Flying United's Friendly Skies

So you all know i fly a lot.  I mean, 80,000 butt-in-seat miles all around the world in a year is a lot, I dare say.  So when I tell you I have just deplaned from one of my more enjoyable flights, and it's a domestic one, I'm really talking about something special here.

On my way from Boston Logan to Washington Dulles, I was treated to Captain Ed's Talk Show in the Skies.   For a scant 10-15 minutes, Capt. Ed gave all sorts of fascinating tidbits of information about our flight, about the Boeing 757 with a price tag of $80M we were flying in, about what it's like to be a pilot and just how useful is auto-pilot, anyway?

Entertaining and educational, a great combination, similar to peanut butter and chocolate, I learned these little gems:

• We were cruising at 30k feet, which is 5 miles above sea level.  At that kind of atmosphere, the plane can overcome friction and drag to fly efficiently.  Any lower, and we would have required twice the amount of fuel to slice our way through the thick air.

• Speaking of fuel, 10,000 pounds of fuel was being spent on the short flight.  But those who are concerned about their carbon footprint need to know that the flight was burning the equivalent of 8 gallons of fuel per passenger.  If one were to drive from Boston to Wash Dulles, they would need to beat 65 mpg.  Now, I just bought a new car.  Even the Toyota Prius driving only in the city can't reach that metric.  Granted, this assumes that there are no other factors that feed into the carbon footprint.  Those who know better can school me on this, please.

• Cruise speed was at 540 mph.  That's 9 miles per minute.  That's as fast as a bullet shot from a handgun.  

• The pressurized cabin is equivalent to being 5,000 feet above sea level, which would be like being at the Denver airport.  Why not sea level period?  Because they would have to build the airplanes as if they were airtight tanks, and that just gets a little too heavy and expensive to fly around.  

• Touchdown occurs at 150+ mph.  Gives me a whole new appreciation for a smooth landing and all the tire marks on the runway, which are not unlike the rubber marks I left on my driveway with my Big Wheel as a kid.

Winding down, Capt. Ed invited folks to say hello and visit his "office" up front.  Conveniently, I was sitting in the first row, so I had quick access.  I sat in his chair and touched "stuff" whatever button or gauge they might have been. 

As I exited the aircraft, I heard others tell him how much they enjoyed his audio tour.  In a time when it seems that all airlines are interested in is saving money and nickel and diming passengers to death, i was surprised and delighted by the fact that there was a little something given back.  It wasn't expensive, but it was meaningful and differentiated from just about any other flight I've taken recently (okay except for the first class flight with Singapore Airlines.  Thats hard to beat).  It was engaging enough that I took notes as I listened and laughed out loud when he challenged those who thought pilots were unnecessary because of the auto-pilot function with, "someone has to turn the seatbelt light on and off..."

Thank you Capt. Ed and crew.  You were pleasant, entertaining, and got us to IAD early.    It makes me actually look forward to my next flight to see whether any other surprising adventure lays in wait for me.

Bad Senator Behavior!!

On my flight back from Beijing, I got to chatting with the flight attendants, who had just arrived in Beijing from Washington Dulles airport and was doing a quick turnaround.  I love talking to the flight attendants, especially when they're willing to share their outrageous stories.  Right out of reality TV, some of these.

There was one story, in particular, that was pretty obnoxious.  It goes like this.

On the way out to Beijing, they had a one former senator Arlen Specter on the flight.  He, his aide, his wife, everyone in the entourage - which begs the question why he even has an entourage - insisted that they be upgraded to First Class.  Given that they didn't pay for First Class and didn't have enough status for an upgrade, the airline staff rightly refused to give them an upgrade.  It became enough of a bruhaha, probably because "Don't you know who I am?" was thrown out there at least once or twice, that the Captain, seeing a losing battle against diva behavior, gave in and allowed for the upgrade. 

I think the Captain should have sat them in the back row, near the bathroom and without reclining seats, as a Time Out.  After all, childish behavior should elicit its just punishment.

The Streets of Guadalajara

I was in Guadalajara this past week for work. Specifically, we were conducting our meetings in Tlaquepaque, an adorable town that is a destination for fine arts and crafts, including pottery and furniture. It was absolutely lovely.

