Plaza offered a paucity of items. Since the few foods were, in my opinion, all tasteless, maybe that’s a moot point.

But at least the depressing, harshly-lit basement breakfast room in Reykjavik was HEATED.  I could sit with my wife and grouse about the poor offerings without wearing a heavy coat as I had to in Seoul.

That small nit aside, The Center Hotels Plaza in central Reykjavik was a jewel.  Its comfort, quiet, stellar young staff and perfect location won us over.  Like the Hotel Atrium Jongno in Seoul, a place I’d return to. 

Yes, the big guys like Hyatt offer very fine products, and I like those places (for example, see my recent thoughts on the Grand Hyatt DFW).  Having spent my life in the brand name hotels, the Korean and Icelandic properties were eccentric enough to be stimulating and not cookie-cutter. It was a small diversion from the routine, but a fun one.

Quirky Icelandair is a cool way to fly

January 17,

Candidly, it never occurred to me to fly Icelandair because I had no particular hankering to visit its namesake country.  So when my wife and I arrived at Raleigh/Durham Airport the first week of January to board the carrier’s nonstop to Keflavik (KEF), I had no expectation of their schedule reliability, on-board service, seat comfort, boarding process, or anything else.  A week later, though, I had two Icelandair flights under my belt and concluded their operation was finely tuned and efficient, with service quite good, if overall idiosyncratic in some of its practices.

While it’s true that many of my late 60s college generation (including President Bill Clinton) have fond memories of the airline in that era as the cheap way to Europe, I missed out on the Icelandair experience.  I didn’t have the money to fly to Europe until I was 25, and by then student charter flight alternatives (legal or not) were prevalent. 

We’d been bombarded with package offers from Icelandair since RDU/KEF nonstop service began over a year ago.  Five friends, none of whom know each other, gushed to us about their happy visits to Iceland, leading to our decision to go over for five days to see what the fuss was about. 

I usually make my own discrete plans for air, accommodation, and so on, but this time I succumbed to an attractive Icelandair bundle that included airfare, hotel, transportation between the airport and Reykjavik (a 45-minute drive), and several independent add-ons (e.g., Northern Lights by Boat).  In future Iceland posts, I’ll get into the details of that package and its peculiarities, but I’ll stick to the flights over and back for now.

Check-in 24 hours ahead online was easy, though my middle name was oddly missing from the Icelandair record.  That’s a no-no for air travel, of course, and I couldn’t correct it.  Still, I was able to print boarding passes for both of us.  I noticed TSA PRE-Check on both, always good.

To be sure about my missing middle name and to verify our usual carry-on bags would fit Icelandair’s standards, we stopped at the Icelandair counter.  Even though we were there more than two hours early, we waited 32 minutes to reach the counter.  But we had loads of time and no club to go to, so we didn’t care.

At the counter, they said we could carry on what we had (my usual Hartmann roller bag and my wife’s large backpack).  Our passports were checked, and I pointed out the missing middle name on my boarding pass.  But they didn’t change it (quirky), and, later, TSA either didn’t care or didn’t notice, either.

We decided to try CLEAR again. Once again, it was a slow and unsuccessful experience. The CLEAR scanner wouldn’t read my driver’s license. I asked why they needed to anyway because it had already been scanned when I joined.

“New software,” they said. Apparently, it was faulty software or hardware because after three failed attempts to read the scan, I was told they’d need my license as ID for the TSA agent.

Meanwhile, PRE (non-CLEAR) people were just breezing through security.

I said to the CLEAR “helper” that’s no better than the PRE line and to forget it. The CLEAR not-very-helpful “helper” then abruptly handed back my license and turned his back to me to chat with his colleagues, none of whom were busy or showed the least interest in resolving my problem.

My wife and I left CLEAR and went through the PRE queue, which was nearly empty, and had no trouble.

Note to self: Do not renew CLEAR. It’s only worked twice out of maybe a dozen tries at various airports. Only once worked at RDU.

At the Icelandair gate, I put my bag (voluntarily) through the Icelandair template, and it just barely didn’t fit, so I was forced to gate-check it.  Explaining that the counter had approved it made no difference (quirky because it was the same woman who’d earlier been at the counter).

The friendly young gate agents told me I could board first “if I needed extra time” presumably because I look ancient. I decided that was a great idea and did!  With my wife, too.  I was glad of that because the Icelandair boarding process begins with Saga Premium, then coach passengers who have checked their bags, and lastly allows coach passengers on board with a carry-on (very quirky).

The flight, even though we were in coach (I couldn’t afford the very pricy “Saga Premium” business class seats which are like domestic U.S. first class), was exceptionally good for coach. I had weeks earlier purchased more roomy economy seats up front that offered far more room than Delta’s Comfort+ or American’s Main Cabin Extra seats. I was astonished (see photo).

I admit that I’d rather have been in “Saga Premium” business class up front (we were in row 7 just behind), but if any are unsold close to departure, Icelandair sells those in a bid process, and others were willing to pay more.  I had bid the lowest possible amount (the airline sets a minimum bid).  A quirky way to do it, but a smart business move by the airline: no free upgrades.

Here are my real-time impressions of the flight from Raleigh to Keflavik:

• Icelandair offers 77 movies and 307 TV shows, plus music choices, so I was never bored on the short 5-hour, 45-minute flight.
• Observation: the distance from RDU to Iceland is just over the distance from RDU to Seattle.
• We were 41 minutes late pushing back due to a late inbound aircraft. We landed about 25 minutes late at Keflavik.
• I was impressed with the LOTS OF EXTRA LEGROOM seats. Much more space than Comfort+ or Main Cabin Extra. Especially quirky since the rest of coach is known to be cramped.
• We were in 7C and 7D. Aisle seats across from one another. Great choices with aisle access.
• Very clean aircraft. 737-800 MAX, every seat was full.
• Only 4 Flight Attendants in cabin crew to serve 16 in Saga Premium and 144 in coach (quirky but the labor-saving staffing model works because the FAs are well-trained, team-oriented, and well-practiced).
• Quirky “Nordic” box of smoked salmon & some kind of meat pre-ordered. Salmon was scrumptious; meat (beef, I think) was just okay.
• Wow, they gave us real blankets and pillows…IN COACH!  Quirky in the best possible way.
• REAL CHAMPAGNE…IN COACH!! ($16.70 for a split).  I’ll take that quirkiness any day!
• Designer Iceland-made gin properly served with lime ($8.70 for 2 bottles, 5cl each).  Delicious!
• All food and beverages are catered at Keflavik for both outbound and return legs so that the aircraft can be turned at RDU in one hour.  Quirky and a smart operational move.
• The cabin crew was friendly, engaging (when have I ever used that verb to describe a flight attendant?), attentive (I offhandedly asked an FA on board when the champagne service began, and she plopped one down for me once in flight), and happy.  That’s quirky these days on airlines, but used to be the norm.
• Happy? Yes, happy!  They remind me of South African flight attendants on Airlink JNB/SZK. I chatted with all four, all young and enthusiastic.
• Didn’t sleep much, just nodded off occasionally and dozed. The seat spacing is superb, but it’s still an uncomfortable narrow economy chair with limited recline.
• Grabbed a cup of water once from the rear galley and chatted with the 2 crew stationed there. No complaints about invading “Saga Premium” when I visited the forward lav.
• FAs told me most of the passengers on board every flight were connecting onward through KEF to other Icelandair destinations.  Very few flyers like my wife and I were bound for Iceland.
• Arrived at 155am my body’s time, 655am local.
• Altogether, a fine operation despite the late inbound that precipitated the 45-minute delay in departure. We made up 20 minutes en route and blocked in 25 minutes behind schedule.

On arrival, I figured the airport would be fairly compact, but I didn’t comprehend how many connections Icelandair serves through its KEF hub.  The corridors were long and packed with people connecting to or from Europe.  Eventually, we found our way to immigration and had only a short wait, then to baggage claim for my Hartmann roller.  The entire process took only half an hour to leave security and find our transport to Reykjavik.

Returning to Keflavik four days later, I had successfully bid us into Saga Premium, even though my offer was a lowball number.  We found the dedicated first-class (Saga Premium) check-in counter. 

Once again, here are my real-time impressions:

• The special Saga Premium check-in counter at Keflavik Airport was speedy.  However, my Hartmann roller bag that meets every other world airline’s carryon criteria was too big for Icelandair, and I had to check it AGAIN. Bummer. Not even in business class?  Very quirky.
• Flying Saga Premium class entitles passengers to use the FastTrack lane through security, which is not backed up. However, there is no Pre-check equivalent in Iceland even though it’s printed on our boarding passes. So we had to dig out liquid and gooey stuff like toothpaste to place in plastic bags. And take off our belts and shoes.  That’s a very quirky so-called fast lane.  I’ve not had to succumb to such indignity in a long time, so it was a slow process for me. TSA PRE has spoiled me.
• The Saga Premium Lounge was a godsend. It’s the sole Keflavik Airport lounge, and the only way in is to fly Saga Premium. Icelandair won’t allow other airline customers to enter, nor can entrance be purchased (quirky). No Priority Pass Club affiliate lounges at Keflavik, either.
• I didn’t like that the lounge is located before passport control, but when we went through, immigration formalities were so quick (4 or 5 minutes) I should not have fretted.
• The big rooms in the lounge are Scandinavian in style and quite modern, spacious, comfortable, and with lots of glass to let in what weak and short-lived sunlight there is in Iceland.
• The food and drink offerings rival much bigger carrier business-class lounges. I especially liked the quirky curried pickled herring and pea & carrot salad. I smiled at the broad selection of premium liquors, beers, and decent wines, including a good prosecco. I sampled a few just so I could report on the fine quality, naturally.
• Unlike many such lounges around the globe, that one never felt crowded even when it filled up (quirky). The splendid atmosphere was relaxing. The friendly staff made it welcoming, too.
• Showers are available for outbound or inbound passengers as well.
• After the rapid passport control check I mentioned before, we found our gate and lined up (D36).
• Wait, what? We lined up? That was really darn quirky.
• Yes, there was no real gate. Just a queue in the aisle. Not very premium, I thought.
• But then Saga Premium passengers were invited to jump the queue and board ahead of others (the finest kind of quirky).
• Except that we had to line up again at a door to the tarmac (no jetway) and then make a dash out to the air-stairs through the cold and blowing rain—one final frigid kiss goodbye from Iceland and quite quirky, indeed.
• Boarding was frenetic and swift, preventing forward cabin flight attendants from offering pre-flight drinks. They apologized later, but we didn’t need one, thanks to our lounge visit. 
• Saga Premium seats are equivalent to or better than domestic U.S. first-class seats. Private, roomy, comfortable. No leg rests, but I don’t like leg rests, anyway.
• We received thick quilts, pillows, a little amenity kit made of high-quality kraft paper (quirky), and supposedly noise-canceling headphones. The phones produced adequate sound quality and were comfortable, but not much noise-canceling. I wore my Bose phones, as usual.
• We pushed back early and were airborne in less than 10 minutes. Saga Premium service soon began, allowing us to sample the astonishingly good Iceland gins.
• The meals (we chose one of each entree) were superb. My favorite was the “Salmon, Three Ways” but the lamb was nearly equal.  Very impressive fresh and tasty offerings for a small carrier, I thought. As good or better than any business class meals I’ve had recently. Kudos to Icelandair!
• Landed on time at 630p and the plane was emptied lickety-split to turn it back to fly home on time.  I admire that dedication to efficiency.  I always like an on-time operation.
• We were through the two Global Entry kiosks and at baggage claim by 640p.
• The passport agent wanted Global Entry people to wait because of backup from AA173 (from London) arrival ahead of us. She said our bags wouldn’t be coming soon and therefore we would not be inconvenienced waiting. My wife complained that she had no checked bags, so the agent let us both through (she didn’t ask me if I had checked anything, and I didn’t volunteer it).
• Because AA173 from LHR landed ahead of us with all their luggage, the KEF bags only dropped on the belt at 703p, a 23-minute wait. Quirky.
• My bag arrived finally at 710p despite having a Saga Premium tag. Not Premium at all. 30 minutes to get bags is not a good recovery. RDU, AA, and Icelandair need better coordination during what I am sure is routine inbound congestion.

Reflecting on my initial flying experience with Icelandair and in both business and economy (well, the best possible seats in coach for which I had paid a pretty penny), I came away thinking the airline is a good way to get to Iceland from America.  It doesn’t partner with other carriers (quirky), but instead has its own loyalty program.  I could do it again in the expensive economy seats, but I sure preferred business for comfort. 

And about the business class: quirky Saga Premium doesn’t pretend to offer sleeper seats, but from RDU, the distance is so short (6 hours), I don’t care.  The food and beverage services in Saga were excellent, too. It’s only a question of affordability for me.

I liked Icelandair and had fun learning the way they do things a little differently from U.S. carriers.  It was a cool way to fly.

AA Raleigh to Seoul gets everything right—both ways

January 09,

No, I can’t believe my headline, either, but it really happened.  In the frenzied Christmas holiday travel period, American Airlines hit it out of the park operationally on all four flights traveling to Seoul and returning.  Every flight was jam-packed, yet every flight left early and arrived early.

Granted, we lucked out with decent weather in all three airports: RDU, DFW, and ICN (Incheon Airport, Seoul).  Leaving Raleigh on December 16 we barely missed a wicked fierce storm coming up from the south that pounded the area with wind and rain the next day.

Dallas weather was chilly in both directions but without ice, snow, or rain.  Seoul was bitter cold with snow on the day we arrived and more snow on Christmas Day when we left, but with no impact on airport operations.

The flights from RDU to DFW and return operated like clockwork.  American’s RDU airport personnel could not have been more gracious and efficient.  Ditto for the DFW C Concourse gate personnel getting us off on time with smiles to Raleigh—and that was on Christmas night.

Service on board those domestic milk runs was shockingly good. In Main Cabin Extra, the flight attendants practically killed us with kindness, and in First Class (I was upgraded) on Christmas night a full meal was served. 

What?  Is this really American Airlines?  I couldn’t believe it.

Ruminating on AA281/AA280 787-900 service both ways across the Pacific, here are my notes as and after I experienced the flights:

Ground and flight operations were excellent (check-in, boarding, and en route) – early in both directions. Seems like American has its act together in Raleigh, Dallas, and Seoul, at least. (I wonder what AA is like in New York and Chicago. It’s been awhile…)

On the outbound flight from DFW to Seoul (14 hrs, 34 mins) we chased the sun on the port side the entire flight. I was in PE seat 9C on the port side.  That front section of Premium Economy was cold all the way over. The crew could never get it warm due to my proximity to the 2L and 2R doors.

AA headphones were not noise-canceling, uncomfortable, and not good sound quality. Glad I brought my Bose, which worked beautifully.

Good movie selection.

The flight path avoided overflying the Kamchatka Peninsula and any Russian territory, making the flight longer.  But we still arrived early.

Cabin crews were professional, polite, and congenial, though service was perfunctory in Premium Economy (PE).  I didn’t much care, though, because the operation was so efficient. 

And in Business, too, so my wife reported.  AA astonished me in Dallas by calling me to the podium and handing over an upgrade to Business Class to Seoul, a seat I gave to my wife. She got better food and drink but then suffered long periods of loneliness when the Flight Attendants up front disappeared.

The same dearth of service occurred in PE: three food services going over (14.5 hours) and two returning (12 hours), between which the FAs vanished.

Mostly mediocre victuals, I thought, though the hot, plated meals were served with real napkins and silverware, a nice touch.

Drinks offered in PE seemed to be what was offered in Economy. No sparkling wine of any kind (despite good Cava & Prosecco being so inexpensive).

The PE flight attendants would not give me two drinks at once. But came back later with a second. Then never again. One FA told me it was AA policy to be elusive and therefore discourage drinking on international flights. Two was enough for me, anyway. I just wanted them all at once.

Pretzels—cheap-ass, stinking tiny bags of pretzels!—were distributed with a water bottle shortly after takeoff in Premium Economy. Not very premium.

Altogether, it was a Spartan service in PE. I was really paying for the larger Premium Economy seat with lots more legroom (seat pitch) than coach, better recline, and a footrest—though the footrest device only works for very short people (even shorter than I).

Increasingly, however, despite my carping about minimalist PE service, it’s okay with me as long as the plane’s on time.  Maybe the airlines have conditioned me to expect less.

The two toilets at the 2L and 2R doors on the 787 that separate business and PE were constantly in use by both biz and PE passengers but kept clean the entire flight. I appreciated that greatly. It’s very, very difficult to keep airplane lavs sanitary.

In sum, the extremely efficient and on-time AA operation (so unlike the bungling fools at United), combined with the PE seat comfort, were impressive and muted my expectations of a little luxe in food and drink.

All in all, as painless as such a long flight could be. Compares well with Singapore Air’s service and comfort.

Can’t forget that PE on AA was hundreds less per person when I bought it than fares for the same dates RDU/ICN on Delta. We definitely got our money’s worth.

On-time efficient flights are memorably stressless even without filigree, particularly at a bargain fare!

American also upgraded me to Business DFW/ICN, which, as I said, I gave to my wife. That was a rare luxury that will never be forgotten.

And—BONUS!—American upgraded me and one more on the domestic segment DFW/RDU, too. I gave my seats to our two kids traveling with us and hope they remember the premium experience.

Meanwhile, my wife and I had the bulkhead row in Main Cabin Extra to ourselves with plenty of legroom and free Christmas night drinks. I had a couple of G&Ts while she enjoyed Baileys on the rocks. And, the cherry on top, that last flight (DFW/RDU, AA) was early, something our weary souls appreciated after the long travel day.

In sum, AA impressed the hell out of me on this itinerary. As good as Delta, but much cheaper.

Maybe American Airlines is trying to lure me back. After all, despite having earned 5.5 million miles on Delta (Lifetime Platinum), I can’t ignore the perks that come with nearly two million miles on American (Lifetime Gold).

Nice going, AA.  Keep it up!

Grand Hyatt DFW is a jewel

January 02,

In the late 80s and 90s, I was a Hyatt guy to the bone.  I could always negotiate a rate at the nearest Pritzker Palace that suited my clients, who weren’t then so persnickety about travel expenses as later.  With client after client in the greater Chicago area, I stayed so often at the circular Hyatt O’Hare, with its pie-shaped rooms, that management honored a permanent $70/night corporate rate for over five years to reward my loyalty.  And kept one room open for me always, even when otherwise fully booked.  Once I even ran into then-President George H. W. Bush there—literally ran into him as I was leaving the hotel for my daily afternoon 5K jog and was slammed against a wall by a Secret Service agent.

As I traveled around the globe for clients, I came to know and love many wonderful Hyatt properties, like the magnificent Grand Hyatt Hong Kong (I still miss it), the elegant Park Hyatt Sydney, and stylish Hyatt properties in Shinjuku (Tokyo), Singapore, Los Angeles, and even the Grand Hyatt Bali (when on vacation).  So many in so many cities I can’t recall them all.  Except to say that I loved Hyatts.

The late 90s, early s, and the twenty years since brought heaps of changes to my accommodation rituals.  No longer could I easily pile up points with one brand or another.  It became hard to obtain client-friendly rates.  Nor could I stay in the top brand-level properties.  I found myself in Hilton Garden Inns, then Plain-Jane Hamptons and mundane Marriott Courtyards.  For years I only saw the word Hyatt on a set of brand new towels given me years earlier when the corporate logo was revamped.

In mid-December, I suddenly found myself in a quandary about which hotel near Dallas/Fort Worth Airport to book for an overnight, a circumstance forced on me by an American Airlines schedule change to Seoul from Raleigh with a risky DFW connection.  My wife and adult son were traveling with me, and I needed either two rooms or a suite in a property somewhere convenient to DFW. 

Previous Dallas-area clients were distant from the airport, so I had no favorite nearby hotels to consider.  I did once, long ago, stay at the Hyatt DFW when a flight was canceled, and I remember that I liked it.  I did my research and found promising properties pretty proximate to DFW.  I also noticed the Grand Hyatt DFW was conveniently located at Concourse D where most international flights departed, including ours to Seoul.

But was it a good Hyatt, and relatively affordable?  I consulted with Joe Brancatelli, and he recommended it.  With no recent Hyatt nights to reflect on, I decided it was time to get reacquainted. 

The convenience factor lured me, too.  We could just walk out of the hotel and onto our plane to Seoul in minutes.  No waiting for a hotel shuttle bus from a property distant from the airport. 

Signing into hyatt.com, I found a suite at a rate I could live with (it was for a Saturday night stay) and booked it. More than I wanted to pay at just under $400, but it was expedient and a name I trusted.  At other hotels I’d looked at, two rooms would have cost me nearly as much, even at weekend rates.

Our inbound flight from Raleigh arrived at the DFW C Concourse.  Having to retrieve checked luggage knocked us outside security and reliant upon the Terminal Link shuttle bus service to get to Concourse D.  That was okay, I figured, since the Grand Hyatt was outside security, too.  

What I didn’t know (because I’ve never used it) was the Terminal Link service runs erratically and the small buses are always full.  After being denied boarding on the first bus because it couldn’t accommodate three passengers plus bags, we waited twenty minutes for the next bus.  The coordination of buses didn’t appear to be well-managed.

Upon boarding the grubby little bus, I noticed signs saying all passengers must be seated.  Curious, I thought.  It didn’t take many lurching turns on the sharp ramp curves between concourses to realize that standing passengers would have been slammed around like billiard balls.

On arrival at the D concourse, our driver, polite and eager, gave us incorrect directions to reach the Hyatt, but we eventually found our way to the long escalator that leads to the Grand Hyatt DFW lobby. 

First impression: Elegant, yes, although the smallest Hyatt lobby I’ve ever seen. The modest ground floor footprint consists of the check-in desks and the restaurant, above which sit nine floors of rooms.

We arrived a few minutes before “legal” check-in time, but our room was ready, and the staff was gushing with kindness and generosity.  We were soon in 708, some sort of junior suite that overlooks a runway from large picture windows.  Two layers of electric shades and screens worked on command to shield that glorious god’s eye view of the airport universe.

I never tire of watching planes and noted a Cathay Pacific 747 freighter in the distance beyond the runway and taxiways. 747s in service are increasingly rare sights these days.  I enjoyed seeing a BA A380 land and taxi in, too.  I didn’t know BA traffic between London and Dallas warranted so much capacity.

The suite’s tasteful décor and artwork reminded me why I favored Hyatt properties for so long and how much I missed the soothing ambiance.

I’d been assured the two rooms included a comfortable fold-out couch for our son, but not so.  After a call, the maid service promptly brought in pillows and bed linens, which worked fine on the designer sofa.  Towels and swanky bath accouterments enough for three had already been provided.

I tried to tip the woman five bucks, but she just smiled and declined politely.  I left it on the credenza the next morning instead.

After resting for an hour, we ventured down to the hotel’s restaurant for an early dinner.  Outside of airport security, it was our best choice and maybe our only one—I didn’t investigate other options.  Our tasty meals of seabass, a hefty burger, and Thai curry salmon with forbidden rice were washed down with a good prosecco.  Certainly not at bargain prices, but convenient.  Friendly service, too. 

Despite facing the runway, the rooms were remarkably quiet. Except for a post-midnight tweak of the HVAC temp, I slept well and awoke refreshed.  Check-out at the front desk the next morning was quick and only necessary because I preferred a hard copy of my receipt to show a zero balance.

I came away wishing every hotel experience was as pleasant and uneventful. 

Comparing three DFW D Concourse lounges

December 28,

Traveling through Dallas/Fort Worth Airport connecting to and from Seoul earlier this month, I took the opportunity to try out three non-airline lounges in the international D Concourse: The Club DFW (a Priority Pass Club affiliate); the Capital One Lounge, and American Express Centurion Lounge.  I expected Amex Centurion to be the clear winner and was therefore surprised to find the Capital One Lounge superior.

THE CLUB DFW (PRIORITY PASS)

The Club DFW was the most pathetic Priority Pass Club Lounge I’ve ever visited. It is located on the second floor above the concourse not far from our gate in tiny and cramped disparate spaces (three of them) that feel acquired by squatters.  We could hardly move getting in and out. Club check-in required standing in the aisle. Itty-bitty cocktail tables are pushed up against the concourse overlook walls.  Mediocre food and drink options were scattered wherever a flat surface was located.

Even the modest Priority Pass Club affiliate on the lower domestic level of the Johannesburg airport regional jet wing is far bigger and better.

Aside from two hard-working ladies at the entry point (there is no door), I encountered only one staffer.  He was extremely busy trying to clean up but charmed us with his kindness and good humor.  He came back several times with a big smile to see if we needed anything else and to engage in conversation about where we came from and our destination. The man made up for the club’s shortcomings.

Nonetheless: Sheesh!  The Club DFW would be a fallback choice if no place else was available.

CAPITAL ONE LOUNGE

We didn’t get to the Centurion Lounge on the way to Seoul because it’s by D12, a long walk from our gate (D27), and time was against us that morning.  However, the Capital One Lounge is above gate D22, much closer, so we checked it out.

The Capital One Lounge at DFW is fabulous!  It is adjacent to the AA Flagship Lounge on the second floor. 

The space is large and broken up by angular interior designs that make it interesting and seem even bigger. Lots of blond wood that feels Scandinavian clean and open. Sitting areas are scattered about in a way that feels unregimented. Walls have numerous cubbyholes with food and drink offerings, a clever design.

And what good grub is on offer!  Many interesting sandwiches and fruits are packaged individually rather than in communal bowls to scoop from.  Reminiscent of a prepackaged but fresh and delicious sandwich shop, such as London’s Pret a Manger chain.  An embarrassment of delicious food.

In those ways—design and offerings—the Capital One lounge has differentiated itself from the usual airport clubs I’ve grown accustomed to.  Or at least the one in Dallas has.  In look, feel, and consumables, the place was relaxed and highly appealing to me.  It’s all extremely clean, too.

Crowded, yes, but the design made it feel uncluttered and not hectic.  Almost forgot to mention that bathroom stalls play ethereal music and birds singing, just like in Japan.  That’s a first for me in a club.

A Capital One staffer was meeting would-be entrants at the elevator and acted as a capacity gatekeeper.  She was jolly and professional, with a winning demeanor, and won me over at once.  At the desk upon entering the lounge, I encountered the same great attitudes and happy faces. 

Though all three of us produced a Capital One Visa card, I have just a single account and learned that only two are allowed club entry per account.  Thus, my wife opted to wait while my son and I explored the lounge.

Upon hearing us make that decision, the woman at the desk encouraged us to fill takeaway bags, which she gave us, with food for my wife.  I was stunned by her offer and asked if that was standard policy.  Oh, yes, she assured me.  Many people stop in, she said, fill a bag, and run off to their gate. She bade us fill our two bags to the top.  I did as I was told, and we had enough food to last us across the Pacific for 14.5 hours.  Good food!

AMERICAN EXPRESS CENTURION LOUNGE

Returning from Seoul to connect via DFW on Christmas, we had plenty of time to visit the Centurion Lounge near gate D12 before taking the Airtrain to the C Concourse for our flight to Raleigh.  All Centurion Lounges have developed a reputation for excellence which has made for crowds and long waits to get in on busy days and times. I was confident that the slower-than-usual Christmas Day traffic would mean no queue.

I was wrong.  The club was congested, so said the desk staff when we approached.  But they decided to let us in any way “because it’s Christmas, and we aren’t going to make you wait today.”

Pleased to get in at once, I was nonetheless apprehensive about what “congested” would mean.  I soon discovered it meant no tables were open, and people were running around grabbing stuff to eat as if coming off a starvation diet and fearing the food would run out. 

We, too, joined the somewhat meager buffet line. Not a lot to choose from, and the kitchen staff was having a tough time keeping those few items stocked.  The service surfaces were messy from unending demand that left no time for cleaning.  It wasn’t an attractive picture and not what I had experienced at other Amex Centurions, such as JFK.

At the bar, I asked for two glasses of champagne—well, prosecco, really, since they didn’t have champagne—and the bartender asked if they were for me or for me and a companion.  When I asked why that mattered, he explained it was Amex policy now: only one drink per visit to the bar.

That said, he and all the folks working there that I encountered were friendly and chipper.  Great attitudes, I thought, for the tough job of keeping such big crowds under control on a big holiday.

And while I appreciated the nice human touch, the club was still loud, cluttered, overcrowded, and couldn’t quite keep up with demand.  It was not relaxing even if better than sitting in the main concourse.  Now that I think about it, I don’t much want to go back.  

All told, If I were grading the clubs, I would give an A+ to Capital One, a B to Amex, and a C- to the Club DFW Priority Pass affiliate.  Next time flying international through DFW, no question that I’ll head straight to the Capital One Lounge.

Being a traveler

December 12,

I always loved traveling; it excites me and stimulates my curiosity about people and places. 

The joy of travel has to be connected to my first passions as a young child: trains and airplanes—the means of movement from place to place.  Travel probably has something to do with management consulting being my choice of profession, too.  For over three decades consulting gigs led me to fly somewhere nearly every Sunday and not return until the following Friday.  My life on the road then depended upon airlines, rental car companies, and hotels.  I became so expert at travel logistics that once I even tried working as a travel agent—spiritually but not remuneratively rewarding.

Along the way, I’ve run across scores of travel quotes.  Some hit home; others struck me as curious.  Here follows a sample of what has been said about travel, and my reactions to each.

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all” – Helen Keller

Keller rings the bell for me on that one.  Yes!  Life is definitely an adventure or nothing.  Kerouac has the same message, but puts it more raucously:

“Because in the end, you won’t remember the time you spent working in the office or mowing your lawn. Climb that goddamn mountain.” ― Jack Kerouac

The soul-stretching of going places away from home is an ancient trope. Mohammed and St. Augustine recognized its importance in learning how to broaden one’s perspective:

“Don’t tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you have traveled.” – Mohammed

“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”  ― St. Augustine

Mark Twain expounded perfectly on the idea Mohammed and St. Augustine put so succinctly:

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”  ― Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad / Roughing It

Flaubert and Proust had similar thoughts:

“Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world.”  ― Gustave Flaubert

“The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” – Marcel Proust

Anthony Bourdain explained it a little differently:

“Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.” – Anthony Bourdain

The Dalai Lama put the same idea gently, more like a suggestion:

“Once a year, go somewhere you have never been before.” – Dalai Lama

Robert Louis Stevenson’s thoughts about travel are close to my own excitement:

“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.”  ― Robert Louis Stevenson, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes

Stevenson’s thrill of keeping on the move is echoed by Edna St. Vincent Millay’s final line in her lovely short poem, Travel, that I learned in elementary school: “[T]here isn’t a train I wouldn’t take, No matter where it’s going.”

Not every writer who commented on travel liked the experience, however.  Personally, I do not agree with William Wordsworth, whose verse seems to relish getting back home: “I traveled among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! Did I know till then, What love I bore to thee.”

Robert Louis Stevenson seems to counter Wordsworth’s timidity with this observation:  “There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.”

Yeah, true, but I feel strongly as Mark Twain opined: “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did.”

And I wholeheartedly concur with this next pithy Mark Twain line.  My experience traveling with friends and family is that no matter how close you may be to people, going somewhere together is never predictable.  This is also true to a lesser degree when traveling with colleagues on business:

 “I have found out that there ain’t no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them.”  ― Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer Abroad

I am not this kind of traveler (the following quote).  I like fixed plans—though being flexible is okay, even necessary—and I do want to know when I’ll be arriving, a requisite for business trips, but even for leisure:

“A good traveler has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.”  ― Lao Tzu

Chesterton is onto something here, yet I do not think his statements are incompatible.  I definitely go with a desire to see things, though the parallel surprises along the way make a trip memorable and rich:

“The traveler sees what he sees. The tourist sees what he has come to see.”  ― G.K. Chesterton

Although I think these ideas about how and what travel does are beautiful (and I liked the movie made from the book), I have not found this to be true of me…unless I had forgotten my charger and had to return to retrieve it:

“We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.” ― Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon

Ms. Desai seems to agree with Monsieur Mercier, however, so perhaps I have much to learn yet about travel:

“Wherever you go becomes a part of you somehow.”  ― Anita Desai

Steinbeck’s comment is surely true when the airlines screw up and make me very late or leave me stranded:

 “People don’t take trips, trips take people.” – John Steinbeck

My musings on travel close with four quotes that stand out for me:

“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” – John A. Shedd

“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” – Aldous Huxley

“If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine. It’s lethal.” – Paulo Coelho

“Live life with no excuses, travel with no regret.” – Oscar Wilde

To Seoul, with a DFW layover

December 5,

My wife, son, and I will spend the week leading up to Christmas in Seoul, Korea. Our trip meshes with the end of our daughter’s semester abroad at Korea University, and we will all travel home to Raleigh on Christmas Day. 

As I mused in my Halloween post, I often find fare bargains on some major holidays, especially, Christmas, New Year’s Day, and Thanksgiving.  This year was no different: I discovered Premium Economy RDU/ICN for $ on American Airlines via DFW if we flew home Christmas Day, hundreds of dollars cheaper than returning on days just before or after December 25th. 

The connections were good, too, outbound with a 526a departure from Raleigh that gave us an 80+ minutes connection in Dallas to our nonstop flight to Seoul—not a lot, but the RDU/DFW flight history looked good. 

Returning, we have two and a half hours in DFW, which is more comfortable.

However, as inevitably happens, American changed the times just enough on the outbound flights to squeeze the Dallas connection to barely an hour.  AA’s Seoul flight, like those to most international destinations, always leaves from Terminal D, but the RDU/DFW flight arrival terminal varies, and it’s never D. I was skeptical we would make it, so phoned American to explore options. 

Chatting with the agent, we agreed that I couldn’t chance missing the flight to Seoul.  I might be able to hold my hotel reservation in Seoul, but the American agent confirmed what I already suspected that there are no seats on alternate flights to ICN that day or the following days.  Holiday travel demand and all that.  Especially not when looking for three seats.  We’d likely be stuck in Dallas—not a fun Christmas. 

I suggested instead booking Raleigh to Dallas the previous day and overnighting at DFW.  Would AA allow that?  Yes, came the answer, but would not, of course, pick up the hotel cost.  No sweat, it’s the least-worst alternative, I cheerfully told her.  Better to get there a day early. Even without unpredictable weather foul-ups, Christmas season flying is certain to be iffy, and the experienced agent was on my wavelength about assuring we make the DFW/ICN flight on which we are booked.

She offered a late morning departure from RDU that got us into Dallas early afternoon the day before.  Premium Economy bookings are entitled to Main Cabin Extra on domestic flights, and she found us three seats together in that section.  The agent overrode the price differential and confirmed us at no extra cost to fly RDU/DFW the day before our DFW/ICN flight. 

Not long after, I received the reissued tickets by with all our previously selected seats intact.  I have very specific seat preferences when flying Premium Economy and the seasoned agent preserved them correctly.  How lucky, I thought, to have reached someone so competent and confident. I left her an excellent rating.  For all the trouble I have had with AA, sometimes I get lucky and reach a person like her.  Thank you, American.  Please make this the norm.

Next was the task of finding a hotel in the vicinity of DFW.  I asked around with colleagues who had been stranded overnight at DFW, then checked several travel booking sites for context, and lastly consulted with the real hotel guru, my friend Joe Brancatelli.  Joe suggested some good potential properties off-airport which would give us the option of dining out in Dallas, but he also reminded me that the Grand Hyatt DFW is conveniently located at Terminal D. 

I looked at a lot of hotels in the vicinity of DFW before investigating the Hyatt website.  To my happy surprise, I found a small but comfortable suite at the Grand Hyatt DFW that would accommodate my wife, son, and me for under $400, all in, and booked it.

One unusual consideration I had to throw in the mix is that we will be taking extra luggage with us for our daughter, who will be bringing home more than she arrived in Korea with.  My normal habit is two carry-ons, period.  On the morning of our departure, it will be extremely convenient to walk from the Grand Hyatt to the AA check-in counters.  Premium Economy customers are allowed two free checked bags.  Then we can scoot through the PRE/CLEAR security line at D to our flight.

All’s well that ends well, barring meteorological or operational snarls, over which I have no control.  I’ve done what I can to ensure we have a fighting chance of getting to Seoul on the date planned.  Yes, it’s costing an extra four hundred dollars to do it this way (that is, to go a day early), but given the seasonal travel congestion, it’s a prudent and stress-relieving stratagem for me personally.  I love traveling and can hardly wait!

Feeling safe is my travel imperative

November 29,

Where I don’t feel comfortable going anymore made me ponder why I don’t feel safe in those places.  Sometimes it’s not a good idea by anyone’s standards to visit (e.g., Ukraine).  Yet, for me, other places don’t give off a safety vibe in a way that’s more existential than rationale.

Covid temporarily shut down a lot of places I could travel, but now that we’re back to semi-normalcy, war and politics are taking a toll, too.  It feels like the globe is shrinking, sometimes beyond my control and sometimes by personal choice.  I freely admit some places I don’t feel comfortable going are due to my own peculiar biases.

My travel landscape went dark, like everyone else’s, right about the time I arrived back from South Africa in early March .  Within a week America went straight into the pandemic lockdown.  But what I am talking about now is in the post-Covid era.

Thanks to Putin, for example, I don’t feel comfortable visiting St. Petersburg, heretofore an easy side trip from Helsinki, where my wife and I will be next September.  Though Americans are not prohibited from traveling to Russia, spending even a day or two in Putin-land feels wrong morally and a little too risky.  Bad for us because we’d like to see the grand old city, and when will we ever be back in that neck of the woods?  That disappointment aside, we decided not to go.

In slow motion, South Africa is coming unglued, thanks to the massive corruption and incompetence of successive ANC governments since Mandela.  Basic infrastructure has been pillaged and neglected, the most notable of which is Eskom, the power company.  The government employs euphemisms like “load shedding” in a poor attempt to soften what it really means: nationwide long blackouts.  Power outages have become routine and often last for more than half the day, with no solution in sight.  Without predictable and sustained electricity, neither commercial nor personal activities can go on.   

Reliable power is only part of the problem.  My recent experience in Cape Town and the Cape Peninsula (March ) was a sad and shocking look at pervasive poverty because people have no jobs.  One in three South Africans are unemployed.  South Africa looks to me like a powder keg waiting to blow.  Hence, my increasing reluctance to go back even though I’ve been traveling regularly there since .

Earlier this week I received a US State Department notice of problems in Namibia where I’m scheduled to fly in February.  Especially crime-ridden is the capital, Windhoek.  Lots of petty thefts, pick-pockets, and smash-and-grabs.  I am, just the same, traveling to Namibia and glad that I won’t be in Windhoek except for the first and last nights.  Going, yes, but not feeling really safe about it.

With the Libertarian nutcase Javier Milei that Argentina just elected to lead the country, it doesn’t seem like a place I want to go now.  I’ve been to Buenos Aires and loved it in the past and always thought I’d return to stroll again along Avenida Florida. Now, not so much.  Reading the Argentine economy is collapsing is not reassuring to me, either.

Nor, I think, is Holland presently appealing, due in part to the right-wingnut Geert Wilders elected to head the Dutch government.  His win may be good for the people in The Netherlands—I hope so—but the man’s policy positions, in my opinion, make the country’s economic future murky.  Not to mention the undoing of Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport—in operational chaos since Covid—and the anti-tourist sentiment seeping into The Netherlands.  Makes me glum, as I have always enjoyed the beautiful country and its wonderful people.

Ukraine may not be really high on my list to see, but it was always included as part of the “stans” I wanted to visit across Central Asia, all now mostly off-limits due to the war and degrees of Russian influence. One day, when things settle down, I hope to visit Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan.  But not while Putin is doing his thing.  Ditto for striking Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan off my travel list.

The charm and miracle of Hong Kong have been stifled by Xi’s oppression.  The heavy-handed Chinese polity now in place makes a return to the once-vibrant and bustling city unappealing to me.

That lack of enthusiasm extends to China itself.  Despite several trips to China to explore the fascinating country, I don’t feel comfortable now going back, due to Xi, not being the most welcoming doorman.  Our safety there is, existentially, in question.

Though we will be visiting Seoul and the Republic of Korea in a few weeks, recent sword-rattling by North Korea’s madman makes us leery about the upcoming or any future trips. Seoul is, after all, a mere 35 miles from the DMZ.

In the early s, I enjoyed seeing much of Venezuela while traveling in a beat-up old pickup truck.  I caught Caribe (piranha) in flooded river lowlands on tiny hooks using bread balls for bait and camped among thick swarms of mosquitos on the shore of the mighty Orinoco River while large caimans lolled on the banks.  I briefly joined an archeological dig studying the ruins of an ancient civilization.  I swam in blue Caribbean waters and napped on unspoiled beaches. And everywhere I met outgoing, warm, and friendly Venezuelan people.  But now?  Paradise lost. No wonder their refugees flood the United States.

Mexico’s chronic violence and instability don’t make me want to book the recently announced RDU/MEX nonstop via Aeromexico.  I’ve always wanted to drive and experience the length of the Yucatan, but now an adventure trip beyond the main tourist enclaves on patches of exclusive coastline may be unwise.

Here in the good old US of A, I don’t yearn to spend time in the Bay Area after reading what San Francisco’s homeless street camps are like and hearing stories of broad daylight burglaries in Oakland.  Break-ins are reportedly so brazen that perpetrators take their time.  I have a friend whose son was a recent victim while out of town for a few days on business.  His townhome was stripped of skis, exercise equipment, clothes, electronics valued at $30k, his passport, middle school photos, and tax records, which included his SSN.  An AI expert, he suspects his identity will be cloned from personal items and data.  Oh, and the Oakland police didn’t arrive after the 911 call for 19 hours, saying their resources are focused primarily on murders.

Nor do I want to see Portland or Seattle again until those once-beautiful burgs clean up their acts.

I’ll skip Washington, DC after reading of the unabashed daylight carjackings, which remind me of the same in Johannesburg when I first worked there.  Is that where we’re headed in America?  Public safety should be every government’s number one priority.

Some travel decisions aren’t mine to make. I can’t influence Mother Nature when she has her way in places I plan to visit. Iceland, for instance:  I hope that earthquakes and volcanic eruptions do not interrupt a trip booked in January.

I’m not a timid traveler.  In I had a flat tire with no cell coverage on a little-used dirt road in the African wilderness with no food, not a lot of water, and sunset approaching.  That situation was in my control; my wife and I changed the tire while we watched for critters with big teeth. Despite nervous minutes, our predicament didn’t give me much pause (though it did give me a great story). But I can’t make Russia’s Putin a guy I’d want to have a beer with, nor can I change South Africa’s bad government. And I can’t make San Francisco beautiful again.  I can only wait for more of the world’s doors to reopen.

Delta’s Whac-A-Mole airfare sport

November 16,

With a $ Delta credit burning a hole in my pocket and the clock ticking on the money’s expiration, My wife and I decided to trek to Northern Europe (the Nordic, Scandinavian, and Baltic countries) next fall (). Coordination of our respective commitments narrowed our travel window to the period of late August and early September. 

When I began playing around with dates to Copenhagen, Stockholm, Oslo, Helsinki, and Tallinn, Delta.com returned a spectrum of fares ranging from $ to over $ in premium economy (Premium Select in Delta lingo).  It was maddening.  Fare differences didn’t seem to correlate to distance, only to Delta dingbat algorithms having more to do with the domestic connections to a gateway than with the transatlantic legs. 

Testing scores of single destination round trips (e.g., to Oslo and back) and open jaws (e.g., flying into Copenhagen and returning from Helsinki) and multiple date ranges for each made my trip planning a Whac-A-Mole game to win the best fare within the confines of our calendars.

We wanted to stay ten days to two weeks, so I used the “my dates are flexible” option and picked midway between our optimal departures in August and midway between our preferred returns in September.  After three days of exhaustive trial variations, Delta finally revealed a $.80 PE fare that took us RDU to Stockholm and return from Oslo.  Except it was a 16-day adventure, over the two-week maximum we budgeted our time for.

No matter, it was the best I could find.  My wife and I were on one record, so even with the $ credit, I knew I’d have to pay an “additional collection” of around $. 

