Photo above: my view of Mt. Rainer and the Cascades after departure from Seattle

For about 20 years in my old job, I traveled about 150,000 – 200,000 miles each year, going to some 70 – 80 locations, primarily throughout the United States. Large cities, small towns, islands, deserts, and everywhere in between.

I do not work for that employer any more, nor travel nearly as much. And after airport security was forever changed after the attacks of September 11, 2001, traveling by air has been nothing but a big PITA.

But it can also be amusing if you look and don’t let stupid things other people do annoy you. Here are some things that I observed on my recent trip to and from Seattle:

• Going through security at BWI, after a woman takes off her shoes to run them through the x-ray, she asks the TSA agent staffing the machine, “will your machine be able to show me if I need to replace the soles on my shoes?”

• [Yuppie carrying a huge cup of expensive coffee at security]: “Hell no, I won’t give you my coffee! I ‘need it’!” (Yeah, right… just admit it, you spent US$7 on a cup of coffee and you didn’t read the signs that you can’t bring it through security. Duhhh…)

• [very important guy in a suit to security agent]: “I don’t have time for this. My flight leaves in ten minutes!” (Well, dumb-dumb, get up an hour earlier next time!)

• [Ding-dong trying to carry three bags onto the plane, but stopped by the gate agent demanding that he check one bag]: “No, I have to have these bags when we land. My stuff is very important! (Yeah, you’re important, too. I’m really impressed.)

• [Guy trying to put two bags in the overhead bin when asked five times to put one under the seat on the full flight]: “I need legroom!” (Yeah, well, your convenience and comfort is much more important that everyone else’s, isn’t it?)

But everyone isn’t a self-centered jerk. I also noticed:

• Younger, tall guy lifting bags for three other people when the plane was loading and unloading.

• A woman sharing a meal that she brought on-board with her seat mate.

• Two men taking a middle seat (each) in the back so a young couple departing for their honeymoon could sit together in the ransom-payment “economy-plus” seating.

• Many displays of patience, which these days, is more necessary than ever.

As I said, traveling these days isn’t much fun, especially when people say and do dumb things and think only of themselves. When they cooperate, follow the rules, and listen, the experience is much better.

Life is short: plan ahead, relax, and think before you act.

As an odd quirk of fate, I am slated to fly to Seattle at the invitation and expense of a federal agency to give a speech about involving local officials in an important nationwide set of activities, for which funding to my employer was provided by that same federal agency — that told us that due to “conflicting priorities” cannot fund us any more, so I will lose my job in June. Go figure.

I fly out on Wednesday, speak Thursday, and return Friday. I wish I could stay longer, but I have an important community event to do on the Saturday after I get back, with a dab of caring for my Aunt and doing chores with my partner in between.

I haven’t been to Seattle since 2000. Wonder if the place has changed? LOL! I’ll find out! I am not looking forward to the very long flight — six hours air time in all with a change of planes in between. I’m also not looking forward to whatever rip-off fees the airline is gonna try to stick me with this time. I hate flying any more. I am glad I did all my world travel before the airlines went beserk.

Life is short: love the interesting quirks of fate and timing!

I just completed a short business trip to New Orleans, the Crescent City. My work was brief — a one day-meeting. It was productive and for the most part, interesting.

At the meeting’s end, I put on my lug-soled Chippewa Firefighter boots, a pair of jeans, and an old comfy sweatshirt and hopped on the trolley. I rode to the location of the local office of my former employer. I visited with a long-time friend who is the CEO. She gave me a tour of their refurbished facility and told me about their work during and after the impact of Hurricane Katrina.

It had rained for three solid days before I arrived and throughout my visit. Over 20″ of rain, with more falling. Water was overtopping but not breeching levies. Localized flooding was everywhere. Man, it was wet! But the spirits were good, and the efforts to help people affected by the current storm and flooding were well underway, well organized, efficient, and calm. Man, it brought me back to the days when I once worked for that organization and helped in such circumstances.

I am home now. I enjoyed the visit, the memories, and seeing the good hearts in action. I am glad I went. I regret that with all the frivolity of the city, that there remains so much sadness under the thin veil of the happy face put on for visitors. Lots more recovery work is needed.

Life is short: support those who help others.

I originally titled this post “Longing for Melbourne” but have extended it in thinking that, truly, I am longing for a visit back Down Under. (Read all the way through and you will understand the title of this blog post.)

My partner and I traveled to Australia for the first time in March, 1996, to discover what the Sydney Mardi Gras was all about. We made travel plans a year in advance, and stayed in a hotel on Oxford Street, which is the main route of the Mardi Gras parade. I recall that we bought fresh fish earlier in the day from a vendor at Bondi Beach, and came back to our hotel which had a kitchenette. I prepared dinner, and my partner and I sat on the hotel balcony to eat and watch the parade.

