August 2008 Entries
As I write, I’m distressingly aware of long shadows as the low-lying morning sun moves around to the South, the signature of the last days of summer. It’s likely that we’ll have quite a few warm---even hot---days in September, but they won’t carry the bright promise of long summer evenings when you delay as long as possible coming indoors, putting out the lights and going to bed.
Weather makes the season, regardless of what the calendar says. Here in the Midwest, we can have heartbreaking cold in late May, or a heat wave in October. And as every traveler knows, weather is one of the principal variables affecting the enjoyment of travel, regardless of the season. Heading for the sun during the northern winters, you count on good weather at your destination---if you can get off the ground at the airport at home. Many’s the time I’ve been unable to get out of Chicago on schedule because of winter storms.
Ordinarily, I enjoy all kinds of weather, winter as well as summer, as soon as I accept the fact that it is going to be winter, and the four inches of snow I wake up to is no aberration. Many people I know relish springs and falls, but thanks to either global warming or long-term weather trends, we’ve lost our spring in the Midwest. It’s become a time when winter lingers in a state of approaching demise but with occasional rallies as if to say, “I ain’t dead yet.”
But as compensation, fall has become a glorious time of year hereabouts, with clear, sunny days, leaves clinging longer to the trees and crisp nights, when crawling into bed under a light down comforter is the essence of pleasure.
The trouble with fall, though, is that you know the lovely sunshine and warmth are just teasing you. They’re trying to get you to smile and close your eyes so they can hit you in the face with a massive snowball. The mantra of fall is, “One more day; one more day.”
All in all, though, I guess we have to admit, as Mark Twain said, one of the brightest gems in the weather is the dazzling uncertainty of it all.
If you’d like to share any weather stories with us, please do.
Paula “Break Out the Boots” Gifford
My niece, whose first year of high school starts in a few days, was telling me about an assignment all entering freshmen received sometime during the summer. By the first day of school, she has to be able to fill in an outline map with the names of every country in the world and know the capital of each country. Also she has to be able to do the same with the U.S. states and the Canadian provinces.
I’m not sure what my attitude is towards this sort of work. On the one hand, it seems silly to devote all the effort this will take to memorizing information that is readily available in books, and especially, on the Internet, which every ninth grade student in this school is completely familiar with and quite expert at using.
But I also see a considerable value in internalizing a more-or-less accurate picture of the political geography of the world, if for no other reason, than to have a start at understanding current world events. If you can picture the physical relationship of Russia and Georgia (for the most part, a little-known entity), it’s certainly easier to understand the background for animosity between the two countries. And it’s not really possible to understand the hostilities of the Middle East without knowing where the various states involved are located in relation to each other.
I remember having to memorize the names of all the English monarchs from Henry VIII to the current throne holder. I believe that was required of us in eighth grade World History. If anything, it seems of far less value than my niece’s assignment, certainly once I was finished with World History. But little did I realize how useful that string of kings and queens would be when trying to fall asleep---far better than counting sheep.
And I’m still word perfect on Shakespeare’s 29th and 116th sonnets, which I learned in a college freshman English Lit. class. Little could I anticipate how comforting they would be at difficult times in later life.
So what’s a head for? To memorize seemingly useless information? Perhaps a better question is what is useless information?
Does this bring to mind any of your memorization experiences that turned out to be more useful than you could have believed them to be? If so, please tell us about them.
Paula “When in the course of human events…” Gifford
I’m not much of a resort person. But I suppose that’s also true for most “city” people. I’d much rather be sitting and nursing a cup of tea or a glass of wine in a café, or better yet, outside on the terrace. What better way to pass a lazy hour than by watching the locals saunter past intent on their own thoughts or conversations? And more often than not, people look better in their city clothes than in bathing suits.
I think of a resort vacation of about three or four days (any longer and it becomes something other than a vacation) as enforced idleness. Oh, I know there are usually more things to do than hours in a day. But unless you have a particular passion---which I don’t, at least not of the sports variety--I can’t see any reason to leave my book behind at the shaded spot near the pool, and try to make a fool of myself on a windsurfer, or get a dash of water in my lungs by not following instructions on how to use a snorkel tube.
Moreover, I’m very fair-skinned and prone to sun-induced skin cancers. I do agree that a well-tanned body is much more attractive than the one of milky-white skin with strategically occurring red splotches that I carry around most of the year. But I’d rather be pale and well than the best-tanned patient in the hospice.
I’ve tried every brand and strength of sun block on the market. The hypo-allergenic ones, the waterproof ones, the powdery ones--and I can’t stand any of them. They leave me feeling as if I were the bird being readied for Sunday dinner.