But when I clicked on the option to use my hefty credit, the website froze.  On the third try, it let me use only a portion of the credit.  Again and again, Delta.com balked at letting me use the entire credit to pay for the booking—and sometimes stopped working entirely.  I knew it was time to talk to a real person in the form of a Delta agent.  I called the Elite line and to my happy surprise had only a three-minute hold.

Knowing the agent might not find what I had so tortuously put together, I had screenshots of everything: the flights, the fares, and the credit.  As it turned out, she took my word for it after forensic research exposed my recent searches.  Yet even using Delta’s agent system wouldn’t allow her to complete the booking.

After a brief (and polite) hold to confer with higher Delta powers, she came back on with the explanation:  The credit was mine, of course, but it could only be used for my ticket, not my wife’s, even if we are on the same record.  What a crock, I thought, but didn’t say.

Could that rule be overridden as an exception? I asked.  If not, I explained without a hint of threat or emotion, I’d have to cancel the booking.  I was already thinking through other potential itineraries I’d have to concoct before the money went “POOF!” on the website.

The agent kindly agreed to take it to even higher-ups in her chain of command for a decision and again, politely, put me on hold.  In a few minutes, she was back with an affirmative to my request, but she’d have to do all sorts of machinations to the booking at her end in concert with the fare desk. 

The agent got to work, this time with me on the line.  I could hear fingers clicking on a keyboard and cynically wondered if Delta has a recording of keyboard clicks programmed in the background to mollify annoyed customers when the company is working to fix their issues.  In my case, it was relief and gratitude I felt to finally cash in the credit despite Delta’s obstacle course.  

This series of conversations was wasting my time and costing Delta money to have several agents fiddling in the process, but I kept those thoughts to myself, too.  The person who helped me was unfailingly patient and helpful, and the solution was in my favor.

When the tickets were issued and my credit applied, she announced finding a residual $6.05 credit on my wife’s SkyMiles account and had thrown that in, too.  It wasn’t much, but I appreciated her noticing and acting on it.  The completed record even retained my original seats in it, another astute observation by the agent.  It was my great good fortune to have reached her, I thought, and after the call was over, I hung around on the to give her the highest possible rating.

The entire Delta airfare search-and-rescue process for this one itinerary took place over three days.  I didn’t work every hour of each day on it, nor did I total the time I spent.  But it required many hours in the aggregate to get this one booking complete with a reasonable fare and the credit applied. 

All’s well that ends well, I guess, but it was an un-fun grind of unproductive hours.  And far too common an experience when I book these days.  I wonder how contemporary travel agents are able to eke out a living for a flat $30 or $40 per ticket when such difficulties are airline norms.

Soon, three alliances RDU to Europe

November 9,

At Raleigh/Durham, my home airport, we are fortunate to have nonstop service to London on American Airlines and to Paris via Air France.  Come next year, Lufthansa joins the transatlantic show when the German carrier begins direct service from Raleigh/Durham to Frankfurt.  I will then have flights from all three major alliance networks to choose from: SkyTeam (AF), oneworld (AA), and Star (LH).  This is excellent news for me!

I already don’t have to schlep myself to Atlanta on Delta to connect to Europe and Africa if I don’t want to.  Air France took over the former Delta 767 Raleigh/Paris nonstop, with excellent connections at CDG.  

And American has flown to London Heathrow for decades.  The existing direct flights to London and Paris have given me good choices in time and money up to now. 

When Lufthansa planes hit the RDU tarmac in , I’ll be able to connect on a Star Alliance partner through Frankfurt, too.  This means no more horrible UA experiences changing planes at Newark.  Assuming United gets me to EWR, of course, which they all too often have not (and with no recourse or shame).

Naturally, I’ll have to carefully price-shop to compare with the US connections, but I am willing to pay a reasonable premium to hop over the pond to Europe directly.  It’s true that I might very well misconnect there, but at least I will already be overseas.  That’s a big deal.

Riding just two airplanes from Raleigh to India, Southeast Asia, China, Australia, and New Zealand has been possible for some time, thanks to RDU nonstops to transpacific connections in LAX, SFO, and SEA.  With more direct flights to Europe, though, I’ll have more time and airfare choices going east rather than west.

LHR, CDG, and FRA, the three mega-Euro-airports, are their own challenge to navigate once on the ground and seeking my onward flight.  Each has its own well-earned horror stories.  If Kafka still lived, I admit that he would feel right at home in Kafkaesque Heathrow, Charles de Gaulle, and Frankfurt Main.  But as labyrinthine as each one is—a veritable rat’s maze of confusing bridges and tunnels, with surprise security checkpoints for no logical reason, and always under construction—nothing comes close to nightmarish Newark. 

Notwithstanding, I’ll fly the direct flights whenever I can and rejoice in doing it.  After all, I’d rather be stuck in Paris than Atlanta any day of the week.

Flying on holidays

October 31,

Today being Halloween, I wondered how the airlines treat Halloween.  And I began to consider how the carriers responded to other holidays as well.

Aside from the obvious sort-of-Halloween-name-association with Spirit Airlines—which is, by the way, letting anyone in costume board early on October 31—I haven’t seen any marketing hype about All Hallows Eve.  Though the day is pretty well secularized by now, perhaps that’s because the traditions have Christian roots (the evening before All Saint’s Day).  Airlines are rightfully skittish, in my opinion, about associating with anything religious.  Lots of landmines in that direction.

I’ve flown on many holidays and special event days, including Easter, Independence Day, Christmas, New Year’s Day, Valentine’s Day, Thanksgiving, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Memorial Day, and Labor Day.  In my experience—limited, of course, to the carrier livery I happened to be traveling aboard—special celebrations occurred routinely only on flights over Christmas and January 1st. 

I remember flying east from Denver to Chicago on a July 4th evening on a perfectly clear night and watching fireworks going off in the cities we passed over.  When I pointed the festivities out to a passing flight attendant, she said, “Oh, yeah, I guess it is Independence Day.  I’d forgotten about it.  Can I bring you anything else?”  No offer of a salute to America.

Memorial Day and Labor Day usually mean nothing up in the air, but on one Mother’s Day, the captain on my flight wished every mother well and congratulated them.  Sounds nice at first, but these days risks offending women who were unable to bear children, never married, or chose not to have kids.

Usually, the sky-high veneration of a calendar event, if observed airborne at all, has been something cheap, like a cupcake or glass of wine.  Once, way back when British Airways was serious about transatlantic customer care, I had a very fine business class meal designed around the first day of the year, with special menus and a special Champagne.

I can understand the purely secular and universal New Year’s revelry to kick off the earth’s next circle around the sun, but Christmas baffles me.  Sure, I love it, but I was raised an Episcopalian.  What does a Jew or Muslim or Buddhist or atheist think of a glass of Champagne to commemorate the birth of Christ? 

But, then, truth be told, I’m not sure I would raise a glass to any organized religion’s claptrap, including my own. 

Some of my holiday flights were a coincidence, but most were very intentional.  Airfares on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s are usually significantly lower than days on either side.  I’ve saved a lot of money being in the air on holidays.  I’m doing so again on Christmas Day this year when I’ll be returning from Seoul with my family on an American nonstop to Dallas/Fort Worth.  Months ago, I bought four tickets in Premium Economy at much lower prices than available on days earlier or later.

Back to Halloween, I admire this pilot’s moxie:

But if the guy works for American, I sure hope he won’t be in the cockpit of our plane ICN/DFW on December 25th!

Business travel over a half-century

October 24,

I’ve been musing on six decades of business travel and how many things have changed from the s to now.  Out of curiosity, I started a list, and here’s what just an hour yielded.  Undoubtedly, I’ve only scratched the surface:

GONE:

• Suits and ties – And more’s the pity!  People come to fly in tank tops and flip-flops nowadays, and many shouldn’t be out in public that way.  I bemoan not proudly wearing my Hermes ties with a respectable Nordstrom all-wool black, navy, or gray suit on every flight.
• Cuff links and French cuff shirts – All part of the civility of a bygone era.  Men dressed well then, and I still have many white and blue 100% Egyptian long-staple cotton business shirts with button-down or straight collars.  Comfortable and beautiful.
• Fine leather business shoes – Just go to HBO MAX and look at Bill Maher’s spit-polished handmade footwear to know what elegance used to adorn every business traveler, myself included.  If I showed up at an airport wearing what used to be my routine choice of buffed Northhamptonshire leather Goodyear-welted shoes, people would think I was demented.
• Shoe polish for every night brush up – Both black and brown polishes were once a standard packing item.
• Briefcases full of file folders – Ach du lieber!  I still have four fine-crafted, hand-stitched briefcases of calf leather and ostrich that will last forever.  One is the classic hinged leather rectangular briefcase reputedly favored by drug dealers now to smuggle cash. 
• Carry-on with shoulder straps (no wheels) – The standard luggage of those early days.  My friend, colleague, and genius mentor Bob Isenhour carried an indestructible Acme leather bag everywhere, so durable I believe it could stop a bullet.  For many years until my knees complained I trekked across the world shouldering a Hartmann folding suit bag, and it still functions and looks good.  That’s when the brand Hartmann stood for something.
• Physical tickets & boarding passes (with little seat stickers) – Before e-tickets, I would have been stranded without hard copy ticket stock, either hand-printed or (later) printed by computer.  Physical tickets were like cash if lost or stolen.  Boarding passes were only issued at gate check-in desks, with seat stickers from a master sheet of the particular airplane’s configuration.
• Airport ticket agent and gate agent discretion in seat assignments, including upgrades – It paid to get to know my gate agents, and to charm them if I could.  Or at least to give a good impression.  Dressing well and being polite and undemanding went a long way toward getting into first class and not getting a center seat in coach.
• Pay phones – the ubiquity of airport pay phones is nearly forgotten, a necessary partner to the 800 numbers we all had to to make or change airline, rental car, and hotel reservations.  When the weather turned bad, even the hundreds of phones in the ATL concourses would always be occupied.
• Cigarettes and gold Dunhill lighters – Smoking was accepted on airplanes until -90 when gradually outlawed in the USA.  I had quit years before then, but until I came to my senses, I’d never go to the airport without one of my two elegant Dunhill lighters (bought in London at the Dunhill store), and with a supply of lighter gas and extra fags in my luggage. 
• Cash – A necessity then because many places didn’t take credit cards, nor did taxis.  Hotel and wait staff were rewarded in greenbacks, too.  Lots of dollar bills came in handy.
• Coins – Quarters were essential for pay phones when no toll-free number was found.
• lists – Before cell phones existed to store my list of contacts, I had to keep a multipage number file in my briefcase, which was constantly updated with handwritten scribbles.
• Plastic customer cards (airline, rental cars, hotels) – With my driver’s license, the only way to identify me to travel service providers.
• Gasoline credit cards – I recently came across seven old gas cards that I used to carry to refuel rental cars on the road because otherwise, I’d have to pay for fuel in cash.
• Taxis to/from the airport – Reliable and cheap alternative to driving and parking at the airport, and always wanted cash.
• Delicious free hotel breakfasts with every possible morning food – Those were the days!  Long gone.
• Routine upgrades to first class – I paid and was reimbursed for full fare Y (highest coach fare) in the early days of consulting because firms wanted me to be flexible in case I was ordered to stay later than planned for a client, and airlines would usually bump me up to sharp end after noticing I was a high yield customer.  These days such an upgrade is as rare as a unicorn.
• Travel agents who knew my name and were proactive in watching my flights – Good agents knew every trick in the book and worked for no fees!
• Airline rez agents at toll-free numbers who answered promptly and were knowledgeable – An everyday occurrence that I took for granted for many years until it ended almost overnight when airlines cut back.
• Routine hotel and car rental upgrades – At hotels, I almost always got upgraded to the lounge floor (free drinks, free breakfast, free food all day) and to a bigger room (sometimes at Hyatt, a two-floor suite).  Avis and Hertz vied for my business by giving me luxury cars whenever available.  These days, I am lucky if there’s a vehicle there at all and will start when I turn the key.  I also have to check carefully for dents and scratches.
• Uncrowded airport clubs that were truly elite but had no food other than snacks – I was a Lifetime Member of Eastern’s Ionosphere Club (I thought it was for my lifetime, not the airline’s), the TWA Ambassador Club, the Delta Flying Colonel Lounges, the United Club, and American’s Admirals Club.  Seats were always available, and the environments were quiet and unhurried.
• Minimal airport security – Hijacks to Cuba led to some portal security, but nothing like today.
• Meals served in first class even on short flights (e.g., RDU/ATL) at most times of day – Oh yes, and the food was usually not bad.
• Airport and onboard decorum the norm – Civility was expected, and everybody knew it.
• Pronounced, manufactured sex appeal in flight attendants (e.g., Braniff) – All attractive young women in alluring garb in the days when business travelers were almost entirely men assumed to be hetero and being “woke” meant I wasn’t asleep.
• Close-in (walkable) airport rental car locations – Even in big-city airports.
• Interline ticketing when cancellations and disruptions occur – When face value ticket stock was fungible like cash, airlines were friendly and cooperative in recovering from one another’s disruptions.  Agents always tried to put me on the home carrier first, but would readily confirm me on an “OA” (Other Airline) if it worked better.  That’s as unlikely today as the two parties in Congress working together to achieve what’s best for the country.
• Regulated and pricy fare levels – Airline deregulation got underway in , thanks to Jimmy Carter, and by the fixed fares between city pairs were replaced by airline discretion and the free market.
• Economy cabins with unremarkable (few complaints) pitch and seat comfort – It wasn’t a fantasy.  Comfortable coach chairs with rows set apart at comfy distances did actually exist.  It wasn’t great, but tolerable compared to today’s tortuous cabins.
• Small overhead bins and shelves – Some planes didn’t even have closable bins, just a shelf originally meant for coats, I think, back when everyone checked a bag when flying because it was free and not size- or weight-limited.  When carryon became more the norm, overheads gained hatch doors but were initially small.
• Physical maps and written directions for finding my way around once on the ground – When something like the Internet was science fiction, I always carried maps and map books and looked for landmarks to navigate to my client and overnight destinations.

UNCHANGED:

• Carryon two-wheel rollers – Uncommon at first, but rolling bags took off and overhead bins gradually became larger and deeper.
• Credit cards – In the early days of my experience, not universally accepted but on an upward path to be.  Diners Club was then as popular as American Express (I carried and used both).  MasterCard and Visa were the new guys on the block.
• Airport shoe shines – Have always been popular, though less so now with casual footwear dominating feet and shiny polish-needing leather less so.
• Mediocre restaurants and fast food options inside airport security – Some things never change. Ptomaine poisoning is just as likely now as ever after an airport meal.
• Three types of luggage: carry-on, lost, and damaged (cribbed from Joe Brancatelli, who borrowed the quip from someone else) – I never, ever, ever check my luggage unless threatened with imprisonment or the no-fly list.
• Airport drop-off and pick-up areas designed by morons – No one knows how to make airports work with rubber tires.
• Little or no airport connections to effective public transit – Usually, I can’t use it even if it works.  Recently, I made the rail connection from GCT in Manhattan to JFK, but few cities can justify that kind of investment to their airports.
• Airport chaos when the snow flies (except MSP and Nordic airports) – Frozen precipitation bedevils air operations more than needs be.  Panic and pandemonium rule even though northern latitude operators manage through with grace and efficiency.
• Interminable flight delays and disruptions – Synonymous with flying, now and always.
• The agony of center seats – They should be outlawed, or at least heavily discounted.

NEW:

• Frequent flyer programs and loyalty recognition – Elite programs such as million-miler and secret-handshake tippy-top flyer Porsche rides across the tarmac are novel, though presaged by Delta’s Flying Colonel program, which attempted to reward people who generated a lot of business.
• Laptops with tangles of cords – The reality of modern life on the road for a long time now.
• Smartphones with charging cords and headphones – Ditto, and even more indispensable than laptops.
• Noise-canceling headphones – A godsend to me on long international flights.  In business class, though, some airlines want to give me their own headphones that invariably are crap for canceling noise and not as comfortable.  United is among the airlines with earphone receptacles incompatible with third-party phones like Bose.  Why?  They should be happy I am bringing my own.
• Carryon spinners – I hate them.  The four wheels are treacherous, ugly, and often stick out of overhead bins, making it necessary to turn them parallel to the fuselage, thus hogging precious space.
• Uber to/from the airport – Bye-bye, taxis.  No, wait!  Some taxis now have Uber signs in the front window.
• Crummy hotel breakfasts light buffets with prison-quality foodstuff, if any at all – The same tired packaged items make it easy to skip overcrowded buffets.  But I can’t go wrong with a banana and juice.
• Online everything for airlines, hotels, rental cars – Look, Ma, no human contact!  And pretty soon driven even more than now by AI algorithms that constrain my ability to ferret out deals not obvious by casual queries.  Like savings on pricing an itinerary using SkyTeam partner Air France RDU to Johannesburg instead of Delta.
• Toll-free rez lines with interminable waits or callbacks – When all else fails, and only then, do I try to reach a real person. Even using the few elite numbers I still have, the automatic callbacks option is usually my choice rather than growing old(er) waiting in a queue.
• Outrageous gasoline prices if I opt not to return full – I never, ever, ever choose that expensive option.
• Shocking toll charges added to rental cars whether I wanted it or not – I just say no to every come-on to open the toll device stuck to the rental car windshields in places like Denver and Boston, instead programming my ’s GPS navigation to avoid all toll routes. 
• Overcrowded airport lounges but with lots of food, some of it good (e.g., Delta Skyclubs) – Of course starting in , my Amex Platinum Card won’t get me into SkyClubs, so I’ll be stuck with Priority Pass and Centurion lounges, far fewer in number.
• Remote rental car facilities requiring interminable shuttle bus waits – When the shuttles finally come at airports like LGA and BOS after a 20-minute wait in the frigid rain, the buses are often more crowded than Tokyo commuter trains, and the slow ride to the distant rental car temple can take another half hour.
• TSA security screen queues made tolerable by PRE and CLEAR – Without my PRE and CLEAR memberships, I’d worry that I needed to arrive at airports three hours in advance rather than my usual two hours.
• Inhuman seat pitch and discomfort – Thank God I sometimes, by hook or crook, get to sit up front, a cabin which I call “NC” (not coach) rather than the archaic and disputable moniker “First Class.”  It may not be very deluxe these days, but it sure as hell isn’t economy, so there’s that.

I will no doubt think of more to add to these lists as soon as I publish it, but this is a not bad, and it was fun to think about.

No fan of United’s boarding scheme

October 17,

United’s WILMA boarding process (window seats, then center seats, and finally aisle seats last) returns on October 26, and I don’t like it. 

I was indifferent to the system when first introduced because I avoided United like the plague at the time.  Along came COVID, and UA’s business class fares on its nonstop Newark-Johannesburg flights were suddenly thousands less than Delta’s nonstop to Jo’burg from Atlanta. 

I made three round trips to Johannesburg on United and saved a ton of money.  But each one had problems and reinforced my mistrust of the carrier.  Nonetheless, I flew enough to become a Premier Silver, at least through yearend. 

WILMA is supposed to mean “window, middle, aisle” although the acronym doesn’t make sense to me.  I get the W, M, and A, but what does the “IL” stand for?  Ill-considered?

United boarding groups go up to seven from five in this order:

Pre-boarding

• Customers with disabilities
• Unaccompanied minors
• Active military
• Global Services members (the super-elite United flyers)
• Passengers with children two or younger
• Premier 1K members

Group 1

• Premier Platinum and Gold
• Star Alliance Gold
• Polaris, First and Business passengers

Group 2

• Premier Silver (that’s me through )
• Star Alliance Silver
• Boarding passes with Premier Access or priority boarding
• Certain cobranded credit cardholders

Group 3

• Window seats
• Exit row seats
• Nonrevs (airline employees)

Group 4

• Middle seats

Group 5

• Aisle seats

Group 6

• Basic economy on domestic flights and those between the USA and the Caribbean or Central America (excluding Panama City and San Salvador)

Families and folks on the same ticket will be allowed to board together at whatever is the highest group among them.

My friend, Joe Brancatelli, publisher of joesentme that carries my blog each week, did a radio interview recently on United’s reintroduced boarding process.

I don’t like it because I always choose an aisle seat and always carry on my luggage.  Boarding last will make it very unlikely there will be any overhead space left (a point Joe makes), which will force me to gate-check my bag and then wait for it forever at my destination.

And that’s assuming it isn’t lost or damaged by the airline.  As I wrote last week in a quip borrowed from Joe, there are three kinds of luggage: carry-on, lost, and damaged.

I actually like the idea of boarding almost last because then the plane will leave soon after I’m seated.  But not at the expense of having to gate-check my carry-on.  That’s a deal killer for me.

Because of my United trips to Johannesburg, I’m still a lowly Premier Silver through .  When I lose that status next year, I will avoid flying United unless I am on a first-class or business-class ticket.

Iceland bound

October 10,

At long last my wife and are off to Iceland, something we have talked about forever but somehow did not act on for years.  Icelandair, the crafty bundlers and principal carrier, finally enticed us with a cheap package that covers the waterfront (literally and figuratively): a short trip spanning six days, with four hotel nights and four full days in midwinter. 

The clincher (aside from relative affordability) came with Icelandair’s introducing nonstop (737) service from Raleigh/Durham (RDU) to Keflavik (KEF), accompanied by tailored holiday deals.  We bit on a recent one that offered airfare, free checked bag, free carryon, a three-star hotel in central Reykjavik (important for self-tours in the city and at the docks), and four or five of the usual tours (Northern lights boat tour, Golden Circle, lava fields, etc.), as well as airport bus transfers between KEF and downtown (45 minutes distance).

While the fare level embedded in the deal included gratis seat selection, it didn’t say where those chairs would be on the plane. Icelandair has mastered the airline add-on fee game, with the “free” seats starting a number of rows back. I wasn’t fond of those choices, so gulped and paid $93 per person for extra legroom seats up front in coach. Certainly no bargain at $373 altogether, but far less than nearly $2,000 extra had we chosen “Saga” class, Icelandair’s four-across business class (akin to domestic first class in the US).  I don’t think my wife and I could consume enough booze in Saga Class from wheels up to touchdown to justify the $1,600 difference.  With a few inches more at my feet, I can endure economy for the 6.5-hour nonstops RDU/KEF.

Comestibles must be ordered in advance, too, and naturally are not free (in coach, anyway).  However, the open-faced cold smoked tuna Nordic sandwich box was not too pricy (under $15 each), and a long ham-and-cheese baguette was only $8.  I expect drinks will be available on board, as they weren’t offered online.

The total cost for two was $3,128, all in.  I did a lot of research and comparison shopping before opting for this suite of services.  Unbundled, airfare and seats on the same flights and days came to $1,994, and the identical hotel and room type (which includes breakfast in both scenarios) brought it up to $3,630.  Once I threw in the tours and bus transfers at à la carte rates, the grand total cost rose to a little more than $4,000 for services purchased individually. 

Thus, a difference of $870.  Iceland is reputed to be a very expensive place, but we won’t feel constrained to buy an extra glass of wine with dinner having such an imaginary fat savings cushion.

Still, I admit to wincing a little at the average cost for two persons of $782/day (calculated based on four days on the ground) to get a glimpse of the charms of that Arctic island nation way up north.  We’re excited to be going, but I don’t kid myself that it’s inexpensive.  At that average rate, my frequent trips (12 days on the ground) to the much more distant Kruger National Park in South Africa would set me back $10,464.  For two, I usually spend about 60% of that going to the Kruger—and fly in Premium Economy to boot.

I was an airline pirate

October 3,

In , three years before airline deregulation, I was hired as the Manager for European Operations in Munich for a New York-based student charter flight outfit.  Each year my office in Bavaria handled tens of thousands of mostly American college students, faculty, and staff returning to the United States.  They flew cheap (around $290 round trip from New York); inexpensive airfare is why they flocked to our office in New York. 

From Munich, we coordinated their return flights to JFK, mainly from Brussels, Frankfurt, and Zurich.  Occasionally from Amsterdam and Cologne.  Our customers were not official members of what in the pre-deregulation era was called an “affinity group” that met the strict rules for discounted airfare.  Technically, then, our students were flying illegally, which made me an airline pirate.

Yet not a single customer was fined or refused boarding, not even a slap on the wrist.  Every student and faculty flyer made it home.

Nor was I bothered, let alone penalized, though threats to cease and desist were every so often made to me in my capacity as the big boss of the scheme on that side of the Atlantic.  I ignored the warnings because we had the full support and collaboration of the airlines selling us seats on westbound legs from Europe. 

Those airlines included big names like Sabena (the national airline of Belgium), Pan American World Airways, Lufthansa, and sometimes KLM, TWA, and Swissair.  Lesser-known charter airlines, including Capitol Airways and SATA (Switzerland), were also hot for a piece of the pirate business.  When complaints were raised that something was rotten in Denmark concerning so-called student charter flights and groups, European regulatory agencies and air carriers operating in Europe—including U.S. airlines—reacted with much the same mock shock as Captain Renault (played by Claude Rains) did in the movie Casablanca attempting to close the nightclub owned by Rick (Humphrey Bogart) due to illegal gambling:

Rick: “How can you close me up? On what grounds?”

Captain Renault: “I’m shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!”

[A croupier hands Renault a pile of money.]

Croupier: “Your winnings, sir.”

Captain Renault: “Oh, thank you very much.”

Each time the lawbreaker was caught, the CAB warned the guilty airline not to do it again. Sometimes, a fine was involved, but it would begin again the next day.

The gray market charter business was much like a Japanese Kabuki dance: stylized performances by each player, repeated over and over with no change. Regulators and airlines knew what was afoot, but since the private sector participants made plenty of money doing it, it was business as usual.

Why officialdom’s nonchalance? Because the glut of transatlantic flights then meant more capacity than demand, we were helping to fill westbound airplane seats that would otherwise have gone empty. We paid $120-130 per seat (one way) from Europe to JFK (we sold them at a modest twenty-dollar markup). That hundred and a quarter dollars for each seat was often the difference between a flight operating in the red or making a small profit.

Thus, every player in the game won: The airlines made money on those flight segments, the regulators turned a blind eye to keeping the carriers operating from their airports in the black, our company stayed solvent, and our student customers got home safely and happily for not much money.

Of course, the sausage-making machine wasn’t always pretty in operation, which is a story unto itself. Suffice it to say that a few early mornings found me furiously writing fake “affinity” credentials to justify the students flying that day to placate an unexpected air regulatory official who showed up for a snap inspection.

Ditto for one or two U.S. military charter flights out of Frankfurt that required proof of affiliation with the Defense Department, however weak and superficial. I remember one young man who thanked me for making him part of the United States Army when I handed him his phony ID card at boarding.

Sabena’s tickets were especially sensitive. Our deal with the carrier was hush-hush and involved tickets on open BRU/JFK one-way stock. The face value of each ticket was over $400 (we paid $130 for those), and they had to be used on Sabena’s two daily 747s to JFK, SN541 and SN543. Gate agents and back office Sabena personnel at Zaventem (Brussels airport) knew how to enter those tickets into their system for accounting purposes to obscure the low price we’d paid.

The risk was that if I bought 30 empty Sabena seats, I had 30 students with Sabena ticket stock, each worth $432 face value (the official one-way fare BRU/JFK then). This necessitated me policing all 30 students through security and to the gate.

The shepherding took time, but I had obtained BRU all-airport credentials that allowed me entry to the ramp and anywhere else. Our unusual deal with Sabena demanded that I stay with my passengers until all were on board, so I frequently went aboard myself to see them seated.

I remained at the gate until the aircraft was pushed back and took off. Once the plane was in the air, I could leave to return to Munich. If any of our students had decided to cash in their ticket for a refund, it would have cost Sabena $302 (the difference between face value and what we’d paid) and exposed the inside compact. Followed by a scandal in Euro aviation circles. However, ticket accounting remained wholly within Sabena as long as the students flew.

Before deregulation (in ), inside deals among European carriers were not uncommon, though each had its own wrinkles. It was heady stuff for me then. I was giving students a way to travel cheaply, and everybody was happy.

Every player in Europe was content, anyway. In the U.S., the Civil Aeronautics Board was still in full swing, and rules didn’t bend much. But that’s another story.

The westbound flights (from Europe to New York) were returns. I sold a few hundred or perhaps a thousand eastbound originating round trips, but most of what I was doing was coordinating the westbound return flights for American students. The New York office handled US-originating round trips without a corresponding return flight. Hence, I bought westbound seats weekly in quantities as needed to satisfy the demand, based on when our student customers contacted us. We asked them to give us two weeks’ notice, and that’s all we guaranteed. If under two weeks, I would accommodate them if I could buy the seats.

The NYC office was far less concerned about getting the westbounds right than I was. To me, it was of paramount importance to offer great customer service. In retrospect, I now understand there was an intrinsic disconnect and conflict between the New York office and me in Munich. They wanted to make money. I did, too, but not if it stranded student customers who trusted us and had paid for the ride home but didn’t get it within two or three weeks of their desired westbound travel date. They hired the wrong guy (me) because I was out of sync with their business philosophy. Customer service was of virtually no importance to them.

Thus, I lived and worked in Munich in -76. Though I’d been to other European countries before, I had somehow missed Deutschland. I greatly admired the German way of things: ruthlessly efficient, respectful of schedules and time in all things, and utterly frank and candid about sex. It is so refreshing to be shorn of American prudishness, perhaps a cultural taint infecting us since the Puritanical Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock.

My days of glory operating in the pirate air atmosphere of mid-s Europe are long gone, and more’s the pity. Airlines don’t break many rules now. Today, I’m lucky if a flight attendant sneaks me a free drink way back in coach to thank me for my millions of miles on his or her carrier.

Expedited passport processing is anything but

September 26,

Woe is me.  My wife’s passport expires early next year—a fact that we didn’t pick up on until late August while she was out of town for two weeks—and we’re booked on a trip to Seoul to visit our daughter, studying there at Korea University this semester, in December. 

Passports, theoretically good for ten years, must be valid for at least six months beyond the date of return from a foreign land.  Which makes them only useful for nine years and six months.

We couldn’t submit a renewal application until after my wife returned in mid-September.  Opting for the expedited service ran to $239, including overnight mail.  That seems like a lot of money to me.

Except that, the post office couldn’t get her “overnight” Priority Mail 419 miles from Raleigh to Philadelphia in one day, despite being mailed early morning. We received an apologizing that the package would be a day late. The renewal application was finally delivered on September 15, a Friday, but too late in the day to begin processing.

The overnight payment was thus wasted, as the passport office did not log it in until three days later on Monday, September 18.

On Tuesday, September 26, my wife received an update saying “Expedited Service can take 7-9 weeks.”  The so-called update was neither encouraging nor discouraging.  No useful information.

7-9 weeks for “expedited” sucks.  Could be worse, I was told: That’s an improvement because it was 13 weeks. 

With the looming government shutdown, which will shutter the passport office, it looks like we’re in trouble for getting her new passport issued by December.

For $239, I expected better.  Our systems are well and truly broken.

September 28 update: Checking the U.S. Department of State information page for visiting the Republic of Korea, apparently there is no six-month requirement. In fact, none at all other than having a valid passport: “You must have a valid U.S. passport to enter Korea.” That’s a relief…well, except that now I just have to get my wife’s current passport back!

Mileage-free in ‘23

September 19,

Though Delta Air Lines is in my opinion the least-worst carrier, that doesn’t make it saintly.  SkyMiles, in an incessant series of devaluations and rule changes, has arguably become the industry’s most rapacious frequent flyer program.  American AAdvantage and United MileagePlus haven’t yet caught up in this race to the bottom, but it’s only a matter of time in the airline follow-the-leader game.  Knowing that awards and benefits are declining faster than United can cancel flights at Newark, I’ve hastened to become mileage-free. 

For the first time since I joined the nascent frequent flyer programs in , my mileage balances in UA, AA, and DL are near zero.  I currently have 508 SkyMiles, and I stopped using my Delta Amex card which would add more cheapened points to my account.  Ditto for AAdvantage and MileagePlus balances and affinity cards.

Using up the miles efficiently was tricky.  Knowing another Delta decrease was on the horizon, I reduced my 202,000 SkyMiles by grabbing two tickets (for my wife and me) RDU to Roatan in Honduras for travel in March and two to Billings next June. It took several hours and patience to find dates with the lowest mileage requirements, but I nonetheless needed more miles than I had.  I quickly transferred 4,000 Amex Membership Miles to Delta, and in the end, I was left with just 508 SkyMiles, my lowest balance in forty years.

My wife had 51,232 SkyMiles which I wanted to employ for a trip our daughter needs to take.  But the minimum mileage for the destination and travel dates was 52,000, 770 miles short of my wife’s SkyMiles balance.  I discovered that Delta would sell her miles, though the cost was over $70 for the minimum increment of 2,000 miles.  Instead, I went into our daughter’s SkyMiles account and transferred 1,000 miles to my wife’s account at a cost of $40.  After issuing the 52,000 SkyMiles award ticket for our daughter, my wife’s balance was only 300 miles.

Both our kids have been SkyMiles members since birth, but their balances, too, have now been reduced to a few thousand.  I advised them to use what’s left for seat assignment fees and the like.  Thanks to similar strategies, our family’s American and United balances are also now low. 

I’ve kept hefty balances in my American Express Membership Miles, Capital One points, and Chase points accounts.  Those I can and will transfer for use on Air France and Lufthansa (both AF and LH have announced nonstop flights to Europe from RDU), as needed. 

Contributing to my decision to abandon the chase specifically for SkyMiles is the coming Amex Platinum Card changes that I wrote about earlier.  Beginning February 1, , I won’t be allowed but six SkyClub entries per year.  Since that impacts my quality of travel life, I won’t be choosing to fly Delta nearly as much as I have for decades.  Consequently, the SkyMiles program becomes less valuable to me on that basis alone.

I feel good about radically altering my air travel decision strategy.  For the first time in the history of frequent flyer programs, I’m liberated from the tyranny of mile accumulation.  I am unshackled!  My flying choices are now unbiased, based entirely on price, schedule convenience, on-time performance, and service.  It’s a surprisingly glorious sensation to be mileage-free in ’23. 

Cuba calls to me

September 12,

I’ve wanted to see Cuba ever since Fidel Castro ran off Batista in when I was 11 years old.  Though I have poked around many faraway nooks and crannies in this world, somehow I missed setting foot upon the intriguing island nation just 90 miles from our shores. The Obama-era Cuba travel boom went right by me, too.  But Cuba’s allure called to me again recently, and I’m going in January.  As I put the trip together, however, I realized that I didn’t know the first thing about what to expect.  Luckily, someone who has visited Cuba quite often filled me in.

My interest in Cuba was reawakened last year when a good friend came back from his visit there and regaled my wife and me with stories and pictures of warm and friendly people; beautiful, if crumbling, colonial architecture; oceans of good rum; dazzling sunny beaches; fabulous Caribe jazz; ne plus extra cigars; and classic cars from the s.  A place frozen at that moment in time when it became mostly cut off from progress:  It is irresistible to be transported back six decades.

We (my wife and I) will be there for a week in late January.  Another friend, the one who has been to Cuba often, not only provided essential expectations but also helped to coordinate places to stay, daily transportation, and things to do.  The United States government permits visitations for humanitarian purposes, and we have planned daily organized interactions with groups of Cubans to learn about history, culture, industry, education, cuisine, and needs.  I will be advising, when called upon, on entrepreneurial ideas, improving business processes, and better logistics.

It was news to me that flights are readily available to Havana (HAV).  And cheaper, I thought, than a comparable domestic flight: $216 per person to fly from Raleigh.  Surprisingly easy to book on the big three (Delta, American, United).  We chose AA for convenient schedules via Miami in both directions.  Fares were more or less equal among all three carriers.  Because it was so cheap, I paid to bump us up into Main Cabin Extra.  I chose a window seat for the MIA/HAV leg to get a gander at Havana from the air.

We’ve been told not to change much, if any, money into local currency.  Instead, to bring stacks of small American bills, especially ones, fives, and tens.  The largest we should carry are twenties, and those are often not accepted.  Most travelers to Cuba, we’re told, go with pockets bulging with greenbacks in low denominations.  With that in mind, Cuba is said to be relatively cheap overall.

We are required by U.S. law to have an itinerary going into Cuba with requirements about promoting civil society for at least six hours a day. 

Everyone says Havana has the most resources (food, electricity) of any place in Cuba, which is not saying much since basic services and food are reputed to always be in short supply there.

We will spend three days in Havana, then make a day trip to Vinales, return to Havana for our fourth night, and head out the next day to Trinidad, a colonial city about five hours from Havana.  We’ll fly back to Miami out of Santa Clara rather than come all the way back to Havana.  Near Trinidad is a National Park which is highly recommended.

Here is a sampling of interesting advice on Cuba I picked up from my friend who visits frequently:

Tourist Card: Cuba requires a tourist card to enter the country (and to board the plane). We can buy one online, or they sell them literally at the gate of the flight to Havana (depending on the airline).  Cards cost around $85.00.

Health requirements: We may have to fill out a form about COVID to get on the plane and/or to get into Cuba. Those rules apparently change constantly.

U.S. travel requirements: Of the 12 self-certifying travel categories, we are using “Support for the Cuban People.” We are not going to Cuba for tourism because that is not allowed.  If a U.S. Border Agent asks why we went to Cuba, we have to say it was to provide support for the Cuban people and promote independent activity intended to strengthen civil society in Cuba. However, if a Cuban border guard asks the purpose for our visit, we are advised to sound a little touristy. 

“Support for the Cuban People” means we stay in privately-owned residences (Casa Particulars), eat at privately-owned restaurants (Paladares), shop in privately-owned stores, and spend at least six hours of each weekday (but not weekends) engaging with local Cubans to learn about the culture and way of life.  That’s what we want to do there, anyway. 

We’ll take various tours with local Cubans showing us Havana and explaining how life works there. The American government doesn’t want us spending a week in Cuba drinking rum on the beach.

Furthermore, we Americans must maintain an itinerary of activities to show we traveled in support of the Cuban people. We must also keep purchase receipts for up to five years in case the feds want to audit our trip. Conversely, most places in Cuba don’t provide receipts because it is a cash economy.

American citizens aren’t allowed in certain Cuban government-run hotels and tourist businesses. The State Department has a long list of such places.  We are warned that if the hotel looks super nice, then it is probably one we may not enter. 

Vaccines, medicine & essentials: Recommended vaccines are listed on the CDC website.  We are advised to ask our doctors for an antibiotic Z-Pak just in case. It is impossible to get prescription medicine in Cuba, and few OTC drugs are available.  Thus, we will take what we may need.  We’re told to leave medicine we don’t use by giving it to one of the local pharmacies to distribute. 

GI distress:  Everybody who has visited Cuba has assured us that we will get sick there (or shortly after coming home). It may be the water, the ice in the drinks, how the vegetables are washed, or the amount of rum consumed, but we should expect it and prepare for it.

Cash & currency:  Cuba is a completely cash economy. I’ve read that Cuba once had two currencies, a local one (peso), and one for tourists (CUC or “kook”). The visual difference is the peso portrays people on the bills and the CUC depicts buildings.  The only official currency now is the peso.  The CUC is worthless and probably the biggest scam. We’ve been admonished to take no currency with buildings.

Cuba has no ATMs, and credit cards are not accepted. Hence, why we have to bring bundles of greenbacks. American money is impossible to obtain once in the country. Cuban pesos are not traded on foreign markets, so must be bought in Cuba and pesos are illegal to take out of the country on departure.  

As I said above, anything larger than a $20 bill won’t be accepted. The smaller denominations, the better, for tips, changing money, paying for things, and so on.  We can’t spend foreign currency in government shops, but everywhere else is up for grabs.

Even if we pay in US Dollars, change will be in pesos. Which means we will want to know the exchange rate. The only problem is that the exchange rate varies.  Probably doesn’t matter, though, since no one wants to buy pesos back, and we can’t leave Cuba with them.

Hygiene: In Cuba, like a lot of places, toilet paper isn’t flushed.  Instead, the paper goes in a trash can next to the toilet. We also need to bring our own toilet paper. TP is literally impossible to find in Cuba.

Smoking: We are told that smoking is inescapable in restaurants.

Safety: Cuba is reputed to be very safe.  Friends who’ve visited report they never felt in danger in Havana, day or night. Tourists in Cuba are cherished; the Cuban government looks after visitors’ well-being. Police and soldiers are always around, and cameras on light poles abound.

Power: Multi-country power adapters are mandatory because outlets differ from place to place. Of course, adapters are only useful when the juice is flowing.  Friends say electricity is intermittent.

Mobile phones: Except for Wi-Fi, cell phones do not work in Cuba.  Wi-Fi is only available in certain designated public locations, such as parks and hotels, and is said to be very slow.  We will need a pre-paid internet card bought there.

Language: Most people speak some English, and with no cell service, Google Translate will not work in Cuba. Better to learn some Spanish phrases, like the most important one when in GI distress: “Donde esta el bano, por favor?”

Tipping: Cubans do not expect sizable tips as in the USA, but some restaurants automatically add gratuity. Anything over 10% is considered obnoxious (flaunting wealth). U.S. dollars are preferred for tips.

Good Lord!  Just on America’s doorstep is this once-prosperous and vibrant country ossified by isolation for sixty-plus years.  A country I have ignored until now.

The difficult circumstances of everyday life in Cuba seem as challenging to navigate as in Earth’s poorest nations.  I look forward to our trip in support of the Cuban people in any way possible.

American Express Platinum Card prices me out

September 5,

For 47 years (since ) I’ve continuously been an American Express cardholder, upgraded to an Amex Platinum Card since . 

The Platinum Card became my first choice for charging anything and everything.  But Amex’s changes to costs and benefits this year and next are leading me to the difficult decision to discontinue my Platinum account.

I’ve tracked every Amex Platinum Card charge.  To date, the total is $1,902,246, and 14,152 transactions over the 28 years I’ve used the card.  That comes to nearly $68,000 per year and more than 500 transactions per year.  Much of that was for business travel.

American Express reportedly charges its merchants 2.5-3.5% these days.  I couldn’t find reliable data for what merchants were dinged in for accepting Amex cards when I first began using my Platinum Card, so I’ll assume 2.5% for all years.  At 2.5% American Express has made $47,556 in merchant fees off me in addition to $11,485 in annual membership fees I’ve paid just to keep the card in my pocket.  

The grand total I’ve earned Amex since from my Platinum Card is $59,041. Not chicken feed for one cardholder.

The annual Platinum Card membership fee of $300 has risen to $695 today.  The compounded inflation rate from to is 100.58%, so I have no beef with paying that.

To quote The Points Guy in his evaluation of the Platinum Card, “The high annual fee is only worth it if you’re taking full advantage of the card’s benefits.”  I agree with his assessment.  Over the years, I found it challenging to keep up with and use the myriad of oft-changing benefits.  Many benefits come with a catch.  To me, it was like running an obstacle course.  I was never sure at yearend whether I had a good ROI against the fees.

Until recently, another $175 each year bought up to three additional cardholders, each with the same Platinum privileges.  That worked for me to have individual Amex Platinum Cards for my wife and our two children.  Even though they don’t travel much, the Platinum Cards were useful to them when they did. Thus, in the Platinum Card cost me a total of $870 for the four of us in our family.  That’s a lot of dough.

Just the same, I kept the card primarily because:

• Half or more of my travels these days are on Delta (because it’s the least-worst airline), and the Card allows me into SkyClubs.  (Until March 22, , by the way, it also provided access to American Airlines Admiral Clubs.)
• When flying internationally, the Priority Pass Club membership is extremely valuable to me.  I use that privilege frequently around the world.
• My wife and two kids may not fly often, but when they do, both the SkyClub and Priority Pass Club benefits ease their travels.

Of course, everyone rates the value of the Platinum Card differently based on her or his particular circumstances and preferences.  Those above are my big ones. 

Other benefits I use to some degree include the $15/month Uber credit, Centurion Lounge entry, the $200 annual airline fee credit, and reimbursement for Global Entry and CLEAR fees.  But I rarely use Uber; it’s tricky to max out the airline fee credit; and Centurion Lounges are few.  I’ve never used the Walmart credit, to name just one dormant benefit.

