Post by Alex on Oct 12, 2007 4:01:37 GMT -8
Good morning to all.
It's about 4am in Hong Kong and I thought it a good time to say hello since I'm not up to anything in particular and I'm feeling recovered from the first leg of my travels. I successfully reached my hotel a couple days ago, of which I have few complaints; the service is helpful, the room's in good order and I have a decent view high enough up I don't have to listen to it.
Admittedly, the airplane trip was a bit of a grind. The morning I started I received a call from my co-worker and co-traveler (Don), informing me our flight on Northwest had been canceled and we were rescheduled for the red-eye through LA to Hong Kong on another carrier. Don is a well-seasoned traveler (thyme, perhaps), and in hindsight I now understand why his spider-senses were tingling.
In general when traveling any great distance it's wise to make arrangements early and thoroughly, with no items left to chance. Being the squeaky wheel is vastly superior to allowing a disinterested and quietly sadistic airline agent to make travel decisions for you. Also as a rule we avoid flying United, whom experience has taught us harbors the same concern for our comfort and well-being as the airport smoking lounge.
In contrast to our careful preparations, the cancelling of our Northwest flight on the morning of the trip effectively stripped us naked (largely metaphorically, minus Kevin below) and fed us ruthlessly to the snapping jaws of the air transport system's version of contingency routing. Only during the trip did it dawn on me that the reason Northwest dumped us onto another carrier was to wash their hands of our handling, thinking it simpler to buy out than be accountable for digesting and eventually depositing us at our destination. I now consider that decision a stroke of cruel brilliance on their part.
After several rearrangements of our flight plans (an experience, I should note, similar to the now defunct "ABC's Wide World of Sports"; in that it contains the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat) we found ourselves rescheduled for the following day to fly Alaska Airlines to San Francisco, and then United to Hong Kong. I haven't yet made up my mind whether scheduling us on two unrelated carriers who wouldn't talk to each other with a squeaky tight layover was a monumental screw up, or another stroke of genius on the part of Northwest to distract us from hating them.
It turns out we were too close in time frame, under 24 hours, to alter our seating and travel arrangements for the Hong Kong flight over the phone, while too far away in distance to work it out ahead of time with the gate in San Francisco. The conversation that ensued was the beginning of my realization that United follows a policy I frame as "rather than service with a smile, it's simpler to smile and ask if there's anything they can do for you after telling you they can't do anything for you". This became a running theme and I think a good recurring comic element on their part.
The Alaskan Airlines counter in Portland could and would, of course, be completely unable to help us out in anyway with United's booking arrangements. Thus finding myself looking down the chute of the United travel system, I opted for a sort of Buddhist (or perhaps Niche) 'bend like the reed' mentality. The smiling United counter agent in Portland offered that my not having a seat assigned was really a stroke of luck, since "it means you get the seats of the people who reserved ahead and didn't show up, which are usually much better than what you would have been assigned". Sadly I missed the sadistic gleam in her eye, as I was distracted by the growing line at airport security. "As long as they don't center seat me next to the loo", I reasoned to myself, "I should be able to make do with the flight well enough."
-
Safely on the United plane, snugged tightly in the center seat one row back from the central loo nest, I finally found opportunity to reflect on the travel connection. Taking cleansing breaths I began efforts to reduce sweating on my seat companions, having run the entire length of the San Francisco airport with my carry-on bags slapping my back like a camel jockey.
Predictably the shuttle flight from Portland to San Francisco had been delayed by about 45 minutes, due to air traffic control changes or an overbooked departure schedule – I never really learned which. As a consequence our time to make the international departure had evaporated from about 1 hour down to 15 minutes after landing.
Preparing for landing in SFO we had grimly steeled ourselves for the gauntlet run. The flight attendants were kind enough to make an announcement on the intercom, requesting the other passengers stay seated while we made our start off the plane. To give full credit to the other passengers most of them did this – a show of self-restraint only just short in monumental nature to the Christmas Truce of 1914. I was struck so movingly by the kindness of my fellow travelers I didn’t even mind the few people who took advantage of the situation to get off the plane quicker.
