The Joy of Making Travel Arrangements

Traveling is fun.  Traveling is interesting. 

But making travel arrangements is a tedious drag.

For the past few weeks, I've been working on my travel arrangements for a January trip to the U.S.  I've been checking different sites, on different days and at different times, looking for the best options.  I've felt wedded to United Airlines because, since they consumed Continental Airlines, that’s where all my award miles are.  But I don’t like United Airlines.  I think they've become too cheap and passenger-unfriendly… like a flying bus service.

Continental was better, and it seems that the new, merged operation has inherited precious little that was better about Continental.  One of the things I miss the most is the ability to fly on KLM as a partner airline.  Sure, United has a relationship with Lufthansa, which is a pretty fair airline, but I like KLM better.

But when you have a large investment of miles in a particular mileage program, it is a strong motivator to keep using that airline.  You have to admit that the whole concept of mileage plans is one of the cleverest marketing ploys ever.

When you fly a lot, you realize there are a lot of things to take into consideration to have the best experience (as much as possible, at least) and avoid those little things that can make it go badly.  You look closely at departure and arrival times, which airports they want to route you through, how much time they give you for connections, what planes you'll fly on, and what opportunities you'll have to select decent seats.  That's a lot to process.

To get a halfway decent price, United wanted me to spend 19 hours sitting on my hands in Frankfort (an airport I don't particularly like), then rush through immigration, customs, security recheck, etc. in two hours or less at my first U.S. stop.  How on Earth can the airline systems suggest an itinerary with only an hour or an hour and a half connection time at a busy major airport when you have to go through all of that?  They’re insane!

To get more convenient arrangements, the prices skyrocketed.  And when I compared these results to what I might find on the "cheapo" sites, where they offer all airlines, the prices were not substantially better for similar arrangements.  And also, there was the matter of those award miles!

So, after countless checking and comparison, taking all factors into consideration, and running the numbers, I finally made a decision.  I decided to just cash in all my United miles and do my flights as business-class award flights.  I wound up buying two separate itineraries: one between Kiev and Boston, and the second between Boston and Denver.  This will pretty much clear out my balance with United, leaving just a few thousand miles in the pot.  

I feel relieved.  With my divorce from United, I'll be free to look around at better-looking alternatives, without feeling the guilt of "cheating" on my airline.  Next time I fly long-distance, I’ll start a new relationship directly with KLM.  I've already applied for a mileage program marriage.  I mean, what the heck… I’m more or less a European now anyway.

So now I can spend a weekend with family in Taunton and then go on to Colorado to visit family and friends and enjoy the big celebration on January 11^th.  I haven’t booked my rental cars yet, but the prices, both in Boston and Denver, seem pretty reasonable.  But that's more time on the computer, checking and comparing, before finally making the bookings.

The only downside to my itinerary is that I’ll have to book an overnight hotel stay near the Kiev airport before my 05:55 flight out (yes, that is early in the dark morning).  And I’ll have to book another overnighter in Boston between my arrival from Denver and departure back to Europe.  Yikes!  More checking and booking.

As I said, it can get complicated.

And I’m still trying to decide the best way to get between Kharkov and Kiev.  I’ll probably fly – which will create yet a third flight itinerary – but my return baggage weight has me a little leery about this.  But I’d sure like to avoid taking the train.

Sometimes I think making the travel arrangements is more tiring than actually taking the trip.

Oh well… at least it’s all coming together, and I can look forward to my next visit to the USSA… in January… cold… snow… driving.  Oh, what fun that will be.

Beware of the Dance Floor Hazard

The other day, to appease the continual urging of a friend, I dragged my ponderous carcass out to a tango dance class.  There were forwards and backwards and lefts and rights, but mostly there were ups and downs.

Those who know me are aware that I used to be a fairly good dancer.  I spent several years (and a lot of green) at an Arthur Murray studio in Denver perfecting my style in swing dances (triple-time, West-Coast, hustle), Latin dances (rumba, cha-cha, samba, bolero) and waltz.  Occasionally we dabbled in things like foxtrot, American tango, salsa and country two-step. 