American Express recently announced that effective February 1, , Platinum Card members will only be allowed six Delta SkyClub entries per year.  For me, that’s usually 1.5 round trips because I typically go to the RDU (home airport) SkyClub before my flight, then visit a SkyClub at my connection point (ATL, DTW, MSP, etc.) if time permits en route.  Returning, I make two more SkyClub visits at the origin and connecting airports.  So my first Delta round trip beginning February will use up four out of the new six SkyClub entry limits for the year.

That leaves the Priority Pass and Centurion Club privileges, but few U.S. airports have either.  Only the D Concourse at DFW, for instance, has a PP and a Centurion club.  Priority Pass is great if every itinerary is international, not so much for domestic flying.

The SkyClub restriction was a jolt, and just this week followed by another blow from Amex:  At my next renewal date (June ), the cost for additional Platinum cardholders rises from $175 for all three to $195 for each card.  For members who only have a spouse card, that’s a mere $20 increase for one additional cardholder.  In my case, I have three additional cards (my two kids and my wife), which means I would pay 3 x $195 = $585.  That’s $410 in addition to the $175 I pay now for the secondary cards.  $585 plus $695 for the primary card = $1,280 total to keep the Platinum Card. 

Word on the street is that Amex is trying to reduce the numbers in Centurion Lounges.  The new fee for additional Platinum cardholders will not, I predict, have a discernable impact on crowding.  The fee increase is just greed; the company is asking cardholders to pay for their own problem.  In my opinion, Amex should build more and/or larger lounges. 

Regarding SkyClub restrictions, Delta now apparently has the upper hand in their mutual financial relationship.  Again, this penalizes me as a Platinum Card member.  It is Amex’s problem to fix.  Instead, the company throws me a bone: six times a year I may enter, and no more.

If I stay with the American Express Platinum Card, I will discontinue the three additional cards for my family.  I doubt I will stay, though.  I’m investigating different ways to get a Priority Pass membership. 

Enriching the company by $59,041 doesn’t apparently make the slightest difference: Amex is pricing me out.  In I was 28 years old and very proud to qualify for the famous American Express Green Card.  I haven’t been without an Amex card since.  Sentiment aside, however, the Platinum Card will no longer be worth the cost to me when these changes take effect next year.

Choosing the least-worst airline

August 29,

Flying in has become nearly intolerable, even for me, a longtime road warrior.  And loyalty now means little, even for those of us at top elite levels.  Assuming prices in a market are pretty close, these days I pick the carrier based on which one I deem to be the least worst.

My consulting career took off in , and it was all on-site, away from home. Though I did plenty of flying before then, suddenly I was on planes five days a week, sometimes as many as 12 segments weekly before landing back home for all-too-short weekends. 

Flying then was fun, and I didn’t much differentiate between and among carriers when I had to go someplace.  Whichever airline got me there direct and at times that worked found me aboard.  Airline staff and crews were friendly, coach seats were plenty comfortable, service on board included real meals even in economy, and flights were almost always on time.  Flying wasn’t perfect, but by comparison to today, it was bliss.

Things began to change for me in .  After joining the brand-new AAdvantage program that year (my number is so low that it’s all digits), I surfed the frequent flyer early-day waves with jubilation. 

Pretty soon I was racking up hundreds of thousands of miles in multiple programs, particularly Eastern, American, and TWA.  Sometimes on Delta, United, Continental, Braniff, and Piedmont.

As soon as any airline initiated a loyalty program, I signed up and began accruing miles.  Paid off, too.  For instance, I remember relaxing in first class JFK to London on board a TWA 747 that cost me a pittance in frequent flyer miles.  My flight departed from the beautiful TWA terminal that’s now a historic hotel.  The first-class lounge there was decadent. 

Most airlines offered pretty good service in those years, and I don’t remember being irritated enough at any one carrier to complain, let alone to drive me away.  As the eighties wore on, competition for my business grew fiercer.  Eastern Airlines launched its marvelous Executive Traveler program that virtually guaranteed me a first-class upgrade on domestic flights in unsold seats.  Shortly thereafter, Delta designated me a Flying Colonel, which allowed me free entry to secret lounges in Atlanta and a few other airports.  Soon, Delta also began to upgrade me even when I didn’t ask.

Not to be outdone, Eastern then slipped me the toll-free numbers to the hallowed “Commuter Desk” in Chicago and New York.  The two ladies who staffed each Commuter Desk knew customers like me by name and would fix any problem I had on any flight, including booking me when necessary on “OA” (Other Airline) flights to get me wherever I was headed.  The Eastern Commuter Desk agents also booked my flights and followed my weekly bookings to upgrade me at no charge without my involvement. 

I was heartbroken when Eastern died in .  No airline has treated me that well since. All those millions of miles on EA vanished overnight when the carrier went under, as did my lifetime membership in Eastern’s Ionosphere Club.  When Continental took over the clubs, they promised to honor lifetime members but never did.  Nor did CO carry over my EA elite status into their program—one reason I began to avoid Continental after that and have since the CO-UA merger.

By the early 90s, my flying was concentrated on United and Delta.  I became a UA 1K flyer, and I was already a Delta multi-Million Miler.  At each million mile tier (eventually, I became a Delta Five Million Miler with lifetime Platinum status), Delta showered me with special gifts, including the finest Hartmann carryon bag (twice!), a beautiful Coach leather briefcase, and a solid gold money clip.  I flew so much then that I made Executive Platinum status even on my third airline, American, which awarded me lifetime gold when I hit Million Miler status.

Flying was then at least fairly comfortable for me.  I could usually wangle my way into the pointy end of an airplane on those carriers, which made trips bearable. 

In the 90s, though, service waned even upfront.  I narrowed my expectations of the front cabin to a wider seat with a better pitch and a free drink. I coined the phrase “Not Coach” for domestic first class to denote it being dumbed down, but at least what I called an “escape from coach.”  Riding sharp end I could also board first and deplane first, which bought me time at both ends of journeys.

The turn of the century brought 9/11 and its aftermath effects on air travel: one upheaval after another as airlines recovered financially by cutting back service.  Not to mention the new security screens and subsequent delays getting airside—what a pain and time sink!

Meanwhile, the airlines began to recognize the huge financial value of their frequent flyer programs and realized they had unfettered discretion to manipulate award travel thresholds.  Savvy carrier execs and their smart CFOs successfully positioned the loyalty programs to become internal quasi-banks, which gave the wild swings of the flying end of things financial cover.  All that happened at the expense of its most loyal customers, and that indifference is now the norm.

None of these dynamics was sensitive to, let alone made better, flying for business travelers.  Loyalty isn’t much valued.  It appears to me, ironically, that flying has come full circle and returned to the undifferentiated approach to customer loyalty that was true fifty years ago. As it was before airline deregulation, it’s all about fares and extra service charges, and nothing more. 

The upside is that I am freed from the loyalty shackles of frequent flyer programs that locked me into one or two airlines for the last 40 years.  Instead, I now choose my flights not by airline but by weighing these factors:

1. Nonstop or best connecting schedule
2. On-time performance
3. On-board comfort and service
4. Cost

The aggregate of those elements determines what I call the “least worst” airline for the city-pair I’m planning.  Usually, for me, the winner is Delta Air Lines.  Delta isn’t what it once was, but often is the least worst of a disappointing field of contenders.

Lounging in Pranburi, Thailand

August 22,

On a trip in April to celebrate two big birthdays, my wife and I had fun catching up on life in Thailand since our previous visit seven years ago.  We always enjoy the laidback country with its friendly people and unexcelled cuisine.

After a few days in Bangkok, we traveled to Khuraburi and boarded a speed boat to the marvelous Surin Islands National Park off the west coast of the Thai peninsula (see previous post). Three days of snorkeling over pristine reefs there was followed by a tranquil stay on the other side of the peninsula in Pranburi. 

No buses or trains ply that west-to-east route, however, so we hired a private car.  At 730a our driver pulled away from Khuraburi on the western shore of the peninsula (the Andaman Sea, part of the Indian Ocean) and reached the eastern shore (Gulf of Thailand) at 230 that afternoon. The Thai-Myanmar peninsula is narrow, but Pranburi in the Hua Hin region is a long way northeast of Khuraburi where we began that morning.

On advice from someone in my wife’s Returned Peace Corps Volunteers network, we booked the Villa Gris resort in Pranburi. It was elegant and modern, a lot different from the humble but comfortable bungalows of the previous few nights in the Surin Islands National Park.

I felt a little out of place in such upscale accommodation. At $60/night the Villa Gris was three times the cost of the previous night’s Boon Piya “resort” in Khuraburi.  The Villa Gris was still a bargain. Thailand remains reasonably inexpensive. I’d be paying multiples more for comparable luxury in America.

On the first evening in Pranburi, we walked a block to a local Thai restaurant, located on a main road away from the water.  We wanted Thai cooking and hit the jackpot with a marvelous dinner at the open-air Krua Ban Pa restaurant.  The meal of thom kha kai (spicy coconut galangal soup with chicken) and shrimp curry with seaweed was outstanding! Just 415 baht ($12) including beer and water.

We took it easy the second day, soaking in the serene, laid-back ambiance of Pranburi. After a Thai breakfast at the hotel (included in the rate), we strolled the beach road parallel to the seafront. It was already in the 90s by 900a, and the unrelenting heat (April is the hottest month in Thailand) pushed us back temporarily to the Villa Gris aircon. 

A strong wind and sudden overcast brought the temps down late morning, prompting my intrepid wife to take off exploring Pranburi pedaling one of the hotel’s rusty bikes. I walked to a quaint cafe/coffee house near the beach for a Coca-Cola and was soon chatting with a thirty-something Indian couple from New Delhi who have visited Pranburi every year for a decade. This year’s trip, they told me, was booked for two months; both were working remotely from a rented house.

Working remotely for two months?  What a great idea!

That afternoon and evening we spent time with friends Ernie and Dim Geefay.  Ernie is an American who fell in love with Thailand as a Peace Corps Volunteer 50 years ago.  Dim is a renowned Thai chef who spends part of each year consulting on Thai cuisine at a resort in Mexico. 

Though Ernie and Dim live in Bangkok, they also own a five-bedroom villa in Pranburi which they rent (sleeps 20+ for around $250-400/day). While visiting their place, we gawked at a Buddhist monk ordination celebration passing by. Very loud music.  Ernie commented that you don’t see this sort of thing in Bangkok anymore, only now in small villages.

That evening we dined with Ernie and Dim seaside at the TonTo Restaurant on nearby Beach Road. Dim chose the dishes of clams, squid, fish, and morning glory stems. All were delicious. The bill for the four of us, including beer and water, was $24. 

Altogether, a relaxing and unstressed day despite the heat and humidity, which made it feel like 106°, so said the local weather experts. They may have underestimated the top end. 

The following morning kicked off another perfect day to hang loose, read, go for Thai massages, swim in the resort pool, and watch in awe at the scores of kite surfers riding the gulf waves and winds.  The one-hour massages were 300 baht ($8.82), which I rounded up to $10 each. Pure heaven. We opted for two more massages on the third morning. I especially liked the hand-fingers, feet-toes, and head-neck parts of the massage. Magic!

The three-wheeled utility motorbikes popular in Thailand always fascinate me.  The vehicles have one or two seats for friends and family and lots of space to haul stuff around. If Raleigh had warmer winters, I’d procure one (I discovered the bikes are street-legal in North Carolina). A thriving Thai business exists to manufacture third-wheel carts and marry them to motorbikes. Each one is customized for the make of the bike, like a Honda 250.

Wistfully, I knew I’d soon be missing the ubiquitous bougainvillea and pungent frangipani, the tropical weather, the gorgeous beaches, the superb food, and the friendly Thai people with their easy-going pace and unrushed lifestyles.  It was a great trip, though with surprise physical challenges—to be expected when traveling. I suffered from sinusitis, laryngitis, a bruising fall after banging my head on a low tree in the Surin Islands, a persistent knee injury, and traveler’s diarrhea (despite being super-careful about eating only well-cooked foods). No matter; I soldiered on, relishing my limited time in paradise.

As it happened, our third day in Pranburi was Easter Sunday. Western religious holidays aren’t celebrated or much acknowledged by Thais, who are blissfully unaware of the Christian and Judaic calendars. Easter was just another day in Thailand.

Four nights in lovely, quiet, serene Pranburi brought our two weeks in Thailand to a close, but for one last night in Bangkok. We went for one more relaxing one-hour massage for 300 baht (less than $9) before saying goodbye to Pranburi. A hired taxi drove us direct to our hotel in Bangkok for our final night.

After checking in to the hotel, we walked to the famous Bangkok flower market and bought two bouquets of orchids for 25 cents each which would cost $50 in the USA. Our friends, Ernie and Dim, invited us to dinner at tiny Jack’s Bar on the river between the ritzy Shangri-la and Peninsula hotels. The orchids were a gift to them. You can see the flowers in the wine bucket on the table. We took a ferry down the river to join them.

Jack’s Bar sits directly across from the Disney-like ICONSIAM development I criticized in an earlier post, visible over Dim’s head in the above photo.

After a long multi-course dinner of fabulous Thai dishes selected by Thai chef Dim, we all four went for hour-long Thai foot massages (250 baht, about $7.35) to round out a perfect evening. Ernie and Dim returned on foot to their nearby condo, and our taxi dropped us at Chern Hostel at nearlypm.

Thailand is the last great bargain on earth. We can’t tell that inflation has impacted the price of things here at all, and they were already cheap by our standards.

We taxied to the airport around noon the next day to begin the three flights home (Bangkok-Singapore, Singapore-Newark, Newark-Raleigh). We will have a difficult time ever topping these birthday experiences.

Lost in the Botswana wilderness

August 15,

After an absence of over twenty years, I’m going back to Botswana.  I’ll be driving myself through the daunting wilderness there, something I’ve done in other parts of Africa where maps and directions are accurate.  Extensive map and route research regarding remote Botswanan game parks, though, yielded confusing and inconclusive results.  It’s taken a while for me to realize that at least this one part of the world in Botswana remains untamed and elusively uncharted.  The uncertainty of how to get around and through there is both appealing and scary.

Having lived and worked in South Africa in the s (the first time in ’91), I several times booked camping safaris in Botswana’s spectacular national wildlife parks.  Those trips proceeded first from Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe to Kasane, Botswana (just two hours apart).  Then via Serondella and Savuti in the Chobe National Park before moving on to Moremi and Xakanaxa, and finally to Maun for a fly-in to the Okavango Delta.  Flights were on small aircraft because the Okavango is an Eden-like water world impossible to access by rubber-tired vehicles.

In those days, such Botswanan camping trips were not luxurious, and I relished each experience. Lots of pitching in was required.  Hence the name “participation mobile safari.”  We put up our own tents and took them down.  We collected firewood for cooking, and we helped clean up after meals.  We assisted with camp setup when arriving and loading on departure.  The cost was just over $100 per day per person.

I’ve since been on many wildlife safaris in other African countries, including Tanzania, Namibia, and South Africa, and in my opinion, nothing anywhere compares to the sublime feeling of remoteness in the wild areas of Botswana.  Since about , however, I haven’t gone back to Botswana because the cost of mobile safaris skyrocketed.  Instead of helping out (the “participation” part), these days everything is done for participants—now called “guests” from whom no work is required. The cost is currently around $ per day per person.  Plus alcohol.  Plus hefty tips.  Plus the cost of flying to and from the safari end points.  That’s out of my league.

Instead, I’ve been traveling back to South Africa’s Kruger National Park every year or so for three decades, often taking friends and family who wanted to join me and learn about self-driving safaris there.  I blogged about those trips here.

Recently, I decided to return to Botswana’s backwoods and try it my way: a self-drive adventure.  After all, I’m highly experienced driving in the South African bush.  I know how to act with appropriate caution around elephants, lions, rhinos, hyenas, leopards, buffalo, hippos, crocodiles, cheetahs, and wild dogs (especially elephants).  The Kruger is 150 miles long and 50 miles wide, and I know almost every nook and cranny.  I’m confident that I can drive safely around the wildlife in Botswana rather than paying a safari operator a grand a day.

Why not?  Driving oneself in a rugged 4×4 through the unrivaled parks of Botswana is the dream of lots of South Africans, and many hundreds do it every year successfully.

Thus, next year in late February through early March I am finally returning to Botswana.  A friend is joining me, which will substantially defray expenses. I’m renting a Toyota 4×4 Land Cruiser with double petrol tanks, two spare tires, and sand mats.  No camping equipment.  We are staying in lodges, not camping this time.  Maybe next trip.

We will start with a visit to the Chobe Safari Lodge in Kasane and then drive via Savuti to a modest guest house in Khwai (near the famous Moremi Game Reserve) on March 1.  It’s not a long distance: less than 300 kilometers (about 185 miles).  The route passes through some of the richest game-viewing areas in Africa, including Savuti.

I am not at all worried about sharing the area with spectacular wildlife, including many potentially dangerous species.  I know how to do that.  My first concern is that it’ll still be the rainy season (which last until April) when many roads become literal swamps. 

The only alternative route via Savuti is through deep sand.  I remember well the sand ridge road between Savuti and Khwai from my long-ago previous trips.  Several times we had to help dig out the big ex-South African military truck repurposed for overland safaris.

But even the iffy road conditions are just the start of my concern about driving.  The trickier and more fearsome parts are figuring out which roads to take and then discerning the correct route as we go.

I read several guidebooks looking for tips on the drive from Kasane via Savuti (Chobe National Park) to Khwai, the gateway to Moremi. YouTube videos from gutsy self-drivers proved useful, too.  I also procured and studied the two universally-recommended maps of the area—Shell Botswana and Tracks4Africa Botswana.  I discovered many strong warnings to avoid the deep wet-season mud but to be equally cautious traversing the deep sand ridge roads. 

Topping off the great challenges of merely progressing through was the concerning admonition that most tracks in that area are constantly changing, making any map obsolete in short order.  Aspiring self-drivers are strongly advised to carry compasses, satellite phones, and GPS devices and to carefully learn how to use each one.  Cell signals don’t exist there, and even if they did, Google Maps is said to be completely unreliable.  Signposts en route are reported to be mostly nonexistent.

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That said, one guidebook pointed out that merely knowing where you are by GPS coordinates would not tell you which direction to go from there.  It was suggested to download a companion app called maps.me to show the direction from a GPS waypoint. 

So I did and then added the app’s offline map of Botswana.  But when I asked map.me for a route from Kasane to Khwai via Savuti, the app said there wasn’t one.

By contrast, maps of the Kruger National Park in South Africa are detailed and updated frequently.  Similarly, maps of remotest Namibia are reliable and accurate.  Even in Tanzania’s vast Serengeti, it’s hard to get lost, and even if you do, cell service blankets most of the vast plain. 

Yet this area in Botswana defies civilization and the certainty of knowing where you are and where you’re going. Because of that uncertainty, I’ve been obsessing over whether I can find my way from Kasane to Khwai via Savuti and whether we can make it in one day.

Heck, despite the considerable modern resources of the Internet and social media, I can’t even determine the best route.  Neither the excellent Shell map nor the terrific Tracks4Africa map of Botswana indicates the optimal way south of Kachikau (the tiny village where the sand tracks begin) to reach Khwai except to advise staying on the sand ridge road in the wet season. Nor does any YouTube video I’ve yet found cover in meaningful detail how to get there.

I’m a guy who plans everything down to the tiniest variable in order to minimize risk, most especially when traveling in the wilderness.  Nonetheless, I find the uncertainty of driving directions in far-flung Botswana refreshing.  I hope we don’t get lost.

Delta-Air France “metal neutral” snafu

August 8,

It’s a shell game the airlines play now:  They say it doesn’t matter which airline’s planes you ride because it’s all the same. 

It’s just an airplane, they say. A plane is a plane is a plane.  Brands no longer matter.  You shouldn’t care what paint is splashed on the fuselage. 

It’s called being “metal neutral.” One airline’s metal is as good as another’s, they say.

And don’t complain about it, they say.  Just get your butt on board, and shut up.  If you look at us funny, our crews have itchy Taser fingers, and you could be beaten and dragged off the metal-neutral plane by goons we hire at airports.

Metal neutral means four or five or more airline flight numbers may be rotating on airport boards.  Even for prosaic destinations like Biloxi, one might see SkyTeam members as varied as Kenya Airways and Korean Air endlessly flipping flight numbers on-screen with Aeroflot, Delta, Air France, and KLM.

Same for overseas on alliance flights:  My wife and I flew to Ljubljana, Slovenia last September on a “real” Delta plane from RDU to JFK, then a genuine Air France aircraft to Paris, and finally an AF regional affiliate HOP! tiny airplane from CDG to LJU.  The AF and HOP! flights carried Delta codeshare flight numbers.  (It’s all the same; nothing to see here; keep moving.)

On a side note, I keep wondering why, for the love of God, would an airline be called HOP! or, for that matter, why HOP! would be the trade name for any product or service.

Okay, those sorts of codeshare numbering schemes seem to work most of the time in terms of safely moving me from place to place.  Except that it isn’t really metal neutral the way airlines describe it because the services on board each carrier can be vastly different. 

In our case going to Paris and Ljubljana, Air France was far superior to Delta.  I am not complaining about our good fortune.  Just pointing out that “metal neutral” is a typical airline illusion (among many deceptions).

Codeshare flights on parallel alliance metal-neutral runs that once furiously competed highlight those airline marketing hypocrisies.  This is especially true in the North Atlantic markets.  As I said, flying to Paris from JFK aboard Air France last September in AF’s great premium economy cabin was better than Delta’s.  But the metal-neutral shell game doesn’t always turn up a winner. In the metal-neutral airline world, I have to pay sharp attention and dig beneath the surface to know which carrier’s plane I’ll be stepping aboard. If we’d been flying to Moscow, I’m not sure we would have enjoyed a Delta codeshare on Aeroflot metal quite so much as we did Air France to Paris.

Naturally, all this metal-neutral nonsense and code-sharing skullduggery is dependent upon perfect coordination of schedules and IT systems to make the black magic work.  If anything hiccups, then, well, mistakes happen.

Once such glitch whacked me recently.  I booked and was issued a roundtrip ticket on Delta from Raleigh to Johannesburg in March .  Outbound will be RDU/ATL connecting to the Delta nonstop ATL/JNB. 

Though I expected the return to be the reverse routing, instead I was booked on a Delta codeshare flight via Air France from Johannesburg to Paris, connecting to a “real” Delta nonstop CDG/RDU on Delta metal.  The times worked as well as connecting back through Atlanta, so I accepted the routing.  Importantly, the fare basis was also optimal going through Paris CDG.

Two days after my ticket was issued, I received notice that Air France would begin flying between CDG and RDU for the first time ever:

“New non-stop service between Paris-Charles de Gaulle and Raleigh-Durham (North Carolina), 3 times a week on Boeing 787-9 effective October 30, .”

The announcement went on to say:

“This route was previously operated by Delta Air Lines, Air France’s partner in the transatlantic joint venture comprising Air France, KLM, Delta Air Lines, and Virgin Atlantic.”

Previously operated by Delta?  But Delta was still operating the flights, and I was booked on it in March.  What the heck?  If Air France was taking over the Paris/Raleigh route, then was my Delta reservation valid?  If not, why had I been able to buy it literally the day before yesterday?  This Delta-AF metal-neutral plan of their vaunted Joint Venture hadn’t materialized out of thin air in two days.

I called Delta (using my Elite line).  The very senior Delta agent was as perplexed as I was.  Delta was still selling tickets on their own metal between RDU and Paris every day (Delta’s flights operate seven days a week), and she could find no mention of the Air France flight bumping out the Delta flight on the route.

For the next two weeks, I checked delta.com daily, finding the Delta metal still being sold and no mention of the Air France takeover. 

In the meantime, RDU Airport here in Raleigh issued a press release touting the addition of a new international airline coming: Yea! Big win for Raleigh!  Air France to Paris!  Time to break out the Champagne!

The fact that it would replace Delta metal was mentioned, but not the fact that AF would only be flying three days a week versus Delta’s daily flights—a net RDU loss of four weekly flights to and from Paris.  I didn’t see that as a win.

On the fifteenth day after the original RDU flight announcement by Air France, the Delta system was updated to delete the DL flight and include the AF flight.  However, all I got was crickets from the Delta system.  I was now booked on a nonexistent flight in March from CDG to RDU, a ghost flight not acknowledged on Delta.com. 

I immediately phoned the DL Elite line again and reached another experienced agent.  At first, she could not find the new AF flight and had to call her IT department.  Even the computer system guys had trouble figuring it out.  After ten minutes of confusion, they had the new schedule displayed correctly, and the senior agent rebooked me on the new AF codeshare.  She had to reissue the ticket. Whew!

Very luckily for me, my return date happened to be a Wednesday, which correlated to one of the three days (Mon, Wed, and Fri) that Air France would operate the new route.  Otherwise, Delta would have routed me through Amsterdam and then New York, and then RDU, adding hours to my return.

Two weeks after I had proactively rebooked my flight, the Delta system finally sent me a notice that “your flights have changed” and asked that I take action. 

So much for the seamless integration of metal neutrality among close partners.  I figured out their snafu and acted quickly to rectify their problem directly impacting me because I know their systems are imperfect.  Proving once again that I can never trust any airline to match their own marketing hype.

Thailand’s offshore Surin Islands National Park

August 1,

My wife and I were delighted on a visit in April to Thailand to experience the remote Surin Islands National Park 40 miles offshore the west coast of the Thai/Myanmar peninsula and within spitting distance of Myanmar waters in the Andaman Sea.  We strove to do something entirely different that avoided the crowds of the southern Thai beaches.  We succeeded.

To get there, we first had to endure a long bus ride from Bangkok to Khuraburi, the gateway to the Surin Islands National Park.  Khuraburi is a typical rural Thai town: undeveloped, unstressed, with a look familiar to me: like eastern North Carolina coastal fishing towns in the s. I loved it!

The little burg even boasts a strong 5G cell signal, which was unexpected. Sleepily, we prepared for our speedboat ride 40 miles offshore. My wife caught me snoozing in a hammock at Khuraburi while we waited for the boats in the background to be readied to power us offshore.

Our “VIP24” overnight bus arrived in Khuraburi shortly past 500am. We left Bangkok at 720pm the previous night. In retrospect, the bus was not the optimal means to get there, while admitting few options exist (e.g., very expensive private driver, or fly to a different small town 45 miles away and arrange for a slightly less expensive private car).

The bus looks great in the photo, but it was not nearly as comfortable as advertised. Six “VIP” seats were crammed into a tiny space behind the driver on the lower level. The seats were fine. But there was insufficient room for them in the small room, resulting in no passenger being able to find comfort. It was a long night, and my wife and I were relieved to have arrived in Khuraburi.

The information sent to us in advance made the Surin Islands made it sound like the end of the earth, cut off from civilization, and forget about cell coverage. The reality was more prosaic but just fine: excellent 4G signal, gorgeous mountains above tropical white sand beaches, charming ambiance, hard to get to, quiet, and pretty darn uncrowded. Opposite experience from the madhouse of Phuket beaches south of there. We relished the easy vibe.

Good snorkeling, too. We went to three sites on the first day with healthy coral and lots of fish species in what looked to me like sustainable population numbers. We were taken to four more snorkeling sites the next day and two reefs on our third morning before heading back to the mainland.

Our bungalow was charming and quiet with a cold shower and a great little balcony above one of the nearby beaches. Contrary to what we had been advised, Surin bungalows had toilet paper.  Electricity with A/C was available 600p-600a, and electricity without A/C but with a great overhead fan worked 600a-800a by throwing a big switch on the wall. The power was shut off from 800a until 600p.

The food at Surin was good, though mostly cold. Unlimited midday buffet of seafood curry, chicken, rice, and vegetables. Fresh fruit for dessert.  In the morning, we weren’t offered the hot Thai breakfast that we saw others eating. I guess the guides assume all Westerners prefer Western breakfast, which of course isn’t true. The cold American breakfast was unappetizing.

Except for almost breaking my neck one afternoon tumbling down treacherous, steep steps backward after bonking my head on a large tree on the path to our bungalow, it was very relaxing. The bruises on my head and arm were humbling reminders to be careful. I took the fall like Buster Keaton.

We snorkeled over some of the healthiest coral yet seen, and with thousands of fish, always by traditional long-tail boat.

The photo in the shallows was looking at lionfish on the rocks at low tide.

On our third and final day in the National Park, we enjoyed two morning snorkeling adventures (about 45 minutes each) and then checked out of our bungalow.  Lunch was with some of the visiting families we came to know there: Italians, Swedes, Israelis, Germans, and Thais. The common communication thread was English. I chuckled watching Germans, Swedes, and Italians happily conversing with each other in English. They were all great fun to get to know.

The one-hour speedboat ride back to the mainland powered by three Honda 250hp outboards roaring at full throttle over the choppy Andaman Sea (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andaman_Sea) seemed quicker than the ride out there. Soon we were checking in at the modest Boon Piya Resort back in sleepy little Khuraburi.

Thais are prone to call anything a resort, which the Boon Piya wasn’t by Western standards. But it was clean, safe, comfortable, roomy, and only $19 (650 baht) for the night. Hot shower, good A/C (it’s always in the 90s Fahrenheit here), and bottled water included.

Not every place has hot showers because the high air temps here make a cold shower pretty darn warm. But the Boon Piya bungalows had hot water heaters!  Our Surin Islands National Park bungalow had only cold showers, which we hardly noticed.

A pharmacy in the village gave me amoxicillin across the counter. No prescriptions are required in Thailand. I have a bad case of sinusitis that I aggravated going snorkeling.

Someone asked if maybe I had Covid.  I’ve had seven Covid vaccinations, and I had a good appetite and could taste food just fine. I probably shouldn’t have gone snorkeling four times with sinusitis. Plus, I hadn’t slept much due to sinus draining.

Cash is king in Thailand. I paid for the room in baht bills, and later for the meal and beer at a local seafood restaurant, and the antibiotics, too.

Geckos were everywhere including the walls of our bungalow. We love Geckos.

The following morning we began our all-day journey by hired car north and to the east side of the Thai-Myanmar peninsula, about which in my next post.

Bangkok street food elusive

July 25,

My first visit to Bangkok in the late s made me want to return, especially for more of the delicious Thai dishes served from street carts. I enjoyed several subsequent trips, the last one about seven years ago.  On a visit this past April with my wife, it seemed to me, to my chagrin, that the great Thai street food which was a city hallmark has vanished from the sidewalks.  It’s moved inside.

Most Bangkok purveyors of cooked food are now in brick-and-mortar cafes.  In many of those places, especially along the river where the tourists flock, traditional Thai dishes have given way to mediocre international fare, such as pizzas and pastas.  But the good Thai food I crave persists; it’s just harder to find.

The massive metropolis was plenty modern thirty-plus years ago, but it retained an indigenous charm that I found endearing, especially the pervasive and mouth-watering street food.  Vendors were everywhere with their little carts, and I couldn’t get enough Pad Thai and red and green curry dishes.  Hmmm!  My brain can still conjure those magical, exotic flavors.

It was inexpensive, too, dealing with a sole proprietor who did everything: procured the ingredients, prepared and cooked the dishes from (often secret) family recipes, served it up in porcelain dishes diners were expected to return, and collected money for payment.  The streets were vibrant and people sold everything there.  The scrumptious curry odors wafted among walkers in every block to lure them to eat.  And I did—often!

The streets of Bangkok today are still lively, and plenty of big and little food markets exist, thank goodness.  Like the shirtless man above, who was putting ice on his big frogs and other aquatic protein for passers-by to buy for a home-cooked meal.  But curbside, the cart vendors of hot dishes are gone.

Not so, real eateries. The above photo depicts a famous no-name restaurant where an old lady in her 70s wearing goggles (to keep the wok oil from splashing back and burning her face) endlessly cooks up some of the best food in the city, including a much-heralded crab omelet. The wait standing in the heat on the street was 80 minutes, plus another hour to get served and eat.

Although nowhere on the streets, lone vendors were packed at train stations, such as in the photos above and below. All sorts of food sellers are set up at every station, even at minuscule rural stops. Ubiquitous at big stations.

I finally came upon the Bangkok street food I so fondly recalled at a place I least expected.  ICONSIAM is a giant luxury mall (opened in ) set on Bangkok’s emblematic Chao Phraya River which boasts the best of the city’s famed, superb street food. So my wife and I tried it.

I was repelled by ICONSIAM itself.  I felt sick just being inside. The place reeks of luxe, and, yes, many food options have moved in (not only Thai, as you can see from the frou-frou Japanese strawberries in the above photo).

ICONSIAM is just another super-fancy Disneyland for big spenders, a fake, a manufactured environment, a fantasy. Except for the cutesy Thai motifs here and there, it could be in Cleveland. ICONSIAM has no soul. The soul of the city is in the rickety habitats seen from the window right next door (below photo).

Yet that’s what increasingly-prosperous folks in Bangkok seem to want. I guess fried scorpions on a stick (below), imported Japanese strawberries, and Australian ribeye steak (which I saw advertised) satisfy the most jaundiced Bangkok palate. No more grubby Pad Thai from a nasty cart on the street, no matter how tasty and cheap.

Ironically, however, we found an old woman at ICONSIAM selling the best green curry we had since arriving in Bangkok. For only 60 baht (less than $2), too, which has to be the standout bargain in the entire mall.

I cynically wondered if the mall is underwriting her presence, perhaps by charging only a token rent. So that she and others like her become part of the contrived fantasy ambiance. I left with confused feelings:  Her curries were to die for, but the mall was an abomination.

Our last Bangkok dining experience was at Jack’s Bar directly on the river across from the Disney-like ICONSIAM development.  Owned by the family of a Bangkok policeman, Jack’s Bar enjoys a premier location between the Peninsula and Shangri-La hotels.  No pretensions, just good food and drink. 

Our long multi-course dinner of fabulous Thai dishes at Jack’s was selected by our friend and renowned Thai chef, Dim Geejay.  The meal was a fitting final salute to superb Thai cuisine.  It was encouraging to affirm the country’s famed gastronomy is alive and well, if no longer on the street.

Cheap sleep in Bangkok

July 18,

In the 80s and 90s, my usual Bangkok overnight dig was a luxurious hotel like the Royal Orchid Sheraton, the Peninsula, or the Shangri-La on the river.  I never worried about room rates because it was mostly covered by client travel expense policies.  Planning a return in April, however, I found Bangkok rates at those swanky riverside palaces to be several hundred dollars per night.  Instead, my wife and I paid less than fifty bucks each night at the Chern, which bills itself as a hostel but is much more like a hotel.

Chern calls itself a boutique hostel, which sounds like a contradiction in terms.  What it markets as a “double deluxe” must truly be one of the best hotel bargains in the city at under $50/night for a large, modern room with all the usual hotel amenities and a great shower.

Okay, the Chern has a few “dormitory” rooms that make it hostel-like, and it certainly attracted a lot of twenty-something guests when we visited. However, our stays were in three different rooms in three different bookings, and they all could have been carved out of a modern hotel property charging several times the price.  Our rooms even had balconies overlooking the pool.

The full breakfast was extra but only 130 baht ($3.82).  Whimsical wall art was pervasive.  Chern also has self-service washers and dryers, saving time from hand-washing laundry.

We loved the Chern, and it was ideally located, too. We walked almost everywhere from there with ease.

Staying there rather than at one of the ritzy places on the river confirmed my feeling that Thailand must be the last great bargain on earth.

Trains, boats, and tuk-tuks in Thailand

July 11,

My wife and I love Thailand for its friendly people, energy, history, exotic beauty, tropical weather, and delicious street food. I first came here in the s.  On a trip this past April, we hit the jackpot on a spectacular impromptu day trip from Bangkok to Maeklong by taxi, train, boat, foot, and tuk-tuk.

Seeing my pictures, an American friend who has never visited Thailand commented that the country is hard to imagine. I agree it’s exotic, so very different from America. But to me, it just seems like the normal Southeast Asia way of life. Despite the frenetic pace of Bangkok, it’s calming to me once I get imbued again in street life. Many Americans stay in insulated luxury hotels and on tourist buses.  To know Thailand, that won’t do. 

The above photo captures it all: a large Buddha statue, a street vendor, the crazy electrical grid, and typical buildings.  That jumble of impressions is so redolent of Bangkok and Thailand to me.

On our second day back in the country, we took off to a small city southwest of Bangkok called Mahachai. Train tickets were 10 baht each (about 33 cents) for 40 miles.  Loved the marvelous bustle of street life at the little station (below photo taken from the train window).

Leaving the one-track Wong Yong Yai station, our train barreled through the narrow crowded streets.

Peering through the open windows, we relished impressions of Thailand galore depicting the stark contrast between squalor and prosperity.

I especially like the young woman ambling over a footbridge spanning one of the omnipresent canals while two old fellows in the background are enjoying late afternoon beers.

Beautiful Bougainvillea and fragrant Frangipani thrive along the tracks. Along with lots of unsightly trash and random junk.

Many, many Thais continue to wear face masks, a Covid echo.

Lots and lots of water, fish farms, and salt evaporation farms.

Arriving at Mahachai, we walked a kilometer or two through the local fish market and took a small ferry (pedestrians, motorbikes, and bicycles only) to an even smaller village called Tha Chalom to catch yet another train.

That train was just about to leave as we ran up, the last to board.  Tickets were again 10 baht each for the one-hour ride (about 30 cents). 

It was packed.  The conductor and engineer kindly invited me to stand up front.

From my front window, I was startled to see tourists trying to photograph our train as it snaked through rural market towns. Soon we realized that our train was headed for Maeklong, home of the famous “folding umbrella market” built right up to and on the tracks as trains approach the station. 

How fortuitous!  We had not planned it that way.

From Maeklong we negotiated a tuk-tuk to drive us to the Amphara floating market, which disappointingly wasn’t floating much—mainly surface markets.  Nonetheless, we walked all around and had a light lunch of duck basil with rice and seafood basil with rice. Drank a lot of water in the 95° heat before taking another tuk-tuk back to Maeklong.

Maeklong Market functions quite well literally on the tracks between the eight trains per day.

We arrived at Maeklong at a and boarded the 330p train returning to Tha Chalom.  There caught the short ferry ride back to Mahachai for our return train to Bangkok’s tiny Wong Yong Yai station.

Every time I visit, I am agog at the thousands of markets like the ones in Maeklong and Mahachai that function everywhere in Thailand. It’s astonishing. So many choices!

If only we had anything similar in America.

Will never happen, though.  For starters, nothing makes sense in Thailand. I once described Thailand as “Dr. Seuss on acid.”  I was serious. Still applies.

But the place functions and even thrives, and the genuine friendliness of the people and to-die-for food are unbeatable.

Thai means of transport rare to America in addition to tuk-tuks include 3-wheel utility motorbikes, pedicabs, and open-air truck buses. The trucks are fitted with benches and a step for easy rear entry. The drivers post a fare to nearby towns and leave at designated times from the same locations every day.

The pedestrian and motorbike ferry on our return trip between Tha Chalom and Mahachai charged 3 baht (about 10 cents) each (above photo). The two ferries crisscross and run full all day. What a great business and excellent mobility solution.

One vendor at the tiny Bangkok train station was cooking plantains. All sorts of vendors are set up at every station, even minuscule rural stops. Ubiquitous at big stations.

All these mobility, food, and other businesses function in a largely regulation-free environment. Few or no rules limit permissions, though safety is regulated, whether food, transport, or other.

Thus, what might appear at first glance by an American like me to be chaotic, sprawling disorganization is in fact a smoothly-running machine. Just Thai-style and it all works just fine.

Here’s a chronology of the day’s spontaneous journey:

1. Taxi from our hotel to a road near the tiny Bangkok Wong Yong Yai train station.
2. Walked this way and that and finally found the train station tucked out of the way.
3. Train from Wong Yong Yai to Mahachai.
4. Walked from the station to the pedestrian and motorbike ferry and crossed to Tha Chalong.
5. Walked (ran, actually, because the train was about to leave) from te ferry to the Tha Chalong train station.
6. Train from Tha Chalong to Maeklong (through the “folding umbrella market”).
7. Tuk-tuk from Maeklong to the Amphara floating market, which wasn’t floating.
8. Tuk-tuk from Amphara not-floating market back to Maeklong.
9. Train Maeklong back to Tha Chalong.
10. Ferry Tha Chalong back to Mahachai.
11. Train Mahachai back to Bangkok Wong Yong Yai station.
12. Taxi from Wong Yong Yai station to our hotel in the waning light.

By then we were knackered from the heat. But as Helen Keller so rightly said, “Life is an adventure or nothing at all.”

I dodged the summer travel bullet

July 3,

Owing to tomorrow’s Independence Day holiday, I will keep this brief and to the point crowing about how my flying experience in the frenzied final week of June travel beat the odds!

Last week I flew from Raleigh to New Orleans to visit friends for 5 days. Due to the pandemic, we had not seen each other in nearly three years. I’d booked on Delta.

God bless my sweet wife for getting up at 230a to get me to RDU airport by 300am for the scheduled departure at 505a.  She dropped me at the front door at 305a.

Entering RDU I was shocked to see a line for TSA already wrapped around the terminal.  I was soon made to understand that TSA at RDU doesn’t open until 400a.  Weird, I thought, since some flights leave earlier than mine at 505a.

I joined a lengthening PRE queue and felt sorry for the throngs streaming through the doors of the airport. 

Thank goodness TSA opened “early” at 345a, and I was through at 355a, no thanks to CLEAR, which was closed.  I made a beeline for the SkyClub which opened at 400a.

After gobbling a bagel, I walked briskly to my gate and found that boarding would be delayed because “the pilots had an issue with their transportation this morning.”  Uh oh.

I began to worry that the plane would be late getting to Atlanta. I had only 38 minutes to connect. 

My seat was in the last row of Comfort+, and I knew “deplaning” would be slow, further threatening my connection.  I made a snap decision to improve my chances of getting off the plane quickly in ATL by spending 19,400 miles on the Delta app to upgrade myself to seat 2B in first class RDU/ATL. 

That’s the equivalent of nearly $200, and I grimaced at the cost.  But otherwise, I’d be stuck in Atlanta.  It was a Friday, and every flight was full, especially to New Orleans, where the popular annual “Essence” African-American festival had just kicked off.

I asked the captain and the gate agent just before the door closed if I stood a chance of making the extremely tight connection.  Both were more gamely optimistic than I was that I’d be okay.  The gate agent said she’d refund my entire fare if I chose to stay home.  But I needed to see my New Orleans friends again and thus decided to roll the dice.

My gamble paid off!  I made the Atlanta connection in 9 minutes from A21 to T5.  Here is the nail-biting chronology:

• The scheduled departure from RDU was 505a.
• Pushed back RDU at 523a, 18 minutes late.
• Airborne RDU at 537a after an interminable 14-minute taxi.
• Touched down in ATL at 634a (a 57-minute flight—wow!).
• The scheduled ATL gate arrival was 627a.
• Arrived at gate A21 at 641a, 14 minutes late, which left me just 24 minutes to connect.
• Ran like hell to the center of the A concourse and down the escalator holding my bag over my head.
• Made the “plane train” just as the doors were closing.
• Ran up the escalator and down the T concourse.
• Arrived at gate T5 at 650a for my 705a departure with 15 minutes to spare.
• Boarded 650a.
• 9 minutes A21 to T5 – not bad! 
• Whew!

Much relieved, I dozed most of the flight from Atlanta to New Orleans.

Over five days I caught up with my dear friends and enjoyed such NOLA delicacies as barbecued shrimp at Pascal’s Manale where the dish was invented.

I visited with my old friend and Banjo Hall of Fame recipient Don Vappie and his family.

Sunday afternoon I found myself listening to soothing gospel music.

On the return itinerary, I’d booked a flight scheduled to leave New Orleans at 830a.  I was dropped at the terminal at 635a.  I had a great aisle seat in the front row of Comfort+ and looked forward to a relaxing ride home from New Orleans to Atlanta to Raleigh, with a comfortable 90-minute ATL connection.

