Open thinking = OpenSkies

THE PREAMBLE

Before I get into specifics about my OpenSkies’ inaugural travel experience from JFK to AMS, let me preface with the following framework for my review: I am a notorious coach class flyer.

There. I’ve said it. But stay with me, business class travelers, for at the very least, I should help you truly appreciate that to which you've become accustomed.

Since I opened the door to my coach-class status, for the record, let me also say that while I always request an aisle seat, and book early enough to get one, I prefer the dreaded middle seat to the window. (From what I hear, business fare travelers would rather hitch hike to their destination than get stuck in the middle.) To me, window seats feel The Most crowded since the fuselage folds around under my feet, and the space on the floor under the seat in front of me is less than with the middle. Not good. I always have “stuff” I want to handily stuff there. Also, since everyone feels so sorry for me in the middle, I usually get both arm rests. I realize this might sound like no compensation for you serious (as in there is no other way for you to look at it) business travelers, but it is my truth.

Due to budget constraints (both personal, as well as for those who pay my travel expenses to come speak—and by the way, I’m fascinating!), I’m careful with travel dollars. I watch and wait for the best coach fares. But even I have my limits: in order to survive, I pay close attention (and extra dollars) to and for nonstop and sensible flight times. In other words, I will not get “the cheapest flight” if it makes even one extra stop, or if I have to be on it at 6 AM., which means a middle-of-the-night wake-up call in order to save money, but which also leaves no coherency with which to speak. Although I cannot be sure, I herewith surmise that I’m less “fascinating” when I am incoherent.

I’ve never flown business class. To the best of my recollection, I’ve flown first class less than a half-dozen times, including twice for vacation purposes. Once I used my AA miles to get us (my husband and me) to Alaska; the other time we were bumped due to an over sell. Other than one intentional first-class booking by a publishing house, the rest of my handful of first-class experiences also arrived via the fate of the bump. I was just in the right place at the right time to be the right one to get to fly in what I refer to as luxury, while most business class travelers would simply call it “the necessary.”

MY OPENSKIES EXPERIENCE

(OpenSkies = a wholly owned subsidiary of British Airways currently flying only two routes, between JFK and Amsterdam or Paris.]

From the OpenSkies website: “The goal of our new airline is to go beyond the status quo and bring you something unique - something that redefines personalised service. We aspire to be different in everything we do, from our swift check-in to our thoughtfully designed cabins to our a la carte meal selections and award-winning wine selection. Plus, our proven, fuel-efficient Boeing 757 aircraft never have more than 64 passengers per flight. We hope to make comfort standard for every flight.”

BIZ CLASS

So, come with me now as I bring my well-traveled yet coach-classed self to Wednesday, October 15, after I accepted the opportunity (NOT paid for by OpenSkies so that I was free to tell it like I really lived it) to board OpenSkies’ inaugural flight from JFK to AMS. (They’ve been flying JFK to Paris for a couple months.) I traveled my outbound trip in their officially titled BIZ Class. Even though their website boasts, “This is not typical business class,” the only thing I actually know about typical business class is that I cannot afford it, and that I am incredibly happy for those who can. Life on the road is difficult; any and all extra affordable (and isn’t that relative?!) comforts are golden.

My return trip was booked in their PREM+ (more later); these are the only two class tickets OpenSkies sells—coach travel be GONE!). But, because of my outbound BIZ class ticket, for the first time in my life, I was able to enjoy an airline lounge experience. (British Airways lounges are not open to OpenSkies PREM+ flyers. Just the BIZ whizzes.) Since I have no point of comparison, I’m sure you seasoned lounge folks will file this where you will, especially if you’re a gold+max+platinum+million-bazillion mile lounge lizard—well, you know what I mean. But I’d like to go on the record as saying that my virgin experience with the BA lounge at JFK was awesome.

True to their motto and intent, OpenSkies folks were front and center to meet and greet us, and to proudly celebrate their inaugural flight to AMS. They offered a special welcome table set up with cheeses and beers, Amsterdam maps and chocolates. They were friendly and clearly excited about their big day. I, of course, was front and center at the table with them, chatting, gathering info, pounding down a plate of cheese (wonderful cheese!) and crackers, every bite for which I never once had to retrieve my wallet. (Coach traveler, remember.)

Since the BA lounge is large and rambling--including a separate restaurant for pre-flight meals, should you decide to board your flight and go straight to sleep; an Elemis Travel Spa; a well-stocked bar; computer stations; separate “living room” settings; a generous and diverse light fair food offering -- I was in awe, sort of like a kid in fairyland. I sat in a few cushy-chair locations, just because I could. This is quite the switch-up from wandering around looking for crowded and uncomfortable terminal and/or gate seating, or standing in line for a hot dog, or schlepping my bags from here to there realizing that “available” Wi-Fi does not usually mean “free” Wi-Fi.. Since I knew my PREM+ return wouldn’t get me in the BA lounge in AMS, I decided to truly kick back and enjoy the opportunity. After all, I was traveling to Amsterdam (also a first), AND IN BIZ CLASS!

As we boarded, I’m sure I was bug-eyed. What I saw was nothing like I’d ever seen before—although I’m told these types of seats were the older version of British Airways business class (not first class) seats. Even though I’d seen picture of the sleeping man (click on Biz) on the OpenSkies website, it was still, to be honest, kind of surreal. Passengers traveling together could face each other and chat, rather than talking side-by-side. Passengers not wanting to dialogue with (or see) their neighbor (or spouse) only needed to unfold the fan-like divider between them.

When I finally stopped gawking and settled in to build my nest, the next thing I noticed was that there was no place under the seat in front of me for my stuff. (We are what we are.) I quickly learned that one needs to plan ahead in OpenSkies BIZ class. A gypsy needs to think through what she wants out of her stuff bag and remove it before stowing it overhead, or she (a very short she) needs to stand up and drag her overhead bag down to retrieve every this-and-that. So, I prowled through my red bag, pulled out my noise reduction headset, my book, my MP3 player, my lip gloss and . . . then tried to figure out where they were supposed to go once/while I sat down. Where was my in-front-of-me pocket? I felt like I was tucking myself in for the night, real tight like; it took me about thirty seconds to spill the glass of water they gave me (a real glass and not the screw-on lid plastic bottle), which needed to rest on this teensy pull-down shelf which is the triangle-shaped item, upper right, to the right of the black space.

Nonetheless, the seat was extremely comfortable. I enjoyed playing with all the electronic buttons that adjusted every part of it. However, the foot rest to help give you to the full 180 recline needed to be manually unbuckled and lowered. (left) I do not advise reclining and raising your legs before you try this. Don’t ask me how I pulled this off, unless you’d like to hear a description of a beached whale in a telephone booth.

Beverages of all types were offered (no reaching for my wallet); they served the best packet of nuts I’ve ever tasted; and the flight attendants seemed truly glad to have us on board. They even served champagne (again, no wallet) and presented a toast for their inaugural flight. Very festive! They set each of us up with our personal entertainment centers (excellent selection of options!), pointed out universal plugs for computer use, served us a delicious dinner (choice of 3 courses), and gave us comfy blankets and pillows. In all the inaugural excitement, our cabin’s flight attendant forgot to offer us eye masks and fluffy socks (I learned about this later) in case we desired to shut out the world and waggle our toes. However, I didn’t miss them.

I was asked if I’d like to be awakened for a light breakfast. Hel-LO? FOOD—for which I’m not getting out my wallet?! Of course! Breakfast was preceded by a hot towel with which to refresh my hands and face. This sure beats the cold Huggies Baby Wipes I usually travel with for this same purpose!

Now, it’s possible the majority of these amenities and niceties, at least in some form, are always available to business and first class travelers flying the front of the plane, even when they’re not heading over seas. I wouldn’t know; they close those curtains, you know, and besides, I’m too busy peeling the plastic wrap off a terminal sandwich (take that any way you like) to notice. But I have to admit, because of these swell things, it was the fastest 8+ hours of travel I’ve encountered, and this had all to do with the comfy and constant repositioning of my seat, the entertainment center, the courtesies, the enthusiasm of the flight attendants, the work station options, but mostly, the space.

SPACE

Imagine a 757 configured with only 64 seats! Wide aisles. Plenty of leg room, for even the longest legs (not mine), and plenty of wide, for even we fluffy-bodied travelers (name it and claim it, Charlene). Check out the stats.

Although I didn’t take advantage of it, OpenSkies offers their passengers a personal concierge service; the phone number is listed on your confirmation. Check out their website; you can even book rental cars, motels and excursions right along with your airline tickets using their partners.