No, the resort life is not for me. When forced to appear, I spend the first hour or two plotting my movements for the rest of the stay so that I can avoid sun, water and wet people. In its favor, though, a resort is the perfect setting to justify consuming gin and tonics starting no later than 10 a.m. -- the proverbial silver lining.
What’s your opinion of resort life? Like it? Hate it? Let us know, please.
Paula “Feet on the Asphalt” Gifford
That headline is supposed to suggest trying to hail a cab. But in the city where I live, there’s rarely a problem of finding one. The problem starts when one glides over to the curb, and you have to decide whether you want to get in.
I’m not talking about any evaluation of the looks of the driver—I’ve had good and bad experiences with all sorts of cab drivers. No, my concern is the condition and cleanliness of the car, and secondarily, if the driver will know how to reach my destination efficiently.
I live in a neighborhood that’s at quite some distance from the airport I use. So when I arrive back home from one of my frequent flights, I give the driver my address and then wonder if I should ask if he or she knows the way or wants some help. I’m not questioning the driver’s professionalism, but I also don’t want to be taken home by some circuitous route. Obtaining a taxi driver’s license in this town isn’t the most rigorous of tasks. And there are ways—not quite legal—of making it even less rigorous.
I love to use London as an example of the "right" way to assure knowledgeable taxi drivers. Everyone’s probably heard of the process of "Doin’ the Knowledge," which requires the would-be taxi driver to bicycle around the city’s 18,000 or so streets until he or she knows how to get to each of them efficiently from anywhere in the city.
I’ve been told that driving a cab in London was, and perhaps still is, a respected profession that allows someone with only a small amount of capital to be in self-owned business. Too often here at home, driving a cab is thought of as a bottom-of-the-ladder way of making some money, and the person forced to accept that job hasn’t highly motivation to do it well.
So what’s to be done about the taxi situation in many of America’s biggest cities? In my opinion it all comes down to the enforcement of the rules that presently exist, and the addition of a few more.
First, create a more comprehensive process of testing license applicants’ knowledge of the city’s streets. (The current examination consists of knowing how to make the trip between 200 named buildings, landmarks or institutions.)
Next, limit the number of hours a cab can be driven in any 24-hour period, and enforce the rule.
Renting a taxi from a medallion owner gives the driver the right to work the cab for 24-hours, and that’s just what some drivers do, sharing one cab with one or two other shift drivers, or in extreme cases, sleeping in the cab for a few hours, and then rolling out with it again.
Finally, assign professional inspectors (perhaps retired drivers) to ride as passengers and report their findings, with enforcement penalties for violations when found.
While taxis are great for spur-of-the-moment transport, every time I ride in one I appreciate the times I can schedule a town car for airport transit and, really, it's not much of a splurge considering the way taxi fares have risen in the last couple of years.
But as far as taxis are concerned, I’m probably talking about the way things would be done in Oz. Nevertheless, one can wish, and while I’m wishing, let me add that it would be nice if all drivers were required to wear a clean, simple uniform, perhaps just dark trousers or shorts and a specified-color shirt.
Do you have cab stories (winners or losers) to share with us? Please do.
Paula "More Gripes" Gifford
How much service do you appreciate when staying in a hotel? For me, this isn’t a matter of price, rather it’s a matter of taste. I expect a particular level of service when checking in, but by that I mean courtesy and intelligence at the reception desk. But really, I can open doors by myself, I travel with only one medium size rolling bag and a courier case slung over my shoulder and in my room I can usually find the bath and closet myself, and I recognize a tv when I see one.
I consider myself thrifty, not cheap. I tip well, probably too well overseas, for service that I want and need. But I bridle at being waited upon unnecessarily. I don’t need someone to turn down my bed covers—no one does that for me at home if I’m the first one to go to bed—and I certainly don’t want or need a piece of candy before going to sleep. Nor do I want my bed sheets changed daily. I don’t do that at home, and unless the hotel is letting someone else sleep in my bed while I’m out during the day, I see no reason for changing sheets after one use.
Bath towels are another example of unwanted service, but here I’ve noticed that many hotels are jumping on the greenwagon and giving guests a choice of daily towel replacement or not. Makes sense to me.
I no longer put any shoes out for shining overnight. I stopped doing that after an experience of having some gent’s freshly shined size 14 brown wingtips left at my door in the morning. It took about an hour for the hotel to find my shoes among the 100 or so pairs they had shined overnight, with the result that I was late for my first appointment.
And I now bring my own simple alarm clock, having had too many mornings when my wake-up call came anywhere from 10 to 20 minutes late.
So when you stop to think about it, there really isn’t much a good hotel needs to offer to keep guests like myself happy and coming back again:
- Clean, smoking-odor-free room.
- One set of thick, fluffy towels including a large bath towel.