On the day we arrived, a group of us walked about the town. It looked fairly run down, with bars fashioned on every street-level window. It had a definite urban feel, and I took great care to memorize our turns; I did NOT want to get lost.

One of the guys in the group, who had spent a lot of time in Mexico, began to explain that we shouldn't be fooled by the building facades. If people lived here, he said, they were definitely on the wealthier side of the scale. They almost keep the outsides a little run down, lest they become victims of robberies. And as we passed by a corner building, there was a family in the midst of departing, saying their lengthy goodbyes in the doorway. I caught a glimpse of a beautifully decorated interior with rich wood and marble tables. Wow. That's beautiful, I thought. And you wouldn't have guessed it with the paint on the outer walls peeling, and the black iron girded on the windows. It's the inside that counts.

On another morning, my coworker and I went for a 40 minute run - 20 minutes out, 20 minutes back. The weather was gorgeous, hovering at a crisp 40 degrees F. By mid-day, it would reach a wonderfully balmy mid-70s. In this region, though, 40 degrees turning into 75 is a cold snap. When we were picked up from the airport in the late afternoon, the driver showed me the thermal underwear he donned underneath his jeans. The temp at that exact moment? 65.

So here we are, two gringos running like a couple of crazies in shorts and sleeveless shirts. We passed by one guy wearing the equivalent of a balaclava, arranged in the ski mask option. Then we passed by a few school kids wearing their snowsuits, scarves and hats. We could only see their eyes as we ran by and they zip-zopped past us.

Then, I thought, I don't think they're staring at us because of what we're wearing, I think they're staring at us because they don't know what we're doing. Why in the world would someone run down the street, panting all along, while wearing these white ear buds? The Guadalajarans were out only because they had to get somewhere. AND, the beautiful people of Guadalajara are not fat. They don't have to run for miles and carefully count their caloric intake. Only the fat and opulent of first-world countries do that. Everyone else? They have the right amount of food, often times too scarce, and they work off their calories doing their jobs.

As we ran by, most people waved and called out Buenos Dias, then gave long, following stares as we moved past them. I'd give anything just to hear what they were thinking that exact moment...

Delayed Flights - My Inner Struggle

My flight is delayed. First, thank you Harrisburg International Airport for having free WiFi. Just one of the benefits of flying out of a small airport - give it up for the one flight that goes to Toronto that gives HIA its "international" designation. Sounds so cosmopolitan.

So the incoming flight was on time. I did nothing but watch folks file off the plane. I'm still astounded by how much luggage a little baby can generate. And I still never tire of the younger passengers with all the attitude of wearing a hat and sunglasses as if they were celebrities hiding their famed mugs from the paparazzi; the only thing being they aren't being mobbed by anyone, so it just looks so silly.

Anyway, on to explaining my inner struggle. After everyone from the incoming flight got off, they announced that the new crew found there were maintenance issues. The devil on my left shoulder says, "What the hell, the plane came IN okay, so really, what's the big deal? Let's get the show on the road! I've got a connection to make, man!" The angel on my right says, "Is it really worth the risk? People stupidly continue to drive their cars when there's something slightly wrong. At best, the car goes kaput, and they can just glide into a snowbank, or whatever. When it comes to planes? The best that can happen is that you might survive falling from thousands of feet from the sky in some miraculous landing that only partially maims you."

Right. So I'm waiting patiently. I'd rather be late than maimed...

Cultural Attitudes

Just when I became accustomed to translating English into Spanish in my head, it was time to journey back to the US. I found myself beginning to talk to the US Customs agent in some broken Spanglish before I realized that they would rather I speak English. Right. Ahem.

One thing that struck me about the Mexicans was how friendly and accepting they were. Everyone hugs everyone, it's much more laid-back, and I found myself greatly enjoying the moments of interaction. During breaks, a few of us headed out to wander the neighborhood and breathe in the fresh, smoggy Mexico air. We also visited a few "changarros" - Mom and Pop stores, to you and me.

There's truly everything there, man. Fresh tamales waiting for purchase in a pot, Empanadas Dulces (sweet filled bread), a crock full of meaty stew. I was tempted to try a tamale, but one look at my co-workers' face told me I should probably rethink that idea, lest Montezuma pay me a visit that night. Nevertheless, I thought the little store was charming.