On their website, OpenSkies says, “You are our guest. We want to provide you a stress free, memorable experience - we're out to get the little things right.” They want to “go beyond the status quo.” I had the privilege to personally meet OpenSkies Managing Director Dale Moss, and Chris Vukelich,Vice President, Distribution and eCommerce man. Their utter passion and dedication to getting it right for their passengers and not just their airline was inspiring. The intentions at the top are trickling down to the cabins, and in the best of ways. One of the things Moss said that stuck with me was how much faster a small airline can make changes, and how intent they are on staying on top of their best game.

PREM+

AMS to JFK, I traveled PREM+. Here’s the deal: my coach-class budget and personal preferences about things like storing my stuff in front of me endeared me to PREM+ over BIZ class, even though I had a window seat. And guess what? I STILL had tons of room! No, I didn’t get the 180 recline, but I had space galore (I felt way less confined) and an adjustable foot rest I didn’t have to struggle with. I had a small table area between the seats (traditional side-by-side seating) on which to set my drink without spilling it. I still got the entertainment center, the hot towel treatment, chocolates (just not as many), nuts, choice of beverages, a hot meal and a pre-JFK-arrival snack, universal plugs for my work stuff, a face mask, booties, and smiling service.

Caveat: oddly, even though PREM+ only housed seven passengers this particular leg, and I was only the fifth person to be served, still, by the time they got to me, they were out of the chicken entrée (PREM+ gets two choices while BIZ gets three). Now, I was going to opt for the pasta anyway, but this was out of sync with their mottos.

In spite of that, truly, I can’t think what I truly missed in my BIZ class experience, aside from the 180 recline, which, to be honest, I didn’t really utilize to its fullest anyway. I found my back most comfortable when I was only partially reclined. Oh, and of course the BA lounge experience, which, although it was wonderful, was something I can easily live without, especially for the price difference in BIZ to PREM+ – and especially since I’m used to living without it anyway.

PRICING

Today, October 23^rd, I’m looking at www.flyopenskies.com website and here’s what I’ve found. Let’s say I want to fly round-trip from JFK to AMS departing December 10.

JFK to AMS:

Fully Flexible BIZ: $3191 (that is ONE WAY—gulp, says I, Ms. Coach Traveler)

Semi-Flexible BIZ: $2442 (gulp)

Restricted (which I always buy for the price point): $499 and YOU HAVE MY ATTENTION!

Returning December 16^th

During the one hour that I was checking fares, this return Restricted Fare went from $499 to $738.50, so, if you find what appears to be the best fare, book it! Still, for a total of $1237.50 for round trip, compared to a one-way BIZ ride for $3191 – and barring you can do without one meal choice and a 180 recline . . . .

BTW, prices change dependent strictly upon demand, so, if possible and you care about price, check a few dates. For the moment, there is only one flight per day between JFK and AMS, and visa versa. However, $499 is a steal of a deal and the bottom line.

For the heck of it, I went to Travelocity to check these same dates on a few other airlines. For round trip, first class prices started at $1195 (IcelandicAir) and involved a plane change in Iceland. From there, prices jumped to $3402 (BA) and hugely escalated. For business class, it was the same. For coach? Prices started at $683 (Delta) and zoomed to the high $700s+.

So, compare this to $1000-$1237.50 round trip flying comfy PREM+ with tons of room, only 64 passengers on a 757, courteous, kind, enthusiastic service from employees working for management that wants to treat you right, and yes, you have this coach travelers attention! As for you typical business class travelers, for you, this is a STEAL!

Red State or Blue State, in Which State are YOU?

Today I'm all about my Blue State. JetBlue, that is. That's because yesterday I flew JetBlue from ORD to JFK and enjoyed every on-time, leather seated, biscotti crunching moment of it. Well, aside from three fully suited up Red State employees of Delta Airlines (heretofore referred to as RED State folks because of Delta's Red Logo) who sat behind me: one pilot and two female flight attendants.

STEP INTO THE QUESTIONS IN MY HEAD:

*Why have the Delta Airlines folks crossed over?

*Why are they talking so loudly?

*Why am I ease dropping?

QUICK ANSWER: Because the flight attendants asked the pilot where he was going, and he said Amsterdam, which is where I'm flying today. However, I'm flying OpenSkies. Nonetheless, it seemed so coincidental that I immediately bonded with them. I kept this information to myself.

*Why, after the pilot asked them about their routes, is he asking them if they serve pizzas on their flights? Is he craving pizza?

For now, let's get out of my head and into their conversation, which became so intriguing--and disturbing--that I started taking notes. (Hey, I'm a trained journalist! Step AWAY from my PEN!)

The pizza questions started innocently enough, although curiously enough, then quickly morphed into a surreal grilling . These are the types of questions he threw at them.

*Do you serve pizza?

*How does it come onto the plane? (exactly what kind of packaging)

*How do you cook them on the plane?

*What, exactly, do the trays look like?

*Do you put the trays right into the oven?

Seemed there were two kinds of trays: some with rails on the sides and some with rails on the sides and backs. (I might have this slightly incorrect, but there were two types.) The flight attendants, who were now as curious as me, told him that one type of tray was used in one aircraft, and the other in another. (Get that?) "Seven fives," was often mentioned as one of the "types" of plane. My apologies: I don't speak airline speak.

BACK TO THE PILOT'S QUESTIONS:

*Who checks if you have the right type of trays on the right plane?

*Is checking that a regular part of your pre-flight?

ANSWER FROM THE FLIGHT ATTENDANTS: "The Bs" check the food." This answer was obviously coming from the As, who knew everything, but who were clearly becoming increasing weirded out by the pilot's obsession with the pizzas and pizza trays (HEL-LO! You're supposed to be FLYING!), same as me.

SIDE NOTE: Also, even though it was now only 10 AM, I was crazy for pizza.

BACK IN MY HEAD: Hm. If there's going to be blame at the end of this odd encounter, BLAME IT ON THE Bs! Way to cover yourselves, ladies!

Since I don't speak their language, I'm assuming The Bs is the second string flight attendants, whatever that means. Maybe those who have to work with coach folks like me?

Many more specific technical Q&As followed, including the exact temperatures of the ovens. The pilot's tone of voice was becoming more and more tense and his questions more accusatory--especially since one of the flight attendants offered that she'd recently received an e-mail talking about the trays and this exact distinction between aircraft and trays, and how critical it was that the right tray gets into the right plane.

*What did you do about that e-mail? (The pilot's tone shifted here. He was a four-star General and they were in the hot seat.)

ANSWER: "I remembered it, but also realized that The Bs are responsible for checking those things, and that CATERING is responsible for putting the right trays filled with those pizzas that need to be cooked onto the correct planes." (Obviously, these aren't direct quotes, but they are certainly the gist of them.)

BACK IN MY HEAD: A-HAH! CATERING did it! And, what on earth is he getting at? Are we dealing with an obsessive compulsive pilot here?

BACK TO THE PILOT:

*If you noticed that the wrong type of rack was in the plane, what would you do?"

RESPONSE: "The problem is, we can't really see them that well, especially once they're in there."

Pause ... Then one of the flight attendants finally asked, "Have you had some type of problem with the pizzas?"

BACK IN MY HEAD: Exactly!

THE BOMB FROM THE PILOT: "Yes. All the boxes of pizza caught on fire during one of my recent flights. We got it under control, but it could have been much more disastrous."

A breathtaking and breath holding moment followed.

Then the pilot began instructing rather than asking. He started with a repeat of his last question. "If you noticed that the wrong type of rack was in the plane, what would you do? And, are you checking?"

*If there was an e-mail about this, he said, there must have been other problems. It seems there is something critical here to be dealt with. "So, if you noticed the wrong tray was on your plane, what would you do?" (He did not wait for an answer.) "You should come to the pilot and say, 'We're going nowhere. We are at risk: the pizzas are in the wrong trays.'"

DELAYED QUESTION FROM FLIGHT ATTENDANTS TO THE PILOT:

*Did you have to land when you had the fire? ("No. We got the fire under control. But it could have been much worse.")

The pilot again put them through the entire drill about who looked for what, checked what, whose responsibility it was, and he wondered if CATERING got that memo. There was agreement by ALL that it was visually difficult to detect if the right trays were in the right planes.

BACK IN MY HEAD: I AM FREAKING OUT!

But one thing was clear: he was holding them entirely responsible to check what they were supposed to check; he was doing all he could to present the gravity of the situation; he wasn't happy with an email dealing with an issue that should rather be fixed (i.e., quit having cardboard or whatever involved, that, given the wrong tray in the wrong airplane, could cause a fire); he never--EVER--wanted to have it happen again. His level of frustration and concern with process and procedure spoke volumes. I hope all three of them called their superiors and chimed in about this safety risk.

BACK IN MY HEAD (scary, ey?): There is a bigger issue here: Red State or Blue State, Green State or Pink State, how about we stop beating around the bush, asking backhanded questions and pointing fingers. How about together, we face things head on, ask the hard questions, don't stop asking them until we get to the core of them, then work together to resolve them.