But then I noticed Delta was posting a 730a flight MSY/ATL, so after clearing TSA Pre/CLEAR, I rushed to the gate and asked if I could stand by.  Over decades of flying, I always take an earlier flight, if possible.

The gate agent said every seat was full, but she put me on the list.  I asked to please get an aisle, if possible.

Pretty soon she called me and gave me a boarding pass for an aisle seat in just plain coach (not Comfort+).  I took it.  Like I said, I always leave early if I can.

Delta pushed back early, and we arrived at ATL early. 

I rushed to the nearest SkyClub and asked the agent if I could stand by for an earlier flight to RDU that arrived at noon rather than my flight at 200p. 

The agent said I was ALREADY on standby for it, thanks to the MSY gate agent, so I hightailed it to the gate and asked the agent there about my chances.

Not good, he said, as it was overbooked.  Again, I pleaded for an aisle seat.

One minute later he called me back and handed me a dreaded center seat in the third row of Comfort+.  He shrugged and said centers were all he had, and he had only two.  I gulped and boarded. Here was my view from the middle seat:

It was pretty miserable, but only for one hour, and I got home to Raleigh two hours earlier than I would have on my original itinerary.  Since I had two important meetings that afternoon back to back, I swallowed the discomfort of the center seat.  Plenty of legroom but squeezed on both sides: That is the irony of so-called Comfort+ in a center seat.

Soon after, I was in an Uber using my $15 monthly Amex Uber credit and got right to work once home. 

It was only later that I realized I had dodged the misery that so many flyers are suffering this summer.  Even with the outbound flight delay and razor-thin connection drama, Atlanta functioned well as a hub.  I doubt I’d have had such a good experience using United through the horror of Newark. 

Happy Independence Day!

Reflections on post-pandemic flying

June 27,

I’ve been on four Delta roundtrips recently to JFK, Newark, Boston, Madison, and New Orleans, with connections in Atlanta and Detroit.  Maybe because I was by myself, I noticed how flying has changed since airports and airplanes are full again.  Some stuff was good; some made me sad and despondent.

The magic of flying is dead

Nearly every window shade was closed on an 810a flight because everyone is heads-down on their phones.  I guess now they all take flying through the stratosphere at 30,000 feet at near the speed of sound for granted. Ho-hum. Why gaze at the marvel of the sky and the earth below? The real world no longer holds any magic for them. Zeal comes from bloody killing games on a tiny screen. I moved my seat from 1B to 1A on the ATL/MSN segment so I could control the shade. (I was pleased to get a free upgrade; sometimes 5.5 million miles on Delta work in my favor.)

Flying with slobs     

Despondency: The cruddy people skulking through the Atlanta E Concourse Delta SkyClub in dirty shorts, flip-flops, and with their worn-out crummy shirt tails flapping as they ambled by. Not a few; it was a very wide majority of sloppy dress. No pride, no shame.

That Delta SkyClub club was, like the United Club in Newark, so crowded that the huge staff couldn’t keep bagels stocked or the men’s room clean (paper towels overflowed the trash container). The great unwashed have crashed the SkyClub, and not for the better. Like a scene from “The Beverly Hillbillies.” Woe and chagrin.

Some days, like that day, I think maybe I’m getting too old for this. Okay, you don’t need to wear a coat and tie to fly like every man used to (I’d never go to an airport in anything but a suit and tie in the s).  But can’t folks demonstrate a modicum of class and propriety, for God’s sake, when showing up in public to travel? No pride, no shame.

Coincidentally, I read an article while in the SkyClub about some members of Congress not wearing dress shoes in the White House now. McConnell, McCarthy, and their cohort showed up for a debt deal discussion in the Oval Office looking like mall walkers in their butt-ugly, disrespectful footwear. Democrats are no better:  Witness John Fetterman showing up in the Senate in a hoodie and gym shorts.  They all set a poor example for the populace.  I guess it’s all part of the same dumbing down of everything. No pride, no shame.

My companions in first class were attired much like the Congressmen: gaudy short pants, wrinkled tee shirts, sockless sneakers, or open-toed sandals. You couldn’t tell from their abysmal clothes the fat-cat customer upfront who ponied up for full-fare first class from the bargain basement flyer suffering in a center seat by the lavatory in the last row of Basic Economy. Nosepickers, all, with no pride and no shame.

I wish there was a national dress code for flying—a federal law—and I wish airlines required window shades to be open for takeoff and landing like they used to. Sinners would go on the no-fly list for life if I ran the world.

How much for parking?

As I’ve aged (now 75), I’ve grown weary of arising at 3:00 AM for early morning flights, but I did it again anyway for one recent flight.  The last few times I needed a taxi or an Uber in the wee hours to get me to the RDU airport, they were no-shows.  This time I drove and parked, which I haven’t done since before Covid. 

What a shock: $20/day to park at Raleigh/Durham, which would amount to $100 for five days.  Where have I been?  I felt sheepish that I hadn’t kept up with my hometown airport parking rates.  Still, Raleigh/Durham Airport isn’t exactly O’Hare or DFW.

Pre & CLEAR are essential

Though I was traveling on a Thursday for one itinerary and arrived at the RDU terminal at about 4:25 AM, the regular TSA lines were already deep.  Thank goodness for both my TSA Pre membership and for joining CLEAR.  I bypassed the mobs and cleared security in less than five minutes. It was worth every penny to invest in CLEAR on top of Pre.

Airline meals have shifted to clubs

Entering the Delta SkyClub for the same sunrise flight, I was grateful for the early opening hour.  I settled in for breakfast and reflected on the vast improvement to food service in the lounge (on Delta, at least) and how that fact had supplanted onboard meal service on most flights.  I no longer miss getting fed on planes because I can almost always take in some calories in the club.

Ditto for the BOS A Concourse SkyClub.  Meals for breakfast and lunch there were outstanding on the two occasions recently that I visited.  No need for onboard food on a domestic flight after filling up there.

Delta manages on-time departures well

Delta now boards most flights 40-45 minutes before scheduled departure.  I walked down the Jetway to my seat at 5:36 AM for a 5:15 AM flight RDU/BOS.  Efficient boarding ensured being on time; we actually pushed back early at 5:08 AM and landed early at Boston Logan, a near-perfect flight in the sense that it wasn’t memorable. 

The same has been true on recent flights from Boston, Madison, Detroit, Atlanta, and even [gasp!] from JFK.  All on time, some even in stormy weather.  Quite a nice change from pre-Covid Delta, where a sense of urgency on any given flight was hit or miss.

Happy Independence Day!

Just a week away from America’s birthday, I am reminded that Independence Day means a great deal to me. I’ve always been proud to be an American.

And it is properly called Independence Day, née the “Fourth of July” despite modern slang.

Hertz adds $102 to my daily rate

June 20,

Recently, I flew to Boston and rented a car to spend a weekend in Maine with my wife.  A five-day relaxing getaway that required Delta flights from Raleigh to Boston and back, a Hertz rental, and four hotel overnights.  Despite the wild summer travel days, things went well except with Hertz.  The once-respected car rental company inexplicably changed my reserved guaranteed daily rate from $82.80 to $185.  Then couldn’t fix it, either, causing me heartburn and anxiety for the entirety of my trip back to Boston.

Arriving at Boston Logan’s Terminal A, I made my way to Hertz. It was a long walk under the tarmac just to exit Terminal A.  Getting from there to the BOS remote rental car facility meant taking a shuttle bus that stopped at all other terminals en route.  Unexpectedly, 45 minutes elapsed in total from leaving Terminal A to walking into the rental car complex.  Good thing I wasn’t on a tight schedule with clients awaiting my arrival.  Another example of the plodding, time-killing airport indifference to customer needs.

Bypassing the endless queue at the Hertz counter, I found my name on the Gold Board and experienced a happy surprise: Instead of a space number assignment, I was invited to pick any car I wanted from the President’s Circle area.  Foolishly, I imagined choosing from a line of upscale, shiny new autos bearing the shields of BMW, Mercedes, Audi, and Lexus.  It was a letdown to find nothing remotely like what my mind had conjured.  A line of 15-20 cars, yes, but more like I’d stumbled upon Dollar Rent-a-Car’s budget selection.  Lots of Chevy Equinox models with the least possible number of options.  Ditto for down-market, plain-Jane Nissan models. 

I found one lonely Tesla, but what was I going to do with that in Maine?  Where would I get it charged?  I’d be suffering constantly from range anxiety. 

After checking ten or so vehicles, I finally found one with blind spot monitoring mirrors—an indispensable safety feature, in my opinion—and headed for the gate.  I’d decided for once to accept the prepaid gas option since time was going to be tight getting back to the airport the following Monday.  I asked the Hertz gate attendant to ensure it was added. 

He did and then offered advice on closing the little drawer on the toll device attached to the windshield to avoid a $15 daily toll charge since I was going north and didn’t need to use toll roads.  But he warned me to wind my way north on city streets to avoid being tolled for the short stretch up to non-tolled US1 North since cash payments are not accepted (a Catch-22 for an out-of-state visitor like me).

Not on a schedule, I set my ’s Google navigation to stay off toll roads and slowly drove through city streets until reaching US1 North and I-95.  No tolls, whew!

It wasn’t until I reached my first hotel in South Portland that I was able to glance at my Hertz contract the gate attendant had shoved through the window as I left the airport. It read $185/day for the boring, unremarkable car in my possession. 

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?” I murmured to myself in frustration.  True to my obsessive habit, I’d brought printed copies of the Delta, hotel, and Hertz reservations.  I pulled them from my suitcase to be sure I remembered correctly that my daily rate was $82.80—a figure I already thought was too high.  Yep, $82.80.  According to the contract, Hertz had added $102 per day to my rate.

I spent the next 55 minutes on the being shunted from one Hertz agent in the Philippines to another.  The first person, in Hertz Reservations, said this problem needed to be resolved by Hertz Customer Service.  She transferred me, and after a long wait, followed by my story repeating the problem, the CS agent said that only Hertz Billing could fix it.  After another transfer and another long wait, another retelling of the story, and repeating it due to language comprehension issues, the Hertz Billing representative advised that only Hertz staff in Boston at the pickup location could rectify the problem. 

She asked if it would be much trouble for me to return to the airport.  Exasperated, I explained that I was nowhere close to Boston.  In that case, she said, I’d have to get it fixed when I returned the car. 

The problem was, there would be very little time to get to our flight once I returned the car, and the remote facility was a long bus ride away from the terminals. Furthermore, my experience returning cars to any rental car company in any airport was that personnel on site were few and unskilled in manners relating to rates.  I’d have to hunt down someone competent at Hertz on arrival.  If such a breed existed at all.

Thus, I changed our last night to stay in the Boston area not far from Logan Airport so that I would have plenty of time to fix Hertz’s problem early Monday.  This cut our time in Maine short, but I didn’t see another way to mitigate the vexing worry of their botched rate.  Our tranquil time away attenuated, thanks to Hertz.

Monday morning miracle! Mohamed and Timur, two competent and courteous Hertz fellows at Logan, were able to fix my rate to the correct amount, saving me from more hours of calls to Hertz billing and to Amex to dispute the excessive charges.  This was a relief, naturally, and I will certainly praise them to Hertz.  This should never have occurred, though, and once it did, there should have been an easy way to remedy their screw-up. 

Despite the expertise and impressive customer service of Timur and Mohamed in the end, who would want to rent from Hertz again until the company recovers from such annoying systematic failures?  Certainly not me.

Longest nonstop flight, then & now

June 13,

In February , I flew from Newark to Singapore and back on Singapore Airlines’ nonstop flights, which were then—and remain today—the longest flights on earth at between 17 and 19 hours to cover 10,288 miles. In late March and early April of , I repeated the Singapore Air nonstop flights using JFK/SIN outbound and SIN/EWR returning.  I thought it would be fun to compare the experiences after a four-year gap, so I’ve copied in relevant parts of my report, each followed by impressions:

AIRCRAFT

• – The A350-900ULR aircraft used on Singapore Airlines nonstop NYC/SIN flights are fitted out with only Business Class and Premium Economy seats—no economy class at all.
• – Same A350-900ULR aircraft are used on both the JFK/SIN and EWR/SIN nonstops.

BOARDING

• – On the outbound flight, we boarded early and pushed back early despite being nearly full. Extremely efficient boarding and takeoff process. Boarding was so quick that I could not get several texts and messages sent that I had planned to complete. The flight back to Newark was very light. Maybe a quarter full in PE, and Business looked nearly empty.
• – Flights going and returning were chock-a-block full in both classes. 

SEAT CONFIGURATION

• – Premium Economy had a 2-4-2 seat configuration. Both Business Class and Premium Economy were nearly full. I was in 33C, an aisle seat in the 3rd row of Premium Economy.  Only 13 rows of PE, 31 to 43.  Business Class, in a 1-2-1 configuration in rows 10-16 and 19 to 29, makes up the majority of the interior of the airplane (there are no rows 1-9).
• – Same 2-4-2 cabin config, which seemed cramped, just as it felt in .

SEAT COMFORT

• – Seat comfort was comparable, in my opinion, to Cathay Pacific PE, but inferior to the American Airlines PE.  The Singapore seats are comfortable but feel narrower than those on the AA 777 even though the same width. Especially telling at the armrests where I was constantly competing with my seatmate for elbow room.  Front to back (seat pitch) it is harder to tell. Distances were comfortable, but I’m short.  Near the back of the plane, the fuselage narrows, forcing Singapore to remove one seat on both sides of the last two rows. I sat in that last row on the port side, 42C, going home. Those seats have singular privacy (literally) and a good-sized table and storage bin between the seat and the window.  Returning, the single Premium Economy seats at the back of the plane, including mine (42C), were wonderfully private and had a locker between my seat and the window. It was plenty big enough to hold my backpack, making it easily accessible.  I admit that I loved it. It felt like Business Class roominess and luxury—but for the reasonable fare of Premium Economy!
• – Same claustrophobic feeling.  I hate to contemplate what economy seats are like.  And no single seat this trip!  Singapore has wised up and now gets a big premium for choosing single seats, just as the airline does for bulkhead seats.  (Singapore Airlines charges $75 extra each way for a bulkhead seat in Premium Economy by an exit door with no windows. I guess if I was really tall that unlimited legroom would be worth paying for.  On American Airlines, I didn’t have to pay extra for the legroom on my Premium Economy bulkhead seats, and on AA, I had two windows rather than no window and no drafty exit door beside me.)

LAVATORY LAYOUT

• – There are three lavatories in the Premium Economy cabin, two on the starboard side, one of which is adjacent to the rear galley, and one on the port side also by the rear galley. I checked them all out. The two by the galley are the narrowest toilets I’ve ever seen on an airplane (excluding RJs). Hard even to turn around and feel more confined than usual on planes. The third lav is on the starboard side and has normal interior dimensions.
• – Ditto.  The two rear lavs felt even more stifling than I remembered, too.  Not fun.

CABIN CREW

• – I enjoyed the pleasure of the friendly, well-trained Singapore flight crew, mostly young and everyone was cheerful. More male flight attendants than I remember from flying Singapore in the 80s and 90s; almost half are guys.  Gender aside, the cabin crew was outstanding.  Ah, youth!  It’s always smart to hire young men and women to do a tough job like that because they are so persistently cheerful. The under-30 flight attendants on board that flight were funny, upbeat, and happy, lightening the mood of every flyer. I kept going back to talk to them in the rear galley because they were so much fun to be around.  Returning, service was again spectacular on Singapore Airlines in Premium Economy, thanks to the cabin crew. They killed me with kindness, regularly bringing food and drink (lots of orange juice and apple juice), as well as asking about my well-being and contentment. They were once again fun to be with. Just as on the outbound flight, I had interesting chats with several flight attendants in the rear galley during my routine stretching exercises.
• – The crew was a tad older and appeared tired and haggard in both directions.  Smiles seemed forced.  I could tell they were trying hard but lacked the old SQ spirit.  Flight attendants staffing the rear galley looked as if they’d lost their best friend. Stiff and glum, rarely breaking into a smile. Just trudging through their duties, joyless. Very unlike my previous Singapore Air experiences stretching back to the s.

AMENITY KIT

• – The usual tiny ditty bag of socks, toothbrush, and eyeshades, but no earplugs. However, unlike American Airlines, the bag was noticeably cheap and made of ugly plastic.
• – Same ugly, cheap plastic sacks.  And I had to ask for them this trip in both directions.  Flight attendants then brought them from a closet.  Those who didn’t request a bag didn’t get one.

BLANKETS & PILLOWS

• – Every PE seat came with a big, real blanket and a very good pillow.
• – Same.

HEADPHONES

• – I was provided with over-the-ear headphones labeled as noise-canceling, but in fact didn’t cancel out a single decibel.
• – Same.  The phones were not high quality, but worked well enough to watch movies, if much inferior to my Bose headset (which I didn’t carry this time because I had so much snorkeling gear).

FLIGHT DURATION

• – It was a very fast flight at under 18 hours, scheduled to arrive in Singapore an hour early at 4:15 PM Sunday afternoon, which was early Sunday morning back on the East Coast.  Same for the return flight: very short and arrived 45 minutes early.
• – Faster than advertised, and via a different route than predicted.  We flew to Europe, then over South Asia to come in over southern Thailand and Malaysia to Singapore, passing over our final destination, Bangkok.

SEATBACK READING MATERIAL

• – Tattered and torn duty-free catalogs and Singapore in-flight magazines in seat-backs (I checked several) told me that the airline isn’t keeping up its past superior standards of perfection. In earlier years Singapore would have replaced all paper materials with the slightest signs of wear between flights.
• – No printed material that I noticed other than safety cards.

MENUS

• – The cheap and tiny menu for Premium Economy: Mine was dog-eared from reuse and contained menus for both Newark-Singapore and Singapore-Newark. That told me the menu selections never change in either direction. Again, I was surprised that Singapore’s standards have slipped a bit.
• – Same.  Disappointing that the “premium” is missing from Premium Economy.  It’s degrading to coach standards.

BEVERAGE SERVICE

• – Drink carts came around at once after leveling off. Unlike American Airlines, Singapore served a tasty Blanc de Blanc Champagne from Reims, which is to say, real Champagne! I enjoyed two nicely chilled glasses.  Returning SIN/EWR the lead flight attendant, Ken, introduced himself and gave me an early glass of Champagne even though it’s not policy to offer it in PE when boarding.  Ken later brought up from Business Class a bottle of vintage Charles Heidsieck Champagne.
• – Nope, no Champagne offered, luxury cuvee, or just a good non-vintage brut.  When I asked, they fetched a glass of something bubbly, which was not chilled, making it just shy of insipid to imbibe.  I never found out what it was.

MEAL SERVICE

• – Lunch was a choice of Asian fish and Asian veggies, BBQ chicken, or a lamb dish of some kind. All came with identical stale bread and a tiny slab of orange cheddar cheese and a couple of crackers. Also a wilted salad.  I had fish with rice and Asian vegetables. The entire complement of food was, to me, pathetic in flavor and quality.  Returning, the meals were again mediocre, I thought, and the mid-flight “pizza box” was scarcely larger than two packs of cards and unappetizing. Good thing I wasn’t flying for the food.  Again, I am probably being too harsh on Singapore Airlines because I flew SQ in real First Class on magnificent 747s in the 80s and 90s. My memory of bottomless bottles of vintage Krug Champagne served in crystal flutes and numerous tins of Beluga caviar served on sterling silver is indelible, and I can’t help but compare it to the fare before me in Premium Economy.  It was a cruel memory from a bygone era that kept me from giving the meal service higher marks. Truth is, PE is not Business Class, and certainly not International First Class.  With that reality in mind, the meal was on par with expectations for Premium Economy. 
• – The same or worse.  Meals have definitely been downgraded, now reminiscent of economy grub. Nothing in the flavors or presentation to distinguish the victuals in one’s memory.  Okay, I didn’t expect much, so I guess I wasn’t too disappointed. Still, it was quite a letdown from my experiences on these NYC-Singapore nonstops in Premium Economy—and those weren’t that great.  My dinner was dark brown mystery meat swimming in an unappetizing gelatinous gravy and accompanied by rice and vegetables. The rice was good. The carrots were inedible, and the meat was tasteless. The hot entree wasn’t.  Lukewarm at a stretch. Suddenly, I thought of the joke Woody Allen told at the beginning of his masterpiece movie, Annie Hall, about two old ladies dining together at a resort in the Catskills. One says, “This is the worst food I’ve ever tasted!”  To which the other lady replies, “Yes, and in such small portions!”

ENDURING THE LONG FLIGHT

• – I watched a movie, or maybe two. Time has a way of resisting normal rhythm on such long flights. Pretty soon we were over the Black Sea and headed for Iraq, Afghanistan, and then India. We were nearing the halfway point of the flight.  I did a lot of stretching at frequent intervals (at least once an hour) in the rear galley area. There was no place to walk on that plane except to the back because the two aisles are isolated by the large Business Class cabin in the front.  Also drank plenty of water to stay hydrated. I started a third movie.  Singapore has installed big seatback HD screens that make watching movies appealing. For reading, there is a light on a gooseneck with 3 brightness levels–very handy
• – Felt more crowded, like flights in economy.  People were standing around everywhere.  Not a good feeling.

FOOT REST & RECLINE

• – Not impressed with the fold-down footrest. It’s useless if you are over about five feet.  Nor the recline. It is a cradle seat design, meaning the bottom and back rigidly tilt together rather than the bottom remaining stable when the seatback is reclined. I have never found cradle seats comfortable. The leg rest is the third element of seat manipulation. It hardly came up at all and left my legs dangling oddly.  I eventually found, after trying all combinations of adjustment, that the seat was comfortable only when in the fully upright position with no leg rest or foot rest. I couldn’t sleep well in it, but I dozed a lot.  Maybe it was only my body’s idiosyncratic unfitness to the seat. Certainly, many other passengers seemed to like the seats, as most appeared to be sleeping. I envied their slumbers.
• – Oh, yeah!  The tiny footrest is useless, and the leg rest, too.  Just as four years ago, I slept better with the seat nearly upright than “reclined” (more accurately described as the cradle seat pivots, like I said in ).

IN-FLIGHT SERVICE

• – The cabin crew remained bright and cheerful and came through every 30 minutes or so offering water, juice, and snacks. These and any desired beverage, including Champagne, were also available to grab and go from the rear galley.  After a third movie, more snacks, and a light meal, the flight was nearly over.
• – About the same, except no Champagne unless I asked.

IN-FLIGHT LAV CLEANLINESS

• – Lavs on the plane were kept spotless, clean, and neat. I wish the cabin crew on American Airlines from Heathrow to Raleigh two days prior had done as well.
• – Cleanliness standards have declined in the past four years.  Just short of disgusting at times.  90 Premium Economy passengers share 3 lavatories in the rear of the plane, a ratio of 1 for every 30. In terms of wait times, that seemed to work okay for most of the flights.  Okay, that is, assuming the tiny lavs are kept clean. Singapore has always prided itself on rigorous toilet hygiene, with surfaces and floors scrubbed often, trash emptied at regular intervals, and paper replaced as needed. Those standards weren’t in evidence on the long flights. Trash containers overflowed, and floors were unsanitary.

SYNOPSIS

• – The PE seats seemed narrow. This nagged me near the end of the flight. If the actual dimensions are the same as other Premium Economy seats, then there is some quirk in design that makes the SQ Premium Economy seats feel cramped compared to the American Airline PE seats I just flew on two days previous. The Singapore Airlines cabin crew was spectacular from start to finish, efficient and cheerful. The airplane was clean and functional. That is, everything worked. On flights that long, every screen, light, and seat function must work to keep passengers pacified. SQ did a great job on that.  Ditto for the lavatories. All worked and were kept clean throughout 18 hours despite nonstop use.  The IFE (in-flight entertainment) system had lots of great movie selections and other content. Singapore Air did an exemplary job planning and managing the flight. The airline staff’s ultra-long-haul expertise was on show on the flight.  Bravo!  On the return flight, one downside to sitting in the last row on this A350-900ULR aircraft is that the back of the plane was ice cold from beginning to end. To stay warm, I wrapped myself in 3 blankets and kept my shoes on over two pairs of socks.  On the whole, however, my complaints are few. Singapore Airlines is a great way to fly, and I would definitely book this nonstop again. The incurably cheerful attitude of the flight attendants makes the nearly long flight almost fun to endure.
• – Pretty much the same takeaways as .  Perhaps the uninspiring flight attendant attitude aboard both flights could be because the ultra-long hauls just aren’t unique anymore to staff as they were in .  Speculation is that Singapore can’t make money on these flights because no one wants to pay a premium for the ultra-long haul. That’s why the original SQ A345 service ended. Some think that since Singapore is unable to convince people to pay more, the airline must trim and cut the service.  If so, I believe killing those flights will eventually become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  The schedules sure are convenient, and service is no doubt fine in business class.  But it has eroded in PE.  Summing up, I bought the tickets during Singapore Airlines’ Black Friday sale for peanuts. To get halfway around the globe and back, my wife and I enjoyed tremendous value for money. My lament is for the diminution of those elusive qualities of personalized superior service that made Singapore Airlines one of the world’s greatest carriers. Now it’s just JetBlue with a glorified past and classy uniforms. More’s the pity.

No pain RDU to JFK to Manhattan to JFK

June 6,

Ever vigilant for bargain airfares and looking for a fun trip to celebrate two big birthdays for my wife and me, I snagged Premium Economy seats on Singapore Air from New York to Bangkok on a Black Friday () super discount sale for $ each.  It was dirt cheap even then, and compared to current airfares, it was a steal.  However, Singapore pricing was only from major gateways, so I booked Delta SkyMiles awards in the comfort of first class to get us from Raleigh (RDU) to JFK going, and from EWR returning. 

We also made plans to spend a couple of nights in Manhattan before flying on to Bangkok.  That decision added the daunting challenge of getting between JFK and the City, and two days later back to JFK, as cheaply, as fast, and as stress-free as possible. I am delighted to relate that we did just that. 

After my dismal experience connecting with United Airlines from Terminal 2 to 3 at Newark returning from Cape Town in early March, I signed us up for CLEAR to augment our TSA Pre-check membership.  I never wanted to endure that uncertainty and stress again. The cost was not insignificant at $189, but my American Express Platinum Card refunded it all as a benefit (though not the $60 extra for my wife’s membership). 

On arrival at RDU Airport, we completed the biometric registration to become full-fledged CLEAR members: iris scans, fingerprint scans, and face scan. Then CLEAR “ambassadors” showed us to the front of the PRE line, making us “first of the first” to clear the security screen.

Returning from Thailand to Newark two weeks later, we had to connect from Singapore Airlines to Delta, both at Terminal 3, for our flight home to Raleigh. Now that we were CLEAR members, I figured getting through TSA Security at EWR would be a breeze (report on that experience to come later).

We lived in hope. Our initial CLEAR experience at RDU was not as fast as PRE. And that’s not counting the biometric registration. Good thing we got to the airport early. The CLEAR “ambassadors” were friendly and cheerful, but the process was not very speedy.

After the RDU security screen, we made a beeline for the Delta SkyClub which my American Express Platinum Card works to allow entry (when traveling on Delta). I presented myself at the bar and admit to imbibing some well-chilled bubbly described as champagne.

The RDU SkyClub features wall hangings of brands emblematic of North Carolina: Cheerwine, Texas Pete hot sauce, Mount Olive pickles, Krispy Kreme donuts, and Lance nabs.

Day drinking is, sadly, not a regular habit, but on vacation to the Big Apple and to Thailand to salute three-quarters of a century of life, I harbored no guilt in getting a morning buzz on. Boarding, I felt no pain and snoozed en route. 

Our Delta CRJ900 regional jet to JFK arrived early, a rare miracle even on a bright sunny late March morning. En route from RDU, old-school Delta flight attendant, Trudy, showered every passenger with genuine good cheer and asked repeatedly what she could do to please. Very unusual in on any airline, I thought.

She and I struck up a conversation. Trudy had opted to leave mainline service in favor of a regional Delta-affiliated carrier, retaining her seniority in the bargain.  She said she loved working the smaller planes because service could be more personal “just like the old days when I started!”

Trudy has been a Delta flight attendant for 49 years (she revealed she’s 73). She’s the epitome of flight attendant customer care ethos that was once every airline’s strict standard and has now all but vanished. My wife and I felt very fortunate to have met and experienced Trudy’s professionalism.

As chronicled in my post two weeks ago, we cabbed it from JFK to Manhattan, a quick but expensive option: $97 and change. It took less than an hour in light noon traffic. We didn’t opt for subways and buses because it’s complicated and time-consuming, requiring a couple of changes. The NYC subway isn’t the safest mode of transport these days, either.

Thanks to my friend and travel savant, Brooklyn-born Joe Brancatelli, for suggesting we try an alternate means to get back to JFK for our flight to Asia: a Long Island Railroad commuter train from Grand Central Terminal to Jamaica Station in Queens, then NYC Metro’s AirTrain from Jamaica to JFK.

LIRR has always served commuters from Penn Station on 34th Street and still does. The railroad only recently began service from Grand Central, and GCT was just a short distance up Park Avenue from our hotel. So we decided to try it. 

The new Madison Concourse at Grand Central positively gleamed, to be expected being just two months old and having cost $13 billion.  The staff was all smiles and super nice. One LIRR ticket agent told me, when I asked his opinion, that he loved it compared to “sketchy Penn Station.” He said he’ll never go back to Penn.

Our odyssey from Grand Central to JFK went smoothly:

• 412pm – Left our hotel on Park Ave at 38th St on foot and walked to Grand Central Terminal’s Madison Concourse where LIRR trains depart. No trouble since I travel with a small carry-on roller bag and a backpack as my “personal item” allowed as the second piece.
• 428pm – Arrived at the long, long escalator at GCT Madison down to the LIRR tracks.
• 435pm – Departed on LIRR train to Jamaica (trains leave every 10 minutes during rush hours; tickets were $10 for my wife, $5 for me as a senior, purchased that morning at the convenient LIRR ticket booth near that London Tube-deep escalator).
• 455pm – Arrived in Jamaica, Queens, and headed upstairs to connect to the Metro AirTrain to JFK.
• 502pm – Boarded AirTrain (run every 10 minutes; tickets were $8.25 each + $1.00 for an MTA card, purchased in advance at a GCT kiosk to avoid the long queues at the Jamaica Metro ticket machines).
• 518pm – AirTrain arrived at Terminal 4 JFK Airport.
• Price & time – $32.50 (total for us both) and took 64 minutes from GCT to JFK. Slightly longer than a midday cab, but the cost was 67% less than by taxi. No stress, and I’m guessing a taxi to JFK during rush hour would have taken far longer.
• 534pm – Checked in at Singapore Airlines counter and received our boarding passes on the nonstop JFK/SIN and to the connecting flight SIN/BKK.
• 540pm – Walked to the TSA PRE-Check & CLEAR line and observed the endless queue to get through regular security. The CLEAR staff marked our boarding passes as both PRE & CLEAR, which allowed us to bypass the monstrous lines altogether. The CLEAR kiosks scanned our irises, and CLEAR “ambassador” personnel took us straight to the front of the PRE line, after which we sailed through.
• 549pm – Through TSA security and headed for the minuscule PrimePass Lounge near gate A2, which doubles as the Singapore business class lounge and Priority Pass Club.
• 602pm – Though we were flying in Singapore’s Premium Economy and I’m a Singapore frequent flyer program member, the PrimePass Lounge only allowed us in as Priority Pass members (an Amex Platinum Card benefit). It was quite small and had no showers. It is a pop-up lounge until a much larger one upstairs is built. The big PrimePass Lounge in Terminal 1 has showers and much more space.

Too bad. We were hoping to shower and change clothes. No matter. It was quiet there and with a modicum of drink and food items. Well, quiet except for some jackass talking loudly on his about nothing that would solve the climate crisis that threatens planetary life or that would foster world peace. Maybe, I considered, after a sip of Prosecco, I would ask him to lower his voice.  Thankfully, he walked away before my glass was dry.

We soon made our way to the Singapore Airlines departure gate to board the nonstop (nearly 19 hours) flight to Singapore.  That’s a story in itself for next time.  Waiting at the gate I remember thinking how relaxed we were, thanks to the easy, no-anxiety journey from Manhattan to JFK.

Manhattan mostly on foot

May 30,

Last week I began the tale of a two-night stopover in New York City before launching to Thailand from JFK. My wife and I were off to celebrate two big birthdays. Being in Manhattan for the first time since the Covid emergency, I was reminded that every visit to NYC is one of discovery. I first saw the City in when I was 10, and I have been back many times since. Each excursion seems like a fresh experience. Okay, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Central Park, and the Statue of Liberty are still right where I left them, but there’s always more to see and do in New York.

On this visit we decided to walk everywhere we could. Over three days and two nights, we took just one cab to get us around Manhattan.

On the morning of our second day, we traipsed across the island from east to west to hike the High Line. Nearing the Hudson River, we came upon the ultra-cool Equinox Hotel at Hudson Yards on Manhattan’s Far West Side. It occupies floors 24-38 of a 92-story building. It’s set amidst swelling modern development at the North end of High Line Park and clear across town from The Kitano (our hotel on Park Ave at 38th St.), way down at the west end of 34th St.

We walked the 1.6 miles to get there that morning after breakfast and took a gander at the Equinox Hotel lobby on the 25th floor (above).  It felt like another world, perhaps set in a sci-fi movie about the future. We loved it! Although the location isn’t so great for pedestrians like us who like to wander around Manhattan.

It was in the 40s, overcast, and damp when we set off, with the usual wind tunnel effect among the high rises making the walk even more chill. We packed for the tropics (Thailand) and came ill-prepared for the last gasp of winter (late March). Made worse by spitting drops of rain as we started our walk down the High Line.

We ambled the entire distance of High Line Park south and then on to the spectacular World Trade Center 9/11 memorial.

I’ve been curious about the High Line for a long time because of its New York Central Railroad history. Its beauty surprised me. I highly recommend it.

The One World Trade Center complex built where the World Trade Center towers fell on 9/11/01 is a tribute to New Yorker resilience and creativity. Like High Line Park, highly recommended. We think it’s best learned about from one’s personal perspective.

The Oculus is worth highlighting as unique, fascinating, and otherworldly. Here are some facts about it from various sources:

• Designed by famed Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, the Oculus is an aesthetically stunning transit hub that is home to the World Trade Center PATH station with trains to New Jersey, connections to 12 NYC Transit subway lines, and dozens of dining and shopping retailers as part of Westfield’s Shops at the Oculus.

• The cost of its construction, $ 4 billion, greatly exceeded its original cost, becoming, until the time of its inauguration, the most expensive train station in the world and the third largest transportation center in New York, after Grand Central and Penn Station, both in Midtown.

• The structure itself is the portrayal of a bird about to take flight from the hands of a young boy to show that no matter what obstacle the city faces it will always be hopeful. The form comes from a model the architect made 15 years before the project’s completion called Mother and Child.

My wife and I walked down to the site and then on south to Battery Park from the end of the High Line (about 3.4 miles) along West Street and the Hudson River.

After 6.5 miles of walking, we opted for a taxi to take us back to Midtown, a $31 ride all in.  Walking was cheaper.

My wife’s superb research then led us to the best sushi restaurant in New York for lunch, a hole-in-the-wall called Sushi 35 West (on 35th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues). It’s a dive with just 3 tables in a dark corner above a “smoke shop” and not well marked. The kitchen is the size of a large closet. Bags of Japanese sushi rice are piled in the corridor next to the 3 small tables. Most patrons order takeaway. The young Japanese chefs expertly wield their sharp sushi knives like samurai swords, the blades flying and flashing in the harsh fluorescent light.

Orders are taken at the window to the kitchen. Ours came to $129 total including one Diet Coke. Not cheap. But, oh, the sushi! Melt-in-your-mouth and exploding with freshness and flavor. Best I’ve ever had outside of small family places in Tokyo’s Shinjuku district. They say their fish arrives by air daily from Tokyo Fish Market. I believed them. We left content and satisfied.

After dark, we slogged over to the Eugene O’Neill Theater on 49th Street between 7th and 8th Avenues to see “Book of Mormon” at 700p.  We were shocked (in a good way) at how small, beautiful, and intimate the place is. Also how deep the orchestra pit is. 

Our seats were within spitting distance of the stage: orchestra left, row D, which is four rows back. Directly on the aisle.

The Eugene O’Neill Theater is old school. Built before the Depression, but considered actually large by New York standards with nearly seats.

Fabulous, hilarious, wickedly irreverent show! Well worth the time and money! No wonder, considering it is the first Broadway musical by Matt Stone and Trey Parker, the creators of South Park. Stone and Parker have spoofed Christianity and organized religion since the very first South Park episode which featured Jesus fighting Santa Claus.

Afterward, we dined at Ramerino, an Italian restaurant on 39th Street east of 5th Avenue. Ruth had pappardelle with porcini mushrooms and truffle oil. I got spinach and ricotta ravioli. Both were delicious, but the tiramisu was killer! Best we’ve ever had in America.

When the bill came, I pointed out they had not billed us for two glasses of wine. In appreciation of my honesty, they comped two glasses of the best limoncello we’ve tasted outside of Italy.

The only complaint was the blaring Musak. A slightly lower volume would have suited me. 

The Ramerino’s ambiance was frozen in the late 60s-early 70s, a time warp that I found weird but charming. I could almost see wise guys donned in wide-lapel suits scarfing down linguini with white clam sauce (a house specialty).

It was another memorable day in Manhattan. We knew that the following night we’d be flying to Singapore (nearly 19 hours nonstop), then a 4-hour layover before connecting to Bangkok (another 2.5 hours). Prior to that 25-hour ordeal imprisoned in an aluminum tube flying 7 miles above the earth, we planned to walk as much as we could in NYC.

The next morning we checked out of The Kitano and left our luggage with the kind and helpful Bill, the chief doorman (who is from Costa Rica). That freed us to walk all over Manhattan again.

The first stop was for a light breakfast and coffee at a fancy, trendy chain with a French vibe called Tartinery on Park Ave (opened in , Tartinery boasts five current Manhattan locations). Tasty almond croissants that smacked of fresh baking and the right butter and wheat.

We next stopped at Grand Central to research where the Long Island Railroad commuter trains depart from. Discovered it’s from the polished and shiny new Madison Concourse. We bought tickets to Jamaica on LIRR and Metro tickets from there to JFK on the connecting AirTrain.

After sleuthing a side entrance on 42nd Street that’s quicker to the GCT Madison Concourse, we walked Madison up to 57th and then turned west to 5th Avenue and Central Park. It was cold (38° F at 7:30 AM), so we were glad to have brought sweaters to augment our light jackets.

I picked up a mostly-cashmere scarf, too, for $12.99 after bargaining down from $20. My better half wore a makeshift scarf which worked well for her. We needed the extra warmth, but the morning was sunny and beautiful. Central Park was full of folks soaking in the nice weather and natural surroundings. Like the dogwalker with six well-behaved Goldendoodles.

I know inflation has made everything more costly, but the pedicabs in Central Park are charging $5/minute.  We were just fine on foot.

We moseyed over to the West Side, then turned east across the Park and exited at 82nd Street by the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Slowly making our way back to Midtown, my wife suggested stopping at Back Seed Bagels for a late lunch just before the place closed at 300pm. I don’t know how that bakery ranks in the competitive NYC bagel world, but we thought their products were delicious.

After noshing, it was time to head back to The Kitano to be reunited with our luggage. Belongings in tow, we strolled to Grand Central for trains to Jamaica and JFK.

8.1 miles walking that day. Didn’t seem that long because I was much warmer than yesterday with the new scarf. We succeeded in our goal of max exercise before the 18.5-hour flight to Singapore, which I’ll describe in the following post. I left Manhattan happy from the short but memorable experience. There’s still no place like New York.

A New York minute

May 23,

To celebrate my wife’s and my seminal birthdays in March and April (I turned 75; she clocked a far lower number), we spent a couple of nights in Manhattan before heading off for Thailand. Two days is just a New York minute in the city, but we figured we might as well piggyback onto our Thai vacation, and—bonus!—being already in New York meant we didn’t have to fret about missing a JFK connection, which often happens.

Before leaving Raleigh I’d researched the optimal transport from JFK to Manhattan. Not the cheapest but the fastest is by taxi: $70 flat rate. With the Midtown Tunnel toll, taxes, and tip, the fare grew to $97 and change. Public transit would have been less than half that but requires two changes of train or bus and takes far longer. We reached our hotel in 35 minutes by cab.

For those special two days, I’d opted for The Kitano, a Japanese hotel at the corner of Park Avenue and E. 38th Street. It’s an elegant jewel of a property. The front desk graciously allowed early check-in and gave us a beautiful and spacious corner room overlooking Park Ave and Grand Central Terminal down the block.

I don’t normally extoll the virtues of toilets, but couldn’t help smiling at the traditional Japanese throne complete with heated seat and multiple water cleansing options. While such are common and expected lavatory functionalities in Japan, I’ve never seen similar standards in a hotel in the USA.

We enjoyed an exceptionally fine lunch right next door to the Kitano in the cafe at the beautiful Scandinavian House.  My wife ordered the daily special, and I the scrumptious classic Smorgasbord (picture below). If I lived in Manhattan, I’d dine at the Björk Cafe regularly.

One reason for my choice of the Kitano was its location: My wife and I love to walk everywhere.  After lunch, we traipsed all over Midtown and enjoyed the New York City show. Such as our brief encounter in Times Square with a big guy clad only in a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and tighty whiteys who styled himself the “Naked Cowboy.” I was too stunned to snap a photo, and anyway, Ruth was afraid he’d then hound us for money.

On closer inspection, I saw the Kitano is an anomalous hotel. Hardly any business at all for starters. The place was all but dead, and the restaurant and bar closed for remodeling. The lobby was tiny, though elegant. A wee bit threadbare if you sit there awhile and look closely. The beautiful flower arrangements are plastic. If this wasn’t a Japanese palace, that wouldn’t be such a strange juxtaposition.

Don’t get me wrong. We loved the Kitano, just much smaller and quieter than first appears (both pluses, in my opinion).  Joe Brancatelli, my friend and travel writer, relayed that the hotel was always quiet, but the flowers used to be real, and the restaurant closed during Covid. He thinks the Japanese business market, Kitano’s specialty, still has yet to return.

We saw one Japanese family arrive while we sat in the lobby relaxing.

I’d stay at the Kitano every time I visited if I could afford it. I loved it here. An ideal location, we found.

The sunny, pleasant late morning in Manhattan morphed into gray overcast skies leading to a dreary, drizzly afternoon. By early evening, the sidewalks were full of umbrellas warding off a steady, cold rain.

Ruth and I didn’t mind. We set off after lunch to find tickets for the following night to “The Book of Mormon” at the Eugene O’Neill Theater. We walked from E. 38th up Park to Grand Central Terminal at 42nd Street and over to Broadway and Times Square to the TKTS discount theater booth. We discovered no Book of Mormon tickets on sale, so walked up 7th Ave to 49th St to buy directly from the Eugene O’Neill box office. We snagged great Orchestra left, row D aisle seats for $159 each. I gulped and paid it without hesitation. We avoided onerous Ticketmaster fees. No taxes, either.

Passing Times Square, we noticed many costumed characters trying to make a buck by selling photos with ever-present throngs of tourists.  That’s where we nearly collided with the Naked Cowboy I described earlier. By that time a cold wind was blowing, presaging the clouds and rain. Mr. Naked Cowboy in his jockey shorts was showing goosebumps. I felt sorry for the guy. What a way to make a living.

We found our way to 30 Rockefeller Center and did the touristy thing: We took the elevator to the 69th floor (called “Top of the Rock”) for a bird’s-eye view of New York. My better half didn’t qualify as a senior, so had to pay the full $40 for the privilege. Of course, I got the geezer rate and saved a full two dollars: $38.  Hefty taxes were added to the $78.

Still, we didn’t have to pay the extra $10 sunset rate.

What isn’t apparent or explained when buying those damnably expensive tickets is that long queues await before boarding the elevator.

Did I mention I hate to wait in queues? And especially after paying nearly a C-note. (Everything in New York seems to cost a hundred bucks these days.)

