The reason for the lack of blogs recently is because the Daily Daniel, if you'd bothered to read the subtitle in attractive pink (but then, colour is so subjective isn't it?), is a daily snippet of a young British man and his life in Santa Cruz, California. Which can only mean one thing!
Well, that and I didnt have consistent internet access whilst away from Santa Cruz.
But now I'm back (da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!) it's time for a status update. And here it is: I'm back, tapped, happy and healthy! Oh, and full of beans! I had a lovely time away but a mixed time coming home, as I am about to disclose ...
It was about 3pm east-coast time, and I was standing in a queue of people outside Philadelphia airport, in the freezing cold, waiting for a bus to take me to a hotel. The hotel had been laid on by US Airways because my flight from Dublin had been delayed, meaning I missed my flight to San Francisco that afternoon. The next 2 flights that day were fully booked, owing to the US Airways policy of ALWAYS over-booking their flights, contributing to their general policy of causing maximum distress to their passengers. Previously, I had been standing for well over an hour in a queue, waiting for a rude woman representing US Airways to make me feel stupid, and prior to that in a queue which, after about 20 minutes, I found out I shouldn't be in at all. I was starving, tired (having hardly slept the previous night in my hotel room in dublin because I was worried the receptionist wouldn't give me my wake up call, and fuming that my 2 minute taxi ride had cost me more than 10 quid), and just wanted to get home. I had a belly full of excess, and a brain full of miss, now I had ears full of rude and skin full of chill.
He was on his way to Ottawa with a big bag of skis, and couldn't be more thrilled that his flight had been delayed and he was staying in a hotel in Philadelphia. And he was full of useful information - that the 'Comfy Lodge' (or whatever it was called) wasn't as good as the Ramada, but that both hotels would honour our hotel vouchers from the airline. We waited for the bus to the Ramada together, his face positively brimming, causing mine to slowly unfurrow because he'd been on the same flight as me, therefore we'd had the same experiences. When we got to the Ramada, after possibly the friendliest bus driver imaginable. No, I bet you can't even imagine how friendly this guy was, and I wish I had downloadable video cameras instead of eyes. My room was, even by American standards, plush. Massive, comfy, huge TV with good films on, internet access, you name it. It even had bellboys! I was thrilled. I never saw Mr Ottawa again, but if you're reading this, thanks!
My mood started to deteriorate when I scalded myself in the shower, causing myself to slip out of the bath and onto the toilet, hurting my knee. I then decided I'd call Maria from the hotel phone. I didnt get through but found out later by checking my credit card balance that the connection fee was 12 quid! Then the hotel restaurant had shut, so I couldn't get my free meal. I walked out of the hotel and it started to rain. I had to walk to the nearest restaurant to get some dinner, across a huge car park the biggest and scariest road you'll ever see, over a waist-high fence, across a mound of dirt, and another car park.
It was the most beautiful diner I'd ever seen - it was art-deco style, with loads of pink and blue neon strip lights marking out its form. The building was covered in aluminium sheeting. It had red leather cubicles and swing-doors with circular windows in them. The waitress who served me wore a red-and-white checked dress. Everyone knew each other, and the waitresses were either sisters or incesters. I ate a pastrami, cheese and pickle toasted sandwich, a side of fries, and a ginger beer. It cost next to nothing. It couldn't have been more American, and I thought it was wonderful. So I left with my mood again improved. I went to bed early and caught the bus to the airport at 4am to give me enough time to catch my 7am flight to Phoenix, Arizona.
I arrived way to early (as usual) but tried to redeem my meal voucher for breakfast, which worked. Now, I'll interject here because I've had a lot of experience with airports recently and I just want to say this: UK airports are embarassingly bad compared to American ones. The ones in the US are just as busy if not busier, and I'm sure the staffing ratio is about the same, but they're always so much cleaner, considerably cheaper, and the design is so much better thought out. Unfailingly. There's always free internet access, free water, somewhere to sit, somewhere to plug your laptop (or whatever) in. Anyway, I won't labour the point any more, but do something about it, Mr UKAirportMan! I had the biggest breakfast I've ever (bacon, eggs, fried potatoes) had for my $10 voucher, and a bucket of coffee. It was so big I couldn't eat half of it, which has never happened to me before and, to be honest, left me feeling a little odd. I saw a queue form at the gate I was supposed to be getting my flight, so thought I'd better join it. I eventually got the front (on the way, I perfected the skill of shifting your weight from one foot to the other - the key is to do it faster than you'd think, and your outward momentum carries you back in, like a perpetual motion machine) . When I arrived I said to the woman, as British as you like and with a huge grin on my face "I can't see a queue form and not join it, what do you need to know". It was returned with a blank face, a look exactly like the one a teetotaller would give to a 6 foot bottle of gin, and a slow drawl: "I didnt understand a word you just said". Hardly containing my mirth, I enquired if I need to check-in. A lack of affirmative saw me shift off to my seat to play with my laptop, although the experience made it worthwhile (along with my human pendulum cleverness, with which I was very pleased with myself).
