Why Your Airport is Actually the Worst: Newark Edition

It's been a long time since I've posted anything here, and much longer since I've submitted an entry into my "Airports that Suck" category. In the past, with Detroit and Cincinnati, I had expressed a lot of opinions. I am going to do something crazy here and just use cold hard facts . . . mixed with my usual snark. At the end of the day, Cincinnati is still kind of a terrible airport, but Detroit has some redeemable qualities, and I am willing to admit that. Newark (EWR) is actually the undisputed worst airport in the country . . . if not the world.



That's a big claim, Brian! Don't believe me? Just do a google search for the Newark airport's rating and you will find articles from JD Power, Forbes, or Travel & Leisure which ranked Newark the highest on the misery scale this year. Now, as you might imagine, there's a reason I'm writing this right now. For the record, I have always hated Newark since I first set foot in Terminal A more than twelve years ago. This was a time before the United / Continental merger, before TSA Pre-Check, and well before mobile boarding passes. And yet despite these improvements over the years, somehow Newark has actually gotten worse. Let's just go through the whole EWR experience from being dropped off at the curb to (hopefully) your departure. None of the terminals at Newark connect on the other side of security, so if you have to change planes between airlines, things are really going to suck for you because the security lines are the worst in the country.



Let's say you are being dropped off at Terminal C, the largest and most modernized of the terminals. There are multiple security checkpoints to handle the volume of passengers. Unfortunately for you, an angry TSA agent will yell at you and tell you to not use the checkpoint closest to your gate because it is closed for some inexplicable reason. You are then trapped in some no man's land that cannot access the other checkpoints because you will have to go either up or down to walk down to the next checkpoint. Not to worry, though, because the up or down decision will be made for you. At least one of the escalators will be broken. If you do end up going down, this might be your most successful option as the security line tends to extend into baggage claim particularly around holiday times. I am convinced that the whole reason TSA Pre-Check exists is because of the Newark airport. Yet even with Pre-Check, you will be putting in some time in a line. What makes this so confusing is that the Newark Airport is only the 14th busiest airport in the country, yet airports that make up the top three like O'Hare, Atlanta, or LAX somehow operate far more efficiently.

Let's say you have pre-check. Congratulations! You've saved 50 + minutes waiting in line. You will be slowed down at the bin station for unforeseen reasons. As you approach the metal detector, an angry TSA agent will continuously yell, "WALK!!!" at everyone queuing up to walk through. Considering the speed at which you are requested to run through the metal detector, it is unknown why there is ever a security line. Also, the metal detectors are obviously turned off.

Now that you've made it through, congratulations again! You've completed the most difficult part of your journey unless you need to use a bathroom, and odds are that you do because you spent a long time in that security line. I have some bad news for you. The ratio of bathrooms to passengers is something like -50 to 1. If your gate is in the large triangle-shaped concourse serving about 30 United gates, there are two small bathrooms. If you are a woman, I feel truly bad for you because there will just never be a time that you won't have to wait in line. If you are a man, you will be able to empathize with the women because you too will have to wait in line. There are a TOTAL of six men's stalls for the entire concourse. Let's pretend that only smaller 737s are parking at the concourse (which of course is silly because there are 757s, 787s, 777s and other large aircraft parking there as well). But for the sake of argument, let's pick one of the smallest planes United flies and say only 20 of them are parked at the concourse. That's 3000 people in the concourse vying for two bathrooms. You can see why this is absolutely idiotic. Furthermore, if you think the United Club is your ace-in-the-hole for bathrooms, you would be wrong. The United Club has no bathrooms.

Finish your business in the bathroom? Congratulations! You are efficient! You got through security AND the restroom and didn't miss your flight? WOW! Off to the gate! Wanting to grab some food quick? Sorry, only iPad orders are available at sit down restaurants where you can order things like buffalo wings. There are no quick grab-and-go food items unless you walk to the far end of the United terminal by gate 130 where there's a Wendy's, and given what you've just gone through, you definitely do not have time for that. Ok, so hungry and exhausted, you arrive at the gate where they have finished boarding even though it's 45 minutes before your plane is scheduled to depart. The four gate agents working the flight are loudly talking about a passenger they don't like. If you have a confirmed seat, you are in decent shape as long as you were able to get to the gate more than 30 minutes before the plane was scheduled to leave. United gate agents in Newark love to close the door early.