We grinned at our own ignorance. It’s been ages since we did anything with the gawker crowds and should have expected to be herded like cattle.

Once at the top, it was spitting rain and blowing hard, but the views of the city were spectacular. It was fun, and we both felt like kids again. I’d call it a cheap thrill except that would be a lie.  A pricey thrill, yes.

I recommend it, however, every decade or so. It reminds me of how great the city is.

The famous Rockefeller Center ice rink was shut down until next winter, but we enjoyed walking past it.

We found a modest neighborhood Shanghai-style dim sum restaurant on 38th between 5th Ave and Madison that suited us for dinner and then called it a night.

Then back at the graceful and stylish Kitano Hotel. It was a great start to our double birthday vacation, and we still had two days remaining to enjoy New York before flying to Bangkok.

Cape Town after 27 years

May 16,

First impressions of Cape Town in March, my first visit in 27 years.  I spent three days in the Cape Province.  My notes and musings were written in real-time:

DAY 1

The area’s astonishing natural beauty is breathtaking. Cape Town is like no other place, and it’s wonderful to be back here. The view from the base of Table Mountain in the two shots above and below says it all.

The picture below shows traveling companions Dane and Susan walking back from the cable car after going to the top of Table Mountain. The peak is in the background.

Our guide, Paul Hofman, showed us nearby Camp’s Bay, an enclave of billionaires and celebrities like Brad Pitt.  Camp’s Bay is sort of a Beverly Hills on the beach. Parking places there are so hard to get they go for a million dollars each. We didn’t linger.

Cape Town’s San Francisco-like charm is marred by pervasive squalor and endemic poverty of the majority of its 4.6 million residents. Much like San Francisco, tents and makeshift huts line the sidewalks to provide shelter for the homeless. Elsewhere, massive townships of tin huts evince the deep poverty and hopelessness of most residents.

When I first came here in , these same squalid conditions pervaded the landscape. 32 years later, nothing seems to have changed. No jobs, no money. The contrast between the haves and have-nots is stark and frightening. If anything, conditions appear shoddier than in . I don’t see how this can continue.

Made worse by the Eskom power debacle. Rolling blackouts are routine and worsening. Cape Town was dark without electricity from 6-9pm and midnight to 5am overnight.

DAY 2

After a hearty breakfast at Hotel on the Promenade, our beautiful boutique hotel in Cape Town’s Sea Point, we made the most of our only full day in Cape Town: False Bay; lovely Kalk Bay; Cape of Good Hope; Simonstown, home to the South African Navy and the Boulder Penguin Colony; Chapman’s Peak Drive; and back to Cape Town.  Photos in the city are of the makeshift sidewalk housing prevalent throughout the city–sadly, looks like San Francisco.

Our South African National Parks Wild Cards which we had purchased for the Kruger National Park saved us about $35 each in entrance fees to the penguin colony and the Cape of Good Hope Park. I didn’t realize that SANParks ran those sites—good to know for future visits. 

Tomorrow we have a final day of touring before going to the Cape Town airport late afternoon for our flight home.

DAY 3

The day here in Cape Town began as usual with an unscheduled power blackout at 815am.  No one knew it was coming. Eskom, the power company, calls it “load shedding.” It’s maddening.

That’s after blackouts last night 6-8pm and midnight to 340am. It was disconcerting last evening to walk dark streets (no street lights) and cross intersections with unlit stoplights.

We tooled around downtown Cape Town this morning and stopped at Kirstenbosch National Botanical Gardens in pouring rain. Then on to the beautiful wine country around Stellenbosch out in the country.

Photos were taken passing one of the many townships where half the population of Cape Town lives, a stark reminder of this government’s failure to provide jobs and improve living conditions for the majority of South Africans.  Such squalor is pervasive and distressing.

Followed by photos of prosperity demonstrating the mood of the wineries and tasting rooms we visited in Stellenbosch.

It’s been a great trip, marred tonight by United Airlines once again late and threatening our connection at Newark tomorrow morning to Raleigh. We’re already an hour late and still sitting at the gate. I again recommend never to book United if you can help it. I certainly regret it.

But I highly recommend visiting the Kruger National Park and Cape Town in South Africa.

Go to the Kruger National Park, South Africa!

May 9,

Since my first visit in , I’ve written more posts about the Kruger National Park than I can count.  Because I love the place and never tire of going back even after 32 years.  The exotic African wildlife there is only one small part of my yearning to return.  As a child growing up in unspoiled eastern North Carolina in the s, my passion for nature and the outdoors took root among myriad species of insects, birds, reptiles, amphibians, fishes, and mammals.  The following decades saw that wildness plummet to a few pitiful remnants of creatures in every category.  Where once teemed natural life in magnificent variation, today’s North Carolina from Raleigh to the coast is becoming barren. 

The Kruger still pulses with the wilds and excites my senses.  One morning at Olifants Camp I arose before dawn to find six species of Praying Mantis hunting the hundreds of flying insects attracted to an exterior light left on all night. The mantises competed with several species of geckos and lizards for the invertebrate protein bounty.  At Letaba Camp on another day, I found a baby Black Mamba attempting to slither into our accommodation (I scooped it up into a bucket and took it to the resident park ranger).  Once at Punda Maria Camp, I was startled by a massive Sun Spider—completely harmless, but a fearsome sight.  On a different trip, my wife and I were having a nightcap on the porch when we were suddenly visited by a horde of gigantic shiny black dung beetles.  Also harmless, but astonishing in size and strength.  So strong that I couldn’t hold one down on the table with my finger.  It was like a tiny tank.  Many times I’ve had close encounters inside the camps with Vervet Monkeys, Bush Bucks, Monitor Lizards, Impalas, Hornbills, Baboons, Mongoose, Ground Squirrels, and other critters.  That just doesn’t happen in Raleigh as it once did before too much civilization obliterated the natural environment.

Most of my years of Kruger reports are at https://allenonafrica.wordpress.com/.  However, this time I am consolidating all nine days of experiences in late February and early March of into one long narrative (+ words) told in real-time:

DAY 1

I didn’t sleep much, just four hours. Then wide awake with jetlag until 6am when we met for a hearty breakfast buffet provided by the City Lodge Johannesburg Airport Hotel.

We walked back to the airport through the car park to check in at Airlink, our airline to the Kruger. I was surprised to find Airlink was using a larger Embraer 170 aircraft for the 40-minute flight to Skukuza with 2-2 seating rather than the usual Embraer 135 plane configured with 1-2 seats. I didn’t know the very short Skukuza Airport runway would accommodate a 170.

The good news was snagging the business class seats on the 170 in rows 1 and 2 at no extra charge. Nice bonus.

On arrival at Skukuza at 11a, my friends at the Avis/Budget counter kindly provided a large VW Tiguan SUV upgrade with AWD rather than the small car I’d reserved.

The rainy weather didn’t hamper our game viewing. We immediately saw all sorts of African wildlife including Hyena and Impala. Much more as the day progressed.  The next report will contain the full list of wildlife and more photos.

DAY 2

I couldn’t write anything last night (it’s 525a) because I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I think my body adjusted with a good night’s sleep finally. Skukuza gate is about to open at 530a, and we’re ready to go!

Yesterday’s game-viewing list (Day 1)

REPTILES

• Leopard Tortoise

MAMMALS

• Impala
• Kudu
• Spotted Hyena
• Vervet Monkey
• Giraffe
• Nyala
• Zebra
• Lion
• Leopard

BIRDS

• Oxpecker
• Brown Snake Eagle
• Black Stork
• Giant Kingfisher (female)
• Yellowbilled Hornbill
• Emerald-spotted Wood Dove
• Red-eyed Dove
• African Mourning Dove
• Lilac Breasted Roller
• Cape Glossy Starling
• Natal Francolin

Yesterday, our first day in the Kruger National Park, offered spectacular game viewing and bird spotting during the short 3+ hour drive, as the list above demonstrates. I was astonished we saw several lions and a leopard on our first day. Sometimes we don’t see big cats for a week.

Not far from Skukuza Camp on the main road south is a huge rock formation with a flat top and road access. It’s a great place to survey the surrounding wilderness and one of the locations where Kruger National Park visitors are allowed to leave their vehicles.

At one’s own risk, of course, of being killed and eaten by the local wildlife, as the helpful posted signs indicate to absolve the Park of responsibility just in case. Do animals get way up there? Many do, attested by piles of elephant dung.

Though exhausted from 48 hours of nonstop travel, we nonetheless celebrated our first day in the Kruger at Skukuza’s Cattle Baron Restaurant over fine steak and excellent South African red wine. The delicious, tender filets were encrusted with Madagascar peppercorns and served with a scrumptious pepper sauce, baby potatoes, creamed spinach, and butternut squash. Thanks to the South African Rand trading at over 18 to the dollar, the entire meal for 3 including wine and gratuity was under $50. The filets alone in the U.S. would have gone for that.

It was a meal fit for kings, and we were sated at its end. As I mentioned earlier, I was too knackered by then to write anything. I fell asleep at once until 400am Monday when I arose for the morning game drive.

Today’s morning game drive list (Day 2), 530a-noon

*New species not spotted on previous game drives

MAMMALS

• Impala
• *African Wild Dog
• *Baboon
• *Wildebeest
• Zebra
• *Elephant
• Kudu
• Lion
• *Slender Mongoose
• *Ground Squirrel
• *Warthog
• *Bushbuck

REPTILES

• *Nile Crocodile
• *Gecko
• *Common Flat Lizard

BIRDS

• Francolin
• Lilac-Breasted Roller
• *Guinea Fowl
• *Saddle-billed Stork
• *Southern Ground Hornbills
• Magpie Shrike
• *Dove (black on neck)
• *Southern White Crowned Shrike
• *Woodland Kingfisher
• *Thickbilled Weaver
• *European Roller

My friends seem to have brought excellent luck! We were 2nd in line leaving when the gate opened at 530a and within a few kilometers came across a huge pack of African Wild Dogs on the road. I’ve seen Wild Dogs before in the Kruger, but I can’t recall being close enough to touch one. (I didn’t try because I value my hands.) Seeing Wild Dogs is extraordinary and uncommon!

We also FINALLY saw elephants later in the morning, though not yet the usual amazing large herds. There are reportedly over 20,000 elephants in the Kruger now, and the sheer numbers guarantee almost nonstop sightings. Yet we saw no pachyderms yesterday.

This morning, our second day, I was surprised to spot a Cape Buffalo on the road to Berg-en-Dal, as I thought most Buffalos were much to the north. Shows what little I know.

Several bird sightings were very close and beautiful, especially the gorgeous Woodland Kingfisher and Magpie Shrike.

We stopped for breakfast and to stretch our legs at Berg-en-Dal Camp.

We rested at Skukuza Camp until 330p when we left on a short PM game drive. I took us toward Lower Sabie Camp to see if the road had been repaired since the massive floods of early February.

Nope, a bridge was swept away entirely, and the road is impassable except by aquatic animals and birds. So we turned around and headed back to Skukuza for an early dinner.

Getting up at 345a every day requires an early bedtime. We plan to get to the Skukuza gate by 500a tomorrow again to be first out when it opens at 530a.

Thus an attenuated afternoon game drive. En route to and from the turnaround spot, however, we were privileged to be up close to a lot of wildlife species. The complete list is in the car, and I’m too tired to collect it, but I recall Buffalo, Hyena, Impala, an enormous Warthog, Kudu, Baboon, Vervet Monkey, Lion, White-faced Vulture, Booted Eagle, Plover, Giraffe, and Lilac-Breasted Roller. More I can’t bring to mind. Again surprising not to see a single elephant.

My two companions from Raleigh on this trip did most of the picture-taking as I drove. Like Dane Korver’s beautiful shot of a Woodland Kingfisher, and Susan Lenick’s dramatic photo of the Baboon lookout in the tree while the troupe forages below.

As we returned to Skukuza at noon today from our morning drive, we came across a Kruger ranger and vet team that had darted one of the wild dogs to place a radio collar.

We dined tonight in the Selati Railway Restaurant, a private concession with a good menu. Delicious food finished with an outstanding (Dutch) Malva Pudding and Ginger Ice Cream. The upscale restaurant was a bargain for 3 meals at $40.

Gotta get some shut-eye so I can awaken before 400a.

DAY 3

Despite intermittent rain and persistent cloud cover from the recent cyclone, we’re seeing lots of wildlife and covering a lot of ground. About 550 km so far (342 miles). The more territory traversed, the greater number of chance encounters with Kruger birds and animals. And that’s the basic game viewing plan each day.

Rolling blackouts have several times cut power here at Skukuza Camp, but a backup generator kicks in within 3-5 minutes. I planned for the possibility of routine outages by bringing several extra flashlights, camp lanterns, and batteries. So far I haven’t needed my emergency lights. After three nights at Skukuza, tomorrow we go to Olifants Camp for 2 nights, and I hope for the same backup power there.

Because we go nonstop from 345a until nearly p each night, I’m falling asleep again as I write this, so will keep it short. Though the three of us hardly knew one another before this trip, I’ve happily discovered that Dane and Susan are superb traveling companions. We’re laughing all day as we look for critters in the African wild. It is great fun on many levels.

I hope to relate some of those stories, but not tonight. For certain other experiences along these roads, Dane and Susan have suggested to me that “what happens in the Kruger stays in the Kruger.”

The list below may not be comprehensive. We try to note everything we see as observed; however, we probably miss a few, especially birds.

MAMMALS

• Impala
• Lion
• Wildebeest
• Giraffe
• Elephant
• Bruchell’s Zebra
• Vervet Monkey
• Kudu
• Warthog
• Nyala
• Chacma Baboon
• Slender Mongoose
• Hippopotamus
• Spotted Hyena
• Ground Squirrel

REPTILES

• Terrapin
• Snake (species unknown)
• Common Flat Lizard

BIRDS

• Southern Yellow-billed Hornbill
• European Roller
• Lilac-breasted Roller
• Dove (species unidentified)
• Ground Hornbill
• Magpie Shrike
• Woodland Kingfisher
• Cape Glossy Starling
• Fork-tailed Drongo
• White-faced Vulture
• Eagle (several; species unidentified)
• Burchell’s Coucal
• African Hoopoe

INVERTEBRATES

• Millipede
• Lots of nasty flies from a giraffe carcass devoured by lions

The rolling blackouts I mentioned last night are due to massive government corruption resulting in the ruination of South Africa’s power generator and distributor called Eskom. When I first came to SA in , Eskom was considered world-class by the power industry. I remember a friend who was a senior executive at a large power company telling me how much his company admired Eskom.

No more. 30+ years of theft and mismanagement have decimated Eskom. Now South Africa endures long power outages daily across the country.

Despite backup generators installed throughout camps in the Kruger National Park to ensure this important tourism income generator isn’t impacted, we’ve seen numerous blackouts in our first three days here. I compose this report in total darkness as the power went out just before 300a and hasn’t returned. The entire Skukuza Camp is dark, and I’ve had to rely on the battery-powered LED camp lantern to shower and pack this morning.

Adding to the drama (and not in a happy way), hyenas have dug under the Skukuza perimeter fence and are calling to one another in distinctive eerie hyena whoops just outside my bungalow. Reminds me of very edgy nights camping in the game parks of Botswana back in the s in unfenced wilderness areas. Hyenas eat people, and I don’t like exposing myself to the possibility in the pitch darkness of the wee hours here in Skukuza Camp sans electricity.

Though we came prepared with lots of batteries, I am concerned about South Africa’s future if the government cannot provide essential services like power.

Meant to mention that I knew the torrential rains and massive floods wouldn’t impact animal behavior much. Only limits human accessibility. We’re seeing lots of wildlife!

More later. Gotta pack.

DAY 4

It’s been another long and exciting day of game viewing as we drove from Skukuza north to Olifants Camp, stopping at Satara Camp along the way. Once again I’m out of steam to write much.

I’ve never seen a Crocodile just sit there when driving up close. Usually, crocs leap back into the water.

Note the picture of very fresh Leopard paw prints in the mud at the Nkumbe lookout.

With the South African Rand hovering just above 18 to the dollar, and with food and services prices lagging worldwide inflation, most purchases in the Kruger seem cheap compared to the U.S.  Dinners, for example, are around ten bucks excluding wine and beer. Full breakfasts with coffee are even less. I don’t think these bargains are sustainable, but I’m enjoying the heck out of them.

Gasoline is an exception at around $5/gallon. But the speed limit in the Kruger is 50 kph (31 mph), so we’re getting extraordinary fuel economy. It kinda sorta balances out.

The torrential rains of February have left most unpaved roads closed due to extensive washouts. Sticking to paved roads limits our geographic range as we look for wildlife, though we’re seeing plenty!

In just five days, Dane and Susan have become experts at the routines of game drives. I’m amazed at how quickly they’ve learned to accurately identify bird species. Susan records in real time what critters (fur, feather, and scales) we see, and every day it’s an impressive list.

Dane and Susan have adopted my friend Jeff M’s smart-ass nickname for the ubiquitous Impala in the park: “Bambi.” Impalas are what Susan’s notes mean when she says Bambi. As, for example, when today we witnessed a fascinating little drama involving two Black-backed Jackals moving in on a herd of Impala (“Bambis”). The fox-size jackals were no match for the much larger Bambis. I admired their chutzpah, however.

Similarly, we see so many stunningly beautiful European Rollers and Lilac-breasted Rollers that Susan abbreviates the birds as ER and LBR.

We had another great day of sightings and came back early to Olifants Camp to enjoy our million-dollar view and have a sundowner. Tomorrow we move to Satara Camp for our last four nights in the Kruger.

We stopped at Letaba Camp north of Olifants for breakfast and a visit to the fabulous elephant museum there.  Also got out on the Olifants River bridge for the gorgeous vista.

We’re having a lot of laughs and fun here in the Kruger National Park!

Forgot to say that we saw a leopard sleeping in a tree off the road this afternoon. We couldn’t get a good photo.  We looked for the magnificent cat after a young German couple told us about a “lee-o-pad” up ahead.

DAY 5

Today began with few wildlife sightings as we left Olifants. But zero elephants. In 32 years of visiting Kruger National Park here in South Africa, the area around Olifants Camp has always been crawling with elephant breeding herds.

Wikipedia says: The basic unit of elephant society is a stable family group of closely related adult females with young of various ages. Each herd is usually led by the oldest female – the matriarch. She decides where and when they move and rest on a day-to-day basis. This group is what we refer to as an elephant “breeding herd.”

But not this trip. I don’t think I’ve ever seen fewer elephants in the park. With over 20,000 elephants here, I wonder where they are. We eventually saw a few elephants near Satara, but nothing like the numbers I’ve regularly seen on all previous trips.

As we moved south to Satara Camp, our home for the next four nights, sightings picked up considerably.

Susan is doing a superb job of recording what we see. Among today’s highlights:

Watched an African Harrier Hawk eating baby starlings right out of the nest in a dead tree while the parent starlings helplessly dive-bombed the raptor. The hawk tore the live nestlings apart as it dined.

Being a few feet from a Giant Kingfisher on the Olifants River bridge.

Seeing a Brown Snake Eagle up close, too.

Observing 11 sleeping lions with full, distended bellies in the riverbed near Satara.

Coming across a pack of African Wild Dogs resting on and beside the road just south of the Olifants River bridge.

Seeing large numbers of Impala and Zebra grazing.

Seeing the leopard in a dead tree again near Satara.

Watching four elephants up close.

It’s been another spectacular day, and I’m calling it a day.  I want to report on current Kruger conditions I’ve observed, especially the now-routine long daily power blackouts. I’ll get to it, but need sleep. 400am comes early.

DAY 6

We were 5th in line at the Satara Camp gate this morning at 500 to begin our game drive. Through some luck and some adroit maneuvers, I managed to get to the number one position to search for the pride of 11 lions we saw digesting and sleeping in the river bed yesterday afternoon. I knew the pride would have moved by this morning and had a pretty good idea of where the lions might be. It was a 50-50 bet on which direction they’d go, and I chose correctly. We were not only first to find the lions but also had them entirely to ourselves for about half an hour before the “bush telegraph” alerted others to the position. The pictures speak for themselves. It was awesome to have so many lions surrounding us and so close. Many “teenage” lions in the pride were learning from mama how to hunt.

I managed to get a 7-second video I recorded this morning of the distinctive, haunting call of Burchell’s Coucal, one of my favorite South African birds. It was made less than one kilometer from the lions.

From Wikipedia:

Burchell’s coucal (Centropus burchellii) is a species of cuckoo in the family Cuculidae. It is found in the southeastern parts of sub-Saharan Africa. It inhabits areas with thick cover afforded by rank undergrowth and scrub, including in suitable coastal regions. The species is named after the British naturalist William John Burchell.

This common resident of southern Africa is usually seen as a solitary individual or in pairs. They prefer clambering through thickets in bushveld, marshes, riparian fringes or coastal bush. It is more often heard than it is seen. When it does fly, the flight is ponderous and ends with a long glide to the next thicket.

This bird has a distinctive call, which resembles water pouring from a bottle, and various other calls such as the “dove” call and an alarm hiss. The birds are most vocal in the breeding season, and a couple may call in duet, or several birds may call in concert.

It is sometimes called the Rainbird because it calls before, during and after rains.

Burchell’s coucal is predatory, stalking through thick bush and eating insects (including Orthoptera), snails, amphibians (frogs and toads), reptiles (including lizards and chameleons) and birds up to the size of a laughing dove. Nests of other birds are often raided.

Now about how the long, routine daily rolling power blackouts in South Africa are being managed in the Kruger:

The Kruger is a critical economic driver in the South African tourist industry. The park is also a prestige symbol of the country to the world. Therefore, South African National Parks (SANP), which is the government agency that runs the Kruger National Park and all other SA National Parks, has installed large generators in all Kruger camps to provide electric power during the chronic rolling blackouts that plague South Africa. The thinking is that international and domestic tourists shouldn’t be inconvenienced much, or just barely.

When I first worked in SA in , the country’s power company, Eskom, was world-class and well-run. There was never a power interruption then.

Now massive government corruption of state-owned Eskom and outright theft of Eskom money and resources have decimated the company. Rolling blackouts of up to 12 hours daily are now routine and ever-worsening, with no end in sight.

Our experience this trip at Skukuza, Olifants, and Satara Camps has been that Eskom power is cut from around 700pm and can last until 500-700am. Camp generators kick in at 701pm and provide power until midnight to 300am, depending on the camp. Some nights we’ve had total blackouts for several overnight hours, such as from 100-400am. On other nights, total blackouts have lasted just an hour or two.

Some nights Eskom power returns sooner than 500am. Exactly when Eskom electricity will go off and later come back on each day seems chaotic and unpredictable.

Kruger camp staff have told me their generators are wearing out and need more parts and maintenance. Fuel to keep camp generators going is also a challenge, some say. I can’t get a clear and accurate picture of the reality of camp generator problems, but it’s worrisome. The need to power essential functions such as food refrigeration, computer systems, credit card machines, store cash registers, and camp gas stations is critical.

Now that most unpaved roads are open again, our rental car has collected a thick film of dust, elephant dung, mud, and unidentified detritus.

Every day in the Kruger is magic!

DAY 7

Different location and pride of lions at 5:40 this morning lounging on the main road north of Satara.  Frankly, I couldn’t believe our luck two days in a row.

One lioness showed an unusual interest in us in the car (lions normally don’t care about vehicles and occupants), prompting me to close my window halfway. It was a thrilling and chilling moment of realization that not all lions are indifferent to people in cars.

More reports later. It’s only a here.

We saw the most species yet in a single day, including lions, a cheetah, and an elusive African Wildcat (the origin species of all domesticated cats).

Tomorrow is our last full day in the Kruger. Susan and Dane wish to see Lower Sabie Camp further south which was flooded in February. It’ll be an all-day trip down there and back, so I’m turning in extra early tonight.

DAY 8

We drove 95 km south from Satara Camp this morning to Lower Sabie Camp and back later in the day. It was our most productive day for seeing different species: 56, of which 7 were new (that is, not seen on previous days). Susan has done a spectacular job of keeping the sightings journal each day.

We were astonished to run across a large male lion just south of Tshokwane. That makes three straight mornings of lion sightings. Even one sighting up close like that is darn lucky; three in three days is unheard of.

I was heartened to see a number of elephant breeding herds today, one on the road as the female elephants closed ranks to protect the babies and young ones.

We enjoyed breakfast on the dramatic veranda at Lower Sabie Camp overlooking the Sabie River. The eggs benedict and lime milkshakes were delicious!

We were fascinated watching two dead trees with perching cranes and herons on top of Weaver Bird nests not far from Lower Sabie. 

Two Warthogs were happily munching seed heads off the grass tops along one of the dirt roads north of Lower Sabie. The pigs hardly noticed our approach.

The Nkumbe Lookout on the road from Tshokwane to Lower Sabie provided a mesmerizing vista of the vast plains below. That’s where we found fresh leopard prints in the mud last week.

We gawked at a big male giraffe that looked amorously interested in a little female.  So much so that the pair wouldn’t move off the road even when we drove up close. Ordinarily, giraffes can’t get away from approaching vehicles fast enough.

A family of three Ground Hornbills seemed altogether indifferent to our car.

We also spotted African Wild Dogs again today, our 3rd sighting. It was the pack with a territory around Tshokwane. Again, amazing luck to see Wild Dogs even once in a week in the Kruger, let alone thrice.

Though we searched areas where cheetah sightings were reported, no luck there. Nor with finding another leopard.

We celebrated our last Kruger night with Madagascar pepper filet steaks at Satara. Eskom, the South African power company plagued with massive corruption, theft, and mismanagement, shut off the electricity at 656pm, leaving the camp in darkness. The Satara generator finally kicked on at 707pm. It felt like a long 11 minutes. Diners around us applauded when the lights came back on and immediately went back to their meals and cheery conviviality.

I wasn’t as sanguine as they. How long can this deeply serious energy crisis go on before the South African economy collapses, I wondered. (I probably shouldn’t have shared those thoughts with my traveling companions. I fear it struck a sour note of stark reality into what has been a spiritually uplifting and magical experience.)

We drive to Skukuza at 530am tomorrow, our final opportunity to enjoy the Kruger this trip. Our Airlink flight to Cape Town departs at am. Looking forward to seeing that beautiful city and environs. We fly home Thursday night.

DAY 9

This morning at 530 we began the 97 km drive from Satara Camp to Skukuza Camp. Once there, we enjoyed a final hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast & jam with a strong Americano coffee on the veranda overlooking the Sabie River before making the last 8 km to Skukuza Airport for our am flight to Cape Town. Susan, Dane, and I agreed that we’ve each eaten more eggs in the past week than we usually consume in a year. No regrets, though.

I don’t yet have Susan’s sightings list for the morning, but we racked up an impressive list of African birds and mammals that graced our vision on the overland journey to Skukuza.

We put kilometers on the VW Tiguan, which is about miles. Over 9 days of game viewing, that’s 153 miles per day. The speed limit in the Kruger is 50 km/hr on paved roads (31 mph) and 40 kph on dirt roads (25 mph). Typical game driving was 9-10 hours per day. The simple rule of thumb is: The more mileage covered, the greater the odds of seeing more wildlife.

Charming little Skukuza Airport is open to the outdoors even in the secured waiting area.  The airport attracts African wildlife including a large grasshopper that lounged on my boarding pass. I also spied a number of big lizards darting about and was surprised one didn’t go for the fat grasshopper.

Our Airlink jet today is an all-economy Embraer 135 aircraft.  Airlink served a delicious box lunch and a decent wine (not spit out) en route to Cape Town. Just like U.S. airlines did up until about the s.

Next stop, Cape Town. I’m mighty curious to see how it has changed in the 27 years since I last visited. Dane and Susan want to see the Diamond Museum. I look forward to the area’s extraordinary natural beauty and possibly a gander at the penguin colony in nearby Simonstown. I’m sure we’ll get to the Cape of Good Hope Park as well.

The final picture is Dane’s of a beautiful Woodland Kingfisher taken in the Kruger near Skukuza Camp.

Agony of United connections at Newark

May 2,

In late February I was scheduled on United from Raleigh/Durham (RDU) to connect through Newark (EWR) to Johannesburg (JNB).  I was traveling with two companions who had never been to South Africa.  This was to be my fourth trip since the summer of on United to Jo’burg via EWR.  The previous three had been rocky, thanks to United’s slipshod operation, and so was this fourth one. 

We made our connection, but the misery and stress were pure hell.  Since our booked UA768 flight at 551p RDU/EWR had been late all week and thus jeopardizing our connection to UA188 EWR/JNB, we arrived at RDU at a to stand by for an earlier United flight at 141p to EWR. United claimed we’d make it, but at closeout, only one seat was open, and we needed three. Wasted time and energy and dooming us to spend six hours at RDU hoping our booked flight would defy the odds that day and operate on time.

The inbound flight to RDU that would be turned to become our Newark flight was nearly on the advertised.  Boarding was quick; the flight was full, as most are these days.  We were greatly relieved to push back with just a five-minute delay.  After taxiing to the runway, however, our captain announced a 25-minute ATC delay on the ground. “At least,” he said.  Then a 1 hour, 25-minute flight.  I calculated that to be close to an 800p arrival. We still had a chance to make our 900p departure to JNB.

Thanks to our flight crew for pushing the envelope to scurry up to Newark when we were finally released to take off.  Hallelujah!  Landed in Newark just before 730p.

Terrible service in whatever it is United calls Comfort+.  A small cup of water.  

We pulled into Terminal A, Gate A19.  Our JNB flight left from Terminal C. Flight UA188 to Johannesburg departed that night from Gate C125 at 9:00pm.  A bus trip from A to C takes 29 minutes according to United’s own “Map out your connection” website (https://fly.united.com/5HPmMNr).

We raced to the Terminal A bus connection door (down some stairs, then waited nervously).  The bus eventually came after six minutes, which seemed like an hour to us then.  It groaned forward and lumbered over the tarmac, dodging aircraft, gates, and service vehicles before stopping…at Terminal B, not C.  The bus lingered for passengers at B before navigating more twists and turns to dump us, finally, at Terminal C.  Way away from where we needed to be, of course.

We literally ran (in my case, limped, as I had a knee injury) as fast as we could through the big C terminal to find gate C125.

I’d snagged an upgrade from Premium Economy to Polaris (business) Class on the 15.5-hour flight from Newark to Johannesburg to seat 7A (window seat, port side). After spending half the day at Raleigh/Durham Airport trying to get to Newark to connect to the flight, I was by-God determined to avail myself of some libation.  I looked at the clock and realized I had time to stop for 12 minutes at Newark’s vaunted United Polaris Lounge en route to gate C125.  There, I enjoyed two large glasses of water (to stay hydrated on the long flight) and two much-needed glasses of Lanson Champagne.

Our flight to Jo’berg, due to leave at 900p, looked to be close to that time, a welcome sign. UA188 is often very late. I’ll report on the flight experience in Polaris Class from Newark to Johannesburg next week.

(Last week I reported on the unreliability of connecting to RDU from South Africa through Newark.)

So why did I put myself and my companions through the wringer like that?  Because, for the fourth time, United, an airline I don’t admire, was so much cheaper than Delta. And I was able to upgrade to Business Class for a reasonable extra fee (despite 5.5 million miles on Delta, that never happens).  Not counting the last-minute paid upgrade, United’s Premium Economy fare was $900 under Delta’s PE fare for the same seat and destination (Delta and United are the sole nonstop options to Johannesburg).

So, the price was my justification.  It was a price buy.  But now that I’ve lived through four agonizing trips on United via Newark—none without problems—I wonder if the savings are worth my peace of mind experiencing instead the generally-reliable Delta operation through Atlanta. 

Of course, Delta isn’t perfect, either.  But UA is a horror show through EWR.  I should stop complaining and just pay more for peace of mind.

United Polaris Class Newark to Johannesburg

April 25,

In late February I paid for an upgrade from Premium Economy to Polaris (business) Class on the 15.5-hour flight from Newark to Johannesburg to seat 7A (window seat, port side). I was taking two friends to the Kruger National Park and then to Cape Town.  Strong tailwinds over the Atlantic meant a bumpy ride, but a shorter one, I hoped.

At the -mile mark from Newark, we passed over the coast of Angola and left the South Atlantic Ocean behind. Just under miles to Johannesburg then, with arrival expected at 630p local. That was close to schedule, the first time I’ve been on time in four recent UA188 experiences.

After traversing the southwest corner of Angola, we entered northern Namibian airspace and flew over the Kalahari Desert into Botswana. It was a cloudless day, and I was hoping to spot the Okavango Delta in the distance from my portside perch.

But to do so, I had to twice ask the flight attendants to relay a request to the captain to unlock the electronic window shades. What good are windows if I can’t see out? The shades in newer planes like that 787 are not always in the passengers’ control. United had decided to keep the cabin dark at their discretion. I didn’t like it.

The time passed quickly because I was able to sleep for a bit over five hours at intervals. I couldn’t find a movie that grabbed me, so read more of Ken Follett’s “Never” on my ’s Kindle app between walks in the cabin and stretching exercises in the galley. I also drank water continuously, which I’ve found to be a good habit on long flights.

Beverage and meal service came soon after reaching altitude out of Newark. Two glasses of Champagne were more than sufficient to make me drowsy enough to sleep after dinner.

I was appalled that in United’s much-bragged-upon Polaris Class, the menu presented was a small, ugly, cheaply-printed sheet with beef, chicken, and a vegetarian option. The flight attendant asked me to choose two entrees “in case your first choice isn’t available.”  Really? Rationing portions in business class? That would never happen on Qatar Airways or Singapore Airlines or Cathay Pacific.

No list of wines or other drinks, either. The Duval-Leroy Champagne was good, all right, but if your palate yearned for a special red or white, there were no choices other than, well, a take-it-or-leave-it red or white. As I said already, that would never happen on Qatar Airways or Singapore Airlines, or Cathay Pacific.

Later in the flight, I mostly eschewed the minimalist breakfast which was something called “egg white bites.” What happened to real eggs and sausage? I quaffed an English Breakfast tea and ate fruit and yogurt. That was enough.

Lavs were kept tidy and clean throughout. Not like Emirates and Lufthansa, airlines that are obsessive about spotless lavatories, but good enough to give United an A- rating. Of course, that was in business class.  I can’t say what the toilets looked like in the rear cabins.

The cabin crew appeared to be very senior, which is not unusual for long international flights in my experience. I believe those competitive assignments pay well and provide a lot of time off in between. Service was professional and polite. I always enjoy chatting with flight attendants.

It was hard to find an empty seat in any of the three cabins. My friends were in economy, and I walked back to visit and check on them many times. Both looked reasonably happy despite being in tiny coach seats.

I also walked the entire plane along both aisles. It sure looked full to me. United must be doing well on the Jo’burg flights.

The odd-numbered Polaris (business) seats along the hull on both sides are more private than the even-numbered ones because of the herringbone configuration. Seats 1A, 3A, and so on are set back from the aisles and have 2 or 3 windows. Seats 2A, 4A, and so on are on the aisle and have a single window a little distant from the chair itself. The center seats are not for me, with no window access at all.

Privacy is different from space. None of the Polaris seats is roomy. In fact, I find them cramped.  But you can’t beat the relative privacy and the lie-flat seat for sleeping. That’s really the appeal of international business class. It’s all about the seat.

As we passed over the Kalahari Desert in Botswana, the sky was clear. Alas, the Okavango Delta was too far away to the northeast to see even from high up at 39,000 feet.  I sure miss camping there in the wild like I did a number of times between and .

Writing this, I considered moderating my criticism of UA’s food and beverage since I was in the Polaris cabin on a price-buy compared to, say, the never-discounted Delta One business class, let alone even higher fares charged by Qatar, Emirates, and Singapore. I wondered if my complaints might ring a little hollow since I was flying the cheapest business class option, not the best option. 

But then I realized that if I’d paid the sky-high retail United Polaris fare, the service I received wouldn’t have been different or better.  And many customers do pay the walk-up Polaris fare.  I didn’t get poorer service, in other words, than did Polaris customers who’d paid full fare.  Thus, my criticisms are valid.

Once on the ground and in my hotel room, I woke up jetlagged and couldn’t sleep at 358a.  Reflecting on the flight, I realized that I loathe United Airlines.  I vowed that next time I’ll pay a premium to fly on an airline I don’t despise.

But which one? Delta is pricier, but only marginally better. Perhaps Delta to Amsterdam or Paris CDG, then KLM or AF to South Africa.

Or maybe, I pondered in the wee hours of that first night off the plane, I’ll just stop going. The flying experiences, even in business, seem to be eating into the enjoyment of my trips. 

Now home and more objectively reflective, I expect to keep traveling.  But it’s sobering to think that even business class leaves me weary.  Flying sharp end used to be fun and relaxing.

Unreliable United connection at Newark

April 17,

On an early March journey back from Cape Town via United Airlines connecting to RDU through Newark (EWR), I learned the horrors of connecting from UA international at Terminal B to UA domestic at Terminal A.  I had over two hours to make it, and did, just barely, thanks to the EWR/RDU flight being late.  The experience was bad enough that I vowed not to repeat booking such a connection without at least three to four hours between flights.

The United plane that would become my CPT/EWR flight was several hours late arriving in Cape Town, which naturally delayed the turnaround and return. Our flight was finally airborne at p out of Cape Town (scheduled departure was 850p). I calculated as we raced down the runway on takeoff, a dismal prospect for arrival to Newark in time to make my two-hour connection. I’d spoken to the captain on the ground, and he wasn’t optimistic about making up time to go back to the USA. Lots of headwinds flying in that direction.

Under ideal circumstances, changing planes at Newark on United from an international flight to a domestic one is complicated and time-consuming because UA uses all three terminals: A, B, and C. The terminals are not connected “airside” (inside security), requiring flyers to exit and reenter TSA screens.  Anyway, all arriving passengers connecting to another flight from overseas must exit after clearing Immigration and customs and then go back through TSA security. That’s a relatively fast process if the domestic leg is leaving from the same terminal. My flight to Raleigh, however, was assigned to a different Newark terminal.

International inbound flights to EWR arrive at Terminal B, which houses U.S. Immigration and Customs. My flight to RDU left from Terminal A, scheduled for 755a departure. That required me to take the Newark “Air Train” from Terminal B to A, reenter security, and then find my gate.

As we made the nearly 8,000 miles over 15+ hours from Cape Town to Newark, I noticed on the moving map application that we did make up a few minutes. But we didn’t touch down at EWR until 630a and then suffered a 10-minute delay getting to the gate after taxiing because United didn’t have the “wing walker” crew in place to protect the plane. Another United Airlines screw-up insensitive to the needs of the many connecting passengers on the already delayed flight. I finally walked off the plane onto the jet bridge at 645a, praying I had a chance to get from Terminal B to A in 70 minutes.

After a long march to the Immigration screen, I avoided the long queues and breezed through, thanks to my Global Entry membership (a DHS/CBP, i.e., Customs, program.). The Global Entry kiosks now use facial recognition and nothing else, not even a printed receipt. I was out in 30 seconds and soon heading for the Customs exit and the path to the Air Train to get from B to A.

The automated train came within 5 minutes, then lurched and lumbered slowly in the general direction of A. But bypassed the usual Terminal A station, now closed, before stopping at a rental car terminal. I didn’t know why, but folks on the train assured me that the newly rebuilt Terminal A now had a new Air Train station.

I discovered that’s true, but the new station is no longer adjacent to Terminal A, as logic and common sense would dictate. Instead, the new Air Train station stands far distant from Terminal A with no way to walk to it. Passengers must go outside to an unprotected sidewalk and wait for a shuttle bus to take them to the new Terminal A.

It was 32° F. We all waited for 13 minutes in the cold for the shuttle bus. Had it been raining, we’d have been soaked.  No apology or explanation from the Newark staff there, who were in fact incensed that I would ask when the bus was coming. The answer was always, “Coming in 3 minutes.”

Liars? I doubted it. Just completely uninformed and hating their jobs standing by the curb in frigid weather while unhappy passengers were stupefied at Newark Airport’s Rube Goldberg insanity of getting people to their connecting flights. So close and yet unattainable on foot.

Finally, the shuttle bus came. After a five-minute ride, we were dropped at the new Terminal A building. By then it was 729a. I was filled with relief that I was going to run to gate A12 in time for my 755a flight. After all, I’m a TSA Pre-check member, so can get through airport security quickly.

But not at Newark Terminal A, no sirree. Sure, there’s a TSA Pre line, but it was backed up with 25 people waiting to get through and not moving. I wondered: What on earth could be the problem?

Then I noticed that TSA had staffed it with a single officer (even RDU normally has three officers processing PRE passengers) and that he was allowing the security company CLEAR members to get through in a steady stream while ignoring the lengthening PRE queue. For every 10 or so CLEAR passengers who passed through, the TSA officer would beckon one PRE passenger forward.

It sure looked like a racket to me, but I later learned that Newark is chronically undermanned and that TSA had chosen not to assign more than one officer to the PRE/CLEAR line. 

Furthermore, it turns out that TSA has nothing whatsoever to do with queue management.  That’s entirely an airline and airport decision.  In the case of PRE passengers sharing a line with CLEAR passengers, CLEAR members have an advantage because CLEAR guarantees that one of their staff will personally accompany members to the front of the queue.  That’s the value promised for joining CLEAR. 

Therefore, if TSA has assigned just one person to process both PRE and CLEAR passengers, then non-CLEAR folks will always wait if there’s a steady flow of CLEAR members.  That doesn’t make it fair or equitable, however, for PRE-only passengers trying to get past the security screen.  In fact, the situation that morning greatly diminished the value of PRE-only membership. 

Tick-tock, tick-tock, soon it was 740a, and my hopes of making the nearby gate A12 by 755a were fading fast. I begged to break the queue to the front and then had to plead with the TSA officer to let me pass. With a frown and slow headshake of disapproval, he called me forward. At 748a I was through and dashed for the gate. The United app on my and the Terminal A flight boards confirmed my flight was boarding.

I stopped briefly to ask a Newark “customer service” employee to guide me to A12. I guess my exasperated tone offended her. She said sharply in rebuke: “Well, GOOD MORNING TO YOU, TOO!” before turning her back on me and walking away. I found the gate without her help.

As I approached A12, I was at first heartened that boarding did not seem to be finalized. Then noticed no one had boarded. When I joined the queue, I asked a guy why there was a delay. He pointed out the window to a United A-319 just pulling into the gate.

“Plane’s not even here yet,” he grunted. “Heck, it’ll be 40 minutes while they get everybody off, refuel and clean before WE board.” 

I knew, of course, that he was right as soon as I saw the plane still moving. I won’t put into writing here what I was thinking because it involves a lot of swear words. I will only say that I cursed United Airlines and Newark Airport for their indifference, poor design, inefficiency, lack of care, bad information, and bad attitude.

The flight eventually boarded, and I arrived at RDU, though late. Had the flight been on time leaving Newark, as the United app and the concourse announcement boards proclaimed, I would not have made the connection. 

One lesson learned came from Joe Brancatelli.  He reminded me that my American Express Platinum Card would reimburse the annual $189 fee that CLEAR charges for membership, so I signed my wife and me up.  The Amex reimbursement appeared within 24 hours.  Though not for the extra $60 to sign up my mate.

Leaving Lisbon

April 10,

On the third and last day of my first trip to Lisbon in early January, intermittent light rain through the morning discouraged me from joining a walking tour. My shoes were already wet, and I had no backup footwear with me. The precip didn’t stop my intrepid wife and daughter. They continued on as I peeled off back to the hotel to dry out. 

The above picture looks back out of the Rossio station through one of the two distinctive horseshoe-shaped doorways.  Umbrellas were galore.

Anyway, I needed to research how to get to Lisbon Airport at 500a tomorrow for our flight on Iberia Air to Madrid. The Lisbon Metro doesn’t operate that early. Taxis looked to be the preferred option at that hour and would set us back €35.

Well, assuming we could find one. I’ve been assured cabs are plentiful through the night and early morn. I admit I’m obsessed with minimizing travel uncertainty, a legacy of long experience overcoming unexpected travel snafus. Risk awareness is half the battle.