- Clean sheets, soft pillows and blankets, not bedspreads for warmth when needed.
- Windows that open for fresh air (always stay on a high floor).
- Good bedside reading lights
- Comfortable chair and lamp for reading or watching tv
- Wide shower head with lots of water pressure
Is that asking for too much?
Let me know what you think/
After 20 years, we’ve reluctantly sold our weekend house. Our travel schedule are such that we just couldn’t maintain two domiciles, and though we’d much rather have kept the country house and sold the city apartment, there’s not a major airport within 200 miles of the house.
Our house was located in a beautiful part of the state, where spring summer and fall each had its promises. Winter, however, was usually nasty. Thus, just about every Friday afternoon, from April through October, we made the five-hour drive, usually with a friend or two as well as our Scotties, Nelly and Pepper, and the calico cat, Kitzel, who traveled in a cat carrier and hated every minute of it. From the moment I stowed her as far back in the car as possible, she spent her time hurling cat curses at us. And inevitably—every single time—when we were passing through Portage, about ten minutes from the house, Kitzel decided her curses were to no avail, so she stepped up the action and vomited. Every single time! It got so that we took to calling Portage Puke City.
Arriving at the house was, for all of us, stepping into a vale of calm. We let the animals out to root around for a while, opened all the windows, had a nightcap while we talked about our day and week, and after a snack on whatever had been left in the refrigerator, went to bed. That luscious soft bed, with the lake breeze billowing the gauzy curtains brought the sleep of the gods.
Saturday morning started with a quick trip to the local grocer. Then I spent the rest of the day gardening. Dinner was a simple meal eaten on the terrace with a big bowl of just cut flowers on the table and the lake as a backdrop.
On Sunday, we did the brief drive into town where the national newspapers were being held for us at the ‘everything store’—blue jeans to auto tires. And the rest of the day was for reading, napping, walking with the dogs or hearing all the weekly news from the widow whose land bordered ours on the other side of the small woods.
Sunday night, we usually went hunting for a fish fry at the Elks or Woodsmen’s Hall, unless my husband insisted on showing off his grilling skills. But it’s amazing how tired you can get after a day of doing nothing. So Sunday night, for me at least, was early to bed.
The drive home on Monday was almost always uneventful. But there was the time when the dogs got into the broccoli we were bringing back to the city. Although it was October, with a distinct chill in the air, we drove the entire trip home with all windows fully open. There’s no escaping the facts of nature in the country.
Do you have stories of country living? If so, please share them with us.
Paula "Country Girl" Gifford
Recent research by Dell Computers reveals that about 900 laptops go missing at Heathrow each week. Considering that about 68 million passengers pass through the terminals annually, it's a statistic that’s not as bad as it sounds, even though this is the worst record of all major European airports.
No doubt some number of lost laptops and other gear have been stolen when the owner was inattentive. But it’s also likely that some have merely been left behind through carelessness or confusion.
Nevertheless, I’m convinced that with some simple precautionary steps and a change of attitude towards packing, the likelihood of losing anything to theft or forgetfulness can be minimized if not eliminated.
It shouldn’t be necessary to remind anyone to attach some means of identification to every piece of equipment, even if it’s no more than a stick-on label. A simple hobby engraving tool will do a more effective job. Not only might this deter a thief, but there’s also a chance the piece will be returned to you if lost.
If you’re working while waiting for your plane, try to have no more than one piece of equipment out and visible at the same time. If you’re transferring data between a PDF and a laptop, don’t put one of the items on an adjacent seat. And as soon as you’re finished using something, put it away, into your luggage or carry-on.
Of course, the less you have to keep track of, the easier it is to do so. And this extends to packing in general. I’m a terror for packing lightly. Two, or three at most, sets of underwear that I can wash at night and have ready after wearing the other set are adequate. With cool destinations, I wear a good black cashmere cardigan or jacket on the plane with my jeans and good walking shoes (not trainers). Then I pack only one or two silk blouses, one pair of black trousers and ballet flats, which, with the sweater or jacket and a bit of jewelry make up several evening outfits. If it’s a warm climate, substitute a light weight black jersey dress or two, and you’re good to go.
I can’t specify the exact equivalents for men, but I hope my own wardrobe selections will give you some ideas of equivalents. I do know that Orvis (and probably other retailers, too) carry a brand of travel underwear and socks for men that are very quick drying. The object, whether for a woman or a man, is to limit your luggage to one 22" rolling case, which will fit in the overhead compartment, and a not-too-heavy carry-on, perhaps even a backpack if you can handle it.
Remember, "Less is More" as architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe said.
Do you have any ideas to help other travelers avoid losing gear? If so, let us know about them.
Paula "First Out of the Airport" Gifford