Do you have a standby ticket to Los Angeles? Oh no. I'm so sorry. Gosh, that's . . . that's just terrible. You're flying standby on one of United's most profitable routes in the system. That means almost every flight is at capacity. But I get it, flights are expensive. Good luck. Those gate agents have called for final boarding. You are patiently waiting at the gate, checking your phone and the screen in case you are miraculously cleared. A woman and her very young daughter approach the gate because they were somehow split up and would like seats together. All four gate agents attack the problem by telling the woman they can't possibly do anything about it. No standbys have been called. You wait patiently because your employee travel manual tells you not to bother the gate agents while they're "working." Every other airport either calls you by name or clears you via a mobile app. Newark does not do this with any sort of consistency, so I hope you've pounded on the desk and reminded them that you're flying standby. Because if you've followed the rules of nonrev flying and were a patient, courteous, and non-intrusive passenger at the gate, they've already closed the doors and told you it was your fault that you didn't force the issue and throw yourself in front of the door. They let you know it's not their responsibility to clear standbys, similar to how it's not their responsibility to help the woman and her young daughter. The plane closes the door 40 minutes early with multiple seats open and standbys stranded at the gate. 8 passengers show up 30 minutes prior to departure, but the gate is already "closed," even though there is surely still a line of passengers slowly inching their way down the jetbridge. These passengers who were denied boarding are now competing with you for seats on the next flight, which is oversold. Your day will not improve. You will slowly begin to starve to death while soiling yourself due to the lack of bathrooms. Your name will slowly be transferred from one flight to the next. This is the only way anyone will ever know your name. Unfortunately, nobody will care because you're in New Jersey. Your humanity has been reduced to a standby listing that will likely never bear fruit. Over the airport PA, you hear your name called. A gate agent is doing their job! In the greatest of tragedies, you don't have the energy to get to the gate. A cart runs you over and your body is dragged past five gates. As if by miracle you see the LAX flight boarding right in front of you. You have been given a seat. You limp down the jetway, looking forward to any sort of sustenance even if it's just a small bag of pretzels.

You wait 50 minutes for the plane to push from the gate. The pilots tell you there's a maintenance issue, but claim it's been resolved and they're finishing up the paperwork. They push from the gate 35 minutes later. It's a sunny day, though light rain showers are forecast 8 hours from now. United operations in Newark blames the delay on weather. The control tower also delays all flights arriving/departing the airport due to strong winds and severe weather. The last recorded wind speed was 15 kts, a pretty average wind if there ever was one. You are #15 for departure. 38 passengers will miss their connection to Tokyo out of LAX. They will not be compensated with a hotel because the delay is on "weather." Two hours after it was supposed to depart, the 757 finally lifts off and climbs away from Newark in a sharp banking turn. A woman screams. A baby cries. A dog  emotional support animal barks. The flight attendants are complaining about the captain. The captain is complaining to the first officer about the flight attendants.

The pilots roll out of the turn. There is a single chime over the PA. They are soon out of Newark's airspace. At that moment, a silence falls upon the cabin. The woman has stopped screaming. The dog  emotional support animal has fallen asleep. The flight attendants phone the captain to see if she would like a meal, or perhaps even an ice cream sundae. The captain tells the first officer that she has never worked with a finer group of flight attendants and makes a note to submit their names for recognition by the company. The first officer is meditating, which is pretty standard practice after leaving Newark's airspace. The rest of the flight is calm minus a few pockets of light chop enroute.

Somewhere in 19A, an orthodox jew bites into his inflight meal and realizes it's not kosher. He laughs heartily at this misfortune. A woman in a hijab sitting next to him offers pita and hummus to the man. He graciously accepts and the two share earbuds and watch, "Into the Spider-Verse" together.  Back in Basic Economy, a NYPD cop and a young man from Harlem swap their favorite Dad jokes. A middle-aged white man in a MAGA hat connects to the in-flight wi-fi and logs on to facebook. "Your argument contained so many valid points," he replies to his trans niece. "I can't believe I have been so narrow-minded in this regard. Look forward to seeing you at the lake this summer! I promise to stop posting right-wing memes, LOL."