In the second changarro we visited, I was curious as to how much a single Reese's cup was that hung on a nicely branded, cleverly cloaked fly-strip. He peeled one off the tape and said, "regalo." He was giving it to me. This tiny store, that could have used the 6 pesos that it cost, was giving me this piece of candy. I started to protest when my Mexican coworker whispered, "you have to take it." Okay. Muchas gracias, tan generoso.

Along with this warm spirit and laid-back mojo, though, I did find one slight drawback that taunted my American sensibilities. Things don't start on time. Ever.

Before starting the very first group, I looked at my watch. If we started right then, we'd be on time. 20 minutes later, no start. I began to feel anxious. We only have 90 minutes to begin with, and in the US, if you start late, you still have to end on time. 30 minutes later, no start. But still, I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't running the affair, and anyway, when I glanced at the Mexican team, they didn't seem to be bothered. 35 minutes later, we began. And then we ended 45 minutes after we should have. Not one of the respondents said anything. In the meantime, the next group of folks had been hanging out in the waiting room for a very long time.

Generally, I subscribe to my "college class" rule. If the Prof doesn't show up in the first 10 minutes, class is dismissed! These folks? Still chill as a cucumber. I wish I had that ability. I might have less worry lines...

Now back in the US, I'm watching the very first group, which started precisely at the time prescribed. I have just listened to a gentleman say to the moderator, "Hey, you know, you've got 21 more minutes, and then I have to go. Will you be done by then?" Sir, are you sure we don't have 22 minutes? Because that's what MY watch says.

Boy, we're definitely not in Mexico anymore...

Mi espanol es muy mal

So I'm in Mexico City doing some research on my favorite chocolate candy, you must know what that is by now...

The research is going great, but what hasn't been is my Spanish. I started taking Spanish in Junior High, for goodness sakes. Took it all throughout high school, then even a pretty advanced class in college. To top it off, I spent an entire month in Barcelona, and I had gotten to the point where I could argue with folks on the phone in Spanish. That's when I knew I knew the language.

Just a mere 8 years later, my linguistic prowess has completely fallen apart. Granted, I haven't been confident in my ability, so I've been mumbling something incoherent, which causes the other person to freak out to get someone who can speak to the Gringo over there.

But even before that, I've been appalled at myself. This morning, after 8 hours in the country, most of it experienced while sleeping, I roamed around the hotel and kept saying, "Good Morning," and "Excuse me," everything in English. I was disappointed that I was so ethnocentric that it didn't even occur to me to pull out the "Buenos Dias" and "Pardon"s. I mean, when I see a whole bunch of Japanese tourists roaming around the States, they don't say, "Konnichiwa" to me, they say, "Hello" and smile.

So throughout the day, I've been getting my groove on. The guy at the front desk isn't nearly as scared of me as he was at the beginning of the day. He knows I'm trying, and I can see he appreciates it. Either that, or he's laughing at me. Either way, I figure that by the time I leave, I'll be able to tell someone that I don't agree on the phone, and that's good enough for me.

Mixed Vacation Lodging - What's Best?

Without even meaning to, our trip to Montana consisted of the ultimate mix of lodging. We started with a vrbo (vacation rental by owner), moved into motels along the remote parts of Glacier National Park, pricelined the standard hotel while in Missoula, then ended in a B&B back in Whitefish. What did I think?

It was the first time we had ever experienced a vrbo. Admittedly, I was cautious about it; how do you know what it will truly be like, and what if the place was a scam? One trick that I learned along the way, reinforced by another traveler, is to choose a vrbo that actually has customer comments. If you're conservative, as we are when it comes to lodging in places we aren't familiar with, this is a good barometer. Our Whitefish vrbo was called the Whitefish Homestead, and it was entirely delightful. It didn't have the modern uplift that many hotels are in the mode of doing, as evidenced by the palm tree wallpaper in the main bedroom, but for an equivalent price of a hotel room, we basically got a 2-bedroom apartment with the most amazing view of Whitefish Lake. Its location couldn't be beat. Walkable to downtown Whitefish, and with a great hostess who lived downstairs, who managed to keep herself accessible and yet not intrusive, it felt amazingly isolated. I slept solidly every night we were there. Awesome.