Hedging my bets, I walked out between rain showers to the big square close to the Rossio station to look for taxis queueing for customers. Found one and then asked several drivers (few speak English) about a ride at 500a the next morn. I was assured cabs are queued there 24/7 and left armed with numbers to call 15 minutes before we needed one, just in case.

On the way back to the hostel I impulsively stopped at a McDonald’s to try a fish sandwich. Why? Because back in the 70s I discovered that McDonald’s served fish sandwiches in Europe far superior to American versions.

Years later, when I did some indirect consulting with McDonald’s corporate management ancillary to work with client ConAgra Foods, I learned that, outside the U.S., McDonald’s tailors menu items to local tastes and expectations. Europeans are geared to a better fish flavor than Americans. Likewise, many other cultures.

Ever since I’ve sometimes tried McDonald’s fish sandwiches when overseas to compare to the ones sold at home. Most of the time foreign versions have seemed better to me. Though I don’t make a habit of dining at McDonald’s in the States, in my opinion, their fish sandwich is the least-worst option.

Since the Portuguese are seafood aficionados, with highly refined palates for fish, I anticipated that day’s sandwich experiment to be favorable by far to the American McDonald’s version.

Nope! The one I tried was like eating sawdust that a long-dead fish had been dragged across. I threw it away after one bite.

But the Coke Zero was just what I needed.

Other photos show off the creative Christmas lights that lavishly decorated the streets of Lisbon, Lagos, and every Spanish city we visited. Even little Tarifa was adorned with terrific lighting. Spaniards and Portuguese obviously have a thing for “outdoor illumination” (to steal a line from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation).

The day’s rain didn’t dampen our enthusiasm for Lisbon, but it did restrain much meandering on foot. My wife and daughter returned to the hostel in the Rossio train station soaked through after their walking tour (most European cities offer “free” walking tours that are good enough to warrant a tip of €5 or €10 at the end).

Drying out themselves, shoes, and clothes took some doing, a process aided by the friendly hostel staff who threw their wet garb into a dryer.

Between downpours, we splashed down the nearby pedestrian-only Rua Augusta to a jewel of a pastry shop named Paul (the one I sent photos of yesterday that opened in ) for sandwiches. Then returned to scarf it all down at the hostel.

Late afternoon we walked to a sister hostel located at the south train station by the river for a “barbecue” organized by both hostels. Halfway there, the skies opened suddenly with another fierce rain, soaking us again.

Pitifully huddling beneath an awning to wait out the deluge before making a final dash was pointless. We were drenched already.

Good thing Lisbon (along with most of Europe) had recently enjoyed unseasonably warm temperatures. Otherwise, we’d probably have caught pneumonia.

The good cheer of the friendly staff at the second rail station hostel improved my dreary wet mood, as did a draft lager or two thereafter. Pretty soon we were laughing with other hostel denizens who’d made the BBQ plunge, among them three Brazilians and two Americans (from L.A. and Indianapolis).

Sangria and food began to appear, all very delicious. Bread with butter and garlic, three bean salad, cold pasta with onions, oven-roasted potatoes with spices, and a huge tossed salad bowl. Pork and chicken followed soon after. So much food that we were sated before the last serving plate was brought around the communal table (see photo).

Tired and still damp, we said our goodbyes with hugs and found a taxi to return to Rossio station. We had to arise at 400a to allow time to get to the airport and run the security and immigration gauntlet.

The picture above is of a purveyor of top-quality dried cod. Imported cod comes especially from Iceland, Newfoundland, and Norway. Weirdly, cod is Lisbon residents’ favorite fish. This is despite the plethora of tasty fish species caught in the nearby Atlantic.

But cod is not among the fishes harvested anywhere close to Portugal. Therefore, specialty shops like the one pictured cater to the many Lisbon cod lovers by importing salted and dried codfish. Once in the kitchen, the expensive fish is reconstituted in water before cooking. All very strange to me.

The flaky pastry shell filled with delectable raspberries (picture) complemented the aforementioned lunch sandwich. Also acquired from the shop called Paul.

The last picture is of the Rossio train station facade in the rain as we returned from the “barbecue” at the sister hostel.

It was hard to leave Lisbon the following morning.  I felt our three days had barely scratched the surface.

Up and down in Lisbon

April 3,

Lisbon is built on hilly terrain with more steep streets than San Francisco. I never knew.  My visit in early January with my wife and daughter was my first to the city.  Despite traveling many times around the globe to every continent except Antarctica, I somehow missed Portugal.

So I was surprised to learn that Lisbon’s topography is so steep that three funicular railways, six tram routes, and one vertical lift exist to get residents up and down and up and down.

How the shuddering little trams don’t collide with other vehicles is a mystery. They sure come close.

Lisbon seemed at the same time gritty and sophisticated. The city buzzed with energy. It was sure fun to soak it in for the three days we were in town.

To do that, we bought Viva Viagem transit cards as soon as we stepped off the bus from Lagos.  We used the cards to ride the Metro (one connection) to get to the beautiful old Rossio train station where we encamped at a youth hostel. Those cards are good for unlimited on and off all transit modes (buses, trams, funiculars, metro trains) and many medium-distance intercity trains within a 24-hour period. We renewed them daily.

Since our Viva Viagem cards worked on trains to nearby towns, we traveled on the second morning to explore Sintra.  Cutesy Sintra is only 15 miles west of Lisbon but a 40+ minute commuter train ride from the Rossio station, with many quick suburban stops en route. Or intercity? Hard to tell. The trains serve both purposes and were full in both directions every half hour all day.

Oppressive, unlovable, soviet-style concrete apartment blocks fill the hills of suburban Lisbon. 2.7 million reportedly live in the greater urban area.

I watched train after train arrive from Lisbon Oriente (East) and Lisbon Rossio to Sintra, each one chock-full of tourists. And all met by a well-practiced army from the Sintra tourist industry offering everything from all-day adventures to simple wheels to go up the precipitous mountain road to the famous grand palace. 

If I squint, Sintra looked to my eyes like quaint little Swiss burgs. Even more verticality than in Lisbon and plenty of touristy kitsch.

So Swiss-like that I could almost hear Peter Sellers’ bumbling character Inspector Clouseau asking, “Does your dog bite?”

The big palace in Sintra was our reason for going, but once there we decided to stroll the town instead. It was quiet and pleasant once away from the mob of tour hawkers near the station. My wife and daughter popped into a church built -54.

I was on the hunt for some more thick hot chocolate to knock the chill off, but the Portuguese evidently don’t make it like the Spanish. The only thing available was made with hot water and something like a Swiss Miss powder. Yuck. And all flavored faux chocolate, too, such as orange or hazelnut. Who would ruin the wonderful flavor of chocolate with orange?

We returned to Lisbon late morning to get in as much walking as we could before the predicted rain on our third day.  Love those frequent trains to everywhere! Yet we can’t find the money for 37 miles of commuter rail service between Raleigh and Durham. Shame on us.

We were soon back at the Lisbon Rossio train station and walking the city again.  The above photo is of the distinctive horseshoe archways of Rossio train station. The statue between them is the beloved young, dashing, 24-year-old King Sebastian who disappeared in the s on a trek to Morocco, leaving Portugal with no royal heir. The country yet mourns and waits for his return.

We stopped for our daughter to have lunch at an astonishing modern food hall (above) that makes ones in Raleigh laughable by comparison. That gourmet palace is adjacent to a large mercat. Her meal was stupendous!

Dating from , the monastery at Belém, 5 miles along the river from Lisbon, is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the final resting place of the remains of Portuguese explorer Vasco da Gama. His first voyage left from there in to discover the ocean passage to India around Africa’s Cape of Good Hope.

The monastery is famed for its Portuguese Gothic architecture. Construction was fittingly financed by a tax on pepper imported from India.

We recharged our Viva Viagem transit cards with another 24 hours of unlimited travel (€6.90) and took a bus to Belém. A tram brought us back to Lisbon.

Using such transit cards, as we do if available wherever we visit on the planet, is so convenient. Just tap a card reader to board a bus, metro, funicular, train, ferry, or tram. That and a dense transit modal network make riding public transit an easy option. Yet, in the Triangle area of North Carolina, we don’t emulate this simple single transit card system to encourage people to leave their cars at home.

Looking out to the Lisbon waterfront from where we got off the tram is reminiscent of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. The structure is impressive in size and position with the river behind it.

One photo looks away from the arch up the pedestrian-only street which ends close to the Rossio train station. Along the way are some very fine shops, and crowds were thick that day.

Another picture shows our daughter’s uncertainty about trying some of Portugal’s unique drink, called ginjinha. It’s a sour cherry liqueur of about 36 proof.  The next pictures are of my own reaction to the stuff. Despite my taste buds’ initial rejection of the extremely sour flavor, it grew on me. I suspect ginjinha is addictive.

While in Lisbon, I thought it would be fun to compare our cost of doing laundry in Spain and Portugal:

• Laundromats are €5 for every 10kg (22 lbs) to wash plus €1 for every 10 minutes of drying time
• Free at Ginebra in Barcelona (well, I’m sure it was included in the rate)
• €40 at Amadeus in Seville (the fanciest place we stayed)
• €7.50 for a big laundry basket at Lisbon Destination Hotel (Rossio station)

In the Kruger National Park (South Africa), I mostly hand wash my clothes every few days, but we had little time or opportunity to do that in Spain and Portugal.  For two week stay, doing laundry is always a planning necessity.

Three days is clearly not enough to take in and appreciate that magnificent metropolis.  How could I have lived 75 years without visiting Lisbon?  Now I embrace the famous line in The Terminator movies, “I’ll be back!”

Feasting in Lisbon

March 27,

It took only one long walk and one afternoon meal for my wife, daughter, and me to fall in love with Lisbon in early January! It was my first visit to Portugal. Our lunch at a place recommended by the fellow managing check-in at our hostel was fabulous.

Anta Bar was an up-and-down 22-minute walk (mostly steeply up, I thought) 1.8 km from the Rossio train station on a quiet narrow street in Lisbon’s Bairro Alto neighborhood. Called a bar but really a bistro, as the photos show, Anta has a reputation for serving some of the best octopus dishes in a city that knows seafood.

We never would have found it but for advice from a loyal patron, a young Spaniard, who raved about Anta. We’d intended to dine at Bota Alta, which we passed on the way, a very fine restaurant recommended by my Italian cousin and his wife. However, Bota Alta closed at 200pm. We instead dined at the Old Boot the following evening.

Anta, though, was a fabulous choice, as seen in the photos. We shared (as always) the dishes: grilled octopus arms with carrots, potatoes, broccoli, and onions; goat cheese salad; bacalhau à brás (cod prepared in a traditional Portuguese style with matchstick potatoes, onions, and scrambled eggs and with parsley and olive garnish); white asparagus with lime mayonnaise; followed by desserts of a passion fruit mousse and a Baba de Camelo (traditional Portuguese creamy dessert made from condensed milk, eggs, almonds, and caramel).

Each dish was marvelous and outstanding! So much so that it is impossible to pick one over the rest. My wife and I agreed we had never enjoyed better octopus: every bite was tender and flavorful. The three of us fought over the white asparagus as well.  Three spoons dueled for the last morsels of mousse and Baba de Camelo, too.

Anta’s delights set a high standard for Lisbon cuisine that we thought would be difficult to surpass. But we looked forward to the test.

As has become our habit on this trip, such a late lunch (we left Anta after 400p) was our one meal of the day. We had a tiny pastry and a cup of coffee this morning early in Lagos, and not much tonight.  After such a feast at lunch, we usually weren’t hungry again until the next day.

On the following night (January 6), Restaurante Bato Alta opened on schedule at 700p, and we were first in despite having no reservations. The place was charming and quite small, with just five tables if not counting a private back room with at least one more. Very cozy and felt personal, like having dinner with a small group of friends.

At my request, the waiter made several recommendations for a full-bodied Portuguese red wine like the fine bottle we had two days ago in Lagos (I showed him a photo of that label) at the Michelin-starred restaurant. I chose one that happily fit our taste.

My wife, daughter, and I already knew what we wanted to share after perusing the regular menu and chalkboard specials listed outside:

Three appetizers (paté made from pork; garlic prawns; creamy seafood soup)

Two entrees (traditional grilled octopus with whole baby potatoes; house specialty of cod with onions and potato cakes)

Good thing we ordered food and wine quickly, as a party of eight soon arrived, requiring a good deal of attention from the small staff.

The dishes were all excellent, the garlic prawns and octopus being particular standouts. I didn’t think we would ever have octopus as good or tender as yesterday’s at Anta Bar, but the Boto Alta version was as memorably flavorful and perfectly prepared.

We’ve finally learned to pace ourselves at meals and to be unhurried. To eat slowly and to be relaxed in Spain and Portugal.

After sharing desserts of fresh mango and a slice of almond-date cake, we tried the traditional Portuguese cherry-flavored liqueur called ginjinha again (our initial taste was earlier in the day). And found it wanting again. This one tasted too much like cough medicine.

Later, back at the hostel, we tried a third brand, which was delicious. The variation in ginjinha flavors among brands was surprising. I hated the first two but could consume quite a bit of the last one.

Since we’d eaten more for breakfast than usual, Ruth and I were careful not to eat and drink too much that night.  We took leftover food and about a third of the bottle of wine back to the hostel for the folks there. They were happy to get it and drank the wine remainder enthusiastically.

Walking back to our hostel after another great meal, we reflected on the outstanding eating pleasures that have marked our two weeks in Spain and Portugal. The extraordinary dining has been a highlight that, frankly, I didn’t anticipate.

Michelin dining in Lagos, Portugal

March 20,

On a trip through Spain and Portugal over New Year’s, my wife, daughter, and I arrived in Lagos on the south coast of Portugal on January 4.

Where the heck is Lagos?  That sunny spot on the Atlantic is kind of the Portuguese equivalent of Atlantic Beach, North Carolina: touristy accessible, popular to the point of being overcrowded, hot in the summer, and quite nice about nine months of the year. Even in winter daytime temps were in the mid-60s (Fahrenheit).

Folks from all over Europe seem to flock here. I had a hard time finding a hotel that would let me book just one night (we just wanted a quick look at the south coast before heading on to Lisbon for three nights). Most hotels close to the ocean had a two- to four-night minimum. Which is why we booked the Marina Rio Hotel.

The hotel, concrete-ugly but modern and comfortable in an American style, is sandwiched between the large modern marina and the bus station on the main street. Since we arrived on a Flixbus from Seville, that was very convenient for us to walk.

The photo above is of the view from our 3rd-floor balcony of the bus line. Just the right ambiance to sit and relax, right?  Utterly charmless, but it was just for one night, so we didn’t care. All part of the wildly varied experience of travel.

Bus was the best option to get to Lagos, just three hours. No direct trains run here from Seville. Changing trains would have taken eight hours. I investigated keeping a rental car all the way to Lisbon, but the drop charge in another country (picked up in Spain) would have added $600.

Turns out the hotel, like others we booked, was convenient for walking everywhere. We enjoyed strolling to the beach after the heavy lunch (our one meal today) and exploring the quaint old section of Lagos. The “charm” of the walking streets and adjacent businesses feels manufactured for tourism and much less authentic than the other cities we’ve visited. Little Tarifa in Spain, the place we got the ferry to Tangier, was more real. The craggy coast and beaches of Lagos, though, are beautiful.

And I love the ocean!

Sadly, Restaurante Don Sebastião in seaside Lagos on Portugal’s south coast earned just a single Michelin star.

Not griping, though. One star was quite sufficient to sate our voracious hunger after a 4 hour, 15-minute bus ride from Seville and no breakfast.

The wait staff first brought by the day’s selection of fresh fish for our selection. The dorado (which is not mahi-mahi as I had earlier assumed) looked appetizing, and we chose it

We began with fresh bread and a rich housemade liver paté with peppercorns. Pretty soon came Don Sebastião’s fish soup, a signature dish, for my wife while I relished creamy carrot soup with ginger.

Followed by asparagus salad with bearnaise sauce (sublime) and a house recipe for muscles (fabulous).

The dorado then arrived, fileted and baked perfectly with potatoes and veggies, as were our daughter’s tofu and vegetables.

Their extraordinary wine cellar groans with bottles. No Portuguese red wine expert, I yielded to our waiter’s recommendation for a full-bodied drink after perusing nearly a hundred unfamiliar labels. His was a wise choice, and we drank every drop.

A wonderful Crème Brûlée was the perfect finish.

Walking off lunch, I reflected that it was gonna be hard going back to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once back to Raleigh.

NEXT MORNING (JANUARY 5)

Our bus (another Flixbus) for Lisbon departed at 930a, so we arose early and perused the main street at the chilly 730a hour. Nothing was open for breakfast.

Until, that is, we browsed the local fish market, just getting organized. On the 2nd floor, we found a tiny coffee bar serving the busy fishmongers. Its elderly proprietor prepared white coffee for us (coffee with milk) as he cooked up a large batch of omelets on his small burner.

Photos show off the variety of fresh seafood being placed on display by vendors. Small trucks were backed in and unloading what I presume was the overnight catch from local boats returning from the Atlantic. Yum!

The drawbridge for foot traffic spanning the channel from the Atlantic Ocean (not far away behind me where I took the picture) was unique to my eyes. It allows high-mast sailboats to navigate in and out of the safe anchorage in the marina just beyond.

Other photos capture the beach and the line of intercity buses waiting for their morning runs with our hotel in the near distance. I do love that there are many comfortable choices of privately-owned and operated intercity buses in Europe! Why not in America?

Then on to Lisbon!

When train service looked iffy between Zagreb and Split in Croatia last September, Ruth and I opted for Flixbus on advice from the owner of our little Zagreb hotel. We found the bus to be comfortable, clean, on time, fast, and reasonably priced.

I wondered then and still do, as we enjoyed our Flixbus ride today to Lisbon, why Americans are so reticent to embrace intercity buses. Perhaps memories of seedy s-60s Greyhound and Trailways coaches?

I don’t know, but Flixbus and similar excellent bus companies are doing a great job in Europe. Most (including ours that day) have free wifi and plugs for recharging phones or using laptops and notebooks. Even small tray tables. I easily booked online, reserved specific seats, and printed our tickets at home.

I hear Flixbus is coming soon to the USA. Good luck to them.  Americans need comfortable intercity mobility options to congested Interstates and flights.

Dazzled in Seville

March 13,

Never having been to Seville before going over New Year’s, I was captivated by the beautiful burg and its superior quality of life.  I’ve been writing posts the past several weeks that chronicle our trip through Spain and Portugal (with my wife and daughter), all of it a thrill.   Here are my impressions of getting to, and being in, Seville (as written in real-time):

MORNING OF JANUARY 2

It rained today, hard, en route from Tarifa to Seville. The leading edge of a front brought sheets of water down onto the autovia (motorway like our Interstates).

Maintaining the posted speed of 120 kph (74.5 mph) became challenging. Especially since I was driving at the speed of traffic, which was about 125-130 kph.

Nonetheless, I made good time, and precipitation was dissipating by the time I returned the car to Avis at the Estación de Sevilla-Santa Justa (Santa Justa train station). Even had time to stop for gas to return with a full tank.

About that fill-up: The Hyundai Kona was a really fun car to drive. Had a six-speed manual and every modern bell-and-whistle gimcrack option imaginable. Very fuel efficient, too. Only burned three-quarters of a tank over four days and lot of miles.

I stopped at a discount Carrefours gas station adjacent to a giant Carrefour store in the Seville burbs to refill. Topping it off was $65.70.

A photo of the Hyundai is attached. I take pictures of returned rental cars as insurance against false damage claims attributed to me.

Forgot to mention last night the free entertainment we witnessed while walking to the El Patio restaurant in Tarifa: sex on the street!

Ignoring passersby, a man and woman were boldly engaged in aggressive sexual congress next to a concrete building wall facing the harbor very close to the sidewalk. Judging by the woman’s loud moans of pleasure, she was apparently enjoying the union a great deal.

Our daughter, a college sophomore, was disgusted by their behavior and bade us move on quickly. We didn’t need her encouragement to keep going, though I missed a golden opportunity to yell out “GET A ROOM, WHY DON’T YOU!”

I was quite bemused at their brazen public act.

At dinner, our daughter pondered what they had to look forward to later in the evening since we’d passed them before 800p.

AFTERNOON OF JANUARY 2

Another spectacular late lunch this afternoon at a restaurant called Las Teresas after the rainy, dreary drive from Tarifa to Seville! Only in Europe. Who knew the Spaniards had such fab cuisine? We’re still agog at it all.

We walked in at 215p just in the nick of time. By 230p the place was full.  Dating from , Las Teresas is very close to our hotel and specializes in the finest Iberian hams. Descriptions of our choices:

• Spinach and garbanzo beans cooked in olive oil – other-worldly good.
• Mushroom caps with pesto and pickled carrots.
• Baby calamari, delicately fried and perfectly seasoned.
• Acorn-fed Iberian ham and aged Manchego sheep cheese – a Spanish staple that we continue to try in different places. Like sampling eastern North Carolina pit-cooked pork barbecue, it’s all delicious and each one unique. Ruth swears she could taste the acorn flavors in today’s ham.

Manchego with Iberian ham is the perfect complement, as the Spaniards know, but I did not.

And the white wine! I don’t even much care for vino blanco. This label was made in far NW Spain on a peninsula by the Atlantic Ocean. World-class! Another great wine bargain at just twenty bucks.

We do NOT make a habit of drinking this much at home and certainly not for lunch. But here, well, I’m just trying to fit in with the locals. Anyway, 230p is near enough to five o’clock, isn’t it?

When I booked the hotels for this trip in September, it was relatively late for the Christmas-New Year holiday period, and I had to take what I could find. In some places, like here in Seville, that meant a relatively expensive hotel if we wanted to be in the center of the Old Town.

For the nights I wanted, the Hotel Amadeus offered what they call a suite for $250/night (without breakfast), definitely not a budget property. But a really nice one. 

Our room is lovely and spacious, but hardly a suite. No matter. It’s worth the steep rate, our most expensive, for this property’s comfort, graciousness, and beauty.

The above photo shows my wife and daughter in the pedestrian street just outside the Amadeus and gives a sense of Seville’s Old Town charm. We are in the perfect location for walking everywhere.

The rain had abated, and we took off wandering around Seville’s Old and New Town sections after our delicious lunch.

A tram (light rail) runs through the center of the retail and commercial district and by the ancient cathedral. It runs every 5-8 minutes in each direction, operating safely and without incident among the thousands of pedestrians in the walking mall.

We stopped for more thick hot chocolate like that at Barcelona’s Chocolate Museum. At €2.40 each, well worth it.

The huge Seville Cathedral sits in the city center. It occupies a space larger than a New York city block and is the dominant visual anchor for orientation when walking. (A good map is also essential.)

MORNING OF JANUARY 3

Famous bulls are celebrated after bullfights here in Sevilla. Our breakfast in another wonderful Mercat was under mounted heads.

I again enjoyed churros and chocolate. La Cuenta (the bill) came to €13.40 (about $14).

Wish we had such markets in Raleigh that sell everything. The farmers’ market is good but can’t hold a candle to the ones in Spain.

Seville is spectacular in every way: beautiful, friendly, the epitome of ambiance, Michelin-rated cuisine, and sophisticated hostelries.

Explorers Amerigo Vespucci and Ferdinand Magellan sailed down the river after receiving blessings from the royals here. Christopher Columbus is buried in Seville Cathedral.

Of course, it’s also the place that kicked off the Spanish Inquisition which lasted nearly 400 years. But that was then. The quality of life in Seville is now unequaled.

Seville once held most of the wealth of North Europe, being the destination for all that silver and gold plundered from Central and South America.  Paid for by untold human misery, death, enslavement, and cultural ruination of the native peoples in the New World.

It was short-lived. The Spanish empire began a long 150-year decline in (defeat of the Armada) followed by the depletion of New World riches. Mexico, Central America, and South America have never recovered.

Modern Spaniards prefer to skip over those facts. Just as we Americans blithely ignore our wholesale annihilation of Native American cultures.

Just as one day some foreign power will do to us. The way of the world, if the human species lasts.

EVENING OF JANUARY 3

The photos can’t possibly convey the sheer joy and masterful artistry of the Flamenco performers we had the pleasure of seeing dance, sing, and play guitar tonight!

It was a thrilling hour that left me feeling ecstatic. (Photos are allowed only at the very end following the jaw-dropping routines.) I highly recommend it. 

We’ve happily consumed a goodly amount of Iberian ham since arriving in Spain, and I’ve included photos of the pork hanging in cafes, restaurants, and retail purveyors. Otherworldly delicious, these acorn-fed Iberian hams are the Spanish equivalent of the finest Italian prosciutto.

A friend emailed that he hoped the “hawgs” weren’t subjected to factory farming as in America.  That got me thinking about the economics of this heavenly ham.

100 grams is the standard portion (3.527 ounces) and typically costs €14 to as much as €20 ($15-21).  Doing the math, that’s $68-95/pound. 

At those prices, I’m guessing Spanish Iberico farmers can afford to keep their pigs pampered and living in the hog equivalent of luxury condos where the swine can watch “Babe” on Netflix over and over while snacking on the finest acorns. Making them contented piggies.

Tomorrow we cross the border into Portugal, my first visit. Our daughter’s, too.

What a trip this has been so far! So much to take in, like being in two countries and two continents on the first day of the year. Gonna be hard to beat that the other 364 days. Or ever.

I am thankful every day for being able to experience such travel. And to be here with my wife and daughter. I wish our son could have joined us.

I never take travel for granted. We are very, very fortunate.

THOUGHTS AS WE LEAVE SPAIN FOR PORTUGAL ON JANUARY 4

Most Spanish drivers:

• Consistently use their turn signals both to signal lane changes and turns. Unlike Americans.
• Honor stop signs and stop lights. This is to say, Spaniards don’t roll through stop signs or run lights. Again, unlike Americans.
• Speed a bit over the limit on motorways, but not excessively. Like me. Signs on major roads helpfully warn of impending speed cameras, so everyone slows down temporarily through those spots.

The cities we visited prioritize pedestrians and bikers over drivers. Many dedicated bike lanes exist, and lots of signaled crosswalks for both bikers and walkers. Dedicated bike lanes are separated from driving lanes by bumps high enough to damage a car or truck that trespassed into the bike lanes.

Unsignaled crosswalks are marked with broad white stripes (which the English call Zebra crossings) that give pedestrians priority if they’ve stepped into the street. Drivers are much more watchful than in America and always stop if a person is in a striped crosswalk.

Red LED lights are embedded in the pavement at many signaled crosswalks in Granada. Some cities and towns use passive methods to slow drivers and protect pedestrians, such as raised speed tables at striped crossings (also effective at speed control).

Lots of bike and pedestrian bridges, all with zig-zag ramps, span major roads and highways that penetrate cities. The bridges are built at what appear to be regular intervals.

Spaniards love their dogs!  But cleaning up isn’t as consistent as in the USA. I noticed signs encouraging people to pick up after their dogs in Seville.

I’ve mentioned before that midday and evening meals in Spain, like Italy, are far later than in the USA. Lunch kicks off at about 200p and lasts until 430p or later. Dinner can start at 800p but doesn’t begin in earnest until 900p and can go until 100a or later. 

However, we found many restaurants and cafes open much earlier, perhaps catering to tourists like us. That said, woe be it to anyone without a reservation at popular dining places at 230p or later and at 800p or later. Spaniards celebrate good food and wine among friends and family as much as Italians and French. I say, amen to that!

Four hours in Morocco

March 6,

I split the first day of between two continents.  On a trip through Spain and Portugal with my wife and daughter, we traveled by ferry on New Year’s Day across the Mediterranean from Tarifa, Spain to Tangier, Morocco, and returned to Tarifa a few hours later.  Europe and Africa in one afternoon.   

Yep, just a short time because that’s all we got. We’d planned an all-day visit.  I’d bought ferry tickets directly from the company’s website for an early January first boat.  It was advertised but not operated.  The ferry firm canceled everything that day to Morocco except the noon crossing.  But didn’t tell ticketholders. 

After frantically letting our Tangier guide know we wouldn’t arrive until 1:00 PM, we made a mad dash over the Med and back the same afternoon.  Hope and Crosby in the movie “Road to Morocco” have got nothing on us for wild and zany antics.

If you have never heard of that flick, “Road to Morocco” starring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby is a nutty comedy that was among the top-grossing pictures of . In , Road to Morocco was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant.”

But I digress.  We started off in Granada, which I wrote about last week, and drove to Tarifa on the last day of .  These are my real-time notes in chronological order:

DECEMBER 31

Our stopover here in Tarifa was planned in order to take a day trip tomorrow to Tangier, just 35 minutes by fast ferry across the strait where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean. Because Tarifa is a bit out of the way with no good rail or bus options from Granada, I rented a car from Avis for the missing modal link Granada-Tarifa-Seville. I’ll return the Avis car to the central train station in Seville on January 2 and thereafter again we will use only buses, trains, and planes.

The rental car is quite expensive at $150/day, but it was the only way to make this work. A private car and driver costs even more.

Two ferry companies compete for the Tarifa-Tangier business. Same prices and services, except at slightly different schedules. I booked us via Inter-Shipping Ferries for tomorrow, January 1, at 8:00 AM because that company’s schedules worked better for us in both directions. Inter-Shipping also had a superior website, and I printed the tickets at home for outbound and return ferries tomorrow.

By several months ago, I queried four tour guides in Tangier recommended by Rick Steves for day trips. The one I eventually booked, Aziz, combined the best itinerary and price. I had him lined up to meet us at 900am when we arrive tomorrow.

Everything seemed copacetic until we walked over to the ferry terminal in Tarifa just to get our bearings. And, to our dismay, discovered the 8:00 AM and 10:00 AM ferries tomorrow were canceled two days ago. The first Inter-Shipping boat leaves at noon and will arrive in Tangier at 12:45 PM tomorrow.

Yet Inter-Shipping, which has sent me a bunch of emails since I booked reminding me of our 8:00 AM ferry tomorrow, never let us know of the cancelation. The company also had my number for text messages

The other ferry company canceled their Jan 1 morning departures, too, leaving us with the option of either going for a half day tomorrow or not at all.

I scrambled to our guide, Aziz, and hastily remade our plans with him for just four hours in Tangier.

I also complained to the local Inter-Shipping personnel, including the senior supervisor, on duty this afternoon at the Port of Tarifa. They all angrily denounced me for expecting them to operate early on January 1 and shrugged that some “higher-ups” made the decision, not them. They wondered aloud how I could possibly expect that 800am schedule to operate on the first day of the year.

When I pointed out that their company had happily advertised and sold tickets (which I showed them) on the 8:00 AM ferry for January 1st, but had never informed me of the cancelation, they sputtered like fools and waved me away. I pointed my finger at each one and accused them of shameful lies and having no pride in their profession, statements of fact which I am certain won’t cause them any lost sleep.

We will have to fit in a lot in our half day tomorrow, and I’m sure we will. This SNAFU sure doesn’t bolster my confidence in either of the ferry operators to Morocco.

No great meals on this last day of the year which was spent mostly driving. We didn’t stop at all after leaving Granada until reaching Tarifa. Then it took until 4:00 PM to find a place to park the rental car across town and walk back.

By this time Tarifa restaurant kitchens had closed until tomorrow (this being New Year’s Eve). We were fortunate at the third cafe we came to, one specializing in seafood. My pitiful begging for food paid off, and we got an outside table in the sun (quite comfortable since it was warm here in Europe’s most southern town at that hour).

However, only a few menu items were left: baked dorado filet (mahi-mahi), cherry stone clams in butter and garlic, and razor clams.  We ordered all three dishes and a bottle of house white vino.  We quickly polished off the tasty fish and clams. That and bread and fried potatoes made up our one real meal of the day.

I usually eschew photographing sunsets, but today offered a unique opportunity to get the sun dropping beneath the ocean horizon with a view of Africa in the distance. Not often I can look across from one continent to another.

The final picture is of a pasteleria here in Tarifa’s old town good enough to have lasted 112 years. Since our ferry to Morocco now leaves at noon tomorrow rather than at 8:00 AM, we intend to make a beeline for that ancient pastry shop at nine when it opens for fresh croissants, cakes, and coffee.

I’ve mumbled a time or two about hotels we’ve so far inhabited in Spain, all local and unique. Which is to say, not members of chain brands. They’ve all been good (safe, comfortable, etc.) and mostly real bargains. All were selected for prime locations so we can walk to the places we want to see (our preference).

In Granada, the Anacapri Hotel bordered on luxury and was a steal at €129 per night for a triple. The staff was excellent, and the central location was ideal. Comfortable beds and pillows, too. The shower didn’t drain properly unless the drain cover was removed; otherwise, the Anacapri was perfect.

Here in Tarifa, the Hostal Alameda is modest, but also ideally located. We can see the ferries to Tangier mooring and departing from here (well, those that aren’t canceled).  Again, very comfortable beds and pillows. The bathroom fixtures are, like the other properties, modern, and the shower pressure is stupendous.

One idiosyncrasy at the Alameda is the sudden and extreme fluctuations in shower water temperature. Suddenly, the temp goes from just right to frigid cold and then to scalding hot. I can confirm that it’s a sure cure for drowsiness.

The Alameda is another good buy at €100/night for a triple.

MORNING OF JANUARY 1

We’re off for morning pastries and coffee before the noon ferry (we hope) to Tangier.

We stayed up until midnight last night to celebrate the arrival of with Spain, marking the occasion with an insipid “champagne” purchased at a local grocery store for €3. It was all they had, the good Cava apparently sold out.

Looking nice in a champagne bottle, the stuff was nothing more than cheap white wine injected with carbon dioxide, a disgusting 20th-century industrial process developed by the Russians. Hence the name required by law on labels of such plonk in America: “Charmat bulk process.”  No matter; a sip or two sufficed to bring in the New Year, along with eating 12 grapes–a uniquely Spanish good luck tradition. The rest went down the drain.

Last night we scoped out the pasteleria and went for croissants and coffee this morning. The fare fell disappointingly short of expectations, so we moved to a working man’s hole-in-the-wall place just down the narrow street to sample their traditional Spanish churro and thick hot chocolate. We hit the jackpot there!

Jam-packed with locals, the Cafeteria Churreria La Palmera owner and his wife cheerfully greeted us while frying up the homemade churro dough on the spot. See photos depicting the cooking procedure.

Our daughter then demonstrates how to enjoy fresh hot churros just out of the fryer dipped into creamy hot chocolate!

AFTERNOON OF JANUARY 1

Inter-Shipping came through on the noon sailing from Tarifa to Tangier with an on-time operation and a cool hydrofoil. We’re nearly there already.

I just hope the return boat operates as scheduled at (6:00 PM). I double-checked before we left and was assured it would, but of course, my trust in their word is flimsy.

Our guide, Bachir, and driver were excellent. They were waiting and met us just outside the ferry exit upon arrival at 1:00 PM from Tarifa. Then took us on a whirlwind tour of the city of Tangier, the Casbah, the Medina, the Cave of Hercules, the gorgeous Atlantic beaches, and the bluffs at the northwest corner of Morocco with great views of ship traffic moving between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic.

Both men were very friendly and helpful. Bachir spoke excellent English and was extremely knowledgeable and an ideal guide, in my opinion. Many thanks to him and to Aziz, owner of VIP Africa, who assigned Bachir to us.

Who knew camels liked beaches? We had no desire, however, to ride one.

In the Medina, we enjoyed hot tea with mint. Ruth and Clara later scarfed down delicious rotisserie chicken accompanied by olive slices and chips at a very popular, very simple local joint with a few stools called Ray Charly. The bites I had of the chicken were heavenly: perfect flavor and cooked to just the right tenderness.

We hoofed it back to the ferry at 4:30 PM to be sure Inter-Shipping was actually operating the 6:00 PM vessel back to Tarifa. It appears to be so, and we are waiting now to board.

My wife and daughter are more sanguine than I about our prospects for floating back to Spain on time. I’ll be relieved to get there only because of Inter-Shipping’s shameless operational failure. I enjoyed Tangier immensely, albeit for just three and a half hours. I’d like to see much more of Morroco.

This was our first visit to Morocco. My impression was modernity and a mixed range of prosperity. With a modicum of money, life could be good here. The trouble is, the middle class appears to be thin, with many Moroccans living at a low-income level. Those at the top look to be fabulously wealthy.

Note the man painting on the rickety scaffold. They must use half the world’s supply of bright white paint here. (I imagine the other half must go to the Greek Islands.)

Including the pollo (chicken) and tea, our tour was under €200 for the half day.

Inter-Shipping did in fact, thank goodness, get us back to Tarifa from Tangier, though an hour late. 

We suffered a miserable voyage due to the passenger cabins, topside and main deck, being fouled with gagging diesel fumes the entire way. Our daughter was nauseous. No idea of the cause, and no explanation or apology. In other words, the kind of thing I’ve come to expect from Inter-Shipping.

When I queried Inter-Shipping personnel about the delay, they huffily rationalized that the ferry had to “wait for late passengers” at Tangier, disregarding the great majority of us who’d responsibly arrived on time. I once again got the big wave-off gesture when I remonstrated them for insensitive, unprofessional operational standards.

As I said, the unhappiness of the late crossing was exacerbated by the diesel fumes. Altogether, a big FU from a poorly run company.

Oh well. The best I can do is to warn the world against ever using Inter-Shipping for passage and to follow my own advice.

EVENING OF JANUARY 1

Struck pay dirt, however, once back in Tarifa. We’d researched two great places to dine tonight. We found the best one, El Puerto, was closed for New Year’s, and the second one was not open Sundays.

Cursing our bad luck, I stopped at a high-end eatery around the corner called El Patio. It wasn’t in our guidebook and appeared to be paired with a classy boutique hotel. Hotel restaurants being often so-so, I was leery. But also hungry and tired. I convinced the head waiter to give us a table despite his initial reluctance.

We had not long warmed our seats before discovering that, once again, our dining had taken a serendipitous turn. El Patio excelled in service and items issued from their kitchen. Turns out its chef has a reputation for sourcing only high-quality local foods, and she does amazing things with the stuff. 

The wine, too, was superb. The first order of business was to get a fine Reserva Rioja poured. That set the right mood.

Pretty soon, in addition to complimentary dishes of green olives, bread, and black olive spread, a most extraordinary bowl of mussels was set before us. I’ve never seen or tasted such fine, fat mussels. We downed the shellfish in a frenzy and then soaked our bread in the remaining Thai lemongrass curry sauce.

The dishes that followed equaled the mussels in savory satisfaction: Ruth’s blue cheese and local greens salad; Clara’s unique red beet hummus, and my sublime filet mignon served with shallots and dolphin potatoes. We shared, but I consumed the majority of the perfectly cooked to medium rare cut of cow.

I chose the beef as an alternative to the marvelous seafood and acorn-fed Iberian ham I’ve regularly sampled along our path so far through Spain. I rarely eat steak and wanted something different tonight. It was a great choice. So good that every bite stimulated me to involuntarily utter yummy sounds.

We had no room for dessert at the end of the meal and left sated and happy, a great way to end the craziness of bestriding two continents on the first day of the year.

Granada’s grandeur surprised me

February 27,

Granada as a destination was selected by my wife and daughter to be included in our post-Christmas Spain and Portugal excursion.  Truth be told, I knew little about the city but was eager to learn.  When I visit a place with little or no expectations, I expect to be charmed a bit.  I didn’t anticipate being dazzled, though, and I was.  I think Granada has done a superb job of joyfully finding its place in the 21st century while retaining old-world elegance and beauty, and paying tribute to its gloried past.

Planning the trip, I’d hoped to go by rail everywhere in Spain and Portugal. We did take a train from Madrid to Barcelona (see my February 7 post), but the route of our itinerary and time limitations necessitated flying from Barcelona to Granada. We had only 24 hours to explore the city. A train would have taken all day, whereas going by air saved two-thirds of that travel day. Domestic fares in Spain were not outrageous at $112 each one way. 

We planned to go next after Granada to the far southern town of Tarifa, the jumping-off place for ferries to Tangier in Morocco, and Tarifa which is not served by direct trains, buses, or flights.  I, therefore, rented a car from Avis at the Granada airport and drove to our hotel located in the ancient medieval section.  Once again I marveled at how accurate Google Maps is for navigating.  It directed me through the maze of twisted streets perfectly.

In no time we arrived at our hotel, the marvelous Anacapri, via the winding narrow streets, all one way and barely wide enough for our small car.  I soon had the rental car safely parked until the following late morning in a remote lot (about $40) because cars are forbidden in the old section of Granada.  By then it was noonish, and we were starving.  Relying once more on advice from locals, we got a table at close-by La Vinoteca restaurant just before the midday meal rush.

Okay, joie de vivre is a French term, not Spanish, but good Lord! Granada residents know how to enjoy life!  As the tables in our room filled, we were swept up in the sheer joy of being alive! So much positive energy!  Our shared experience with Granada patrons was a celebration of humanity. Raucous and loud fun in the best of ways!

Ordering wine for lunch, which I’d never do in Raleigh, I thought to myself: Yes, we’re just eating and drinking our way across Spain.  No apologies. We were on vacation. Sampling local chefs’ cuisine and imbibing the best local vintners have on offer is essential to travel.  Enlivened by such blissful company as that afternoon.

How lucky we are for these experiences. Such grand flavors, surrounded by happy local people. Made us happier, too!

On the menu for us that afternoon:

• Mixed tapas, including foie gras, Iberian ham, lox, caramelized onions, roast duck, and cheese sampler.
• Shared entrees of crisp pork, chopped lamb, and grilled vegetables.
• Another divine red wine from central Spain.

The bill for three came to $103.20. Not cheap, but you only live once.

My friend Jim H. loves Granada. He’s visited three times and wishes he could be reincarnated as a Spaniard or an Italian.  By coincidence, Jim was in Granada the night of 9/11. Here’s what he wrote to me in an as we ate:

“After 9/11, the Spanish reacted by a massive turnout.  A million people marched in Madrid.  My trip was scheduled for that very day, and I changed planes in Madrid and arrived in Granada on that Friday night. I think every living soul was out in the streets.  Amazing. It was a true festival.  I consider it as a high movement for our democratic culture.  Historically, the Alhambra ranks near the top of places to visit; most people in this country [USA] have never heard of it.”

I thought: Amen, Jim.

After the fab lunch, my wife and daughter led us on a grand walk all over the old sections of that magic place. Though photos of the street life and street views of Granada are included here, it’s a tiny sample. Words like joy, tranquility, restful, calm, and peace come to mind. The pictures can’t fully convey the beauty and mood of that wonderful city, but I hope it does a little.

We walked for hours after lunch.

Speaking of the meals we had in Spain and Portugal, each one sounds like a lot of food. However, the three of us shared plates, and most were tapas portions (small plates).

The Alhambra is in the background of some of the photos. We walked up the streets adjacent to the hill on which the Alhambra sits with stellar views of the Moorish castle.

Life in Granada can be sweet for those who appreciate a relaxed lifestyle.

Granada surprised me. I had no idea how gorgeous it is and how friendly its people are.

Snow-covered mountains could be seen in the distance behind the Alhambra.

We returned to rest in our hotel, the marvelous Anacapri, in central Granada.

The following morning we arose early and took a cab up the steep hill to visit what’s called “Generalife” and the palace of Charles V at the Alhambra.

Even months in advance, we couldn’t get tickets to the big-deal Moorish Palazio Nazaries at the Alhambra in Granada. However, we very much enjoyed walking through “Generalife” in the upper section of the compound. It was the gardens for growing food and for rest and relaxation.  There, many water features divert mountain streams to fountains and flowing channels. I found it to be uniquely beautiful.

We also walked through the palatial ruins of the castle of Charles V (boring, I thought) and arrived back at our hotel at about 11:20 AM. We left for Tarifa in the Avis rental car at 11:50 AM.

The drive from Granada to Tarifa took us by the Costa del Sol and Gibraltar in a bit over three hours staying off the toll roads, and we arrived at 3:00 PM. Would have arrived at about 2:30 PM by toll roads.

That half-hour time difference in arriving turned out to be important, as I’ll explain in next week’s post.