AND NOW, BACK TO MY BLUE STATE: This morning I received an email from JetBlue asking me to fill out a questionnaire about how they did with my flight yesterday. Seriously, I want to thank them for not serving pizza, something I never thought I'd hear myself say.

Also, I'm thinking all airlines should be sending this type of follow-up email to their pilots and flight attendants. And that corporate should be reading their responses, then acting on them.

If you know anybody who has the power to look into this type of issue, no matter WHAT airline, please send them this link.

Thank you, Blues, Reds, Greens and Pinks. For the good of the entire world, may we all play nicely together.

Calling All Travelers

Sometimes the "easy part" which will surely "save you money" doesn't turn out that way, on either count. Especially when it comes to technology. Case in point: international travel and staying in touch.

THE PREEMPT: If you're an ongoing globetrotter and enjoy an unlimited expense account (plus your own IT department and wads of patience), the following scenario might not ring your "I get it" bells. However, if you're self-employed or encouraged to "make due" -- especially since NBC just broke in again with today's worst-case scenario regarding the stock market -- you might relate. If you are married or often have to leave a significant other behind, you might even moan with relatability.

And now, on with the frustration!

For years, I've heard people talk about Skype. "You don't Skype?" "We use Skype all the time!" "Skype: best thing going." "I talk to my brother in Australia and it doesn't cost us a penny." "I held a video conference call for 4 hours with people all over the world and the whole thing only cost me $5 using Skype."

Nice. But I don't need to use Skype. I have a cell phone for which I already pay for so many minutes, so why not use them? I have no need to chat with people all over the world. We very happily use Vonage at home, which allows us to talk to anyone in the country (and many places out of it) for as long as we want, all for one monthly price of about thirty bucks, which includes tons of cool options. We have email, stationary and loud voices. We do not need Skype.

Then, my upcoming business trip to Amsterdam changed everything, especially my mind: My Verizon phone won't work in Amsterdam. NEW GAME!

Let us consider some of the options for staying in touch with my Dearly Beloved while I'm gone.

*The GSM Verizon phone to which I considered upgrading (I'm due for money off on an upgrade) will work there, but not here in MN where I come hide to write. (long story)

*For only six cents/minute, George can call me in AMS using our Vonage phone, but since I won't have a personal cell phone number for him to call, that just leaves my hotel rooms. Sure, we can set up times, but the 7-hour difference isn't too convenient. Plus, I don't know what my schedule will be, and I'm staying in 3 different hotels over five nights.

*Renting an international Verizon phone, which Verizon told me was an option, is Really Expensive. Trying to find out just how expensive was next to impossible. I am a long-time Verizon believer, but, Dear Verizon folks, you need to get some customer training in place to handle this query.

*Verizon offers exactly one (count them, one) Global phone that isn't a Blackberry, which I don't want. At least not right now, since I cannot justify the extra monthly fees to get my email while I'm driving, sitting in the bathroom or waiting for the show to start--although as soon as I typed those things, I thought for a moment I might need to do all of them.

*A friend encouraged me to buy a Mobal GSM world phone. According to Mobal's website, you can buy the phone for $49, get a twenty-buck credit and keep the phone "forever." (Do you know any technology that works "forever?"**) This $49 phone will not work in the US. However, you can spent $99 and buy one that does. Apparently the only other cost is for the minutes you use.

Since I'm currently (at this writing moment) stuck with dial-up in a remote location, trying to toodle around Mobal's website was head-banging. (Otherwise, it's fine.) One page automatically loaded an audio. So, everything stalled while it downloaded (or buffered, or whatever they do) audio files, and then I heard two words, then waited another thirty seconds for the next two words--until I finally noticed the link to stop it. When I called the 888 number and asked about rates etc., I learned that an AMS to AMS local call would cost $1.25 per minute. YIKES! (I am spoiled, no doubt about it.) I didn't even ask about AMS to USA, but while I was in a Wi-Fi zone in a coffee shop, I went back to Mobal.com and learned it would be $1.50 per minute. Now, were I to have an emergency, that would be a deal.

But honestly, I don't need another phone, and the regularity (or rather lack thereof) of my international travel hardly seems to make this option worth it--although I'm keeping it in my "maybe" file. But I'll have to trip my trigger soon: the woman on the phone said they ONLY deliver to the US and that I cannot buy it in AMS. (This seems contrary to what my friend told me . . . ) I'd LOVE if some of you out there who've tried Mobal would weigh in. However, since, by the time you read this, I'll be less than a week away from my trip, shipping will likely cost me another forty "overnight" bucks.

*Skype. (Ah, as the worm turns.) "Charlene, why don't you check into Skype!? You can talk to each other for FREE using your computers and Skype-to-Skype calling!"

So, I went to Skype.com and tried to educate myself about the options. Seemed do-able, although limiting. After all, I don't walk around with my laptop in a holster clip, and how would I get connected to the internet while floating down a canal anyway? But it's FREE, right?

It was easy to download Skype into my laptop. They even integrate a testing element that enables you to make sure you can be heard. Which I couldn't. Because I didn't have a microphone. So, I went thrashing through my office closet looking to see if I had one left over from "something." And I did!

It was easy to download Skype into George's desktop. He never keeps his speakers turned on, so we had to retrain for that. ("Hey, if you can't hear the ring, how will you know I'm calling?") Then I went searching for another microphone, which I found in my bag of "technical stuff" from back in the days when I recorded myself (self to self) at speaking engagements in order to produce audio tapes to sell. Which I did. (I'm out of them now, and technology and my speaking topics have moved on, so don't contact me to buy them. At least not yet. After all, I did find that bag of outdated technology**.)

Voila! Even though we put up with a little microphone squealing, George and I eventually got ourselves talking to each other, me from the living room on my laptop and he in his bedroom on his computer. HE COULD EVEN SEE ME; my laptop has a built-in web cam! Of course some of the "talking" was us yelling up or down the stairs to and at each other as I strived to give more specific instruction--like "PUT YOUR MOUTH CLOSER TO THE MICROPHONE!"

Two days later, I tried a "surprise Skype call" to George. George is a good man, a smart man, a kind man. But he had not been trained for the NEW set of icons that popped up (the others had appeared from the task bar), so he had no idea how to answer. "JUST CLICK THE ICON THAT SAYS 'ANSWER!'" Which he did. But his microphone wasn't plugged in. More yelling up the stairs, and me pointing to MY microphone in my web-cam, trying to send the right visual clue.

A week later, I tried another "surprise Skype call" to George, but this time from a Wi-Fi zone here in MN. No answer. I called him using our cell phones and learned he was outside. When he came inside, I tried again. I could see that he finally answered (the call showed CONNECTED), but I could not hear him, so I called him on my cell phone (which won't work when I'm in AMS, remember) and tried to trouble shoot. We could not figure it out. Later, he called me on my cell phone (using his cell phone) to say that he'd forgotten (and so had I) that there was an on/off switch on the microphone, which was off when I called, but now it was on, so why not, he suggested, try another "surprise" test call while he was sitting there ready for it. (sigh)

All this caused me to put ten bucks of Skype Credit into each of our FREE Skype accounts, so that we could apply it to Skype Voicemail. (Say I try to call George. He doesn't answer--or answers and I cannot hear him. So, I can leave a message saying "Life here in AMS is exciting! PLUG IN AND TURN ON YOUR MICROPHONE!" Or, say I want to make a Skype to landline call (when I don't know why I can't hear him and don't have a cell phone to trouble shoot). This isn't free, but it's really cheap. However, you have to have some pay-as-you-go Skype dollars in place, or a subscription, which, if you're searching for an alternative to making your every-day long distance calls, looks totally worth it!

Now it's clear to me that I need to also buy us each a headset. We cannot risk the frustration of being "connected" yet unable to talk. These, we can just plug in ("Leave it plugged in, George") and then we won't have to worry about switches and hearing, squealing speakers and whatever else might crop up. (Notice the two places I used the **? Why would I complain about Mobal's "forever" implication, then think my own outdated equipment would work properly "forever?")

So, twenty bucks for Skype dollars in our accounts, more money for headsets, money to the hotel for a high-speed internet connection, and perhaps the Mobal investment -- just in case all else fails.

Easy. Free. Cheap.

Maybe.

Not.

Whether Yea or Nay, Life Goes On

Later this month, I'll be embarking on a trip to Amsterdam, something you'll no doubt hear more about in upcoming posts. As I deal with small batches of issues (planes, hotels, inquiries, conversion charts, confirmations etc.) and coordinate them into my Mega Master List, I find my emotions wavering between those of That Woman who claims to have gypsy blood flowing through her veins, and That Other Woman who enjoys kicking back in her ergonomically correct lounge chair and watching TV.