Motels, motels. I can't tell you the last time I stayed at a motel. But as I would learn on the East side of Glacier, not all motels are created equal. In Babb, where we wanted to stay close to the Many Glacier entrance, there's only one value choice. Yes, you could stay inside the park for a very pretty penny for sparse accommodations, but we wanted a great value, so we stayed outside - at Thronson's Babb. There, you can have the pleasure of spending your evening killing flies that seem to appear from nowhere, and find illicit drugs in the drawer right next to the Good Book itself. Yuck. The next day, we demanded $40 back - $1 for every fly we killed.

We skipped the next night in Babb and hightailed it to our next location - the Mountain Pine Motel. While not the lap of luxury, it was clean, quaint, friendly, and a great value. The benefit here was that the rooms were set up like a village of sorts, which lent itself to chatting with other visitors, and that is always one of my favorite parts of vacation. Perhaps it was because we enjoyed our East Glacier Park experience so much; perhaps because of Doris - the spunky 80-year-old matriarch of the motel who is hard of hearing and wears huge round white framed reading glasses. Whatever it is, I do have warm spot in my heart for that motel.

We moved on to the new Courtyard Marriott in Missoula. Eric pricelined it and nabbed the room for $70 per night - the best value we had all vacation. It was new, hip, clean, unused, altogether lovely. The hot tub, however, was the cool tub, the only thing that wasn't quite right. While I loved the amenities, there is something very impersonal with the hotel chain. No one really speaks or "hangs out." You stay to yourselves. Very different from our Mountain Pine Motel's informality which promoted engaging others, this was a very pretty room in which to lay your head each night.

We headed back to Whitefish and stayed at the widely acclaimed Good Medicine Lodge. It was a wonderful cross between the hotel amenities and the warmth and intimacy we felt at the Mountain Pine. The space was beautiful and comfortable. A pine tree was actually growing in the living room. The hot tub was actually hot. But there was something a little more formal to it all, where you felt like you had to behave yourself. The rambunctious night that Eric had with the hard-drinking, fun-seeking, adventurous world-traveling motorcyclists from England most likely wouldn't have happened at the Good Medicine Lodge. However, the cocktail hour was pleasant and encouraged everyone to meet each other. The first night, we met a group from France. The language barrier was an issue, but it didn't diminish the pleasant evening. The second night, we chatted with two other couples for hours. The diversity was fascinating, no topic was barred. Former FBI agent, Special Education Coordinator, Brand Director for the H1N1 vaccine, Guidance Counselor, Candy Maven, talking about terrorism, racism, flu epidemic, what it takes for students to succeed nowadays, and which place in town had good pizza. It was a great night. The only thing about a B&B is that your breakfast is dictated in the morning. Breakfast was a big deal during our stay, and while the food was definitely detailed and without exception, if you're watching what you eat, forget it.

The best? They all have pros and cons. Well, the motel in Babb only has cons, really, but if I had to choose just one, I'd take the vrbo. It had personality, great amount of space, and an unparalleled view. Ultimately, it was also the place that I felt the most rejuvenated, the most rested. I could sleep the whole night through, and that was no small feat.

Elitism

I was flying back home to Harrisburg from Orange County this morning. I entered the terminal with a big box set precariously on top of my wheeled luggage, wearing my Michigan long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. Glamorous, I was not, but nor was I grungy. At least I didn't think so...

I walked through the "Premium" line to check-in, then saw and heard a woman behind the United counter saying I should use the Easy-CheckIn terminals "over there."

"Why, is this one not working?" I asked, gesturing to the one right in front of me.

"Oh, it's working, and I guess it's okay for you to use it - there's no one really here, but it's for Elite Status members, like if you were Premium," she answered.

"I AM Premium," I countered, at which point she stammered something about how she just got in from LA and was ... didn't catch any of it, but I don't think I heard the word "frazzled" or "crazy," which I would have accepted as an apology. I'm not that picky.

Before I could stop myself, I mused aloud to myself, "Is it because I'm not wearing a suit?" She looked sheepish.

I suppose if I were to look at the situation as an outsider, I would have seen a casual-looking woman coming in with a butt-load of luggage, and I might have also assumed that I was a traveling neophyte - I mean, really, who comes in with a cardboard moving box teetering on a suitcase on wheels? Just the woman with Premium status who happens to be transporting some cherished items of her parents' after a visit home...