We sat on the plane which was poky and crap, and (as usual) I'd been given the middle seat with the least room. I am a terrible flyer - I hate sitting in the same place with no room. It's more tiring than running, like walking around shops is more tiring than walking the same distance straight at a pace dictated by you, not the idlers in front of you. Once we'd all piled on, there were delays whilst the attendants tried to check people's bags in the hold to free up some room. Then there were delays . We sat on the runway for close to 2 hours before we finally got in the air. The flight time between Philly and Phoenny should be about 3 hours. We took 5 because we were flying straight into strong winds the whole way. So in total i was on that plane, with no leg room and no sleep, for 7 hours. Being a 'short' domestic flight, there was no food, and you had to pay for your own drinks after the first round. Now, another little bitch: any decent airline, staffed by human beings, would offer freebies of some descriptions. Not US Airwallys (or Ryanair for that matter, but I woun't get started on them!) Of course, by the time I eventually got to Phoenix I'd missed my connection again, and quelle surprise! I joined a very long queue to be reassigned.When you travel alone, its not just the conversation you miss (I always chat to people on planes, and I always learn a thing or two), its the security, and being able to get your travelling companion to hold your place in the queue whilst you eat and relieve yourself into porcelain. Halfway along the queue, I was desperate for a wee, so I asked the woman standing behind me if she'd hold my place in the queue whilst I quickly went to the 'restroom'. She was delighted by my British accent, and agreed with so much enthusiasm it made me feel uncomfortable. I came back, thanked her, and we got chatting. She was great - a real character. Again, she was so positive about the whole experience (she'd also missed 2 flights) but she wasn't going to let a little thing like inconvenience inconvenience her! It was really the organisations on this trip that was letting me done, and individual people picking me back up again. And it's infectious. Even when boredom and physical exhaustion are 'harshing your buzz' (thanks Blues) if someone's really friendly to me, i'll be friendly to others. It's a cliche but it came home to me more than ever on this trip. Phoenix airport was situated in the middle of a desert in the blazing sunshine. As soon as I saw the sandy plateaus after we'd poked below the clouds, I could well believe that it'd taken us 7 hours to reach here. The airport had a fantastic 70s feel to it. It reminded me of that Pink Floyd album cover where the 2 guys are shaking hands, and one is on fire. It was brown and beige and patterned and kitsch and over-sized and brilliant. I had been reassigned on a flight to Reno. Since leaving Dublin, I had been travelling for more than 35 hours already, more than 30 of which I'd spent awake. I was so tired I couldn't read any more. I sat in Starbucks in Phoenix airport in a state of over-tired bliss, giggling to myself and scribbling notes.
My flights into and out of Reno were both delayed, of course. God knows why - they didnt even bother to explain this time. The man next to me on the flight to Reno was in a cowboy hat, which he kept on for the entire journey. He told me he'd brought his camera 'this time' so he could photograph 'some land' he owned 'from the sky'. When he said the word 'sky' he shot me this half-crazed look i'll never forget.The most wonderful fruity Dolly-Parton style voice came over the tannoy on the plane to San Francisco. It was a great big slow southern accent. It was so lovely beacuse you hardly ever hear accents like that, especially this far west and this far north (Reno is in northern Nevada, not that far from San Francisco). The plane was tiny - even tinier than the Air Wales plane I got from Exeter to Cork a while back, which was about the size of some of the bigger cars in Santa Cruz. But the stewardess was enormous - she was over 6ft, and hefty. She spoke with a nasal librarian's voice - in fact, she looked a lot like a librarian, even down to the strings on the glasses and impressive jowels - it was most incongruous (this is the other lady, not the one with the southern accent). Reno airport was exactly as you'd expect - bars, and slot machines. Couples of a certain age pushing money into slots as if they were their coin-operated hearts. For the first time on this trip, I had a beer. I don't usually drink when I fly (only before, ba-doom chi!) 'cos it 'gives me gip' and dries me out ("I swear I saw a little man in orange robes burst into flames"). It was like any american beer, but it reminded me of that scene in Shawshank Redemption when the inmates are drinking beers on the roof in the sun. If I don't drink any more beer for the rest of my life, it wouldn't matter, 'cos I've had THE beer now. It was just something to do with that REM song on repeat in my head, the cowboy hat man, the other characters I'd met on the journey, the free nuts, the thick serviette, and mostly the sleep deprivation.
For my last lift into San Fran I had to change carrier to United (shame). The plane was the biggest, emptiest, and least delayed. It was the shortest flight. Damn! In San Fran, I'd arrived but my bag hadnt. I joined the 'lost baggage' queue. There's something about people in navy trousers who stand up behind desks that I don't like. What is it again, oh yeah, they're RUDE and IGNORANT! You know who you are, lady. Anyway, I left without my bag, waited an hour for the train in the cold, and an hour for the bus. By the time I arrived home I had been travelling for over 53 hours, with 5 hours sleep. The bit between landing in SF and arriving home had no saving graces. It was hard, boring, and best forgotten about.
Right, travel bug bitten, posterity preserved, base touched, tickets scanned, Google Earth KMZ file made, and a few more bits of information released on the world. And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna call him, Bill or George anything but Sue! I still hate that name! Goodnight ladies and gentlemen.
Read more...