It's been awhile since I've had to deal with airports; I’m sure I’ll be rusty. I mean, wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be the travel writer who gets busted for a bottle of water and a pocket knife? Sadly, I’ve been caught with both, although the latter was more embarrassing. The knife was a teensy one, cutesy purple, complete with a sweet little fold-up scissors and a toothpick -- an impulse buy at the checkout counter of a cheap boutique. The cashier handed me the receipt and some change and asked me if I'd like a bag. Nah, I told her as I dropped it into my purse and promptly forgot about. Until the TSA busted me. While they ransacked, I'd stood there thinking, "What on earth are they looking for in my old-lady handbag? Dangerous hairpins? Toothpicks? A suspicious bottle of wrinkle cream?"

Bye-bye cutesy purple knife. But I'm smarter now: I travel with a self-addressed bubble pack envelope in which I can mail me my overlooked contraband.

For this upcoming week-long trip, That Woman promised herself she would not check a bag. She would travel light. "I can do seven days with carry-ons," she said. "Careful planning. That's all it takes. Thoughtfulness. Coordination. Eating without dribbling. Sitting without wrinkling. Packing up after staying in five different hotels without forgetting something in the closet--a trick for which she's famous.

"Just take your basic black dress," a friend of mine said, "and a bunch of your swell accessories." That would be a great idea, if only I owned a basic black dress.

Shopping. That's what this will take.

But wait! "NO SHOPPING!" That Other Woman demanded. "After all, the financial sky is falling. Don't buy. Don't charge. Don't spend any unnecessary money. Tighten your belt. Call your bank. Talk to your broker. Check your credit cards. Watch CNN, MSNBC and C-SPAN until you are glazed over. Listen to the financial experts. Torment over your upcoming trip when things are in such a mess. Hope your congressmen vote for it. Hope they vote against it. Either way, should you end up looking bad for wishing they did whatever, no matter what, blame the other guys and gals. Nothing is truly your fault anymore. It's ALWAYS those ding-dong other obstinate, self-serving, valueless, up-tight folks."

(Pause. Catch breath.)

That Woman who claims to have gypsy blood in her veins just remembered one of the things she loves most about travel: when one is flitting about the globe, one neither has time nor one's ergonomically correct lounge chair in which to sit back and soak in the horrors of the day regarding The Vote, the spin doctors, the analysts, the positioning politicians and other worldly disasters. One can simply don one's noise reduction headset, stare out the airplane window and hum, "What a wonderful world!" With childlike enthusiasm, That Woman is anxious to explore a new land, chat with fresh people, drink in the beauty of the countryside during a half-day tour, float down a canal at night, embraced by colorful twinkling lights. "Imagine," she thinks with a content sigh, "walking the same streets as the likes of Vincent van Gogh and Rembrandt. Imagine sensing the closeness of the life and the untold stories of Anne Frank. Visiting the outdoor flower market to buy yourself a modest bouquet to brighten your magnificent quiet evening as you gaze down on Le Coin Square from your hotel room window." She has reserved (and confirmed, twice) a room with such a view!

But That Other Woman likes to torment. She likes to fret about itineraries, cash machines and the value of the dollar. She stews about security lines, the fact her cell phone won't work "over there," and she wonders if her husband will remember how to answer her Skype-to-Skype call when she forgets the time difference and awakens him in the middle of the night. Yes, she's done that before too. That Other Woman has made every mistake possible during the course of her travels, including leaving her passport at a bank (thankfully it was retrieved), getting her wallet ripped off, and leaving her credit card in a taxi, never to be seen again.

(Pause. Breathe.)

For the good of her personal nature, and in order to keep the travel plans "unclogged," in a spirit of bipartisanship, both of these women need to walk across the aisle -- or at the very least meet in the middle. After all, even though it's an election year, neither can actually vote against herself.

Well, I guess That Woman or That Other Woman could try it. But in the end, that type of maneuver in which one ends up sinking oneself would degenerate into politics as usual, and this year we're all about change and no more of the same. No, that foul smelling and combative behavior, my Dear Traveling Laugh readers, is simply unacceptable.

Seat Mates

Late last week, George and I drove to The Farm in MN from our permanent residence in IL. We set out on the five-hour road trip in order to celebrate first our anniversary, and then three days later, my birthday. We decided it would be fun to hold my birthday festivities near our youngest son Brian, his wife and our grandgirlies (3.5 and 1.5), who love to party with their Grannie B and Grandpa George. Or anyone.

After 39 years of marriage, you’d think we’d be better at getting ready to hit the road together. But instead, the usual happened: we yelled at each other while packing the car. George puts stuff in the car too early, even though I’ve spent 39 years asking him NOT TO DO THAT! I forget things and we have to go back home, even though he’s spent 39 years asking me if I have everything—and I always answer YES! For an engineer, he seems to harbor a block against the spatial concept of “nesting” items for tighter packing. For a creative type, I seem to harbor a great hostility when pointing this out to him. But in spite of ourselves, eventually we got Kornflake, our big red dog, in the back seat, and with a great exhausted sigh, we backed out (for the second time, after we had to return for whatever it was I forgot) and settled in for the drive. Since we were finally in Party Mode (once we got over the SCREAMING part), about half-way to our destination, we even veered off and enjoyed a short visit with friends who have been married a very long time, friends who know what married life is really like.

The next day was our anniversary. What to do? Brian told us about a band that was appearing at the historic Trempealeau Hotel in Trempealeau WI, about a half-hour drive from The Farm. We decided to make an evening of it, and thus a dinner reservation was made for 5:30.

Dinner reservations. Now there’s something we almost never do. We are decidedly your “extreme casual type”.

Since we’re old, we arrived a half-hour early. Yes, they could seat us anyway. Would we like to be out on the screen porch so we could see the river? You betcha! We ordered an hors d’ouevre (which we almost never do—and we highly recommend the walnut balls), a cup of soup, entrées (we never have a taste for the same thing), and we even split a dessert, something in which we almost never indulge.

But before we ordered, we experienced a SHOCKING FIRST, and it seems we had to be on the road together in order to do so. Hang on to your carry-ons: we sat on the same side of the table - next to each other! If you want to see a 6’2” man freeze, picture George staring at the placemats when the hostess set them down side by side. To be honest, it gave me pause, too. But, why wouldn’t we both want to have that terrific view facing the river? So I seated myself. After a moment, so did George. But it just felt so strange.

I noticed the couple at the table to our right were side-by-side, both facing the river, too, as were the couple to our left. I guess the assumption is: couples are comfortable this way, even if they’ve been married a billion years. Or, perhaps after a billion years together, it’s a relief not to face each other. Who knows.

“It’s our anniversary today,” I said to the gentleman to my right. “Thirty-nine years, and this is the first time we’ve sat on the same side of the table!” (I have no self control when I’m flabbergasted.)

“We do it all the time,” he said, gently smiling at his wife. “There’s no going back. You’ll love it!”

George did not look convinced. My jury was still out.

By the time we’d devoured half our hors d’ouevre, the couple to our left received their main course, each of their plates set before them on the same side of the table. It was then I witnessed a hostile break in this “no going back” new “norm.” As soon as the waitress disappeared, with a look of great relief, the man to our left moved himself, his placemat, his plate and his glass of wine across the table from his wife, river view be darned. His wife’s expression was hard to read since it was mostly hidden in her giant wine glass, which she seemed more intent on keeping to her lips once he moved. Read into that what you will.

I glanced sideways at George, waiting to see if he noticed, wondering if he’d be next to break ranks. But he did not. Not even after our meals arrived. All the way through dessert (warm cranberry cake with vanilla sauce—mmmmmmmm), side-by-side we sat, staring not into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes, but at our food and the river.

When we were done with dessert and ready to move onto the next thing, George asked, “Do you have everything?”

“I think so,” I said.

We took my to-go box to the car and retrieved our lawn chairs. Time to set up camp (side by side, which was only sensible for this part of the evening) for the entertainment out under the stars. (See September 20.) Of course George liked the opening band best, while I preferred the headliner (oh, baby, I love a wailin' harmonica!); we are almost never on the same wavelength about anything. The ol’ Mississip rolled by in the background while we sat side by side and people watched—again not staring into each other’s dreamy anniversary eyes.

When we decided we’d had enough, we packed up our stuff (“Do you have everything?” “I think so,”) and headed back to The Farm. I yawned all the way, thinking, “What a lovely anniversary evening. Isn’t it funny what we had to go through to enjoy it? We had to yell at each other while packing the car (usual), drive five hours (usual), unload our stuff (usual), cross the river from MN to WI to go to the Historic Trempealeau Hotel (hardly ever), all in order to, for the very first time, sit on the same side of the table during dinner

.