Normally, even in an airport as large as San Francisco, our wholly ludicrous time to deboard, dash to the new gate at the opposite end of the terminal and throw ourselves into the plane is still possible. Unfortunately right before landing while re-running the numbers I realized the nigh-fatal flaw to my hurried calculations – airport security. Since it was an international connection and for reasons I’ve never fully understood, we had to pass through a security check on the way to our next plane.
Security presented itself as a looming obstacle to our success. Approaching the check-point, a daunting queue of tensely disposed travelers stood waiting to be processed. For some reason San Francisco in particular likes to keep their lines extra long; I worked a theory a while back that the purpose is to stew out would-be terrorists who snapped from the stress of waiting so long to get on with it.
Realizing as we went in that it was our only chance, my colleagues and I decided gravely that the only real option was to throw ourselves on the mercy of TSA as a Special Case. Thus breaking probably the greatest and most honored travel rule forged since the tragedy of Sept 11: Never be a Special Case when being processed by the Transportation Security Administration.
Without describing in full detail, our gambit more or less proved successful. There were some challenges with other Special Cases requiring Special Attention ahead of me, sadly with higher language barriers. Also I haven’t received as much openly hostile regard from traveling strangers since my college days; when the driver of a car I had bummed a ride home from had lost control going over a mountain pass and backed up traffic for miles while we dug ourselves out of the snow and ice.
After the X-Rays and the bomb sniffing and the bag searches and the bomb swab inspections subsided I found that as far as I could tell both I and my personal items – which had been shot gunned through the security inspections along with me – were largely accounted for. Happily even my laptop showed up in time, something I’m eternally grateful for as I didn’t realize it had gone and would have been immeasurably put out if it didn’t show up in Hong Kong. Where credit is due, it’s probably the kindest treatment I’ve ever received from San Francisco security, who consider their attititudes an integral part of stewing out the terrorists in the queue.
Assessing the situation around me I found all my equipment back with me and all my worn articles in their proper place. One of my travel companions was still with me, although the one in the lead had disappeared at the start of the inspections – I hoped he had gone through quickly and was already at the plane, rather than receiving Special Attention. No time to wait and find out his fate we packed up and made a break for the gate.
We were just late for the scheduled departure of the flight, but still in that magical period between schedule and reality where the planes are still waiting for a forgotten stock of lemon-scented moist towelettes or the like. I have a suspicion this is the type of period that inspired the author Steven King with the plot concept for “The Langoliers”, where a flight unexpectedly finds themselves out of phase with the flow between Future, Present, and Past.
Loosely developed, our plan was that the first person to reach the plane would latch himself onto the door like anti-bodies on a virus until the rest of us could get through. It turned out - as I arrived sweaty, flustered, and generally unprepared for the 14 hour flight – that this wouldn’t prove necessary. San Francisco Air Traffic Control had just ordered a runway switch and our flight would ultimately be delayed an hour waiting for our opportunity to leave. Thus it is proved that the entire SFO airport operation works in concert to harry travelers falling on its shores, in sinister yet unpredictable ways.
In the end, having made the flight by the skin of my teeth I boarded the plane and found the way to my seat. It was lightly humorous as I approached to watch the realization sink into the expressions of the guys I would soon sit between. Obviously they had been congratulating themselves about their good fortune getting an open middle seat, giving themselves room and a place to hold their stuff. It’s widely accepted that an open middle is the poor man’s business class, and receiving one is revered above almost any other event in economy class. After realizing there was a new player in their little group their faces dropped quickly and an uncomfortable silence fell in place.
I can’t say I arranged myself into my seat with any form of composure or grace. Storing my bag up above, the laptop battery slipped free and struck the woman in the row behind us with a thud. Pushing into the center seat I managed to bounce several heads and struck the man in the aisle with the straps from my other bag, altering his mood from disappointed to burning distaste. This would be a running theme during the flight.