Flying Travails...

So I'm now at the point where I travel 55% of the time. How do I know this? My coworker came up to me sometime two weeks ago and said, "Hey, I think you travel more than all of us do. I wanna see...(sound of clicking on the computer looking up calendars)... 55%!! Sheesh."

I'm not sure how to feel about it. On the one hand, it really shows just how much idle time I'm spending on airplanes. On the other hand, it feels like 75%.

This most recent time, I had an experience I had never had before. My coworker and I boarded a plane going from Denver to Chicago. We were each connecting to a different city from that point on. I had gotten all settled into my seat, with pen and crossword puzzle in hand. Then I saw him coming back my way.

"Hey, I just got a message from United saying that they booked me on another plane that is going to Dulles, and then to Greensboro. Do you think I need to get off this plane?"

"I don't know. I've never gotten off one plane and then gotten on another."

"I know... hm. I think I'll go back there and ask the flight attendant."

He came back and said he was getting his stuff and going. Apparently, the weather in Chicago was disintegrating quickly, and his flight to Greensboro was canceled. Great.

"Uh. See ya. Have a great flight!"

And then I sat there, looking at my crossword puzzle clues, but not registering, because I was thinking about my own flight. I started checking flight stati (plural for status?) on my Blackberry. And then I saw it. Another route displayed beneath my original flight plan.

I also got up. "Excuse me," I interrupted two flight attendants bantering with each other, "I think I may have to also get off this plane." I showed her my blackberry display and she said,

"Take all your stuff and get off this plane. Chicago has bad weather and things are getting canceled. I would take that flight, if I were you." Enough said. As I gathered all my belongings, I could see the concern on the other passengers' faces. One guy had already up and left, and now someone else was actually getting off the plane.

"What's going on?!?!" They cried.

"I don't know, but I know I won't be getting out of Chicago tonight!" Perhaps a poor choice of words. I left behind me a sea of panic.

I walked out with an agent who offered to escort me and see me through. As the gate agent was checking my flight and status, he said, "Boy, it's a good thing you didn't stay on that plane. You would have been stuck in Chicago! Your connection got canceled!!" He almost said it a little too gleefully...

I walked over down to the other gate. There, my coworker was listening to his iPod and waiting for the plane to board. He turned his head. "Hey, what are you doing here?!?"

"I decided I needed to check after you deplaned. I'm in the same situation with you. If you hadn't said anything, I would have just kept on my merry way."

The first thing I did upon my return, after kissing my husband hello, was to log on my computer and sign up for email alerts on my flights. It seems that flying 55% of the time is not enough to protect you from impending bad travel experiences. I wonder what does...

Better Airports - Pretty Please?

I was flying back from Orange County, and I have to say, the Santa Ana Airport is doing things allllll riiiight! First, they had a security line that was for "Expert Travelers." This line just shoots you up to the front, and I got through so fast that I actually started to think I was the one who was holding things up. The thing that confuses me, though, is that there's nothing that designates anyone as an "expert traveler" except for self-evaluation. So when it's truly busy, how do I know I won't just end up behind a whole bunch of novice travelers? I suppose a novice traveler might be intimidated enough to not want to go through the "Expert Traveler" line, designated with a black diamond, reminiscent of an expert hill when skiing. That's what I'm hoping, at least.

As I wandered around my gate, I noticed a new sign with an electrical socket depicted on it, posted along a row of seats. When I went to observe, I found a long line of sturdy electrical outlets sandwiched between two long rows of seats. Brilliant! Now I don't have to squeeze myself into an odd corner and sit on the floor in order to give my laptop some juice. At least at SNA, anyway.

Chicago's ORD has another solution to this. They have rows of seats in between gates where one can plug themselves in. But these are shared among the 20 gates in that area, which doesn't leave many free openings at any one time. The other disadvantage is that you can't be at your gate, getting the latest and greatest information. What if the gate changes last minute, like what happened recently, when two small prop planes got directed to the other's gates, forcing all the passengers to trade their spots and trudge through the airport as well? You might have missed that, but hey, at least all your stuff is charged.

No, the SNA method is decidedly better. Each area having its own outlets spreads the love. Now, if only all airports had free wireless, like Harrisburg's MDT.