Barcelona after 50 years

February 20,

My first and only visit to Barcelona was in June .  Experiencing the city a half-century later, as I did in late December (), made me sorry not to have returned sooner and often.  The place rocks with vitality, charm, and sophistication.  The quality of life in the Catalonian capital is matchless.

Arriving by train, my wife, daughter, and I figured out the ticketing machine for the metro to take us from the Sants station to the stop closest to our hotel facing Plaza Catalunya.  Thanks to the ease and accuracy of Google Walk on our phones, we were soon oriented and quickly found the Hotel Ginebra.  (Nothing is more disorienting to me than walking up above ground from a metro station and trying to figure out where I am and in which direction I need to go.)

First impressions

Barcelona has the same high energy as Madrid, but a different, difficult-to-describe character.  To get acquainted with the city, we walked many miles the first day after arriving at midday on the train from Madrid.  Barcelona’s metro area has 4.2 million people, a million short of the 5.2 million who live in the Madrid area. 

Temps were cool but not cold since arriving in Spain on December 26, with the 40s-50s F. in Madrid and ten degrees warmer in Barcelona.  It stayed mostly sunny and fine until after New Year’s Day.

Hotel Ginebra

Planning the trip, I’d booked the Ginebra for its central location since we prefer to walk everywhere.  Its location overlooking Plaza Catalunya was ideal.

Hotel Ginebra is a modest hotel with just eighteen rooms.  It styles itself as a boutique and prices accordingly.  Expensive, I thought, at $208/night for a 3-bed family room.  The location and great staff, though, made it worth the price.  They spoke multiple languages and offered good advice.  Free laundry, too.

The Ginebra was quiet (thick walls); we never heard other guests.  Great bathroom, although the shower heads were poorly placed.  The beds were comfortable (1 queen, 1 single), and the hot water radiator worked all too well.  Our room (310) had a small desk and chair.  Good lighting.  Free, fast wifi with a strong signal. Adequate and well-placed electrical outlets for charging our phones.

Given it was the week of nonstop celebration between Christmas and New Year’s, we weren’t surprised that the street was noisy until around 11:00 PM every night four floors down. 

Leaving the city two days later we were pleased to discover that the hotel was conveniently across Plaza Catalunya from the Aerobus main stop to BCN Airport.  We loved the little hotel and will stay again when we return to Barcelona.

Eating

Meals I’ve already praised to the heavens in my post last week.  Contrary to expectations, we ate at typical American times. Sure, Spanish dining begins in earnest at 9:00 PM and goes to the wee hours, but our fabulous dinner I reported on in last week’s post began at 6:30 PM, and we weren’t alone at that hour. The Botofumeiro restaurant was crowded by 8:00 PM. We dined at 7:00 PM the second night.

Walking along Passeig de Gracie

Bustling, beautiful Barcelona felt less accessible on foot than Madrid.  A bit dirtier, too, though that didn’t spoil the fun.  Walking around after getting unpacked, we passed two famous Gaudi-designed buildings on the nearby Passeig de Gracie (Casa Batlló and La Pedrera-Casa Milà). Distinctive Gaudi lampposts line Passeig de Gracie, which is Barcelona’s Fifth Avenue.

Walking the Ramblas

Going the other direction from our hotel, Las Ramblas is a long walking mall that stretches from Plaza Catalunya to the harbor.  As I said, we walked everywhere, and Spanish cities, like most in Europe, are set up well for pedestrians and bikers.

Picasso Museum

In the Gothic Quarter (winding narrow medieval-era streets typical of the oldest parts of European cities), which we walked to via the Ramblas.  Over 300 original works by Pablo Picasso trace his artistry from a youth (born ). His father recognized and nurtured Picasso’s talent from boyhood. The photos here give only a tiny flavor of what the museum holds. Highly recommended.

Chocolate Museum (Museu de la Xocolata)

Near the Picasso Museum in the Gothic Quarter and is definitely worth the quick, cheap tour.  Has to be the world’s best without a doubt, just as our New Orleans friend Jane opined when she recommended we stop there.

Gaudi-designed Güell Park

The second morning there, we grabbed a cab (€10) from the Hotel Ginebra in order to get to the distant Güell Park quickly, but we walked from there to Gaudi’s most famous work, Sagrada Familia cathedral, after lunch near the park.

The park is lovely and the Gaudi architecture appealing, including his three crosses at the pinnacle of the hilly terrain. But, as our friend Mark warned, it’s easy to get “Gaudi-ed out” in Barcelona. By the time we left the park, I could see how that might happen.

Noisy buskers and distracting vendors distract from the natural beauty at Güell Park after paying €10 to get in.

Sagrada Familia cathedral

Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral has been under construction for 140 years (since ).  It’s now in the final phase, expected to be fully completed by or .

I first saw it in on my previous visit to Barcelona. Even in summer, hardly anyone was here, and I just walked in (no fences or €26 per person charges). To me, then and now, Sagrada Familia looked like giant chocolate ice cream cones melting in the sun.

I recall it looking more open and skeletal in than now. No doubt fifty years of work enclosed it. The structure was utterly unique to my eyes, nothing like my memory of it.

Barcelona is dominated by Gaudi designs, and we had nearly reached our limit.

We weren’t able to get to the Miro Museum or to the Tapies Museum, but we will be back.

Mercats

Mercats with fresh meats and fish abound in Barcelona, as do pastry and bread shops everywhere on the streets. We never tire of traipsing through, gawking at the wondrous foods available. I’d be shopping in one of the many excellent mercats every day if I lived in Barcelona!  Why don’t we have something like this in Raleigh?

Two days and nights in Barcelona were enough to make me want to return sooner than another fifty years hence.  It was great to see the sights again, but the city’s vibe alone makes it a great place just to hang out and partake of the joyous Catalonian lifestyle.

Bravura Madrid & Barcelona dining

February 13,

Before heading off to Spain and Portugal right after Christmas, my wife and I did our homework on places to chow down.  Both countries have high reputations for scrumptious victuals, and we scoured the Internet, guidebooks, and NYT foodie travel columns for recommendations.  We also begged well-heeled Iberian travelers and locals for advice.  Once there, we had no bad meals, but in Madrid and Barcelona, we lucked out with three moonshot feasting experiences.

MADRID

Having arrived in Madrid the day after Christmas, we found long queues stretching down the sidewalks at every entrance to our first choices in restaurants.  Our initial meal in Spain, therefore, wasn’t the finest, but it set the stage for the three great ones to come.

We wangled a mid-afternoon table at La Gloria de Montera Restaurante tucked away on a side street not far from our hotel. Not the maximum, but it would do, I thought. After a relatively short 40-minute wait, we were shown to our table and partook of Iberian ham and truffled porcini mushroom risotto washed down with an excellent vintage Cava.  It was a good beginning to Spanish dining which we would soon surpass the following evening.

Restaurante Puerto Rico was our first of the three great meals. The modest little place was just three quick rights from our hotel on the side street of a side street and well-known to locals. We were lucky to get in with a short wait just before 8:00 PM that December 27th night. It’s not fancy, and we got the best red wine on the menu for €13 (modest and unassuming, yet highly drinkable).

But the dishes, oh! Puerto Rico has kept the same menu for 40 years, and after dining there, I can’t see why ever change it.

Depicted first are the Manchego cheese and aged Iberian ham (Jamón Ibérico, from pigs, fattened on acorns known as “bellota”), both absolutely perfect in flavor. If only we could source such heavenly cheese and ham in Raleigh. Certainly, excellent quality Spanish Manchego and Spanish ham such as Serrano are available in North Carolina, though those products pale by comparison to what we tasted that night. Nothing, NOTHING compares to the delicate, melt-in-your-mouth flavor of Jamón Ibérico de Bellota!

The second photo is of a delectable Pulpo A La Gallega (octopus). Its elusive taste was not trampled by excess garlic, butter, or tomato. Rather, the tender sections of octo arms were carefully prepared using an ancient recipe to highlight the subtleties of flavor unique to that marine creature.

Altogether, the night’s dining experience was a testament to the high standards of food purveyors vying to sate the superior palates of all Spaniards, not just the elite. This establishment is and always has been an everyman place, not a joint with a rep for haute cuisine.   

The bill came to €68 (about $70), all in. Except for the wine, the meal was easily worth twice that.

BARCELONA

Before our first night’s meal in Barcelona at Botafumeiro, if anyone had told me that I’d ever uncomplainingly pay over five bucks for a single sardine and then scarf down three more at the same price per tiny fish, I’d scoff at the absurdity. Yet I did, and I only regret consuming just four of those exquisitely-flavored Mediterranean anchovies.

Trying the dish was an act of faith that the fine restaurant would offer up an ethereal taste experience. After all, the anchovy starter was proudly positioned at the top of the menu. I figured it wasn’t a clearance item they wanted to get out of the kitchen.

It was a good decision. I recall thinking that nothing I could eat afterward could surpass the fabulous flavors of those little fish.

I was wrong.  The aged Iberian ham (Jamón Ibérico de Bellota) listed second among the Botofumeiro starters was just as delicious, rivaling the scrumptious pig we had consumed the previous evening at the modest Madrid joint lauded by locals.

All washed down by a Catalonian Rioja (Vina-Ardanza) with the deep red look and flavor of a first-growth Bordeaux.  The wine was among the top I’ve ever had the luck to enjoy (my wife felt the same, and even our nondrinking daughter didn’t think it was horrible). And yet at a bargain price (€54, or about $57). Considering restaurant wine markups, I was astonished at the value for money. The wine was easily worth three or four times what we paid. I’d buy cases to consume at home if I could get the same bottle in Raleigh.

Botafumeiro specializes in seafood, and we sampled their bill of fare with a sublime seabass (pictured), a turbot, and scallops. Resulting in clean plates after eating with gusto.

The interior of the establishment itself is styled in a traditional oaky elegance that could have come across as snooty in another restaurant had it not been accompanied by a genuine warmth by the legion of smiling and knowledgeable staff waiting upon us. We felt welcomed and well-served from start to finish.

Apparently, many luminaries enjoy the place, too, judging by the photos on the wall in the bar area—Bill Clinton, Samuel L. Jackson, and Euro soccer stars among them.

But that’s not the reason to go to Botafumeiro. It’s the food, the wine, and the great service.

It was a splurge at around $275 for three all in, $200 more than the previous night in Madrid at the Restaurante Puerto Rico.  But well worth it, our second of three great meals!

When traveling and unfamiliar with a city, I often find befriending locals yields optimal advice on good places to eat. For our next evening’s Barcelona repast, the young guys who staff the front desk at Hotel Ginebra were enthusiastic in recommending the El Xampanyet, open since (Carrer de Montcada, 22), as an outstanding restaurant serving excellent Basque cuisine.

The fellows at our hotel kindly phoned to attempt reservations but were told it’s first come, first served. We were warned that getting in that night would be “complicated” (the translation meaning “real busy with a long wait”).

The hole-in-the-wall place is quite small and only steps away from the Picasso Museum. It’s only open - (7:00-11:00 PM). My wife, daughter, and I decided unanimously to give it try, vowing to go there directly after visiting the nearby chocolate museum, a 5-minute walk.

We arrived early about 6:45 PM to find a queue had already formed. At 7:00 PM the proprietor opened and assigned tables. We got the very last table, way in the back by the kitchen.

What luck! El Xampanyet is charming in the old traditional style. A far cry from the refinement of the previous night’s fine dining atmosphere, El Xampanyet is a classic, ancient bistro echoing early twentieth-century style, friendliness, and warmth. Not to mention ethereal cuisine, but I’ll get to that.

The photos here depict the ambiance and authenticity. Photos of our many superb dishes next!

El Xampanyet was heavy on tapas over entrees. That suited us, and in that spirit, we ordered a liberal assortment of comestibles:

• Cheese plate
• Muscles (the sole entrée)
• Iberian ham (Jamón Ibérico de Bellota, the essential delectable starter at every Spanish meal)
• Garbanzo beans with eggplants, tomatoes & peppers
• Anchovies (as enjoyed the previous evening)
• Bread with pureed tomatoes & olive oil
• Whole pimentos stuffed with cheese
• Outstanding house white wine
• Buttery, flaky pastries with Catalonian cream filling (called milhojas)
• To-die-for chocolate truffles with salt & olive oil

La cuenta (the check) came to $95.82 after conversion from Euros, including the very good, slightly effervescent white wine (just €13 for the bottle, a tremendous bargain). Everybody around us was drinking the same vino.

Our waitress was enthusiastic, very helpful, prompt, and happy. She clearly enjoyed her work and made our occasion more fun. We left a cash gratuity in appreciation.

I’ve run out of superlatives to describe the marvelous Spanish foods we’ve been so fortunate to have titillated our palates three nights running. Suffice it to say the conviviality, charm, service, and bona fide goodness of our meal at El Xampanyet that night was another spectacular, unforgettable experience. Even with many great eateries to choose from in Raleigh, we sorely miss those three magnificent restaurants.

Unremarkable fast train Madrid-Barcelona

February 7,

One day during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, I boarded a Spanish AVE high-speed train in Madrid bound for Barcelona. As an aficionado of rail travel everywhere, but especially in Europe, I anticipated the trip with relish. My first impressions of the Siemans AVE trainset, however, were a bit of a letdown: Austere relative to the more stylish Italian Frecciarossa sets, with 1-2 seat configuration. The seats, in my opinion, were set too close together for a business class.

Clean, at least. Probably okay, I reckoned, for the hourly shuttle service operated between the two big Spanish cities. But the Italians run similar services with more elegant and comfortable equipment.

Right away I noticed that the AVE seats were hard and oddly short. Noticeably uncomfortable to me, though my wife and daughter thought the chairs were adequate.

We left Madrid Atocha station 6 minutes late at 8:36 AM. The ride was initially smooth, and we were soon doing 300 kph (186 mph).

Masks were mostly worn as required by Spanish law (until March ). A few scofflaws were observed who blatantly ignored crew instructions to mask up. They appeared to be Spanish businessmen.

Interior temperature was comfortable at departure but gradually declined to quite chilly approaching Barcelona. We all donned our jackets and zipped them up tight as if outside. Not pleasant.

The ride also worsened to the point that it was nearly impossible to stand and walk. My wife and I awkwardly stumbled up two cars to the cafe car, holding on tightly as we went.

The cafe car was especially ascetic with only rails along the walls to hold to (no seats or tables). There was a big empty space in the center where tables might have been. When I attempted to photograph it, I was admonished. No pictures are allowed on Spanish trains, they said. Too late to learn that, I thought. I’d already taken pictures while boarding, as posted here. The atmosphere felt as cold as the interior air, and I became discouraged from ordering any food or drink.

I also noticed that the coach car seating was configured 2-2 with the same seats as our business class, just four across (narrower aisles) and slightly closer together. Altogether odd, I thought.

We arrived at Barcelona Sants station on time at 11:15 AM. It was one of the few trains of my life that I was happy to have ended.

Compared to SNCF and the Italian operators, which in my experience combine style with speed and efficiency, Renfe feels focused almost exclusively on engineering, with only a slight nod to creature comfort. I don’t hear Spanish train riders complaining, however. The stations in Madrid (Atocha) and Barcelona (Sants) had the same minimalist air. No flair.

Overall, I was not impressed with the AVE train aside from meeting the advertised schedule. Okay as a speedy bus on rails, I guess, and maybe that’s all it needs to be.

Madrid first impressions

February 6,

Fifty years ago I spent a few days in Barcelona and Pamplona, but despite traveling the globe many times since, I never got back to Spain.  I made up for that dearth of the Iberian experience by taking my wife and daughter to Spain and Portugal for two weeks over New Year’s.

We first landed in Madrid.  After a quick walk to the long taxi queue, we zipped downtown to our hotel in a Tesla (€30 fixed price from the airport). Our driver expertly pushed the limits of the electric car both on the highways leading to the city and navigating heavy city street traffic.

The Hostal Acapulco came recommended by Rick Steves. It’s on the 4th floor of a nondescript building very close to Gran Via, the Fifth Avenue of Madrid, and within easy walking distance of everything in Madrid. Our very comfortable room (above) had 4 single beds, a bathroom with a tub and shower (even a bidet), a private balcony, a closet, and a desk. Well-lit, too, with ample receptacles for rechargers. The small front desk area was staffed 24/7 by knowledgeable and friendly folks. A bonus was the building’s ancient birdcage elevator (below)!  All that charm and comfort for a mere €84/night for the triple room.

I feel foolish having fretted that Madrid would be dead downtown on the day after Christmas. On the contrary, foot traffic was congested like the busiest day at the North Carolina State Fair combined with the Chinese New Year celebration in Hong Kong. Meaning wall-to-wall crowds everywhere. I worried no restaurants would be open; instead, every place was slinging hash (well, Madrid versions) with long lines snaking down sidewalks.

After an invigorating saunter down the famous Gran Via, we settled on a superb place to dine which I’ll describe in a separate post on memorable lunches and dinners in Spain.

Madrid rocks! By evening we had only been there for nine hours, and I already felt like this great city was an old, dear friend. I didn’t have the foggiest idea of what to expect before stepping out of the cab at 1:00 PM.

As much time as I spent living, working, and traveling in Europe during various periods starting in , I don’t know how I missed getting to know Madrid. Especially since I lived in Munich and Brussels in -76 and in the U.K. in -80. No matter. I soon made up for the lost time in that great city.

As noted, I was quite surprised on the day after Christmas by how vibrant and alive we found the central business district with throngs of densely packed Madrid residents (called Madrileño and Madrileña) enjoying life with enviable zest and verve.

At 6:00 PM we walked 20 minutes from Central Madrid and managed to get into the Reina Sofia Museum with no waiting (€12 for my wife, free to me and our daughter as an old guy and a college student). It was open until 9:00 PM.  We were anxious to see it despite being travel-weary. We feasted on paintings by Picasso, Miro, Dali, and many other astonishing modernist artists. One could spend days in the wonderful Reina Sofia and still not absorb it all.  Picasso’s Guernica painting alone is worth an hour of contemplation. We were too exhausted to stay long, but the experience was nonetheless memorable.

It helped that Reina Sofia exhibited all the art there hanging with a perfection I’ve never before experienced. Real pros who run that gallery. I never realized how the right size rooms and masterful displays could heighten the experience.

On leaving at 7:30 PM we were amazed to find a queue of hundreds waiting to get in with only 90 minutes before closing.

Walking back to and through downtown, we were again energized by the tens of thousands enjoying the chilly evening beauty of Madrid city life. What a place, pulsing with life!

The following morning we stopped for a working man’s breakfast at a tiny, modest cafe next door to the hotel (pictured). Four robust coffees (I drank two cups) and four large, filling pastries (including churros) set us back $10.95. Quite a bargain anywhere.

We then waited in an interminable queue to enter the royal palace, a highlight of Madrid. With 2,800 rooms to explore, we hoped to complete the palace walking tour by June (this was late December).

I admit I’m not much on seeing palaces anywhere, but especially not in Europe. They are all amazing, but I got castled out in the s when I lived in Munich and Brussels and worked all over the continent (except the Iberian peninsula and Scandinavia).  But Madrid’s royal palace is astonishing! Now I know why Rick Steves devoted a bunch of pages in his Madrid section to this monstrous pile of rocks. My wife was right: definitely worth the 90-minute wait in the queue.

Most of the photos here were taken “legally” though I got yelled at in a few rooms, such as in the royal armory (the horse picture). I can’t add much so will let the photos suffice.

If you are in Madrid, GO! But buy tickets in advance online.

One picture is of the bowling alley-length royal table that expands to seat 144 (with the king and queen chairs slightly elevated).

I offered to buy one of the gaudy gilded swan-head chairs but was rudely rebuffed. Disappointed. It would look great in the foyer.

The last palace photo is a rare “crazy Will” (so I’m called) selfie taken in a giant mirror in the “Grandee Room” just outside the Throne Room. I did feel a bit grand just standing there looking, well, crazy.

This 2,800-room palace makes Biltmore House in Asheville with its sad 250 rooms look like a pauper’s shack.

The Hyatt Centric Hotel is a half block from our hotel on the Gran Via. Little doubt the room rates there are multiples of what we’re paying.

One pix is of the fanciest McDonald’s facade I’ve yet seen. Then the final picture of a nearby side street lit up grandly for Christmas, as is all of Madrid.

The next morning we boarded a Renfe AVE high-speed train at 8:30 AM for two nights in Barcelona, which I’ll describe next week.

Delta sends me a gift

February 2,

Out of the blue (literally and figuratively), UPS delivered this to me today (see pictures below) from Delta Air Lines to thank me for being a Five Million Miler.

Actually, it’s now 5,474,209 miles, but who’s counting?

The strange gift brought a number of questions to mind. I wondered why it took 27 years for Delta to acknowledge becoming a Five Million Miler. I don’t have a clue.

Also, I hadn’t realized that I reached that milestone so long ago. I was then 48 years old. Delta might wonder why by now I have not flown at least 6 million miles, or even 8 or 9 million.

The answer, I realize, is two-fold: First, about that time () Delta started making program mileage more difficult to accumulate, and, second, I began to spread my flying to other carriers. Meaning on airlines that flew direct to where I needed to go rather than connected through hubs.

Over time, ticket prices also became a factor in not flying exclusively on Delta. Fares were often cheaper on other airlines. I have to admit as well that when Delta’s complimentary upgrades to the front cabin dried up, I was less inclined to book DL even when fares were competitive.

Actually, I prefer to fly Delta. But the fare difference now is usually stark. Which is why I used United to fly with my family to Spain right after Christmas.

And why I will be taking two folks to the Kruger National Park in South Africa, and then to Cape Town, in late February using United’s nonstop from Newark. Those three tickets could have been on Delta, but the Premium Economy fare difference was $800 each when booked, so a no-brainer.

In late March my wife and I will spend a couple of days in Manhattan to celebrate milestone birthdays and then fly to Thailand. I bought Premium Economy tickets on Singapore Airlines to Bangkok via the carrier’s namesake city-state (JFK/SIN is an 18.5 hour nonstop). That, too, is lost revenue for Delta and its partners because their fares were not in the ballpark by nearly a grand each.

In I think I flew Delta twice, and only domestically. So far in I have nothing booked on Delta, my favorite airline (for being the least-worst, but, still, it IS the least bad of a sorry lot), thus the slow creep up to 6 million miles.

The large plaque is a nice thank-you, and I appreciate it. I wish, instead, they’d just given me several first-class upgrades.

As it is, I am incensed that the fancy box this thing came in didn’t include hanging hardware!

Home from Europe the hard way

January 30,

After two weeks in Spain and Portugal over the New Year holiday, the time came for my wife, daughter, and me to fly home from Madrid. I’d booked a bargain fare in Premium Economy on United and two of its European partners, Brussels Airlines and Lufthansa.  The trouble was, getting back to Raleigh (RDU Airport) meant flying Madrid to Frankfurt, there connecting to a Lufthansa 747 over the pond to Washington Dulles, and then on a UA rinky-dink plane to RDU.  Considering how snarled both humongous FRA and congested IAD airports can be, I wondered if we’d make it.  But we did, with surprising ease.

Last week I wrote about the MAD/FRA flight.  After arriving at a hard stand on the Frankfurt Airport tarmac and boarding a bus for the trek to the terminal, it took 40 minutes of continuous walking from somewhere at FRA Concourse B to arrive at gate Z69.

Along the way, we hit an immigration screen where officials stamped our passports. It was very quick and efficient, with no queues.

However, we encountered one escalator and a very long moving sidewalk out of service, something I don’t expect from efficient Germans. Times have changed since such breakdowns wouldn’t be tolerated in Germany.  Not so long ago someone would have been fired for any delayed repairs.

What airport except Frankfurt has a “Z” concourse?  What’s next, AA through ZZ?

We need not have rushed.  The gate agents at Z69 announced boarding would be late due to “aircraft not ready” though it looked fine sitting there, a 787-8. Again, I thought, it must be incompetence by Lufthansa, shocking to me. Any delay potentially jeopardized our close connection at Dulles to United.  It was then nearly 12:30 PM and the scheduled departure was 12:55 PM. We’d never make that departure time, I realized.

Gate personnel was busy offering upgrades to Business from Premium Economy for $319 and from Economy for $429. And upgrades from Business to First, but I didn’t get that cost.

Long queues began to form waiting to board, but LH personnel seems blasé about the ticking away of time and our connection conundrum.

Boarding finally began for disabled folks and families with children at 12:34 PM.  I was mistakenly IDed as aged and decrepit and beckoned forth to board early. I didn’t argue.

Lufthansa’s Premium Economy 747 seats were quite comfortable.  Strangely, the airline sandwiched a small economy section between Business Class and Premium Economy.

In my seatback pocket, I found a set of cheap economy earplugs that worked better than expected.

Doors closed at 1:12 PM, and the Captain claimed the flight would be on time arriving Dulles despite the delayed boarding.  However, we sat at the gate and didn’t push back until 1:23 PM.  The Captain didn’t make further comment.  I guessed we would be 20-30 mins behind schedule, which was avoidable. I’m sure the 747-8 could have made up time had LH wanted, but that didn’t happen.

The two mediocre tray meals en route are not worth describing. However, the cabin crew was super nice, all very senior.

Beyond the bigger Premium Economy seats, Lufthansa didn’t seem to care much about differentiating its PE product in a distinct cabin. At least not on that aircraft. As I said, the Premium Economy rows were simply positioned between Economy rows. It looked to me like the food and beverage service was also identical. I didn’t care enough to ask.

Still, I’m glad we were on Lufthansa and not United. I can’t get over my dislike of United. Delta’s not that great, either. They just suck less and treat me better because of my DL Lifetime Platinum status.

Flying over the North Atlantic Ocean, I mused that I’d be happy if we got home on time. Or even late. UA’s operation doesn’t inspire confidence. We were flying United simply because the PE fare was such a bargain. I’m not saying I wouldn’t make the same decision again.

Despite being 25 minutes late to Dulles, and being on a 747 seated over the wing halfway back on the plane, and having to ride one of those stupid, ancient Dulles “mobile gates” (and being stuck at the rear), we zoomed through immigration thanks to Global Entry. Then got stuck by slow UA gate agents who couldn’t figure out how to print our IAD/RDU boarding passes. Then got stuck again at the TSA screen despite being Pre by incompetent agents who wanted to check and test everything we had. Yet we STILL got to gate C24 for UA to RDU by 6:07 PM, and boarding didn’t begin until 6:20 PM.

My wife and I both (inexplicably) got upgraded to first class, though our daughter did not. Maybe because we bought premium economy tickets?  I don’t know.  But I enjoyed the G&T I ordered on board the E170 just the same.

And, best of all, the flight was on time to Raleigh.  Madrid to Frankfurt to Dulles to Raleigh, and all good service with connections made. Such schedule reliability should be a yawner, but of course it’s a bloody miracle these days when it happens.

Four intra-European flights

January 23,

On vacation to Spain and Portugal with my wife and daughter from late December to early January, I was on four domestic flights in Europe operated by three European airlines through six airports (Brussels/Madrid on Brussels Airlines, Barcelona/Granada on Iberia, Lisbon/Madrid on Iberia, and Madrid/Frankfurt on Lufthansa). The experiences ranged from okay measured by schedule reliability to marginal/tolerable by standards of comfort and service.

Brussels to Madrid on Brussels Airlines

Wow! Arriving from Washington Dulles to BRU Airport at Zaventum was a revelation.  I often worked in this airport for a year and a half -76 when I managed a student charter flight business.  It sure has changed for the better: now modern and puts Dulles to shame.

After a brisk 20-minute walk from the United flight to the A concourse gates (Schengen country gates), our passports were stamped but no additional security screen, a blessing. We had time to make a stop or two for water at free refill stations and at lavs.  The Brussels Airport A concourse was open, modern, and bright, a welcome contrast to the dingy dungeon feeling of Dulles Airport.

The milk run to MAD Airport was an A320 in an all-coach configuration. First two rows were designated “priority” which is the Euro form of domestic first class. Still economy seats, but center seats aren’t assigned.

The flight was full. Scarce overhead space ensued, and the flight fell behind schedule by 25+ minutes leaving but made up most of that in flight.

Despite booking a premium economy fare, no special boarding or seat assignments for us on that flight. We were in 20DEF behind the wing. The absence of “premium” was no problem; it was adequate to get there. I was, though, surprised that the PE fare basis code was meaningless. 

It was a cramped and uncomfortable flight to Madrid. The seats did not recline.

My first impression of the MAD Airport was of enormity. Our flight taxied well past a gigantic modern terminal to a hard stand (no jetway) on the tarmac apron adjacent to a much older terminal. We deplaned via airstairs and were transferred to the building aboard a bus. 

A quick walk to the long taxi queue and we zipped downtown to our hotel in a Tesla (€30 fixed price from the airport). Our driver expertly pushed the limits of the electric car both on the highways leading to the city and navigating heavy city street traffic.

Barcelona to Granada on Iberia

We chose the “Aerobus” which left from the central square across from our hotel to get to BCN.  It cost about $6 each and left every 5 minutes and was 35-45 minutes to the airport in the early morning.

Barcelona Airport is new and modern, again making me think of the sad state of IAD and EWR airports back home.

I’d booked us on Vueling, Iberia’s LCC (low-cost carrier), an A320 to Granada.  It was another milk run like the Brussels Airlines flight.  Check-in was not required because I had printed our boarding passes weeks before at home, something U.S. carriers can’t do.  We proceeded immediately through the security screen.

My Priority Pass app showed four BCN lounges: 1 landslide and 3 airside (1 international, 1 for the Madrid-Barcelona shuttle, 1 for domestic and Schengen).  We found the Priority Pass VIP Pau Casals Lounge for our domestic (intra-Spain) flight.

Vueling boarded 40 minutes early in strict groups 1, 2, and 3 (front to back).  We were Group 3 (row 6)

I was scolded for having a roller bag that my fare apparently didn’t include, but the gate agent took pity on me and checked it for free.

I discovered plenty of roller bags on board, presumably belonging to customers who had paid for them.  It wasn’t clear. 

Rows 1-4 were designated “premium” and supposedly had extra legroom that was not obvious to me.  A school basketball team of young girls was assigned most of those seats. 

The full flight buttoned up 10 minutes early and pushed back 6 minutes early.  The plane was clean and well-kept and staffed by an efficient, friendly cabin crew who offered zero service on the 1 hour, 15-minute flight (anyway, everything was for sale per the seatback menu, just like in the USA now).

The chairs didn’t recline, not even the premium seats in rows 1-3.  Very tight seat pitch (I’m short, yet my knees brushed the seat in front).  The “Airbus” name is appropriate for such barebones service.

Disembarkation at Granada Airport was strictly by rows, 5 at the time.  We walked from the tarmac to the ancient small terminal where I retrieved my bag after a long wait.

Despite the Spartan comfort and service, I give Iberia (Vueling) high marks for operational efficiency and the customer-facing staff a lot of smiles and great attitudes.

Lisbon to Madrid on Iberia

Lisbon Airport has a reputation for being inefficient, even chaotic, though until that morning I’d never been through it, in or out. Arrivals are said to be particularly unpredictable, with long delays for inbound international passengers.

One observer warned that departing LIS can also be miserable and to arrive four hours ahead.

I figured it couldn’t be THAT bad for an early morning departure (ours was at 7:45 AM), but we still arose at 4:15 AM with the aim to get a taxi at 5:00 AM. I calculated we’d then be at the airport by 5:30 AM, just over two hours before our flight was scheduled.

Careful planning is my mantra, so here’s the full detail of today’s flight experience. I typically observe and record these and other operational elements, perhaps because I spent a career critiquing and improving business processes for over 50 clients:

Left the hostel in the Lisbon Rossio train station at 5:01 AM.

No taxi at stands where long lines had been the day before and where I has been assured by drivers that taxis would be there “24/7”.

Nervously called Central Taxi, the company that had given me a card yesterday (which I’d held onto just in case).

A cab came in 3 minutes. Probably not the one I called, but we claimed it and hopped in.

€15 to the airport. I gave the driver €20 in appreciation.

Arrived at LIS Airport at 5:26 AM (25 minutes, including wait time).

No staff arrived at the Iberia Airlines counters to check my bag until 5:45 AM. Waiting seemed much longer. Airport was swarming with throngs of travelers.

Got to the head of the queue at 6:05 AM. I’d checked in online but still had to show passports to get printed boarding passes that had already been sent to me as PDFs.

Checked my Hartmann roller bag only because Iberia had told me that the fare I paid didn’t allow two carry-on pieces, (I also carry a small backpack).

Joined Boarding Gates queue for security screening at 6:08 AM, through at 6:26 AM. Didn’t seem too fussy about liquids and no removal of shoes or belts.

Gate S14 on N concourse was posted, finally, at 645a. Took 9 minutes to walk there.

Boarding began in groups at 7:05 AM, but why? All boarding groups crowded onto the same bus to go to a remote stand (no jetway again).

We were in Group 2 for seats 8DEF.

The bus was packed-out, totally full (a Covid virus propagation dreamland), and lingered at the terminal until 7:13 AM; arrived at our plane on the ramp at 7:18 AM.

Boarded via airstairs in the rain. Seated 7:21 AM for a 7:45 AM departure.

I noticed once more that so-called “Premium” class seats in the first four rows are the same 3-3 across economy seats as the rest of the plane, except the center seats were left open. I dislike this Euro model of domestic first class. Feels like a cheat.

Premium customers are apparently able to bring on two bags (my fare specifically forbade more than one, which is why, as I said, I checked the Hartmann).

The Iberia A-320-Neo airplane was clean to my eyes.

Buttoned up at 7:44 AM. Few empty premium seats and fewer still in the back, if any.

Noted again that the seats do not recline.

Altogether, I was relieved to get to the airplane in time to make the flight, but wasn’t impressed with Lisbon Airport and would avoid it in the future based on undue stress alone unless in Business Class. Even then, I don’t know if it’s worth it. But our economy fare of $121 each was a bargain, I thought.

No time whatsoever to go to a Priority Pass Club lounge because Iberia check-in didn’t begin until too late.

Zero service en route, as previous two intra-Euro flights.

Landed MAD at 10:17 AM (9:17 AM Lisbon time) and at the gate at 10:21 AM.

Passports were not checked on entry to Portugal or exiting from Portugal via the Lisbon Airport. That’s due to Portugal and Spain being among the 27 Schengen countries in Europe that have open internal borders.

MAD (Madrid Airport) modern terminals are enormous. The airport train from our arrival concourse to baggage claim felt like a longer ride than the one we took the day before from Lisbon to Sintra in the Portuguese countryside.

My bag was finally retrieved at 11:01 AM, 40 minutes after gate arrival. Totally wasted daylight. That’s one reason I never check luggage.

The men’s lav in the humongous luggage retrieval area had only four toilets. Three were out of order or had no paper. Disgusting, and did not jive with the gleaming modernity of the Madrid airport.

I again paid the €30 flat rate taxi into Madrid from the airport, not the €18 bargain of the Barcelona Aerobus (for the three of us).

Madrid to Frankfurt on Lufthansa

LH from Madrid to Frankfurt was scheduled to depart at 8:30 AM from gate E71, so my Lufthansa app informed me.  We left central Madrid in a taxi that arrived promptly at Hotel Europa at exactly 6:00 AM.   

Due to stoplights and traffic, it took until 6:10 AM just to clear the central city, but then only ten more minutes to reach MAD Terminal 2 which Lufthansa uses.

There we joined a long queue at 6:22 AM to check in with LH. Only 2 economy counters were open. Also a “Fast Bag Drop” counter, Business Class, and First Class. No Premium Economy for us.

I asked at the Business Class counter and was brusquely told that PE is Economy, stupid, so get in the Economy queue. Gate agents encounter so many stupid flyers that I couldn’t fault his flared temper and bad attitude.

With no bag to check, all we needed were boarding passes.  LH wouldn’t let me check in online even after painstakingly entering all the data they demanded. But no way to get boarding passes printed without standing in line.

After 25 minutes, we reached a counter. The gate agent said she couldn’t give me boarding passes for the last leg on United IAD/RDU “because it’s a foreign airline” as if the longtime UA/LH Star Alliance partnership didn’t exist. I considered whether a Spanish contractor at a remote airport (Madrid)  might not be trained to know. Certainly, her systems didn’t. I resigned myself to keeping quiet and getting United passes at IAD. A pain and unnecessary inefficiency.

Getting through security was a breeze. No lines and no need to go shoeless or beltless or to remove liquids, after which it was a 12-minute walk to E71.

Figuring this final (of the four) intra-European flights would, like the rest, not offer onboard service, we stopped at the Priority Pass Club lounge across the concourse at E69 for 30 minutes. The lounge had a decent selection of food and drink.

Wish I’d gone down early, though, to stand in the “Boarding Group 3” line, which was quite long by the time we joined.  Since we had paid for Premium Economy and were assigned primo seats 7ABC right behind the dumbed-down Euro version of first class, I wondered why we weren’t in group 2.  A mystery.

Once again we all crammed onto a bus to be driven to a plane parked remotely on the tarmac. So why have any boarding groups at all? The differentiation becomes meaningless using buses.

We missed the first bus, so we were joined by the Cro-Magnons and Neanderthals of Boarding Groups 4 and 5 on the next bus.

Choosing a side door to rush out of on such a bus is always a crapshoot. We guessed wrong and had to slug it out with slower travelers when we reached the plane in order to improve our chances of boarding sooner. By then I was very worried about accommodating our carryon.

Finally reaching our row, we found just enough overhead available for every piece. All the stress from check-in to boarding on this United partner reminded me why I prefer to fly either in Business Class on United or on a SkyTeam partner which affords me a special check-in counter and priority boarding.

Lufthansa buttoned up by 8:30 AM (scheduled departure time) and got off the ground by 8:56 AM, which should have had us landing at about 11:00 AM, which would have been on time.

We streaked across the heavens northeast in the direction of Frankfurt. There we had a short connection of 75 minutes to navigate the enormous airport to reach our Lufthansa 747 to Washington Dulles.  

However, we did not land until 10:59 AM and did not reach another (our fourth) remote stand until 11:10 AM.  Our feet finally found the terminal at 11:18 AM, by which time I was frantic to make the connection.  We did, and that’s another story.

En route to FRA, the Lufthansa flight attendants came around with bottled water, which already made LH service better than Iberia or Brussels Airlines on a similar stage length. The seats on that A321 reclined, too. A small thing, like the little bar of chocolate that also came later, but it’s the small customer service touches that make a difference. No knowledge of the level of premium cabin service upfront.

Mid-flight, I made my way to the rear galley to eyeball my fellow passengers and have a gander at the crew. 38 rows total × 6 = 218 seats after accounting for the 10 empty center seats in rows 1-5. All full. I stepped over a foot or two protruding into the aisle.

The Airbus had 2 rear lavs with lines waiting. Only 20 passengers share the forward toilet, however, while the ratio in the back is one lav per 99. I didn’t notice any queueing for the forward comfort room.

It was the fourth intra-European flight for us in two weeks, with few or no empty seats on any of the four. The LH leg was the most tolerable. Heck, it was almost civilized. Maybe it was the slightly better Lufthansa seat pitch and the water and chocolate offered.  Given the just-better-than-miserable conditions of such cramped and crowded airplanes these days in Europe, that little bit of customer service was humanizing in a way the other three flights were not.

Miraculously missing the Christmas meltdown

January 16,

Months ago I booked United Airlines flights on Christmas day to Madrid for me and my family. As the so-called “bomb cyclone” enveloped the U.S. December 22-25, I worried that our trip would be disrupted and obsessively tracked our flights and aircraft.  It was a real Christmas miracle when we found ourselves in Madrid the day after Christmas, having made all three flights to get us there.

Christmas Eve saw record lows in Raleigh at 10-11° F with sub-zero wind chills. No one in our family enjoyed it except our dog. She reveled in the bitter cold, thanks to her thick fur.

We were the lucky ones: no snow or ice, and relatively mild temps. Not the arctic blast, whiteouts, and several feet of snow that hit places like Buffalo.  + flights were canceled on December 23 and many more thousands on the 24th. I expected lots of aircraft and crews out of position with plenty of downstream schedule impacts on Christmas day.

Thus, my compulsive flight tracking.  We were flying a Mesa Air (United codeshare) Embraer E175 Raleigh to Washington Dulles (IAD Airport) and there connecting in less than two hours to a UA 777-300 overnight to Brussels. If all went well, we’d board a third flight the morning of December 26th on Brussels Airways (formerly Sabena) to Madrid, arriving just before noon. 

Somehow, our short flight from RDU to IAD was on time, critical to making the international connection. Flight Aware revealed that our little plane threaded the cancellation needle on Christmas Eve flights IAD/DFW, DFW/IAD, and IAD to frigid Burlington, Vermont. There the plane overnighted before returning (on time) Christmas morning to IAD, and it landed on time at RDU from IAD. It appeared our flight from Raleigh to Dulles would operate on schedule.

I was surprised to find RDU quiet and uncrowded. No lines at the United Premier Access counter, no queue at all at TSA PRE, and few folks at the distant D gates (photo above). Also unexpected were all the Raleigh/Durham Airport stores and restaurants open on Christmas Day.

TSA installed the new turbine-looking 3D luggage scanners at RDU in the fall, and my impression was that they sped things up. Neither did I have to remove a powdered product from my carryon that I take on trips.

We were booked in Premium Economy on the transatlantic leg, fitted with United’s very comfortable seats. However, it’s been many years since I connected via Dulles, and I was curious to see how it went. Gotta be better, I kept thinking, than United’s dog’s breakfast operation at Newark.

We left Raleigh on time and arrived IAD on schedule. A good omen, I thought.

As far as I know, the gangly buses used to move passengers between terminals at Washington Dulles Airport are unique (above photo). I remember them from the s being unreliable. Luckily, we didn’t have to use one that day.

Dulles on Christmas Day was wall-to-wall people, much different from RDU. My first impressions after not being there for decades: claustrophobic low ceilings lit by too-bright, penal institution-ugly fluorescent tubes. Reminiscent of a tired mid-twentieth century Greyhound bus terminal except I remember the bus stations being less grim.  What an embarrassing first sight this airport is to overseas visitors arriving in our nation’s capital.

We made the walk from our arrival gate at one end of the terminal in 17 minutes to the other end (gate C2).  I’ve rarely seen such crowded conditions, with nowhere to sit. Literally, shoulder to shoulder.

We wore masks once at the airport and throughout the flight. Perhaps one in fifty in that wretched place was masked. A few families, but few others. How quickly people forget.

Boarding began at 5:00 PM for a 5:50 PM departure. After six other groups were accommodated, including scores of screaming babies, Premium Economy was allowed to enter at 5:35 PM (misleadingly called “Group 2”). You can see from the photo of the scrum at the gate what a nightmare the boarding process was. Thinking again to 20th century Greyhound days, climbing aboard those big buses was more orderly and civilized.

We were first into the PE cabin and had plenty of space for our luggage, thank goodness. I’d months ago snagged roomy bulkhead seats (20AB) and seat 21B just behind. At 5:50 PM (departure time), people were still streaming by. Even business class just ahead of us was chaotic.

Of course, the romance of flying is long gone—along with a good deal of my warm Christmas spirit by that time.  My holiday cheer had been intact until landing at that madhouse of an airport.  I badly needed a drink, certain to be a joyfulness restorative.

Our United flight left the gate at Washington Dulles one hour and ten minutes late. The captain said good winds and speed would make us “only an hour late” as if that was a good thing. He didn’t have to worry about a connecting flight to Madrid.

The pilot admitted UA held the flight at IAD for late inbound connecting passengers and slow loading of bags without regard to anyone’s Brussels connections. He sounded exasperated that his company had not kept him informed of the delays.

Service on board started with a drink cart. Ruth and I asked for champagne, which wiped the smile from the flight attendant. “I’ll see if we can bring you some,” she replied, curtly. Meantime, she poured white wine for Ruth and a G&T for me.

She never returned with champagne or anything else. So much for Christmas cheer after a flight delay caused by her employer, I mused.

Thereafter, a meal of sorts arrived: “Pasta or chicken?” No explanation of what either was.