We had amateur competitions – Showcases – where we competed in the standard dances and where many of us did special “show dances” that we had choreographed and practiced for months.  I raked in quite a collection of blue ribbons (first place).  I was pretty good.

But that was a long time ago.  A lot has changed.  And that was made abundantly clear to me this week.

Age has caught up with me and injected nasty little aches into many of my moving parts.  And this has been exacerbated by my own penchant the past few years to eat a lot of crap and then let it settle into the most unseemly places while I spend hours in front of this very computer becoming one with my chair.  The extra pounds (or kilos, if you prefer) do not seem to help with anything at all.

Now, Argentine tango is pretty different from the Latin dances I used to do.  It consists of graceful, flowing motions, as opposed to the active movements of cha-cha, samba, salsa, etc.  In a lot of ways, rumba comes close, but it still has a lot of differences.  But tango IS a dance, so there are some things that are constant: you need rhythm, you need to stay on the balls and toes of your feet, you need to keep your weight shifting from foot to foot and not be “planted” on both feet, and you need balance.

I had problems with all of those things.  It was not a pretty sight.

My lack of balance was particularly upsetting, and I attribute this mainly to the weight I am carrying.  I remember my balance being quite good in the old days of dancing.  Balancing on one leg in certain positions and steps was never a problem.  I remember of my choreographed show routines in which I came up from a dip on just one leg while supporting the weight of my partner as well.  It was perfect.

Can’t do anything like that now.  Even with just my own weight, I’d topple over.

I can tell that my leg strength has really diminished, which also has to be contributing to the balance problem.  I've had lower-back, knee and ankle problems in recent years, which certainly don’t help.  It makes it hard to be on my toes and support myself on one leg at a time, and this throws off my balance.  When I am firmly planted on both feet (with at least 18 inches between them), I feel reasonably confident that I can stay upright – even on a marshrutka (local bus).  But anything less than that can be hazardous.

To make matters even worse, it was warm in the studio and I was sweating like a nervous pig in the hot sun… after eating green chili.  That was pretty embarrassing.

And worse still – it’s a dance studio, so there were big mirrors around the place.  Nowhere to hide.

So, what to do?  For a while, I had a feeling that I had made a huge mistake going to the class, that I was just making a fool of myself and should accept that the mojo is gone.  But I don’t think I am going to give up so easily.  I’ve been doing a lot of that for the past four or five years, and I’m rather tired of it.

This is not going to be easy.  But maybe that’s why I really need to stay with it.  PerhapsI can use this as a kind of turning point.  Maybe it will help me to turn around some other things as well.  If nothing else, it can’t hurt… unless I fall and break something.

I am going to work on this and give it a chance.  It seems like it might be good medicine.  Stay tuned!

Survival of the Worthless

The place: a cave somewhere in a land that will someday be known as the Islamic Republic of France.

The year and month: 29,485 B.C., month of the first melting.

The day and time: day of the tree god, approximately 22 minutes after the daily death of the sun.

The situation: a suburban Cro-Magnon couple, Fredron and his wife Wilmamakh, are discussing their child’s future.

Wilmamakh:  Freddie, I am very worried about our son, Moron.

Fredron:       Arrgghhh… Moron is not my son.  I still think you shared the blanket with that Neanderthal-faced idiot, Bidenak, that time when I was gone hunting for two weeks.

Wilmamakh: I’ve told you until I’m blue in the face that nothing happened with Bidenak.  It was very, very cold and he just kept me warm.  Clintonakh was under the same blanket, and he has told you also that nothing happened.

Fredron:       You expect me to believe Clintonakh?  He would do it with a dead pig.  Maybe they’re both responsible for Moron.

Wilmamakh:  You have no room to talk.  I know that when you go out on those long hunting trips, you and your friends sometimes slip into one of the Neanderthal camps for a little recreation.  So how many hairy little hybrids are carrying around some of your genes, huh?  That’s even more disgusting than dead pigs!

Fredron:       All right, all right… enough!  I thought you wanted to talk about our, I mean your worthless kid.