Since I often travel alone, one of my favorite pastimes is people watching. I’ve always noticed and wondered about those couples who sat next to each other. They appeared so romantic, so pleased with themselves and each other. And now I know that perhaps it was their first time ever to do so too. Maybe they didn’t stay that way after I left and the main course arrived. Maybe they yelled at each other all the way home. Maybe they were just sick and tired of looking at each other. Maybe they never sit any other way, even at home. (Maybe it was a blind date and they were trying to impress each other.) I’ll never know.

But I do know this: for a few hours on a beautiful fall evening, we were those lovebirds. And it was Just Right.

- - - - - - - - - -

How about you? Ever sit on the same side when there's just the two of you? Always? Never? CHIME IN and post a comment!

Poetic License

The onslaught of fall and fall weather always makes me melancholy. (Plus, it's my birthday month.) Thinking back on the remarkable stories I've heard and/or overheard, whereby the unsuspecting takes place during an otherwise boring business trip, the poet in me began to pray open the Hard Core Business Woman, and with that breakthrough came a poem.

Thus, with great joy and a convergence of muse and opportunity, I was once again able to attend my monthly poetry group. I've been a member for probably twenty years. I almost never used to miss. Then, I started my business travels. Month after month, I read the invitation with a fierce longing. But last night I enjoyed the opportunity to wallow in the good company of fellow poets and an onslaught of creative words!

Weariness, turbulence, annoying conversations, loud people, deadlines . . . these things often do not inspire The Poet Within--at least with poetry anyone would want to read. But this week, you, you lucky-lucky traveler, "get to" read the fruits of my poetic and melancholy, birth-day month labors.

Enjoy. And remember, anything is possible, especially with the airlines!

--------------


A Wing & A Prayer

By Charlene Ann Baumbich
©September 2008, Charlene Ann Baumbich


she first noticed
the tiny black wings
hovering over the head
of her seatmate
as
they sat
side by side
in the 727
sipping of sweet wine and
each other

wondering at


the swirly and magnetic
light in his eyes
still
she noticed
the wings
hovering near his
left ear
then hers

bzz
bzz
bzzzz

resisting the
urge
to swat
she stared
straight
to her right
straight into
that magnificent
eye-light
of his

without
WARNING
the tiny black wings
soared
into her ear
and
followed a channel
right into her mouth

unable to stop herself
she swallowed
the weensy rogue
until it dove
straight
into her heart
which it bit

who could have
guessed that
those tiny black wings
attached

to such a tiny taut torso
would cause
such a
life-altering change

once again
and
at long last
without warning
the love bug
had answered
yet another
prayer

Perspective Pause

Our neighbor is currently undergoing therapy for a bad back. Watching her struggle to get to the bathroom, walk down the hall, or get in and out of her car reminds me to stoke the fires of my gratitude for my own unhampered mobility. If you are currently enjoying good health, I encourage you to do the same. Every sprint for a gate, every fold and unfold out of an airline seat, every stretch we take in the current night's bed which we can make without a grimace is a gift.

Sure, I suffer with an odd hitch or twitch every now and again. I’m 62. However, it’s nothing that doesn't work itself out after I get the ol' bod moving. But I remember well the book tour I endured while lugging a carry-on bag and my torturous pain from state to state. When I stop and open my memory portfolio to that trip log, I still recall--can almost feel--how long it took me to stand at the end of a flight by uprighting a quarter-inch at a time, switching between holding my breath and panting in order to stifle a scream. I still applaud the kind travelers around me who asked if they could help with my bag.

Medications, prayers, guts and grit, sheer will . . . What we endure on the road is too often taken for granted--until it stops us dead in our tracks.

If you are living through one of those grinding spells, know I am cheering you on and encouraging each of the rest of us to watch for opportunities to help a wounded sojourner. Perhaps it will be you. Sure, we like to gripe about the folks whose carry-on bags are too heavy for them to handle; but sometimes any bag--no matter how lightly we've packed--is cause for intense distress. We cannot always judge a "situation" by the sour look on a face, a discombobulated moment or a short temper. Perhaps the miracle for that person is that they've arrived in front of us at all!

Some of you might remember that early last year, my husband underwent two knee replacements. The second surgery took place shortly after I broke my leg. The kindnesses of friends, neighbors and strangers in parking lots helped to see we two ambulatory messes through the . . . ambulatory messes. Sure, today we might be in a hurry or a tad under the weather ourselves, but it only takes a moment to make a world of difference in the spirit of a fellow traveler. Besides, what does our selfishness gain us on the road, aside from maybe a quiet moment, a well chewed meal, the best seat in the fuselage or airport cafe, the front of the line, a room away from the elevator, an uninterrupted life. . . .

Whoops!

Please step forward and remind me about gratefulness and a helping hand the next time I'm ready to knock the snot out of the slow-moving and/or whining person in front of me. The next time I’m whining to you about “them.” It seems that I, too, need to listen to me. Sometimes I know some pretty darn good stuff. And no, I’m not talking about how selfishness pays!

Why is it that . . .

When you turn on the television in a hotel room, the volume is pre-set loudly enough to wake up everyone on your floor? Sincerely, I want to know, why?

A number of possibilities come to mind.

--Hoteliers assume that only seasoned travelers (read hearing impaired from the constant ROAR of jet engines) are frequenting their establishment. Since it will take said travelers such a long time to locate the volume toggle to turn it up (can't they make those remotes uniform?!), why not give them a head start.

--The person who dictates pre-sets is hearing impaired.

--We're all being taped by cameras hidden within the remotes (delightful nose hair shots), and our "bad words" will be used as the background for a violent new rap video.

--It's really an orchestrated technique to help us sharpen the "state" of our reflex abilities. (How fast can we find the correct button?) You know, a little involuntary testy-poo to keep our reactionary muscles in tip-top shape for those last-minute gate changes.

Why is it that:

So many of us leave our cell phone chargers (cords, cradles etc.) in hotel rooms? Have you ever seen the dozens of them in the lost and found? Or called and tried to describe YOUR black cord among their dozens of other black cords? It's mind boggling! (Hint: we should put a name tag on those things!)

A number of speculations come to mind as to why we are so forgetful:

--As a whole, we road warriors are ADHD, which is why we cannot remain in one place for too long, nor remember to unplug our stuff from the sockets.

--"Charge phone" is on our daily travel check lists. We never added "pack charger."

--We don't have an "appropriate," visible and usual place for our cords, one that's emptiness would indicate we are missing one. (Ah, there is always a need for just one more travel bag, the one that gets everything right!)

--We are always in too big a hurry to consider how much more time efficient and, in the end, cost efficient, it would be to pack the cord when we unplug the phone, rather than having to spring for a new one. (This is so DUH! that I can hardly stand it!) Throughout all my years of travel, I've only recovered one lost cord. For the most part, hotels either seem to toss them ("No, we didn't find a cord in that room."), or cannot detect yours amongst their maze.

Why is it that:

We know so much about the disgusting, germ-laden ooky state of the remote controls in hotel rooms (so much so that some of us have taken to using the shower caps to cover them--come ON!), but we don't give a second thought to pushing the buttons on the remote controls in our homes--while using the same hand to eat popcorn. I mean, you KNOW what goes on in your own home. Things related to:

--your nose

--your mouth (this includes what's excavated from between your teeth)

--your children

--your negligent hygiene habits when nobody's looking

Why is it that:

I am now running for a can of Lysol, and that I shall never ever again touch a remote control anywhere without first shower capping it?

Why is it that:

I think about stuff like this? Do you?

Vista to XP-Pro Downgrade Dance--OY!

Once again, I am glad I’m not flying home from this five-week long business trip. Reason Number One, and enough reason in and of itself? I’m traveling with two laptops.

I have my new laptop, shipped to me on location during this trip. Why? Obviously, you didn’t read my last post. Although I am disheartened, I shall now give you the chance to correct your oversight by clicking here. But I still also have my old laptop, my dead one. Why do I still have it? Why do you have YOURS? Truthfully, if I kicked you in the gut, tell me why you still have your cashed-in laptop, and I’ll tell you why I still have the two that died before the dead one I’m traveling with. Not only that, but if you missed my post about this vintage “portable computer” I found in my closet, the picture alone is worth a look-see.

But I digress. (No surprises there.) Let us get back to why I’m so happy I’m not flying home. Can you even imagine the confusion at an airport check-point should I arrive with two computers? Do you think they’d buy into the premise that one of them is for my imaginary—and thus invisible—friend, who, while they are busy haranguing me, is stealthy passing through their crack security with three four-ounce bottles?

However, since I do not wish to write to you from jail, I shall refrain from walking into that trap by happily getting into my little SUV and driving five hours.

