The Occasionally-Examined Life

Here are some random thoughts encountered during my recent airport terminal visits and flights:

Luggage Overload – Mindful of the fact that I’ll be lugging my suitcase up and down stairs in places and over cobblestones and of the current fashion for luggage surcharges, I always try to pack lightly. Not Rick Steves’ “lightly” mind you – I still use a 26″ rolling suitcase and a carry-on bag – but I try to keep the suitcase down to 35 lbs. I noticed at several airports that my concerns aren’t shared by everyone. Some folks travel with amazing amounts of overstuffed luggage. Maybe they’re moving to a new home? Maybe they’re richer than Croesus? They’re definitely not loved by everyone waiting in the “Bag Drop” line…

Loving the Takeoff – I love travel and never more so when it begins with a thundering run down a runway. As the plane goes from zero to 180 or so mph in 20 seconds, I always tick off “V1” (when the plane has enough lift for the nose wheel to come up) and then “V2” (when all wheels come off the ground), usually while listening to some rousing music (The Indigo Girls this trip). Then a bit later when the “flaps” are retracted and the ride smoothes out, I’m happily on my way, marvelling at the utter magic of flight.

Craft Beer on Virgin Atlantic – I was delighted to see my favorite beverage appear in the menu on my flight. Among the offerings was something from Old Busthead brewery in Gainesville, VA, where one of my work colleagues performs occasionally in a band. Good beer, that. These are bottled beers only so, sadly, no Mad Fox brews for now.

ORLY vs CDG – I flew from London into Paris Orly airport, rather than Charles deGaulle airport, for the first time on this trip and it’s a much nicer experience. Orly was the original Paris airport and is still very much in use but it’s smaller than CDG and less hectic. The OrlyVal automated rail shuttle takes you from the airport to the RER B rail line for a fast ride into central Paris. Give Orly a thought for your next flight into Paris.

When flying in Upper Class on a Virgin international red-eye, there are several schools of thought. There are the Sleepers, who immediately request a “sleep suit”, pull on a blindfold, and go (or at least try) to sleep. Then there are the Diners, who want to enjoy the benefits of their premium service and figure they won’t get that much sleep anyway. I fall into the latter category and, since you asked, here’s what was on for dinner:

Tasty stuff and I was snoozing soon thereafter.

There I was in Upper Class on my lovely Virgin-Atlantic flight and ready to use my fancy-schmancy Bose noise-cancelling headphones. I pulled them out and inserted the cable and the battery, which I had been very careful when packing to be sure was brand new.

Oops! Obviously, a AA battery does not fit where a AAA battery is designed to be used. When I asked the flight attendant if he had an AAA battery, he looked astounded and said No, and that he’d never been asked that question before. I collected points for originality but still feeling incredibly dumb, I managed somehow to survive the flight using earbuds. Packing Lesson of the Day: trust but verify – insert the new battery, switch on, and test! P.S. Yes, of course I was able to buy the right battery at the local 8 a Huit store near my hotel in Paris.

Each time I prepare to travel, I review the state of the tools available to make these posts. The WordPress app steadily improves over the years, and portable keyboards have gotten better, too. This year I’m using a Belkin Ultimate Keyboard Case with my iPad, a nice large bluetooth keyboard that doubles as a case for the tablet. It’s very lightweight and claims to have a battery that lasts for months (but I’m taking its charging cable with me, of course).

  
Yes, part of my job is to write about technology, so you might find it odd that I choose to write while on vacation. It’s all in the context, I guess. I am, however, reserving starting on The Great American Novel I know I have in me until those years when I’m not over a keyboard 8 hours a day for employment.

So, I’m off to Europe very soon. This year’s stops include Paris, Venice, Amsterdam, and London. All favorites that I’ve been to many times before and this year I’m going to try to visit sights that I’ve skipped or overlooked in the past. 

I’m glad you’ve decided to come along with me and I look forward to sharing my thoughts, travails, and peculiar perspectives with you. Ciao for now!

Yes, after a bit of a hiatus I’ve just finished planning for a Fall trip to many of my favorites European destinations. Here’s hoping that the US dollar is still strong against the Euro in a few more months.

I’m writing this post with the new WordPress editor and the jury is still out as to whether it’s better than my old combination of iaWriter and Blogsy.