Wilmamakh:  Yes.  I am worried.  I mean, Moron is past the age to become a man, find a purpose in life, and start his own family, but he still lives with us.  I am 32 summers old, and I still have no grandchildren.  It’s embarrassing.  What are we going to do about him?

Fredron:       Do?  We should have left him out for the wolves when we first realized how worthless he is.  He HAS no purpose, and he never will.  The kid is the worst hunter the tribe has ever seen. 

                   I was never as embarrassed with the guys as when we took him out on the hunt with us.  The first time he saw a mammoth, he screamed and ran.  And the kid would not shut up.  I mean just as we were sneaking up on some horses, Moron would start jabbering about how his feet hurt, and the horses would hear him and run away.  And he can’t throw a spear more than 10 arm lengths, even with a spear thrower.

                   So I thought that if he can’t hunt, maybe there was something else he could do.  I sent him to Grummonon the spear-maker to teach him how to make spear points, but he was a failure at that.  Grummy said that Moron ruined all the flint rocks and had no talent for making points.  And he complained about cutting his hands on the rocks.

Wilmamakh:  Yes, this is what I mean.  And remember when we sent him to Dalaila the shaman to learn how to speak with the spirits and heal the sick?  I never saw Dali so angry.

Fredron:       Of course he was angry, he discovered that your son was stealing the secret meditation herbs, sharing some of it with the local girls and selling the rest to the Neanderthals.  To the Neanderthals!

Wilmamakh:  Oh, that was embarrassing.  At the sacrifice ritual, Dalaila told everyone what a bad son we had and demanded that we pay two extra rhino roasts to appease the mountain god.

Fredron:       Exactly!  And then there was the time we asked Normonakh the rock painter to teach Moron how to paint pictures on the cave walls.  You remember how that turned out!

Wilmamakh:  Yes, I know.  He just has no talent for art.  The only animal he can draw is a rabbit, and his people all look like a combination of sticks.  Not everyone can be a cave painter.

Fredron:       He has no talent for anything.  And the worst thing was hearing that he became terrified when Normonakh tried to take him down to the deep rooms of the cave.  Our… I mean your son, crying!

Wilmamakh:  Well… he’s just more in touch with his feminine side than most boys.

Fredron:       Arrgghhh!  Feminine side... yeah, like when we tried to get him an apprenticeship with Carvakh, the best butcher in the tribe.  I thought that maybe if he became good at butchering the animals we kill, he would at least have some useful purpose.  But he faints at the sight of blood.

Wilmamakh:  There must be something he can do.

Fredron:       Like what?  He can’t hunt, he can’t make weapons, he can’t butcher meat, he can’t paint, he steals from the shaman and the spirits won’t communicate with him.  He is even too lazy to go with the women to gather plants and dig for roots.  You try to show him where to look, but he constantly says he can’t find any.

Wilmamakh:  I know.  Even our girls can do that.  There has to be something he can do?

Fredron:       Maybe he should become a cave checker.

Wilmamakh:  A cave checker? 

Fredron:       Yes, you know.  When we find a new cave, we send him in first to check it out and make sure there are no problems… like bears or lions.  It’s a short career, but at least he would have a purpose.

Wilmamakh:  No!  I won’t let my son be sent into a cave to be eaten.  There must be something else for him.  He must have some unique talent.

Fredron:       The only thing he knows how to do well is to avoid real work and to lie.  I have never seen anyone who can lie like him.  And he seems to know how to make people believe him, especially the young girls.  But that’s partly due to teaching them how to smoke the shaman’s herbs.  He is worthless!  He has nothing productive to offer the tribe.

Wilmamakh:  Wait a minute… that’s it!  He DOES have a talent.

Fredron:       What talent?

Wilmamakh:  Lying.  He is a great at telling untruths and making people believe they are true.  So there IS a career path for him!  In fact, there are two paths

Fredron:       You don’t mean…

Wilmamakh: Yes!  Public relations... or politics!

Fredron:       Noooooooo!

(to be continued)