As promised in my last post (read it yet?), I shall herewith present my “technical report” as to how I survived (mostly) transitioning a brand new machine loaded with Windows Vista (NOOOOOOOOOO!) to Windows XP Pro. I used the “downgrade” disk supplied by Sony that came packed with the new machine. A downgrade. How hard could that be?

Let me count the ways.

Way Number One, and enough reason in and of itself: Fallout. Or, perhaps it could best be described as fallin, as in, I fell in to a four-day process, exacerbated by the fact that I was staying in a remote area (book deadline) with DIAL-UP.

I’ll give you a moment here to recover from the exhaustion you likely encountered by screaming, “WHAT KIND OF A NUT CASE TRIES THAT?!”

The "easy part" of the Vista-to-XP downgrade, albeit the most nerve wracking: inserting downgradable disk one of two and doing what it said, which was basically to “click here.” Well, before the “click here” part, there were those licensing tomes, likely some blather about making sure you know what you’re doing, and a release waiver claiming it isn't their fault if your heart stops during this maneuver, since you are basically wiping your hard drive completely out before the new operating system installs. Hopefully. PLEASE, GOD!

In hindsight, I now know that perhaps the hardest part was pushing that button. That, dear traveler, takes guts.

I also vaguely recall some fail-safe instruction that said you could always go back to Vista. You had to write some IMPORTANT piece of information down, though, which I think I did. I was so stressed about the click part, I was hyperventilating and therefore not thinking clearly. Truth is, I am a “somewhat savvy” Computer Person, which I realize makes me extremely dangerous. People who are utterly clueless about computers know better than to try stuff like this without a backup team of experts surrounding them. And then, they’re smart enough to hand the computer to them.

I cannot explain to you how fretful I was, watching whatever you call that little thingie that lets you know how far into the process the machine is. (Told you I was dangerous.) The disks should have come with a warning: THIS WILL TAKE A VERY LONG TIME. I’m guessing it was more than an hour for the first disk, maybe closer to two. Why I started this near my bed time, I have no idea--other than BOOK DEADLINES. But no way was I leaving my new traveling mate’s side while it was frying its own brain and growing a new one. PLEASE, GOD! Waiting for the machine to reboot—seeing that it actually had something in its head—was torturous. I was so happy to hear that "delightful" Windows sound, to see the familiar XP graphics, and to watch it come to rest with a desktop full of happy icons and colors.

That, as it turned out, was the easy part. Of course my new machine recommended I go straight to the Microsoft update website (it tried to take itself there—HA!) and update everything. On DIAL-UP?

Oh, my STARS! I have a DUMB machine now!

I went to bed to try to sleep this nightmare off. When I awakened, first things first: I needed to get to a high-speed connection. However, I couldn’t use a public zone ; I wasn’t about to start downloading eons of updates via “unsecure networks,” especially with anti-virus protection not yet in place. Sure, there was a trial 60-day super-duper Norton everything available in the machine, but I didn’t want to unpack all of that into a computer brain dumb enough to try to update Microsoft on dial-up. So I uninstalled it. (Take that!) I already owned a multi-machine license for Norton Internet Security . Still, I needed to get online to download it.

(Let me take a moment here to say how happy I am that I was, as always, traveling with a reliable--HEAR THAT, EQUIPMENT?--HP iPAQ. I sync it with MS Office, so all that account info was with me, even though I was on the road. Something to think about, should you be self employed.)

Luckily, I had a friend in the area whose house was Wi-Fied. But first things first: hold breath, turn on laptop, turn on Wi-Fi and see what happens. YIPPEE! DUMB machine was smart enough to look for networks! My friend gave me her password and I connected right up! With that, I started my endless hours (days, as it turned out—more later) of downloads and updates.

After a brief e-mail exchange on a writers’ loop, I learned most everyone who had MS Office 2008 hated it as much as Vista. I was (still am) in the midst of two book deadlines. I didn't have time for a learning curve that turned out to be a road straight to hatred. So, I uninstalled MS Office 2008 Small Business Edition (another pre-loaded trial version) and popped in my copy of MS Office Small Business Edition 2003 my husband sent from home, then started those updates.

I’m gonna stop now with the “uninstall/install my own stuff" descriptions and cut to the part that made me the most disappointed and insane, and might you, too, should you try this downgrade--at least with a VAIO. It turns out my new machine was designed to work at its optimum performance with Vista. This is a piece of info I did not learn—because they do not tell you—until after the downgrade, and after I started running into things that did not work, at least the way they were supposed to.

For instance, I was unable to independently turn off the blue tooth when running Wi-Fi. (Why waste battery?) A call to CDW’s tech support, where I bought the machine—and their tech support is why I ordered from them, especially while on the road—directed me to a Sony PAGE of downloads, drivers, patches etc. which were created for this Vista-to-XP downgrade purpose. Also on that page (or links from that page) was the first notice I’d seen as to how some things about my machine would not ever work "optimally" with the XP downgrade, even after the downloads, and this included maintaining maximum battery life.

Check out this page, then click on, say, the first item on the list. Take a look at the warnings!

Let me be clear here: I love Sony VAIOs. I am happy with my sexy new little (2.8#) Sony VAIO VGN-TZ290, and the two VAIOs I owned before this one. I am glad I am not running Vista. But I’ve lost a little somethin'-somethin' with my machine by "doing the downgrade"—soon to be a new dance craze near you. (Or perhaps a new Olympic event. It SHOULD be!) The first thing I lost after the first direct-from-Sony download was the ability to get on line using the Wi-Fi! CDW tech support rose to the occasion, and we got it straightened out, but . . . not fun.

Just know that should you decide to try to kill the evil Vista with the XP-Pro downgrade, at least on a machine like this, you might have a price to pay in terms of time and makin’ things happen. I have managed to get everything working on the machine that I need to work, and I have managed to get myself back to work, too. There is no going back. But had I known what I was getting into, I might have made a different choice in machine. Maybe. If I could have still found one with XP-Pro already loaded on it.

Then again, I was on the road with a dead machine. I was desperate. So I went with the tried and true: Sony VAIO and CDW. We do what we must and we live with our choices. LONG LIVE MINE!

Death On The Road

I recently endured the terrible death rattle of an intimate friend, a near ever-present sojourner on the highways, byways and skyways I travel. At first, I didn’t realize how serious his affliction was. Looking back, of course I should have seen it coming. There were signs. But when one is often on the road, one has the propensity to turn a blind eye to brewing trouble. After all, what could I—what can any of us--really do about such a terrible circumstance when we're on the road, our bevy of trusted advocates and helpmates left behind?

When I witnessed his first signs of distress, I simply assumed he hadn’t weathered our previous late night out very well. You know how it is the “morning after,” when you’re thinking back on one of those expeditions into unfamiliar territory, and you were in a hurry, and were already exhausted from travel, and you overworked yourself, and now . . . your “systems” (as in all systems that make things “go”) don’t. So, at first I was patient with his predicament. “Just give him time,” I said to myself. "He'll recover. Then we'll get back to go-go-going." But after several more hours of rest, and many attempts to snap him back to normal, he just didn’t. Not only that, his condition worsened.

Even though he didn’t talk about it with me, I could tell he needed immediate professional assistance. I consulted the yellow pages of a local directory and called a vaguely familiar establishment. “You need help,” I said to my friend. “I think I’ve used this outfit before.” He stared blankly at me, not once even blinking. (How/why does he do that?!) Nonetheless, I struck gold with my yellow pages choice. Without even asking my friend to come in for an examination, the yellow pages guy gave me a few suggestions over the phone as to how I might help my friend. I passed them along, and VOILA! Just like that, he was back up and running full steam ahead.

I should have known better.

Later that day, he became sluggish again. Temperamental. The light in his eyes, the one that lets me know he is truly awake, seemed to turn on and off at will. His symptoms grew even worse; at one point he seemed to completely lose his mind! But even though he babbled and stuttered, occasionally, he still acted as if he were back to normal. He’d do so just long enough to make me believe he was. After all, we were on the road! I repeat: who doesn’t want to believe everything will be okay, especially when you are on the road?!

But then, he suffered a complete meltdown. No matter how hard I tried, I could not wake him up. My faithful intimate friend, my good old 3-3/4-year-old Sony VAIO laptop was, for most practical or useful purposes, dead. No matter how many times I removed the battery and popped it in again (yellow pages man), how many efforts he made to crank himself up, or finish booting, he simply would not, could not, stay awake for longer than a few minutes.

I had to face the reality: my machine was doomed, and, therefore, so was I. I was on the road, feverishly working toward two book deadlines. The only good news in all of this? During those brief episodes when he came to life and pretended everything was okay, like a cannibal with no other food in sight, I stuck a back-up appliance in one of his orifices (USB hub, cd tray . . .) and sucked out his guts.