In the meantime, I’ve been visiting a few U.S. destinations, including Fort Worth, Texas, and Chicago, and I’ve been favorably impressed with Virgin America, cousin of my favorite trans-Atlantic airline, Virgin Atlantic.

So more news to come soon.

Oxford has some kind of allure for me that I can't really explain and I never miss a chance to visit. I'd love to claim it's something to do with the town's long academic history, reputation as an incubator of genius, etc., etc. but it's probably the result of watching too many episodes of Inspector Morse and Inspector Lewis on TV.

But then again, as Morse would have it, it may be something about the beer. Oxford, not surprisingly, supports a lot of very good pubs. I have my own private Ale Trail when I visit, which starts at Far From the Madding Crowd (CAMRA City Pub of the Year 2012, 2011, 2009) where a lively bunch of old folks turn up for brunch. And the unemployed, semi-alcoholic, common man having a pint with me at 11:00 am is always a great source of interesting commentary on life. The pub always has a good range of cask ale on tap and the staff is great.

Then it's on to the White Horse, on George Street, with its prominently-placed, framed head shots of John Thaw, Kevin Whatley, and Laurence Fox and, in the TV shows, the scene of many a brainstorm as the detectives sift through the clues, with the assistance of a good pint. This pub is small, with a low ceiling and plenty of good cask ale.

Then I took myself to the Turf Tavern, another storied place, not too far from the replica of Venice's Bridge of Sighs. “The Turf” has been around, in one form or another, as a pub since the 13th century and has been a watering hole for many a student, don, and tourist. Local legend has it that it was at the Turf Tavern that former U.S. president Bill Clinton, while attending Oxford as a Rhodes Scholar, famously “did not inhale”.

Between all the not inhaling and all the beer on offer, one wonders if students here do indeed get an education. These kids are some of the best and brightest the world has to offer, after all. Well, fear not, this sign, assures us that an education is being had (click the photo to enlarge and read the fine print).

Having educated myself a bit, I took the train back to Reading, where I used to live in 2008 and arrived at the marvelous new train station. The constructon was just getting underway when I visited last year and it's nearly done now – quite an improvement! Once in town, I reminisced a bit as I strolled along the main pedestrain shopping area, past John Lewis, Marks & Spencer, and the Oracle shopping mall.

And soon found myself a seat at The Ale House, formerly The Hobgoblin, which has served over 7,000 different cask ales. Plenty to like here. A classic pub, this place hasn't a single stick of matching furniture and is a warren of little rooms beyond the bar. As Happy Hour rang out, colleagues from the local office of my company, and a few who had just flown in from the U.S. to visit them, arrived and the pints began flowing. It was nice to hang with these folks on a social basis, though I declined an invitation to join some of them much later at The Purple Turtle for uninhibited 1980s disco dancing. Yeah… that sounded like not my kind of fun.

So instead, I had the reliable Great Western rail system deliver me back to London in good shape and with plenty of good memories refreshed.

My four days in Paris were spent in my usual hangouts: people-watching in Luxembourg Gardens, art-worshipping at the Orsay and Louvre museums, simply smiling at the Eiffel Tower, and lunching at the restaurant under the Art Deco dome atop the Printemps department store. Once again, the Fete des Vendanges (Harvest Festival) in Montemarte was something of a bust.

I did find this interesting store featuring products from the Basque area of Spain (hey – Phil and Marti, check it out) on Boulevard St-Michel. If you double-click the picture and zoom, you can see those are hams hanging from the ceiling.

One more item for the “In Europe, It's Not What You Expected” Department: I decided to send out two pairs of jeans to be cleaned. As we all know, washing and drying them also shrinks them a bit, solving that baggy look they get after a few days wear. Off I sent them, and back they came, dry-cleaned. So they are now very clean and still baggy. Oh well…

As usual, the Eurostar train was fine except we had to stop (yes, dead stop) short of the Chunnel to fix some outer panel door that had come open. Result: 1/2 hour late arrival into London. Also, discovered iPhone Location Services/Facebook has no entry for “under the middle of the English Channel”, which I think it should.

Ensconced at the Paddington Hilton, more proof the world is going to hell in a handbasket: no rooms available to upgrade me (a mere Gold Hilton Honors member, not Diamond or Platinum) to an Executive level room! Hasn't ever happened before in all the years I've been here. Between that and the difficulty upgrading my trans-Atlantic flights, I'm closer to joining the crowd that thinks these loyalty programs are becoming worthless.