In all I’d say the trip went about as well as could be hoped. The woman behind me assured me her second arm was still ok, and I managed not to drop anything more on her during the trip save a nearly empty water cup. My aisle side neighbor and I established a relationship wherein he wouldn’t look derisively at me if I didn’t make eye contact. And my window side neighbor turned out to be quite friendly and conversational, if a bit twitchy past hour 10 of the trip.
The only real downside while flying was such: by the time I took my seat the neighbors had already established dominance over both the central armrests; so I spent the entirety of the trip with my arms folded up an in. In time I had trained my shoulders to stay rotated, later I discovered untraining them takes more skill. Luckily everyone’s knees reached a balance early on, based primarily on how hard they pressed out, making a surprisingly stable boundary and also keeping me warm when the a/c finally turned on. Of course being a United flight the a/c was perpetually confused, and the audio track for the mediocre movies had a habit of cutting out. I’m mostly glad the plane kept flying while they rebooted the movie system, wouldn’t want to get that one wrong. Also there was an uncomfortable period during the last minute rush on the loo before landing, with varied and international digestive systems generating a medley not soon to be forgotten.
One last note of the flight is a recognition of good fortune. Based on our travels I estimated a 50% chance that my luggage would arrive. As it happened luck was with me, since it was Kevin rather than me whose bag never showed up on the belt. I should be ashamed to admit it but I’m truly glad it wasn’t me who spent the first couple days here, trying to make sense of the Chinese answering service United offered – certainly an unabashed stall tactic while they asked around for who had his bags.
It’s now evening and I’m soon off to dinner. Our Irish colleague is due to show up in town, and to celebrate we’ve decided to speak with our best Irish accents for the night, like. We’re hoping it will zest up the conversation a bit.
Also here's a nice video of one of my Hong Kong co-worker's child. Aimee was kind enough to help pick out a present for him. It turns out this one doesn't read English quite yet, but I'm sure it can't be long.
Little Mason Lai, You Tube star
It's about 4am in Hong Kong and I thought it a good time to say hello since I'm not up to anything in particular and I'm feeling recovered from the first leg of my travels. I successfully reached my hotel a couple days ago, of which I have few complaints; the service is helpful, the room's in good order and I have a decent view high enough up I don't have to listen to it.
Admittedly, the airplane trip was a bit of a grind. The morning I started I received a call from my co-worker and co-traveler (Don), informing me our flight on Northwest had been canceled and we were rescheduled for the red-eye through LA to Hong Kong on another carrier. Don is a well-seasoned traveler (thyme, perhaps), and in hindsight I now understand why his spider-senses were tingling.
In general when traveling any great distance it's wise to make arrangements early and thoroughly, with no items left to chance. Being the squeaky wheel is vastly superior to allowing a disinterested and quietly sadistic airline agent to make travel decisions for you. Also as a rule we avoid flying United, whom experience has taught us harbors the same concern for our comfort and well-being as the airport smoking lounge.
In contrast to our careful preparations, the cancelling of our Northwest flight on the morning of the trip effectively stripped us naked (largely metaphorically, minus Kevin below) and fed us ruthlessly to the snapping jaws of the air transport system's version of contingency routing. Only during the trip did it dawn on me that the reason Northwest dumped us onto another carrier was to wash their hands of our handling, thinking it simpler to buy out than be accountable for digesting and eventually depositing us at our destination. I now consider that decision a stroke of cruel brilliance on their part.
After several rearrangements of our flight plans (an experience, I should note, similar to the now defunct "ABC's Wide World of Sports"; in that it contains the thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat) we found ourselves rescheduled for the following day to fly Alaska Airlines to San Francisco, and then United to Hong Kong. I haven't yet made up my mind whether scheduling us on two unrelated carriers who wouldn't talk to each other with a squeaky tight layover was a monumental screw up, or another stroke of genius on the part of Northwest to distract us from hating them.