Wow, what a show! We were very impressed, especially because they actually started on time and kept it moving — so unlike gay parades in the U.S.

After the parade, we went out in our leather and walked to the grounds where an all-night party was held. We did a lot of man-watching, and enjoyed the whole affair. Every Aussie we spoke with was pleasant, friendly, helpful, and gracious. We got back to our hotel fairly early (as things go), about 2:00am. When we arose and looked out onto the street about 9am, we saw several people still staggering back from the party.

We thought Sydney was cool, but to be honest, we found another city in Australia captivating — Melbourne. After Sydney, we rented a car and drove south. We stayed one night in the Australian Capital, Canberra, which is a deadly boring city — much unlike Washington, DC. They roll the sidewalks up at 5pm sharp. Honestly, we could find only one restaurant that was open after 6pm for dinner.

We arrived in Melbourne the next afternoon, after a breathtaking drive on the Hume Highway. That’s where I saw my first (but not last) mob of Kangaroos out in the wild. (Photo not from the road, but at a sanctuary in Queensland taken on another trip.)

Melbourne is a fascinating, wonderful city. It is laid out well, and easy to navigate. For me, that’s a big deal because I get lost in a paper sack. We stayed with a friend who lived in a suburb east of the city.

We took our first drive on The Great Ocean Road that runs along the southern coast, and were constantly amazed at the breathtaking scenery.

We learned that Melbourne has such a good public transportation system that we really didn’t need a car. We returned the “hired car” early, and bought day passes for the trains and trams. My partner is a “tram-aholic”. We rode and rode and rode all over that wonderful area, and saw many things.

The Melbourne Zoo was terrific, as when we arrived, an Emu greeted us and took us on a personal tour. I saw my first platypus at the Platypusary. The Fairy Penguins were adorable, both at the zoo and one night when we saw them in the wild.

We enjoyed a visit to the Laird, a local leather bar full of fun guys. They made us feel very welcome, and wouldn’t let either of us buy a drink all night. We met many very fine men who were very interesting to speak with, and nice to look at, as well.

Subsequently, we have gone back to Australia seven times. Each time we went, we would pick out a new place to visit, as well as return to Melbourne. We just love the place. The people are very friendly. The town is clean, well-maintained, and the public transit is outstanding in its huge service area, its frequency and affordability.

Regretfully, the last time we were there was in 2004. That visit included an absolutely unbelievable train trek on The Ghan from Melbourne via Adelaide to Alice Springs. Then we hired a car and drove to Uluru (Ayers Rock) then flew on to and Townsville, Brisbane, and then home. Right after that visit, my partner had his first of several surgeries on his hips. Now he is unable to travel by air. He just cannot sit in a plane for a long ride, even if we travel in the Business or First Class sections. Further, he was so humiliated when we returned from IML in Chicago in May, 2007, by being subjected to a thorough, personally invasive search at security because his prosthetic hip set off the magnetometer, he refuses to consider being subjected to that treatment by the TSA again.

As the weather chills here in North America, and as I see visitors to my blog from Melbourne and my blog pal Sue from Brisbane drop in for a check, my heart longs to return to that magical, wonderful country and its southern city of Melbourne with its great vistas, wonderful friendly people, and great things to do and to see. After all, today is the first day of Summer in Australia! Hmmm… I can imagine my gorgeous partner in a Speedo at the beach … but I digress!

My Aussie friends remind me that “your seasons are timed according to the astronomical calendar instead of using meteorological seasons, and are backwards.” But our Aussie friends excuse us because we are upside down and therefore cannot think as clearly as they can since they are on the “right” side of the Earth.

Life is short: keep the dream alive! Happy first day of summer to my friends and blog visitors from the Great Land of Oz!

I had an uneventful flight back home from Charleston, South Carolina, on Saturday morning. I just wonder, though, with all the security restrictions in flying these days, why they do not require an IQ test before issuing airline tickets. The following is a true story, which I wrote down as it happened so I wouldn’t miss it. It was hilarious (to me), as well as sad.

[Preface: nobody wants to pay Useless Airways its rip-off fees that they charge for baggage handling at US$20 – $30/each, so for puddle-jumper flights like this, most folks do like I do, and carry their small suitcase with them. We know that we can leave it with a ramp attendant who will load it into the plane’s baggage compartment without charging a fee. Plus, when the flight lands, you get the bag back immediately as you leave the plane, so you don’t have to wait at baggage claim to get it back.]

——————
The gate agent called for people to board our small regional jet bound from Charleston to National Airport (please, don’t call that airport by the name of the former President who fired all of the air traffic controllers!)

My fellow passengers and I walk down the jetway and then down a set of stairs at the end of it, onto the tarmac. We see our plane and walk toward it. We put our small suitcases with the gate tag next on a cart near the stairs that go up to the plane. This is standard, normal procedure. What was a bit unusual, though, is that the flight attendant wasn’t anywhere to be seen as we walked aboard the plane.