Ruth had the temerity to ask the flight attendant which she recommended. “Both are good,” came the quick and well-practiced, canned response.

Admitting defeat, we took one of each. Neither entree was worth describing; even so, “good” is not an adjective that springs to mind.

Meanwhile, I thought, where was that champagne? It never materialized, nor did the promised second round of drinks. Much later, after the meal was cleared, I went hunting for a flight attendant. Having given up on the bubbly, I asked for another G&T. I was met with a frown and a brittle, “Okay!” Eyes averted, back turned. What a crew! I thought.

After that, nothing except small bottles of water.

Certainly, a Christmas night flight to remember in all its small but cumulative slights and poor attitudes, beginning with the Third World airport to sloppy boarding to inefficient gate departure to rude and indifferent on-board service to late arrival.

But United’s premium economy seats were comfortable. Absolutely no complaints there. It was the human element of the shameful operation and the absence of pride that made it a sad and tiresome experience.

I chose United because the fare was significantly cheaper than Delta and other carriers in Premium Economy. I suppose, in a way, we got what we paid for, and so I blame only myself for expecting a higher standard. Probably unrealistic. Next time I’ll spend more to avoid flying United Airlines.

Truth: I don’t expect much more than the roomier seat when flying in Premium Economy. That said, PE comes at a premium price, and for the higher fare, I do expect civility, efficiency, and a modicum of service. 

Coming home, we were on Lufthansa (United codeshare partner). With better service, thank goodness.

Descending over London, I wondered what the BRU airport would look like, my first time back in several decades. I thought it was sure to be better than United’s ruined C and D concourse at Dulles.

One tiny tidbit of positive news for regular UA international flyers is the plug adapter now provided with the onboard headphones in the PE cabin (see photo). About , United converted its fleet to plug receptacles with one small and one large opening which thwarted the use of Bose noise-canceling headphones that are far superior to those provided by the airline in business and premium economy. I couldn’t find an adapter plug that worked until then. So, thanks, United. It’s now packed with my Bose phones.

We landed in Brussels still an hour late but made our connection on Brussels Airways to Madrid.  Big relief!  I’ll save describing the BRU airport and the intra-European BRU/MAD flying experience until next week. 

On balance, I was pleased that the UA operation on Christmas day and overnight successfully transported us from Raleigh to Dulles to Brussels to Madrid.  Especially given the context of contemporaneous nationwide air service meltdowns resulting from the enormous winter storm and bitterly cold weather that played havoc with every airline and many airports.  We got there, and that’s good.  The downsides of the creaky, creepy old IAD Airport and the indifferent United onboard service in so-called “premium” economy IAD/BRU were, in hindsight, less important.  But those negatives do stick in my memory and don’t make me smile and want to fly United again.

At age 75, my first youth hostel

January 11,

I was in my mid-twenties before I could afford a trip to Europe.  Thus I missed the callow-youth, hostel-hopping, vagabond experience of my hippie generation flitting around Europe like butterflies on flowers. Free love amidst clouds of sweet-smelling marijuana smoke while lolling in Amsterdam, and all that. Nope, I was already too old and serious by then.

Fifty years later I finally stayed in a hostel, albeit sans the hippie parts.  It was during two weeks in Spain and Portugal with my wife and our college-age daughter.  I wonder if the Lisbon Destination Hostel in the Rossio train station has ever hosted a guy my age (75 in April).

Our three-bedded room had no private bath or toilet. The lav was shared and down the hall. Luckily, I took PJ bottoms so I didn’t have to traipse about at two in the morning to the john in my skivvies.

I won’t lie and claim I didn’t have my doubts.  After all, I spent most of my life on the road in fancy hotels, a member of nearly every brand’s elite programs.  The hostel was no Hilton Diamond-level accommodation, but it grew on me. Excellent young staff catered to us and remembered all our names. Their advice on things to see and do and places to eat were dead-on.

The place was clean and safe and surprisingly quiet.  In fact, acoustically insulated in a very expert manner.  We heard no extraneous noise aside from the occasional distant rumblings of trains arriving and leaving.

I imagined hostels to be raucous, but fellow guests were sedate and polite. The common areas were full of young people who could easily have been the ages of my grandchildren (if I had any).  Good positive energy and smiles all around.

We chose our own 4-digit code for the electronic door lock. Our door was thick and heavy, through which only a whisper of outside sounds penetrated.

A gigantic breakfast including coffee and a cornucopia of delicious, freshly-prepared food items was €5 each. Meals are eaten at long communal tables (photo below).  We waited on ourselves, then cleaned up and washed up when breakfast was over.  Easy-peasy, just like at home.

A big basket of clothes was €7.50 to be washed and dried. We folded things ourselves. Again, just as at home.  No big deal.

Other Lisbon hotels began at €250 and were not conveniently located. The Destination Hostel was €33/person/night, making it €99 for the three of us. And a unique experience.

I booked the hostel largely based on its central location, though I thoroughly pre-checked its reputation.  Lisbon sprawls, and lodging in the Rossio train station (photo below) is central, making it ideal for walking all over, as we prefer to do. 

The final photo below is of the distinctive horseshoe archways of Rossio.  The arches are the well-known entrances to the lovely old station. The statue between them is the beloved young, dashing, 24-year-old King Sebastian who disappeared in the s on a trek to Morocco, leaving Portugal with no royal heir. The country yet mourns and waits for his return.

21st-century hostels, I now conclude, are for the young at heart as much as for folks with just a few years on the planet.  I might not become a regular hostel backpacker everywhere, but I wouldn’t trade my happy, unique experience there for a Park Hyatt suite.

As the Covid travel fog lifts

December 14,

It’s difficult to grasp that, soon, three years of unprecedented travel uncertainty will have ticked by.  In December I was wondering whether would be the year when RDU got a Delta nonstop to China.  I was just returning from the Kruger National Park in South Africa in early March when Covid changed everything.  Suddenly, my travel future was an impenetrable fog. 

By early May, RDU airport was virtually closed in the face of almost no demand.  In June, finally, I boarded flights to Montana, but did no international flying until the summer of . Talk of a direct flight from Raleigh to Beijing or Shanghai died instantly.  What had seemed a real and bright possibility in December was an absurd and foolish notion not worth discussing by July.

As this year closes, I’ve been reflecting not only on but on the past thirty-six long months.  Looking back, I’ve done (to my surprise) a great deal of overseas travel despite the challenges: Back to South Africa three times, taking friends and family each trip; Italy; Slovenia; Croatia; and Dubai.

We’re soon off to Spain and Portugal, with one day in Morocco, with posts along the way. 

Then I will visit old friends in Madison, Wisconsin for a few days in late January.

In February I’ll fly with two more friends to the Kruger National Park and to Cape Town in South Africa once more—with more posts from there. 

My wife and I will spend some time in Thailand beginning in late March after a few days at a fine Japanese hotel on Park Avenue in Manhattan. I will certainly report on the flights and how we find both New York City and Thailand in . 

And all that by early April.  Making up for lost time, I guess, made sweeter by taking advantage of short-lived fare deals:  Thank you, Singapore Airlines.  Much appreciated, United.  Danke Schoen, Lufthansa (UA codeshare).

Looking locally, the Raleigh/Durham Airport has sprung back to life with a vengeance.  So crowded was it on the Wednesday evening before Thanksgiving that traffic was snarled way, way outside the loop road to the two terminals.  In fifty previous Wednesdays before fifty previous Thanksgivings at RDU, I’ve never seen anything like that.

Airfares from RDU are all over the place.  I got a great SkyMiles award travel deal RDU/JFK in March, yet Delta’s ticket prices from Raleigh to most places on most days, particularly overseas, are just stupidly expensive.  Much as I hate United, I’ve been booking UA for international (or their codeshare partners) because the fares from RDU to foreign lands are dramatically cheaper than DL in Premium Economy and Economy.  Not so to domestic destinations via UA. 

I’ve also compared American Airlines fares to places both here and abroad, but I can’t find fares and schedules that are competitive.  Besides this, my measly one million AAdvantage miles no longer imbues me with sufficient elite benefits to induce me to buy an AA itinerary.  I’m always seated in the back of beyond on American and boarded fifth or sixth after paying more than I would have on Delta, which automatically upgrades me.

New service abounds at RDU, as I’ve previously commented.  Avelo and Breeze are nibbling at the big carriers’ market share the way jackals make a good living snatching morsels from lion kills on the African plains.  I have yet to fly either carrier, but my cousin reports after using Breeze to SFO last week that its “Nicest” class (like domestic first class) was comfortable, cheap, and friendly. I look forward to trying both new airlines next year.

Despite the astonishing rebound in flying, there is no longer even a dream of a nonstop RDU/China flight.  Xi has effectively declared China off-limits to leisure and most business travelers to the point that even St. Petersburg may be a more enticing destination. Although last I heard, Raleigh/Durham has no plans for a direct connection to Russia.

Widebody Raleigh to Atlanta

December 7,

For reasons unknown, Delta is currently flying an international 767-300 a mere 356 miles between Atlanta and my home airport of RDU.  I don’t think that Delta has completed its 767 refurbishing program, but these planes all seem to be the spiffiest ones, configured with four classes: Delta One (business class), Premium Select (premium economy), Comfort+ (a little more legroom), and Economy. 

I’m not complaining.  After all, Comfort+ passengers like me who book those schedules can choose a seat in the premium economy section.  Assuming, of course, that other folks haven’t beaten me to selecting the better seats.

And if I’m lucky enough to get upgraded to first class, then I can lounge for an hour in the comfort of a Delta One lie-flat seat.  Although I doubt Champagne will flow up front on such a milk run.

I checked dates in January, and the aircraft were all the same newest four-class 767-300s.  The planes are scheduled to leave ATL at 345pm and arrive at RDU at 507pm.  The return is from RDU at 650pm with (supposed) arrival back to ATL at 834pm.  However, it looks like those schedules are flying only Monday through Friday.  At least in January (I didn’t look at future months). 

American Airlines has positioned 767s and 777s to RDU for their nonstop RDU/LHR flights for twenty years before Covid.  I used to intentionally book that ORD/RDU flight on AA because I could ride up front in an international widebody, and the times worked for me to get home on a Friday afternoon.  But Delta isn’t flying nonstop again yet RDU/CDG, so these twin-aisle planes are just out and back from and to Atlanta, with no international component originating from or destined for Raleigh.

This isn’t the first time Delta has used widebody planes between ATL and RDU.  To accommodate heavy demand, Delta at one time routinely used L-s to serve Raleigh domestically.  The difference now is those big Lockheeds were configured in domestic-only two classes: first and coach.  I can’t recall international three- or four-class airplanes being utilized from RDU before.

But like I said:  I’m not complaining.  It’s a sweet ride at no extra cost while it lasts!

Snagging a Black Friday travel bargain

November 29,

Inundated last week with emails from airlines touting great deals for Black Friday, I picked through the overseas destinations and eventually landed a whale of a bargain on Singapore Airlines.  Most carriers offered rock-bottom international economy fares, but I was on the hunt for a more comfortable way to fly.  I was searching for Premium Economy tickets under $ or Business Class under $. 

Finding cheap premium cabin fares is easier when travel is discretionary.  My wife and I don’t have to go at all, and we have good flexibility in choosing dates and destinations.  Since Covid hit, we have not been able to return to Asia, so I was especially interested in places like Seoul, Tokyo, Manila, Bangkok, Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia.

Not China and, sadly, not Hong Kong.  China would be our first choice to return to beyond our borders were it not for President-for-life Xi’s zero Covid policy lockdowns and his adversarial attitude regarding Americans.  The soul of Hong Kong, once a magic place of sheer delight, has been destroyed by the thuggish Xi police state, made worse by Xi’s severe Covid policies.  We deemed it too risky to travel there.

By and large, the best deals were from major gateways, especially New York’s JFK and EWR.  I knew going in that I’d probably have to book Raleigh to New York separately.

Cathay Pacific Airways

Cathay has always been a stupendously good carrier, and thus it pains me to say that, from the start, I rejected its offerings from contention because it’s based in Hong Kong.  Since democracy was smashed by China and owing to Xi’s Zero-Covid Policy, Hong Kong has been closed more than open since .  As I said above, it’s too risky to visit or connect there.

That said, Cathay advertised PE for $ to Hong Kong and $ to Bangkok or Ho Chi Minh City, both excellent fares in Premium Economy to those destinations.  Business Class enticements were even better: a cheap $ to Tokyo and just $ to Kuala Lumpur or Singapore.  I wish I could see myself clear to connect through Hong Kong.

Singapore Airlines

Even more than Emirates, Singapore is arrogant and thinks mighty highly of its grandiose service.  I grant that all my flying experiences on board Singapore (starting in ) have been memorable.  The airline hasn’t often sent me discount offers, so I paid close attention to the SQ .  This one was a gem, with great deals in Economy, Premium Economy, and Business Class to many Asian cities.  Such as to Bali (Economy $729, Premium Economy $1,029, Business $3,499), to Manila (Premium Economy $1,099, Business $3,599), and to Bangkok (Economy $729, Premium Economy $1,029, Business $3,499). The airline’s home base of Singapore was more expensive (Economy $849, Premium Economy $1,299, Business $4,699), but still not bad.

I leaped at the chance to fly to Bangkok for a paltry $ in Premium Economy and began researching dates. I didn’t expect it to be easy, and it wasn’t. Predictably, it was like playing Whack-a-Mole. The magic thousand-dollar fare wasn’t available on every flight every day and finding the right combination itinerary outbound and return took a couple of hours of concentrated experimenting. 

Eventually, I won the prize with an outbound routing on the SQ 18 hour, 50 minute nonstop from JFK to SIN, connecting after a four-hour layover SIN to BKK. Returning was Bangkok to Singapore with a two-plus hour connection to the SIN/EWR 18 hours, 10 minute nonstop.  So leaving from JFK and returning to Newark.

All for $ per person in Premium Economy on the long hauls.  Singapore flights to and from BKK do not have PE cabins, but SQ allowed me to choose seats in the forward-most coach cabin on those segments just behind Business Class.  I didn’t realize that Singapore usually charges extra for coach seats near the front.  Anyway, the SIN/BKK flights are under 3 hours, tolerable in Economy.

Delta to NYC

That left me to get to New York and back.  Delta was mum on Black Friday discounts, but at Delta.com both dollar fares and award seat mileages RDU to JFK and EWR/RDU were cheap for the March dates I’d booked on Singapore.  I opted to “pay” 14,000 miles to JFK and 9,000 miles returning from Newark.  Arguments ensue as to what those SkyMiles are worth these days, but if I assign a one-penny-per-mile value, then the round trip dollar equivalent was $230 each.  The actual dollar fares were in fact over $300 on the same flights and dates.  In any event, I am happy with the fares, and Delta immediately upgraded me and my wife to Comfort+ and put us on the first-class upgrade list.

Using that calculation, RDU/BKK cost a total of $ round trip per person in Premium Economy.  I am pleased to get to Bangkok in relative comfort for such a bargain price.

Manhattan hotel deals

Since I had to procure separate tickets to and from New York, my wife and I decided to fly up early and spend a couple of days in the City before leaving for Asia.  That led to my discovery that booking a room via Travelocity versus direct booking at hotel websites often yielded a better rate without prepayment.  The hotel sites usually said “pay now” for similarly low prices.

Even better, Travelocity promised I’d get an extra 10% “Black Friday” discount on any property booked through that portal.  After consulting with my good friend, born-and-raised New Yorker and lifelong hotel expert Joe Brancatelli, I reserved a 400+ sq. ft. corner room at the elegant Kitano Hotel at 66 Park Avenue in Manhattan at a manageable $316 per night.  The Kitano is just four blocks from Grand Central Terminal and easy walking distance to most things in midtown.

Once we land in Bangkok, then what?

I don’t know yet.  Do we stay in Bangkok, a city we know well, for a day or two before traveling elsewhere?  Decisions and plans are yet to be made.  We have about ten days in Thailand, and I’m sure we’ll think of something.

Invasion of the market share snatchers

November 21,

OH, NO! Avelo Air and Breeze Airways are invading my home airport, Raleigh/Durham (RDU), with metaphoric teeth bared to gobble up market share from the Big Boys!  HELP!

Hold on a sec—how can that be?  Delta dominates RDU with flights to everywhere.  Niche airlines would be nuts to start service here, right?  Wouldn’t they lose their shirts?  

What happened to RDU being a “focus city” for Delta?  Meaning Delta would offer so many flights to so many places from RDU that the company sucked all the oxygen from the room, er, the Raleigh/Durham Airport.

Covid happened, that’s what. 

With thousands of employees laid off or offered early retirements during the pandemic, Delta, like United and American, can’t get enough planes and crews in the air to meet the sudden surge in people flying again.  Delta was forced to cut back on its expansion plans from RDU and, worse, to withdraw from markets and reduce frequencies to markets it already served.  With demand skyrocketing, the niche players are coming to town.

Avelo and Breeze have done their homework.  The two carriers are hoping to hive off some share by offering nonstops to destinations the other guys don’t serve anymore, thus chipping away at connecting traffic at the big hubs.

Back in July , Delta made a big splash when it designated RDU a “focus city,” which means more nonstops and easier coast-to-coast access.  A focus city is characterized by most passengers beginning or ending their trips there, contrasted with a hub that has flights to and from many more cities with the majority of the passengers connecting to other cities.

I was there when Delta Senior VP of Network Planning Joe Esposito spoke in at a breakfast meeting of Raleigh’s Regional Transportation Alliance.  He bragged, “We’ve been making major investments in the community over the last 10 years and have geared up to handle the big business market [in the Research Triangle]. … We now serve all the major business markets.”  At the time, Delta was RDU’s busiest airline with about 80 departures per day carrying one-third of all passengers to 27 destinations, including Paris CDG.

Delta then kicked off more service with 3 daily nonstops to ORD (competing with AA and UA nonstop flights from RDU), adding Chicago to 17 new nonstop destinations since , including Nashville, Austin, and Seattle (the latter competing with daily Alaska Air service to Sea-Tac). There was even speculation that RDU would eventually be upgraded to hub status.

Then came Covid.  I took photos like the ones in this May post at RDU when no one was flying.

By March of Delta had cut such focus cities as Nashville and San Jose, leaving only RDU and AUS.  Raleigh and Austin aren’t dominated by other carriers, so the traffic of early sustained Delta’s RDU service.  Delta even added nonstops to JAX and Las Vegas.

By October of this year, however, Delta’s chronic aircraft and crew shortages caused the airline to scale back drastically.  No more Chicago, Philly, Hartford, Indy, or Nashville nonstop flights.  Delta stopped flying nonstop from RDU to these markets:

Which resulted in Delta’s market share at RDU shrinking considerably in the year from Sep to Aug . Including Republic, small carriers by then garnered more than 32% of the market:

Thus the RDU void that Avelo and Breeze now see as an opportunity.

Breeze Airways is David Neeleman’s latest start-up (he is famous for launching Jet Blue).  Its cabins are called Nice (the usual uncomfortable domestic coach), Nicer (akin to Delta’s Comfort+, it’s a coach seat with a bit more legroom), and Nicest (like every other airline’s first class, but with little on-board service). Breeze flies A220-300 (the only ones with first class), Embraer E190, and E195 aircraft. 

Neeleman means to pick off some market share by flying nonstop to places Delta and other RDU airlines are neglecting.  Breeze’s new RDU flights beginning in are:

Hartford – begins Feb 16; two weekly flights (Thursday and Sunday).

New Orleans – begins Feb 16; four weekly flights (Monday, Thursday, Friday and Sunday).

Providence – begins Feb 17; two weekly flights (Monday and Friday)

Meanwhile, Avelo already flies from RDU to New Haven and will add Raleigh-Durham as a base with 6 new Florida routes (and 50 new RDU employees):

Orlando International Airport (MCO) – begins Feb 2

Tampa International Airport (TPA) – begins Feb 3

Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood International Airport (FLL) – begins Feb 16

Southwest Florida International Airport (RSW) near Fort Myers – begins Feb 16

Sarasota Bradenton International Airport – begins Feb 17

Avelo was founded by former Allegiant Air executive Andrew Levy.  It uses all-coach 737-800 airplanes, emulating Southwest.  Most seats are a tight 29” pitch, with some near the front at 35” (no first class).  On-board service is minimal.  Think Spirit or Frontier.

Breeze and Avelo are offering discounted start-up fares from RDU.  I plan to book both and write about the experiences once the dust settles early next year. 

Frankly, I don’t expect much in the way of seat comfort or onboard service, but I have to face that my flying choices have radically changed.  Delta, American, and United have diluted their loyalty programs so completely that not much is left to attract me if Breeze, Avelo, and their ilk are offering nonstop flights to places I’d otherwise have to connect to, along with competitive or cheaper fares. 

No matter how much I despise the austere service and seat discomfort of carriers like Breeze and Avelo (and I do hate it), I wouldn’t be surprised if this sudden invasion of the market share snatchers isn’t successful in eroding Delta’s margins at RDU.

What the airline really meant

November 15,

I received this nice message (above) from United recently, and, after careful study, I believe that I’ve translated the real meaning of verbiage in such phrases as:  “With travel now in full swing, our standard qualification requirements are returning. But we are giving you a boost…”

WHAT IT SAID:         “With travel now in full swing…”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Now that we’re making money again hand over fist, we no longer need to kiss your sorry ass.

WHAT IT SAID:         “Our standard qualification requirements are returning.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    F*ck you and the horse you rode in on.

WHAT IT SAID:         “But we are giving you a boost…”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Drop your drawers, bend over, and take a deep breath.

WHAT IT SAID:         “We’ll automatically deposit PQP into your MileagePlus account.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Your PQP is so tiny and meaningless that you’ll need a microscope to see it.

WHAT IT SAID:         “An exciting change we are making in is that when you use MileagePlus miles for award flights operated by United you will now earn Premier qualifying credits.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Hey, dumbass, we’re happy to give you miles credit for award travel flights costing you 170,000 MileagePlus miles that formerly cost 45,000 miles.

WHAT IT SAID:         “All redeposit fees associated with canceling award travel have been removed.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Why not, schmuck?  We’ve restricted award travel capacity and raised the cost so much that you aren’t likely to find award travel flights anyway.

WHAT IT SAID:         “We look forward to flying with you soon.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    As long as you pay through the nose and aren’t on a free ticket

WHAT IT SAID:         “MileagePlus.  The world’s most rewarding loyalty program.”

WHAT IT MEANS:    Oh yeah! Now that it’s been drastically devalued, the program is highly rewarding to our executives and shareholders!  WOO-HOO! … Wait, did you think we meant you?

24 hours from Ljubljana to Raleigh

November 8,

After a delightful two weeks in Slovenia and Croatia, my wife Ruth and I steeled ourselves for the flights back home to RDU on Air France and Delta.  We had reason to be apprehensive.  Delta had nearly ruined our outbound trip, though Air France had done an admirable job getting us across the pond once we made it to JFK.  Despite being en route for 24 hours getting home, it was not so bad.  Of course, it should not take a full day, but with long layovers in Paris (over 4 hours) and Boston (5-6 hours), it was almost exactly 24 hours from the time we arrived at Ljubljana Airport to arrival at RDU. Following are my real-time, all-day notes:

Air France LJU/CDG

I awoke before 3:00 AM and thereafter dozed until my alarm at 3:20 AM. The outside temp was then 46° F. in central Ljubljana. Fall seems to have arrived suddenly. We were sad to be leaving after such a great trip to Slovenia and Croatia.

Ruth and I had arranged a 4:20 AM taxi to the LJU Airport (for €35). The driver came early at 4:05 AM and dropped us at the terminal at 4:35 AM. That’s when I realized we would be getting to RDU 24 hours later assuming all three flights are on time.

As with our flights to Slovenia, we’re on Air France LJU/CDG, then AF to Boston rather than to JFK, and finally Delta Boston to RDU.

Air France personnel opened at 4:45 AM at Ljubljana airport and efficiently issued boarding passes for all three flights. I was pleased to discover my original seat assignments were intact and relieved that AF printed TSA Pre on every boarding pass.

Ruth and I were the first through airport security (gels and liquids in a plastic bag) and found the Priority Pass lounge.  There’s only one business lounge at LJU that serves every airline plus Priority Pass. It’s modest but perfectly adequate and comfortable. Breakfast items were laid out as soon as it opened at 5:00 AM.

AF Ljubljana to Paris was another E190. About two-thirds full. Boarded efficiently starting at 6:15 AM (6:45 scheduled departure). The flight was buttoned up and ready to go by 6:30 but didn’t push back until 6:50. Off the ground before 7:00.

We watched the gorgeous Julian Alps fade into the distance after takeoff. I wasn’t sure if the steep climb angle was standard or to quickly get above the tall peaks.

Departing made me reflect on some things I’ll miss about Slovenia and Croatia: the cheerful, upbeat, and friendly people everywhere; the good and wholesome food; the excellent local wines and beer; the unhurried pace of locals (not as obsessively frenetic as Americans); every city’s strong focus on pedestrians and bicycles; more roundabouts by far than stoplights; good public transit all over the place; driver preference for manual transmissions; the nearly universal use of turn signals; frequent, reliable and comfortable intercity bus service and rail service; low speed limits which were well-enforced.

And things I won’t miss: widespread public smoking in both countries (sometimes difficult to avoid, thanks in part to ashtrays being provided at every cafe, bar, and restaurant table); Croatia Railways’ chronically poor operation (I overheard an American complain it’s the “Amtrak of Europe”); pay toilets.

Landed in Paris at 8:40. Arrived at our gate at Charles de Gaulle (CDG) remote Terminal 2G at 8:50. After waiting in a long queue, we took the bus from 2G to 2E, stepping off around 9:25.

Paris CDG Airport

Our flight to Boston leaves in 3.5 hours at 1:10 PM from 2E, gate K43. Priority Pass has only a single club in the entire gigantic complex of Paris CDG, and it’s somewhere in the L concourse, the opposite direction from K. But we figured that was enough time to visit the lounge and make the long trek back by shuttle train from L to K.

It was a long distance just to get to L. Along the way, we went through a facial recognition semi-automated passport control screen. Finally arriving at L, the only sign for the Yotel Air Lounge (the Priority Pass partner) seemed to lead outside security. A brusque Airport employee yelled that wouldn’t happen, shrugged, and turned away. I figured we had time even if we had to go back through security, so took the risk.

Turned out we were still airside, just in another dimension of L. We followed signs for the Yotel Air lounge down a long corridor. Once again we encountered a brusque staffer, this one manning the entrance. He processed our cards and bid us enter with the admonition that only snacks and few beverages were available, no real food.

Just past the door, I grasped that the Yotel Air lounge was one small space, already crowded, uninviting, messy, and ugly. When I saw the lounge was charging even for bottled water (an outrageous  €4), we left. In many years of visiting Priority Pass clubs, this was the worst I’ve ever seen.

It took another 40 minutes to ride the shuttle train from L to K and then to go through security again with our bags. Ruth commented that she already missed the gentle, kind, and helpful Slovenes and Croatians as Parisian security staff barked at us all the way through. It was a rude shock to be back among unhappy people.

We found a place near our gate to buy some food that passed for breakfast, and we are now walking the long concourse to get some exercise before the flight to Boston.

Photos above include one of the Julian Alps as we took off this morning from Ljubljana and one of Paris from our plane on approach. Though tiny from the sky, the iconic Eiffel Tower stands out.

Air France CDG/BOS

The scheduled departure was 1:10 PM with boarding at 12:35, but the airplane didn’t show up at the gate until 12:45. AF claimed it was a jet bridge problem that had to be fixed, but other gate staff told me the plane was just late coming from the hangar.  After boarding, the captain attributed the delay to the tardy arrival of the aircraft.  As always with airlines, truth and facts are elusive. If they are going to lie, they should at least get the story straight.

Of course, then the cockpit and cabin crews had to board and put all their stuff away.

Too, the cleaning crew had to spiff up the interior. I guess they couldn’t be bothered to do that while the plane sat at the hangar.

The catering folks had to come around as well. Not to mention security personnel inspections of the aircraft interior, the important refueling process, and maintenance sign-off that everything is operable. And I almost forgot loading of checked bags and cargo.

All that necessary busy work delayed boarding until after 1:00 PM. The airplane finally pushed back at 2:03, just shy of an hour late.

Once we were finally allowed to board, things improved. Our Air France A350 Premium Economy cabin is configured 2-3-2 in 3 rows totaling 21 seats. Very comfortable width and pitch. The boarding went smoothly.

I think Air France does a great job in Premium Economy. After we were settled, the purser came around to introduce himself to each PE customer and insisted we call a crewmember if we needed anything.

The captain apologized for the late departure and pledged to make up the lost hour. As I write this, it appears we’ll be landing pretty close to schedule despite the outbound snafus.

The meal service matched my notion of what the Premium Economy standard ought to be. Which is to say, higher quality than the coach lunch, but below the premium dining experience in business class.

Ruth and I chose an entree of French roast duck with mashed potatoes, accompanied by a tasty cold pasta salad, delicious chewy French bread, a wedge of decent brie, and a fruity dessert. Real Champagne in copious quantities, too.

It was all pretty good. Certainly not akin to the spectacular meals in Croatia and Slovenia, but I expect very little from airline fare, and this was sure better than average. 

A mid-flight snack service and a small box lunch one hour prior to arrival were both decent as well.

Altogether, we were more than satisfied with the 6.5-hour flight once it finally got underway. All four flights this trip on Air France have been pleasant experiences, even accounting for the delay out of Paris.

Premium Economy is so much better than coach, yet so much cheaper than outrageously expensive business class. Photos are of this A350 Premium Economy cabin.

The captain kept his promise, and we landed at Boston Logan International Airport close to the advertised arrival time.  Thanks to having only carry-on bags and being TSA Global Entry, we zipped through the throngs at Immigration and made the interminable trek across BOS Logan to Delta’s distant domestic terminal.  We missed an earlier flight to RDU by five minutes.

Delta BOS/RDU

Now we wait in the Delta SkyClub for hours for the flight to Raleigh. The long connection is due to Delta reshuffling its schedule with fewer flights, supposedly in response to crew shortages. We’ll be dog-tired by the time we reach RDU late tonight.

Happily, though, the BOS SkyClub has showers.  I refreshed and changed into clean clothes, feeling less like a hobo afterward.  The club had decent food selections, too, and good wifi.  We nibbled and snoozed and reflected on our fabulous fortnight abroad in the Balkans.

On-time boarding of the nighttime Delta flight to RDU was bungled by an incompetent gate agent.  Weary, we finally dropped into our Comfort+ seats.  Just before the door closed, I heard the lead flight attendant barking at the inept gate agent that he had double-assigned our seats.  They both approached us and asked to see our boarding passes.  The FA then scowled at the gate agent and said he was supposed to have put Ruth and me into first class. 

Naturally, we obliged and moved up front, even finding room for our luggage in the overhead compartment.  As I write this, we are airborne, and I’m enjoying a nightcap G&T (our son is picking us up at RDU) and breathing a sigh of relief that we will soon be home.  The captain says we’ll land on time despite the cockup boarding.  Having been upgraded and anesthetized, I’m relaxed.  Ruth is already dozing.

The flights in Premium Economy (and sitting in just plain coach beyond Paris) on Air France were excellent.  Makes me wish I could always book AF.  Despite canceling our RDU/JFK first flight to connect to AF, Delta made good and got us to New York on American Airlines at no expense to us.  All in all, considering today’s uncertain air travel, luck was with us, and we had good experiences.  

Lovely Ljubljana

October 31,

Saving the capital city Ljubljana (Slovenia) for the end of two weeks exploring Slovenia and Croatia in September, my wife Ruth and I boarded a delayed train in Zagreb. Kudos to Slovenia Railways for making up time, as reported in an earlier post. We arrived in Ljubljana before 4:00 PM, leaving ample daylight for walking 25 minutes from the Ljubljana central station to the pedestrian-only city center. We could have grabbed a taxi, of course, but we were traveling light and wanted to see the city on foot.

Once again, Ruth’s careful map research paid off. She led us directly to our spacious and comfortable apartment in the heart of the city’s thriving street scene on the river. The first photo is a wide-angle look at part of the apartment (about $115/night). We were there for two nights. My wife gets full credit for finding and booking that as well. Always an expert travel planner, she outdid herself on this trip.

My first impressions were of modern sophistication. Ljubljana hums with energy, but a totally different vibe from ancient Split and old Dubrovnik in Croatia. For starters, the age spectrum of merrymakers is much broader. Lots of families with babies and young kids together with the young-twenties crowd. All having fun and celebrating their lives in harmony. It’s a good scene.

The architecture is distinctively Euro, but contemporary. Ljubljana’s cool doesn’t come from a Roman emperor’s palace like Split or the literal fairytale King’s Landing feel of Dubrovnik. It’s hip and up-to-date, yet proudly European. Ljubljana is, to me, reminiscent of Amsterdam and Paris with its multitudes of bikers, waterside cafes, bars and restaurants, and myriad suave shops. I say again: the city is sophisticated.

The following day Ruth signed us up for the free walking tour of the old town parts of Ljubljana.  We joined the 11:00 AM group.  I admit payment was voluntary for the walking tour, but our guide for over two hours was authoritative and outstanding. We were happy to each give the equivalent of ten dollars, a bargain for the comprehensive information imparted.

Ruth and I had already been out touring on foot on our own since 8:00 AM. We tried to see things the free tour wouldn’t cover. The castle on the steep hill above the town center, for instance, is most easily reached by a funicular railway. Photo of the city and distant Julian Alps was taken at the castle.

One photo is of Ljubljana’s famous Dragon Bridge, and one is a gaggle of tethered toddlers out for a morning stroll from their daycare facility.

Other pictures give an idea of the beautiful architecture all over Ljubljana. The city is full of art nouveau buildings. Even more interesting are the many, many famous works of architect Jože Plečnik (-), known as the Gaudi of Ljubljana. That’s his library in the penultimate photo with the jutting stones.

The last picture shows the alley leading to our fabulous apartment (again thanks to Ruth).  The artwork down the center is by a local artist. Central Ljubljana is replete with his works.

An earlier post raved about our exceptional dining experiences in Ljubljana on the first and second evenings in town. With deeply-etched happy memories of Slovenia and Croatia, we left the following morning just past 4:00 AM for the airport to return home. I’ll describe the long trek home via Air France and Delta in my next post.

Fascinating Split and Dubrovnik

October 27,

First-time visits to Split and Dubrovnik on Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast were thought to be highlights for my wife and me during a trip to Slovenia and Croatia in September.  The cities exceeded expectations.  My real-time notes tell the tale:

Night of arrival at Split

It’s a bit past 10:00 PM here, just three hours after arriving at the main bus station, and yet Split’s raw energy makes us feel we’ve been here for days. This place rocks!

Split got on the map when Roman Emporer Diocletian built his retirement palace here in the 4th century A.D.  Read all about it here.

The palace and the adjacent Roman garrison town still form the basis for Split’s Old Town. It was a 10-minute walk from the bus to the palace. Our apartment tonight is just off the palace peristyle, the central square of Diocletian’s massive retirement home.

We dined tonight at a fancy restaurant that’s inside the ancient palace walls. You can see the old Roman stone construction in the picture. 

Close-ups of the superb Hvar Island Croatian “black” (red) wine, a vintage, can’t begin to impart its unique delicious flavors. It was our one big splurge on wine, and well worth the price.

Crowds were gathered in the peristyle area to watch live music and the spectacle of Roman soldier enactors. I wonder what Diocletian would think of the casual modern interlopers to what was his sanctum.

Shops and restaurants line the interior beyond the entrance to the palace, making the scene thrive. More than 2,000 people still live within the Roman palace and garrison walls.

Just outside the palace and garrison is the Riva promenade on the Adriatic waterfront. The promenade is lined with restaurants, all chock-full of patrons. It was remarkable to see such lively prosperity in motion. Where does all this money come from?

Tomorrow we board a huge catamaran to ply the Dalmation Coast and islands from Split to Dubrovnik. We’ve had a snootful of good wine tonight, making us glad checkout time isn’t until 11am.

Next morning in Split

When we got off the Flixbus in Split last night, it was dark, we were exhausted, and we had to find our apartment somewhere in Roman Emperor Diocletian’s Palace some distance away. Naturally, the 4th-century structure is a rabbit warren of alleyways. We didn’t even initially know which way to walk from the bus.

Thank goodness for Google Walk navigation. I simply typed in the name of our accommodation in Split (a small locally-owned establishment consisting of 3 small apartments that my wife Ruth brilliantly booked), and Google immediately popped up clear directions for the turn-by-turn 9-minute walk.

We obeyed Google, and to my astonishment, it took us into the palace’s maze of underground cellar passages and open-to-the-sky corridors and landed us precisely at our out-of-the-way apartment at the end of one narrow palace alley. Turned out our 3rd-floor apartment was immediately adjacent to the ancient Roman temple of Jupiter (see photo taken this morning from our window).

Photos from last night of the palace peristyle and other areas give a sense of how confusing it was to find our way in the dark. Yet Google Walk was dead-on correct even in a Roman Emperor’s palace in Croatia.

This morning Ruth and I did our own self-guided tour in and all around the palace and old Roman garrison using maps and documentation provided by the Split TI (Tourist Information) office. Doing so made us think and study the maps hard without being part of a guided tour (too many people, too slow, and costly). We moved at our own pace. Photos depict Diocletian’s Roman palace.

As the morning wore on, the sun beat down mercilessly, and tourist throngs clogged every path. Split’s Old Town is indeed a treasure, but if we visited again, it would be in April or October in hopes of avoiding the Disneyesque crowds. It was extremely off-putting not to be able to walk without bumping into one person after another. Not much fun. We were often stopped by a snarl of humanity ahead in the narrow palace passages thoughtlessly snapping photos.

Squinting at the hordes reminded me of the North Carolina State Fair on a busy Saturday. Well, except for the absence of morbidly obese North Carolinians snacking on fried dough-and-candy-bar sandwiches.

We left our bags after the 11:00 AM checkout hour with the apartment staff and mosied over to the Jadrolinija catamaran ferry terminal to see where to board our 3:30 PM boat to Dubrovnik. It’s a six-hour trip because the fast ferry stops at three or four offshore islands before Dubrovnik.

Dubrovnik

Our catamaran from Split to Dubrovnik arrived at 9:15 PM last night.  We bought city bus tickets from the port to the Old City of Dubrovnik, some miles distant, and we arrived at the Pile Gate (pronounced, we think, PEE’ LAY), around 10:00 PM.

WHAM! Sensory overload the moment we stepped off the bus. It was Split’s frenetic mobs all over again. Disney could learn a thing or two from Dubrovnik about jamming way too many people into tight spaces.

We donned our KN95 masks, as we do in crowded places, and made our way into the pedestrian-only Old City. The main drag, called Stradum, was as congested and full of revelers as Bourbon Street in New Orleans on Shrove Tuesday just before midnight when Mardi Gras ends. It was difficult to make our way through, especially laden with heavy luggage.

I thought at first that Google Walk navigation had failed me, then realized it was a user error (mine). I hadn’t specified we were on foot. No matter. Ruth saved us by dead reckoning routing through the shrieking throngs. Every tiny passage was full of twenty-somethings yucking it up, chowing down, and imbibing with glee. The noise level was deafening.

After a few dead-end narrow alleys, which Dubrovnik is famous for, we arrived at a long set of stairs that reminded me of Rome’s Spanish Steps, except uneven and badly in need of repair. Bleakly pondering how I’d have to lug my heavy roller bag up the long and dangerous-looking flights of crooked and broken steps, I thought of Frau Bluecker’s admonishment to Young Frankenstein in Mel Brooks’ movie: “Be careful! The staircase CAN be treacherous!”

Treacherous indeed. After a long and tortured climb, I made it to the top. Four times as I stopped for breathers, kind young people took pity on me and offered to help. I sure felt pathetic, but I merely thanked them and kept pushing slowly up on my own.

Ruth waited at the top with good news. She had somehow found the hidden entrance to our apartment in the pitch dark and extracted a key from the adjacent lockbox.

Arrived at last! I was dripping with sweat. My first taste of Dubrovnik was gaggles of happy-go-lucky rabble-rousers, plus steps, steps, steps, steps, and more steps.

Our gorgeous garden apartment cost was €120 per night.  Credit to Ruth for booking two nights in this extraordinarily comfortable, quiet, and lovely space.

As we realized this morning, last night’s climbing adventure was an authentic beginning to navigating the city. Everything is on a steep elevation here, and our path always seems to go up. If we ever come back, I’ll make do with only a featherweight backpack. No more anvil-weight roller bags.

In daylight, it’s easy to believe you’ve been transported to King’s Landing in Game of Thrones. A good deal of the HBO series was filmed here, and it sure looks like it. Everywhere I turned, it was Deja vu from the show: the wall, the city scenes, the steps where Cersei made her naked walk of shame, the castle-like structures, Blackwater Bay.

With all the wretched steps in this town, no wonder Queen Cersei stumbled and fell on her long walk from the sept to the castle. Although it’s not so bad without the excremental burden of my roller bag.

Dubrovnik’s maze of narrow streets reminds us both of Venice, though lacking much of that city’s charm. Charming, just not THAT charming.

Cruise ship people filled the streets this morning in clusters of tours divided by language. Many were aged and enfeebled. God bless them, they’re where we’re all headed, me sooner than most.

Every day is a whirlwind of new experiences. I’m amazed at how much Ruth’s fabulous trip planning packed in for us. In order to optimize the opportunity of being here, we typically move at lightning speed.

We don’t try to see every museum and cathedral. After the Duomo in Florence, Rome’s St. Peter’s, and a few others, most churches pale by comparison to me.

Nor do we try to visit every museum. We’re more interested in sights and culture. Such as walking tours of highlights, savoring local cuisine, and interacting with locals.

This morning we were at one of the city gates by 8:00 AM when the spectacular Dubrovnik walls opened for walking tours. At 250 Kuna each (about $33), it wasn’t cheap, but it’s the primo sight and worth it. 

We successfully beat the crowds that come after 9:00 AM. And beat most of the worst heat of the day.

The wall is just meters around (about 1.2 miles), but with its many ups and downs (lots and lots more steps), it seemed a lot longer. We made the complete loop in just over an hour.  Game of Thrones fans like me will immediately see the resemblances to King’s Landing.

We stopped for lunch at D’Vino wine bar and restaurant.  Plavac Mali is the quintessential Croatian red varietal.  Wines made from the Plavac Mali grape are rich, distinctive, and deep.  It is unique to this part of the world.

We enjoyed a flight of Plavec Mali wines, along with some equally good Croatian white wines, at D’Vino. It was our favorite experience in Dubrovnik along with walking the wall. A haven of heaven from the madding crowds. I’d be a loyal patron if I lived in the city.

Apparently, Game of Thrones actor Peter Dinklage, who played Tyrion Lannister (a lead character), agreed. Dining here during the series’ filming, he scrawled his character’s famous lines on the mirror: “That’s what I do. I drink, and I know things.”

After drinking and eating at D’Vino, Ruth and I know a thing or two as well. Such as Croatian wines are world-class, and it’s a shame the best ones are not exported to America. Also, the hummus, cheeses, olives, and cured meats we consumed for lunch were to die for!

We got 3 kg of laundry washed, dried, and folded in two hours this morning for 150 Kuna ($20). Big relief.  We had to pay the laundry lady cash in Croatian Kuna, as many Croatian businesses stubbornly insist. I wonder why they care whether it’s Kuna or Euros. The Kuna is a dead currency come January 1, , when Croatia converts to Euros.

Later, we enjoyed excellent Croatian lager in our private garden absent the chaos of the tourist mobs. Then ventured out again to watch locals and tourists relishing the highlife at Buza One, a bar on the seaside rocks, accessed through a narrow hole in the wall. Note the kayakers and swimmers in the warm Adriatic in the photo.

Not a cheap place to pop over for a drink. A Moscow Mule is $22. But a gorgeous Vista! We looked and left.

We spent a short time in both Split and Dubrovnik.  It was enough for us to savor the character of each place.  The experiences were rich and unique, but staying longer might have become tedious.  We left fulfilled and ready to move on.

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