But even though I had fed my need for “my stuff,” now what? Who was I going to call to help enable me to make use of it again? I WAS my I.T. guy! I WAS my purchasing department. I WAS . . . officially hysterical! Without my old friend, I couldn’t even go online to shop for his replacement!

Think. Think. While you’re on the road, Charlene, do you really want to go to a big-box store and buy any old machine ? One already loaded with . . . Vista?

NOOOOOOOOOO!

Think. Think. AHA! I used my cell phone to call CDW. They’re located not too far from my home base, and I know they ship all over the place. I’ve purchased through them before, as have a few of my friends. Their tech support is always available and top notch. Although I didn’t buy my last machine through them (I happened upon a really good deal via another local source), I explained what I had (VGN-T150P), what I liked about it, and asked what the next generation of that same machine might be. I also explained that I absolutely for positively did not want to run Vista. (Everybody I know hates it. What kind of doofus ignores the advice of everybody?!)

Turns out they only had four machines left that fit all my “gotta be light--under 3 pounds--and teensy enough to fit in my handbag” criteria, “really want another Sony VAIO,” and for which I could bypass the dreaded V. Well, the four machines in question sort of met this criteria: they were teensy VAIOs loaded with Vista Business--that came with “degradable to XP Pro” software. (Sounds easy, right?) I had them e-mail me a quote.

As if launched into a jealous rage by the mere threat of being replaced, my old death-rattling friend booted up (all the way, this time) and stayed booted just long enough for me to jump on line and compare CDW's price, then he expired again. It’s as if he were surrendering his last gasps, to me. (Who knew a computer could drench you in guilt?)

Turns out CDW’s price for my new machine was very competitive. The description contained words such as "masterpiece" and "luxurious," and "more than strong enough to take the rough and tumble of life on the road." AND, they were offering a $9.99 shipping special for regular DHL ground. Two-day UPS? Twenty-something bucks. I decided I needed some time to emotionally pull myself together anyway, so I went with the $9.99 DHL ground—which arrived in two business days anyway.

Imagine my trepidation as I opened that box. Sight unseen, I had acquired a new and intimate traveling mate, one who would hopefully be with me for at least the next 3-3/4 years. Thankfully, he was everything I dreamed he’d be, and more. He adores me so much that while I’m staring into his brightly lit face, he can even capture my picture and save it in the depths of his whirling hard drive. He can record my words, play my music, store my stuff, connect me to the Internet, and I even adore his shiny looks and kick-butt keyboard!

A week after his arrival, I have, for the most part, completed all the necessary transitions to aim him toward my way of thinking. We are getting to know each other quite well. But let me also say this: advertising that a machine comes loaded with Vista Business, degradable to XP-PRO sounds easier (perhaps less time consuming, would be most accurate) than it turns out to be. It happens there were (sadly) things about my new friend that were built to work best with V and not XP. (Ah, nice if Sony would indicate that before you buy a machine that comes with the “downgrade,” ey?) In many ways, it was kinda like thinking you can change someone after you marry him or her. However, we usually anticipate that “imaginary process” will produce an upgrade, not a downgrade.

Whether machine or human, go figure how dumb we can be!

Next week, I will give you a “technical report” (wink-wink) as to how this Regular Person--a highly creative writerly type, who also has to serve as her own tech support, even though she is not--survived (mostly) such a whopping transition. For now, together my new friend and I must sign off our blog and dive into storytelling waters, where we will, linking fingertips to key pads, swiftly paddle toward the shores of deadlines.

I take that back. Let me rephrase: together, my new friend and I must sign off our blog and journey into the completely dry lands of storytelling. No water for my new friend, lest he short out his brand new brains and take me down with him.

Before we go, I would like to send a special shout out to Joe Brancatelli (if you're not a subscriber and you often travel, click through and take his free tour), who, after he heard my saga, said, “There is nothing worse than a new machine.” Thank you, Joe, for truly feeling my pain. Just don’t let my new friend get wind of our sentiment, though. I’d hate for him to become moody and depressed. After all, we’re on the road together, and I’m depending on him.

Round and Round We Go!

Last week, my husband and I set off on great traveling adventures--in different directions. From our home base in Chicagoland, I drove to The Farm in Winona MN. As you long-time readers will recall, that's where I "hide" to write, which is my labor. George hopped in his friend's car and off they journeyed toward Naples FL. As you long-time readers will recall, George is retired.

--TEST ONE: Notice anything missing from our travel plans? (RIGHT! AIRPLANES! Yippee! )

I always drive to MN. Since I currently have two book projects in the works, I fill up my little SUV with bins and boxes, notebooks and a laptop, food and miscellaneous supplies. I bet these days it would cost me no less than $500 to check or ship all my stuff. George and Butch, his long-time friend, first considered flying to FL to cheer up their ailing buddy. But then they got to talking about how much fun it would be to stop on their way and visit another friend. After all, Aiken SC wasn't that far off the trail. And hey! If they drove, they could take their golf clubs, a cooler, and any size liquid or gel products they wanted! A no brainer.

Helen, Butch's wife, stayed home in WI to hold down their homestead, continue her part-time and volunteer jobs, do some weeding, and command complete power over their remote control. Oh, and to cut the grass. For the first time ever. Yes, they have a riding mower, but Butch claims it cuts the grass too short. Helen could use their non-riding self-powered machine.

When Helen told me what she was about to do, I shared with her a few details from my virgin mowing experience. "I somehow accidentally ran over the bagger and mowed a hole in it. That's the last time George 'let me' mow."

--TEST TWO: Who's the dummy? (RIGHT! )

But back to our road trips. Let me render a few traveling stats. I get 19-22 miles per gallon in my vehicle. The journey to The Farm is about 300 miles, takes one tank of gasoline and 4.5 – 5 hours, depending on a few things, mostly my bladder. Kornflake, our big red mutt dog, rides in the back seat. He has a bladder of steel. Once I arrive, it takes me about a half-hour to unload my car and drag everything in. Neither Kornflake nor the cows help with this process; they just stare—although I find them to be a relaxing audience.

Butch's Honda Civic Hybrid manages about 50-55 miles per gallon. The guys switch drivers every two hours. They need a couple twelve-hour days to get to their destination. Add another day for their Aiken-buddy stop, a few days in Naples, an overnight and a round of golf or two on the way home . . . . I'd venture to say a few tanks of gas will be in order, along with some great camaraderie and memory building.

--TEST THREE: Who did I say was retired, and who is still working, mowing, volunteering and typing? (RIGHT!)

George, Butch and I travel with cell phones. When I'm at The Farm, where I'm forced to use dial-up, I still manage to log on once or twice a day. When Butch and Helen were on cruises together, George and I would receive emails from them. Butch has even managed to send off a line or two during this road trip, too. Woman to woman, guys to gals, guys together on the golf course, we are all staying connected. This is one of the wonders of modern-day travel.

Our round-robin "touch-bases" with each other can be summed up a number of ways. Let me line out a few:

*Entertaining
For instance, George called just to tell me that Butch likes Waffle House as much as I do. George isn't a big fan of Waffle House, so I found this tidbit very entertaining!

*Frustrating
Why isn't George picking up his cell phone! I have a piece of business he needs to know about.

"We didn't want the phone to interrupt our golf game."

I used to golf, so I get that. Nonetheless, I am frustrated I can't go on vacation right now!

*Comforting
We all take comfort knowing that those whom we love are safely tucked in for the night.

*Humorous
George loved hearing how our granddaughter enjoyed the tilt-a-whirl at the county fair. (Hey, I get to have some fun here in MN, what with family just 20 minutes away. Check out that county fair find! Aren't those three little--okay, biggie--piggies adorable?) George found it very humorous that as I staggered toward a bench after our round-and-round ride, I had to say to our beaming granddaughter, "Grannie B needs to sit down for a minute." The feeling in my gut, dear reader, could best be described as one of a Round-and-Round Traveling Travesty.

--TEST FOUR: Can you say hurl? (PLEASE DON'T!)

What you can say, however, is thank you. Yes, give thanks that we live in a time when traveling spouses, family members and friends can head out in separate directions, or stay home and hold down the fort, and still remain in touch. We can collect and share travelogues as we go, sometimes in Real Time and with instant pictures!

--TEST FIVE: Is it funny to laugh at someone's Round-and-Round Traveling Travesty? (WHY NOT? HOW ELSE WILL WE STAY SANE?)

Besides, the whole tilt-a-whirling incident kinda reminds me of business air travel today. Before you can take off, you gotta secure yourself with safety equipment. You are crammed in. You don't have control. You're not sure when the "ride" will end—or begin. When you finally get off, you often feel like you've been going round and round between websites, customer service, canceled flights and your sanity. Sometimes you're so exhausted and dizzy from it all that you just wanna hurl.