Paddington Railway Station is a vast, cavernous space which has a glass wall closing off one end into a food court, inside of which are open-air eateries and other stores. In the past, in this area they've had a problem with pigeons and every horizontal beam and other surface was festooned with those 5″ plastic spikes intended to keep them from roosting. Didn't help much in the past. This morning I spotted a fellow in a service staff uniform walking around with a hawk on his arm. Yes, a hawk. And then I noticed there was not a single pigeon to be seen anywhere inside the food court. What a concept: using a hawk inside an enclosed (though large) space to control the pigeons. Brilliant!

I'm off to my old home, Reading, today to visit some favorite old haunts and perhaps see the lads from our company office for a pint after work. Cheerio!

I'm in Paris today but getting here was no treat. First, in Venice, while taking the AliLaguna boat to the airport, someone's full-sized piece of luggage toppled off the stack in the cockpit, down the steps, and onto my extended leg, waking me from a nice doze. Had circumstances been slightly different, I might have had a broken leg. As it was, I only received a nasty and painful bit of road rash, and some swelling and bruising later. No blood running into my shoe, so I deferred treatment until Paris.

The scrum at Marco Polo airport was worse than usual due to yesterday's air traffic controller strike, which forced many cancellations, resulting in extra heavy crowds today. When I was directed to the “Bag Drop – Internet Checked-in” desk, which miraculously had no line, I found a quartet of older Americans ahead of me who thought the agent was their personal travel agent, and proceeded to take 25 minutes to “drop” their bags – had I gone through the regular, snaking line instead I would have gotten through more quickly. This same group of four were on my flight, and one of them used an airport wheelchair so all of them could board early, then he leapt up unassisted once we landed and hustled out of the plane on foot. Grrrr.

Our plane was packed and though I managed to get into an exit row, it was in the middle seat, so I spent the hour and a half flight with my arms tucked into my sides, feeling like I was wearing a straight jacket. Also, the plane arrived late into Venice, and left late, so I got into Charles de Gaulle airport about an hour late.

After landing, I made my way to the RER “B” train for the ride into Paris, which usually delivers me almost right to the door of my hotel. However, well before that, at Gare du Nord, they announced it was the end of the line and kicked us all off! Here's the last place you want to find yourself: Gare du Nord, at rush hour, with luggage. What I found was: huge crowds, 5pm, packed and infrequent trains, and utter chaos over the RER B line and other issues, and many PA announcements in French only. Oh yes, this is a multi-level train station with very few escalators, so I found myself carrying my luggage up and down multiple crowded stairways. Helpful information to be found anywhere? Nope. I was told different things by different “Station Information” staff, often just 10 feet apart, almost accidentally got back on a train to the airport, saw signs that seemed to indicate track work in progress on RER “B”, and when I did get to my hotel was told by the desk clerk there had been a rail worker strike/slow down. Go figure. I finally gave up on the train and went upstairs to get a taxi, where I waited in the taxi queue for an hour before being put in one. Luckily, the huge traffic jam around the station dissipated quickly and I arrived at my hotel across town in about 20 minutes. Sheesh.

Well, it's always nice to be back in Paris, regardless of how you get here. At my hotel, I was assigned a really nice room I'd not stayed in before, so I'm bouncing back fast. Got some first aid supplies to tend to my leg wound from the pharmacy across the street, so that's in hand. Today, weather looks good so it's off to the Fete des Vendanges, the wine harvest festival in the Montmartre neighborhood.

I can't resist commenting on the Taverna Al Remer, where I had lunch today. This is truly one of the “hidden treasures” of Venice and very difficult to find on foot, but one of my favorite restaurants in Venice.

It's also one of the few, perhaps only, “buffet”-style meals in Venice. For a mere 20eu you get an all-you-can-eat buffet of about 30 items, a half-litre of wine, plus a pasta dish or soup, and a selection of desserts. So it's a terrrific value on top of it all. Recorded classical music created the background to conversations featuring French, Italian, and Russian. Like all Venetian lunches, if you finish in less that 2 hours, you're doing it wrong. And if you show up before 1:00 for lunch, you'll be recognized as a dumb tourist (busted). I finished my tasty lunch with a glass of grappa and was in heaven. I understand that in the evening, in addition to the great food and atmosphere, there's live jazz every night.