It turns out we were too close in time frame, under 24 hours, to alter our seating and travel arrangements for the Hong Kong flight over the phone, while too far away in distance to work it out ahead of time with the gate in San Francisco. The conversation that ensued was the beginning of my realization that United follows a policy I frame as "rather than service with a smile, it's simpler to smile and ask if there's anything they can do for you after telling you they can't do anything for you". This became a running theme and I think a good recurring comic element on their part.
The Alaskan Airlines counter in Portland could and would, of course, be completely unable to help us out in anyway with United's booking arrangements. Thus finding myself looking down the chute of the United travel system, I opted for a sort of Buddhist (or perhaps Niche) 'bend like the reed' mentality. The smiling United counter agent in Portland offered that my not having a seat assigned was really a stroke of luck, since "it means you get the seats of the people who reserved ahead and didn't show up, which are usually much better than what you would have been assigned". Sadly I missed the sadistic gleam in her eye, as I was distracted by the growing line at airport security. "As long as they don't center seat me next to the loo", I reasoned to myself, "I should be able to make do with the flight well enough."
-
Safely on the United plane, snugged tightly in the center seat one row back from the central loo nest, I finally found opportunity to reflect on the travel connection. Taking cleansing breaths I began efforts to reduce sweating on my seat companions, having run the entire length of the San Francisco airport with my carry-on bags slapping my back like a camel jockey.
Predictably the shuttle flight from Portland to San Francisco had been delayed by about 45 minutes, due to air traffic control changes or an overbooked departure schedule – I never really learned which. As a consequence our time to make the international departure had evaporated from about 1 hour down to 15 minutes after landing.
Preparing for landing in SFO we had grimly steeled ourselves for the gauntlet run. The flight attendants were kind enough to make an announcement on the intercom, requesting the other passengers stay seated while we made our start off the plane. To give full credit to the other passengers most of them did this – a show of self-restraint only just short in monumental nature to the Christmas Truce of 1914. I was struck so movingly by the kindness of my fellow travelers I didn’t even mind the few people who took advantage of the situation to get off the plane quicker.
Normally, even in an airport as large as San Francisco, our wholly ludicrous time to deboard, dash to the new gate at the opposite end of the terminal and throw ourselves into the plane is still possible. Unfortunately right before landing while re-running the numbers I realized the nigh-fatal flaw to my hurried calculations – airport security. Since it was an international connection and for reasons I’ve never fully understood, we had to pass through a security check on the way to our next plane.
Security presented itself as a looming obstacle to our success. Approaching the check-point, a daunting queue of tensely disposed travelers stood waiting to be processed. For some reason San Francisco in particular likes to keep their lines extra long; I worked a theory a while back that the purpose is to stew out would-be terrorists who snapped from the stress of waiting so long to get on with it.
Realizing as we went in that it was our only chance, my colleagues and I decided gravely that the only real option was to throw ourselves on the mercy of TSA as a Special Case. Thus breaking probably the greatest and most honored travel rule forged since the tragedy of Sept 11: Never be a Special Case when being processed by the Transportation Security Administration.
Without describing in full detail, our gambit more or less proved successful. There were some challenges with other Special Cases requiring Special Attention ahead of me, sadly with higher language barriers. Also I haven’t received as much openly hostile regard from traveling strangers since my college days; when the driver of a car I had bummed a ride home from had lost control going over a mountain pass and backed up traffic for miles while we dug ourselves out of the snow and ice.
After the X-Rays and the bomb sniffing and the bag searches and the bomb swab inspections subsided I found that as far as I could tell both I and my personal items – which had been shot gunned through the security inspections along with me – were largely accounted for. Happily even my laptop showed up in time, something I’m eternally grateful for as I didn’t realize it had gone and would have been immeasurably put out if it didn’t show up in Hong Kong. Where credit is due, it’s probably the kindest treatment I’ve ever received from San Francisco security, who consider their attititudes an integral part of stewing out the terrorists in the queue.