I find my way to my seat, which is near the back of the plane. Then I see this, umm, “individual,” moving down the aisle carrying a rather large rollaboard suitcase. He lifts it up and tries to push it into the overhead bin. The problem is, the overhead bins on these small regional jets are not very large. His suitcase was at least 4″ (10cm) wider than the opening of the bin.

Instead of it dawning on him that his bag is too wide, he turns it 90 degrees and tries pushing it into the bin again. Duhhh… still doesn’t fit.

By then, a line is queuing up as he is blocking the aisle. But no matter, after all (to him), he’s the only one in the plane.

So instead of figuring out that the darn bag won’t fit in the bin, he turns it 90 degrees again. I kid you not. He pushes and pushes, and the bag won’t go in. It’s nowhere close.

The person standing nearest to him (who he is blocking to get to his seat) politely suggests, “why don’t you put the bag under the seat in front of you?”

The guy doesn’t say a word. He apparently is getting frustrated, and scrunches up his face like he is trying to solve a complicated jigsaw puzzle. So he drops the bag 45 degrees and gets a corner of it into the bin, and then pushes and pushes until he turns so red in the face, I thought that he was going to explode.

The bag ain’t goin’ nowhere. And by now, the line of passengers is out the door.

The flight attendant works her way down the aisle to see what the problem is, and tells him flat-out, “sir, your bag won’t fit. You should have bag-tagged it and left it on the cart outside. Here…” (she pulls the bag toward her and attaches a bag tag to it). “Let me take it for you and have it gate checked.”

But instead of releasing his grip on his bag, Mr. Struggler says, “well, it fit on the other plane.”

“What other plane?”

“The one that I flew here on.”

“Well, sir, some of the larger jets have larger overhead storage bins. This jet doesn’t. Just let me gate check it for you so these people can get to their seats.”

“Well, let me try one more thing…”

Believe it or not, he wants to try again and Einstein has figured it all out. He reaches up with one hand and grabs the bottom of the storage bin and pulls down on it while trying to stuff his suitcase into the bin. Thank goodness those storage bins are made of strong stuff. While it bowed a little bit, it did not break. And all the time, Mr. gotta-store-his-bag has an expression on his face like, “I know I can make this work if I pull down and push the bag hard enough!”

By then, the flight attendant is getting anxious. Passengers waiting to take their seats are beginning to call out and tell the guy to move out of the way.

The attendant grabs the bag and says, “sir, I am going to gate check this bag. Have a seat!”

She took the bag and everyone standing between her and the door moved so she could squeeze by them to take the bag out. Mr. Einstein, however, stands there with his mouth agape, still blocking the aisle. Someone finally told him to please move so they could get by. He finally did, and when he did so, some people exclaimed, “yeah!” and clapped.

Okay, Mr. Einstein may not travel very much, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that his bag wouldn’t fit. I don’t know why he was so insistent on trying to stuff his big bag into such a small space.

This incident gives me renewed respect for the crap that flight attendants have to put up with all the time.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and we even landed early. My partner picked me up at the Metro station on my end, and we got reacquainted.

Here is a photo that I took out of the window of my plane as we were about to land at National Airport.

I do not travel nearly as much as I once did. Back in the day with my former employer, I would travel, on average, about 150 days each year and go to about 70 cities both large and small across America. I might also have traveled once or twice a year internationally.

I would try to choose the same airline, so I could build miles and status to receive perks like early boarding and an occasional free upgrade to first class.

My travel is not nearly the same any more. I may travel just a few times each year nowadays. I have to use different airlines, and my once preferred carrier does not offer nearly as many choices as it once did. Thus, I have no status on any airline and am like anyone else. When I do fly, I wait for the cattlecar placement on the plane.

Take, for example, the recent boarding experience that I had for my return flight home from Phoenix the other day:

Passengers boarded before me include first class, preferred members, families with babies, disabled people, people with wide-set eyes, purple left thumbs, green feet, and everyone else.

“We are boarding by zones. Only board when your zone number is called.”

Everyone queues up anyway. (But the agent enforces the “boarding by zone” rule.)

“Attention, we are now boarding Zone 90” calls the gate agent.

Finally… That’s me.

“Sir, we have run out of middle seats in the back of the plane. Would you prefer to be strapped to the right or left wing?”

Ummm… I guess the left. I do not have it in me to be a right winger.

“Okay, sir, step out here. Good! Straps nice and tight? That’s great! (Who says you’re not into bondage!) It may be a little windy, but the view is excellent!”

This is a joke. This is only a joke. For the above post, this blog tested your bad joke deciphering system. This is only a joke. Actually, I got to sit on the tail…