Oh, one more thing. The Al Remer sits in a tiny square, about 25 yards on a side and open to the Grand Canal just above the Rialto Bridge. I was seated so that I had a view out the front door to the dock and was delighted to see a water taxi pull up, with a newly minted Mr. and Mrs. aboard in the open rear cockpit. Yes, both in their wedding outfits – and let me tell you, a bride all in white on the canal draws a lot of attention. Getting married in Venice is quite a tradition. The taxi docked and the happy couple disembarked into the photogenic square, with attendants, for many a picture. Where they went after that, I haven't a clue, but they were both smiling broadly, as were all of us in the restaurant.

Late Breaking News: French air traffic controllers went on a 1-day strike today, so I'm expecting travel chaos for my Air France flight to Paris tomorrow. Zut!

Today is my last day in Venice, with Air France whisking me off to Paris tomorrow. As a keen observer of “stuff”, here are a few notes I've made this week here.

This year's crop of ultra-annoying sidewalk vendors are Bangladeshis (for the geographically- challenged, their country is wedged-in between India and Thailand). They're everywhere, especially at night, hawking penlights with prism filters, roses, and luminescent helicopter thingees shot into the sky with a rubber band. The latter are kind of cool at night in St. Mark's Square, until one comes down and hits you in the head or until you express any interest and are then immediately besieged to buy one. The price descends through the day from 5eu to 1eu, meaning they're probably worth 10 cents. The rose sellers are particularly insistent, shoving a stem into a woman's face until she touches it in self-defense, at which point it's impossible to give it back. All completed with endless smiling and apparent deafness to repeated “No”s.

What a strange gender we men are. It's night, it's Venice, it's romantic, and we're out on the town with our lovely wife. She's taken the trouble to dress nicely, do her hair, apply make-up, wear her good shoes. We men, on the other hand, are wearing an old Nike sweatshirt, sneakers, and jeans. Yes, you can see this proof that men are tone-deaf when it comes to such things anywhere but, here in beautiful Venice, it seems especially insensitive.

Here's a shot of the Taverna San Trovaso, not far from the Academia Bridge, where I had lunch yesterday. Great place, great food, nice staff. Highly recommended when you come here. My lunch included homemade ravioli stuffed with mushrooms and truffle oil. Yum! I happened to share the dining room with a group of Japanese tourists and was incredibly impressed with the thoroughness of the service offered by their guide. He explained the menu to all of them (in their native tongue), took their orders, handled all communications in Italian with the staff, and handled all individual payments. Everyone benefitted.

 

The international version of “get to the top of the escalator and stop in the mouth of it to get your bearings” is still alive and well in Venice. Walking left while looking right, stopping in a narrow alley – with your stroller – to chat with your friends, suddenly coming to a dead stop to light your cigarette without stepping to the side… all time-honored dumb and inconsiderate behaviors all too often seen here and especially problematic given the high volume of people everywhere.

I saw the Virtuosi di Venizia (moonlighting singers and musicians from the La Fenice opera house) again last night. A great, intimate setting, wonderful acoustics, and a fine hour of music and singing. Puccini, Verdi, Vivaldi – a great selection of arias and duets for tenor and soprano – supported by a fine string quintet. Marvelous stuff, inexpensive, informal, and highly recommended.

Based on the “you look like a Native, I'll ask you” metric of being asked four times yesterday for directions, I must be doing something right. Maybe it's my white beard and professorial appearance, for surely no one confuses me with an Italian. Even better: I actually knew the answer to the questions.

Visiting Venice really isn't like visiting Berlin, Paris, or London. It's unique: no cars, no bicycles, very old twisting lanes and ancient buildings. All the fancy hotels, such as the Hilton, are on other adjacent islands. Wi-Fi is limited (in the hotel lobby only, if they have it at all) and cell service (of the international roaming sort, for foreigners, i.e. ME) is non-existent. Space is at a premium in hotel rooms, in shops, and in restaurants. In fact, the imaginative use of space and relentless avoidance of waste (yes, you only get ONE paper napkin, why would you need more?) is a kind of revelation and a reminder of the wasteful abundance of life in the U.S.

Ciao for now, I will resume my writings once I'm installed in Paris! A tout alors!