Assessing the situation around me I found all my equipment back with me and all my worn articles in their proper place. One of my travel companions was still with me, although the one in the lead had disappeared at the start of the inspections – I hoped he had gone through quickly and was already at the plane, rather than receiving Special Attention. No time to wait and find out his fate we packed up and made a break for the gate.
We were just late for the scheduled departure of the flight, but still in that magical period between schedule and reality where the planes are still waiting for a forgotten stock of lemon-scented moist towelettes or the like. I have a suspicion this is the type of period that inspired the author Steven King with the plot concept for “The Langoliers”, where a flight unexpectedly finds themselves out of phase with the flow between Future, Present, and Past.
Loosely developed, our plan was that the first person to reach the plane would latch himself onto the door like anti-bodies on a virus until the rest of us could get through. It turned out - as I arrived sweaty, flustered, and generally unprepared for the 14 hour flight – that this wouldn’t prove necessary. San Francisco Air Traffic Control had just ordered a runway switch and our flight would ultimately be delayed an hour waiting for our opportunity to leave. Thus it is proved that the entire SFO airport operation works in concert to harry travelers falling on its shores, in sinister yet unpredictable ways.
In the end, having made the flight by the skin of my teeth I boarded the plane and found the way to my seat. It was lightly humorous as I approached to watch the realization sink into the expressions of the guys I would soon sit between. Obviously they had been congratulating themselves about their good fortune getting an open middle seat, giving themselves room and a place to hold their stuff. It’s widely accepted that an open middle is the poor man’s business class, and receiving one is revered above almost any other event in economy class. After realizing there was a new player in their little group their faces dropped quickly and an uncomfortable silence fell in place.
I can’t say I arranged myself into my seat with any form of composure or grace. Storing my bag up above, the laptop battery slipped free and struck the woman in the row behind us with a thud. Pushing into the center seat I managed to bounce several heads and struck the man in the aisle with the straps from my other bag, altering his mood from disappointed to burning distaste. This would be a running theme during the flight.
In all I’d say the trip went about as well as could be hoped. The woman behind me assured me her second arm was still ok, and I managed not to drop anything more on her during the trip save a nearly empty water cup. My aisle side neighbor and I established a relationship wherein he wouldn’t look derisively at me if I didn’t make eye contact. And my window side neighbor turned out to be quite friendly and conversational, if a bit twitchy past hour 10 of the trip.
The only real downside while flying was such: by the time I took my seat the neighbors had already established dominance over both the central armrests; so I spent the entirety of the trip with my arms folded up an in. In time I had trained my shoulders to stay rotated, later I discovered untraining them takes more skill. Luckily everyone’s knees reached a balance early on, based primarily on how hard they pressed out, making a surprisingly stable boundary and also keeping me warm when the a/c finally turned on. Of course being a United flight the a/c was perpetually confused, and the audio track for the mediocre movies had a habit of cutting out. I’m mostly glad the plane kept flying while they rebooted the movie system, wouldn’t want to get that one wrong. Also there was an uncomfortable period during the last minute rush on the loo before landing, with varied and international digestive systems generating a medley not soon to be forgotten.
One last note of the flight is a recognition of good fortune. Based on our travels I estimated a 50% chance that my luggage would arrive. As it happened luck was with me, since it was Kevin rather than me whose bag never showed up on the belt. I should be ashamed to admit it but I’m truly glad it wasn’t me who spent the first couple days here, trying to make sense of the Chinese answering service United offered – certainly an unabashed stall tactic while they asked around for who had his bags.
It’s now evening and I’m soon off to dinner. Our Irish colleague is due to show up in town, and to celebrate we’ve decided to speak with our best Irish accents for the night, like. We’re hoping it will zest up the conversation a bit.
Also here's a nice video of one of my Hong Kong co-worker's child. Aimee was kind enough to help pick out a present for him. It turns out this one doesn't read English quite yet, but I'm sure it can't be long.
Little Mason Lai, You Tube star