But you don't. After all, someone's grandchild might have her eye on you, beckoning you to hop right on that colorful Twirling Dragon. I believe you might be able to compare this dizzying adventure to connecting flights between AA to UA.

But you, dear seasoned traveler, are smart enough to say NO.

The Bag-O-Rama Boogie

In response to my last couple posts, astute TravelingLaugh reader Linda Toft emailed details of her recent Bag-O-Rama experience. I laughed, I groaned, I felt her pain and determination to meet the rules while maintaining her senses. I have her permission to share her email. She, too, is married to a George.

Enjoy!
-------------------------------

George and I flew to Austin TX last week for a conference. We flew Delta out of the Cincinnati Airport on our way to a conference in Austin TX. As we started for our security check gate, the line was FOREVER! We crawled along with the group and were stopped by a guy with a radio at the top of the escalator. He said a few words into it and finally let about 10 of us proceed down the escalator. We were greeted by his radio buddy at the bottom. But we had to stop again when we came to another long line winding through the maze of roping leading to the security check.

I found it so funny that the airport had to dispatch two employees to guard and control the traffic on the escalator, but I could see how it was necessary: how else do you control a moving escalator with creeping lines of people? I couldn’t believe how angry travelers were as I watched the guy stop them at the top--especially the privileged Fast Pass people who were used to sidestepping the lines at security! If I were that top guard, I would have been tempted to send them on down and watch the pile grow.

I didn’t have a carry-on bag when we arrived at the airport--at least until George found he was going to have to pay $25 for our third bag. I did some fast repacking and turned one of them into a carry on. At least until we boarded and they told me it was too big and I had to check it plane side…at no additional fee?! Makes sense to me. Or does it?!

On the way back, we decided to take the bag as a carry on, again planning to check it plane side. We got to check in and our other two bags were set on the scale, only to find one was way over weight (the junk from the conference we just had to have!). The clerk said it would be an $80 charge for the over-weight bag! $25 to check a third bag…

I’m no dummy. Once again I did some repacking right there at the desk, and the third bag turned back into a checked bag! Creative math is needed now for flying.

After all of this, I am wondering if we might someday have to “pay to pee.” Remember Pay Toilets? I can see it now! It could happen! We empty our pockets of change, pack away what we don’t need to go through security . . . and we’ll find we need a quarter to go to the potty on the plane. A new venue for the Random Acts of Kindness Folks: passing out quarters to desperate looking folks on planes!

Thank you, Linda Toft, for sharing your drama. Like you also said in your email to me, these are the days we're learning to travel lighter! Let me just add that they are also NOT the days to lose our lighter sides!

I got it wrong

Thanks to astute comment poster Finprof and a phone call from one of my devoted UA relatives, I stand corrected: United Airlines's Mileage Plus program does still offer award flights for 25,000 miles. They are in a category called "United Saver and Star Alliance Awards." During my frantic attempt to reinstate my miles, I did not notice there was a redemption category lesser than "Standard Awards."

I apologize to United Airlines, and to any readers whom I might have mislead. I sincerely thank those who take the time to make sure I get things right.

As for anything any of the airlines offer that qualifies as a lesser category than "standard," well, what more do I need to say? Those of you who spend a good portion of your life on the road already know what I'm thinking.

"Accidental" Traveling Lapses

I recently accidentally let 39,526 United Airlines Mileage Plus (or minus, and in this case ALL minus) "award" travel miles expire. I noticed this two days after they expired.

At first I was ticked off, mostly at myself. I should have seen this coming and at least purchased something through their program, just to keep those miles "live" and/or use them up. Of course I also wasn't too happy with UA because, well, I'm used to being unhappy with them, which is why I've been avoiding them--for a long enough period to let my miles expire.

(BTW, did you know if you don't fly for a quarter, they can choose to stop sending you any notifications, statements or updates? If you use that last click, don't miss #9. Pretty handy the way they can help you forget your "almost expired" status, should they so choose.)

However, even though I hate to admit this, sometimes (okay, many times) I'm more dumb-cluck than the airlines. I actually wasted valuable work time pouring through the website to see if there might be a way to reinstate the two-day-old lost miles. Perhaps they were still floating in the traveling waters near my pier and I could simply net them. (Can you tell I'm daydreaming about fishing?) The "opportunity" was buried, but YES! it existed. Imagine my fingers excitedly clicking away toward what I imagined would be a simple "REINSTATE" button.

But alas, nothing is that simple--or cheap. Turns out I could recapture them for a mere 1.25 cents/mile plus a $25 service fee, which would cost me $544.08. (I'm sure they'll round that extra penny UP.) To buy back miles I'd already earned but which had poofed into thin air because UA said so, and I was zoned. And don't forget the EXTRA $25 they would charge me to use those miles to actually fly. I won't.

As in my last post, once again this torment turned out to be the good news. While I was holding those miles, obviously subliminally and "accidentally" backpedalling away from a tortured "opportunity" to accrue 10,474 more so my husband and I could enjoy a "free" vacation flight, United raised the coach miles per trip from 25,000 to 50,000. (Man, I am living in a CAVE! Even AA, for whom I have lost all allegiance, only requires 25,000 for a standard flight, at least as of this second.) Plus, that monkey of a 39,526 disappeared off my back. Expired. Poof. Gone. Not even buying them back for a total $544.08 will get me anywhere. So now I don't have to force myself toward those friendly skies for anything. THANK YOU, UNITED!

Perhaps you should review all your "award" programs, just to make sure you're not missing any opportunities to miss opportunities. Afterwards, please share your "good fortune" stories under comments. Now that I don't have to spend time fretting about any of my mileage programs (since I no longer give a rip about any of them), I might find more time to go fishing.

Backhanded Thank Yous

The things that make me the maddest are often the things for which I end up giving thanks. Who knew that even the airlines and their additional fees could cause such gladness?

How do they glee me? Let me count the ways, beginning with luggage fees.

When the big six began setting and sustaining new records for lost luggage, at first I was angry. I was angry when, a day after my bag didn’t show up on the AA carousel, their recorded message still had no idea where it was. I was angrier when I drove to O’Hare, my home airport (group groan, please) only to find it sitting out in the middle of the floor along with eight billion other “lost” bags. However, ultimately those sneaky airlines taught me to travel lighter, which is a wonderful gift. Now, if it doesn’t fit in my carry-on, I deem it unworthy; if it makes my carry-on too heavy, I don’t pack it. My non-aching back thanks the airlines, as, I’m sure, will my fellow travelers when they no longer have to endure the very loud GRRHUUUUUUH! I used to emit as I heave-hoed my lunker roll-aboard over my head. All along, those clever airlines were simply preparing me to avoid their new checked luggage fees. Right on!

When they started charging for peanuts--and now US Airways will soon make us ante up for water and a soda (can the rest of them be far behind?)--I stopped eating handfuls of things that weren’t good for me. I now carry my own little baggies of healthy mixed nuts, or a protein bar, or maybe even a sandwich. And I never board without a bottle of water—accept when I forget. (My bad.) Since we’re so crammed into the overbooked and ever shrinking seats, I don’t have room to bend over to retrieve my wallet anyway, so thanks again! Think of the money I’m saving!

And speaking of money, when American Airlines said they would begin charging us to use our very own hard-earned frequent flyer miles, even when we book online, I was beyond angry—especially since I was already paying an annual credit card fee to accumulate miles even faster. (I know: dumb!) But even their grab to render to them what has already been rendered delivered good fortune. You see, they tripped my IT'S TIME TO DO SOMETHING, CHARLENE! trigger. The first thing I did was to phone my credit card provider to cancel my AA credit card.

But wait! It gets even better! After some discussion as to why I was doing this, the agent advised me I could keep my same cc number (what a pain-ola when you have to change numbers, especially with all the automatic “bill to credit card” we have set up) and simply change the type of card. Now, rather than earning airlines miles I have to pay to earn and pay to use, and which I can only use for 6 a.m. flights, I will earn cash back. Cash I can apply to gasoline purchases, for which I will also earn cash back. I realize that’s not on the same scale as the Lion King’s “Circle of Life," but still, it’s a circle that sure beats paying to use my very own hard-earned miles for which I already paid--twice. Plus, my new type of card gives me even more perks. How about that?! Again, I thank the airlines.

I’m anxious to learn what they will think of next to improve my life. Perhaps Will Allen III already came up with it: “Pay to pee.” He astutely speculates that they could also sell tiny rolls of toilet paper. But no problem-o! I consider the very idea another new training program to enhance my life. How so? Because I’m grabbing a few yards of toilet paper right now and tucking them into the outside zipper compartment of my bag, just in case. What could enhance my travel experience more than being able to use my very favorite brand?