One must experience the ultimate low that is Newark Liberty International in order to reach the nirvana that is physically leaving Newark Airport. It is a feeling that cannot be disregarded. One emerges a more thoughtful, kinder, better person. While I wouldn't wish for my worst enemies to go through Newark, I will know that if they emerge intact on the other side, they will no longer be my enemies. Namaste.

The Duke’s Dastardly Deeds

         

 

 

Evidently I haven’t posted since the end of August. Since that post, I have gotten married, flown to five new countries, and acquired a Roomba. As a whole, I’ve had a pretty good schedule, which means I typically don’t have that many overnights since I like to be home, and thus don’t have much to blog about. That being said, I now find myself in Las Vegas for the second night in a row, but this is not going to be a write up about where to go clubbing, drinking, or score cheap Thunder from Down Under tickets. This post is about John Wayne.

Most people would say John Wayne is an American icon, a national treasure, a beloved actor who embodied the spirit of a nation, albeit not very good at delivering his lines. But I know a different John Wayne because he is responsible for one of about three different names for an airport that serves Orange County that goes by John Wayne or Orange County or Santa Ana. Take your pick. Now the airport itself is actually not too bad. In fact, I believe it is ranked quite high for a medium sized airport. One does not typically encounter flow delays, occupied gates, or traffic congestion throughout the airport that you would find at LAX. And while its northerly neighbor up in LA county has flights operating around the clock, Orange County/John Wayne/Santa Ana/Disneyland Airport has a curfew that prevents it from having flights depart or arrive late at night. Well that’s not so bad, right? Wrong. See, the curfew on its own is not that shocking. There are other airports that have them. Where it gets interesting is why such a curfew exists. You are probably thinking to yourself, “Well it’s the noise, of course!” And you would be right, but that’s not the end of our story!

John Wayne/Orange County/Santa Ana/Next Week on the OC Airport has a special departure procedure for all jet aircraft departing off runway 20R. I should emphasize that no other airport in the entire country has a procedure that resembles it in any way. In an attempt to put it simply, a “normal” takeoff at a “normal” airport would involve rolling down the runway at takeoff thrust, climbing away from the runway and keeping the power at or close to this setting until reaching one’s assigned altitude. If you’ve ever flown on a commercial airliner, you have an idea as to what this feels like. For comparison sake, John Wayne requires pilots to hold the brakes at the end of the runway, advance the power to max, release the brakes to make sure that all the passengers are launched into the row behind them, blast off the runway like we have decided at that moment that we would like to go to the moon instead of Las Vegas, and ten seconds later, pitch the nose down while chopping the power back to 78%. The passengers who were pinned against their seats are now thrown forward into their seatbelts and convinced that the plane is going down. Miraculously, it seems like the engines come back to life upon reaching the shoreline. Five passengers do the sign of the cross, three pass out, and a child vomits (unclear if from procedure or from being a disgusting/germ-spreading child).

Is this all necessary? The short answer is no. So why are we doing this ridiculous procedure? “Ooh ooh!, is it noise again?!” Yes, it is! . . .or sometimes. You see, I hadn’t given it much thought until today. 99% of the time, airports in Southern California use a west or southwest flow of traffic as the weather is very consistent. Everyone knows it never rains in Southern California. Today, however, it rained, and it rained all day, and it rained hard. After patting myself on the back for somehow pulling off a smooth landing after an approach to minimums in a rain storm, the tower announced that they were switching runways and continuing operations in the opposite direction. And when we got to the gate and I began setting up to depart from Runway 02L for the first time in my life, it hit me. There was no mandatory noise abatement procedure when departing to the northeast. There was no extensive brief to discuss. It was simply . . .a “normal” takeoff.  I admit for a moment I was relieved. It is after all a very obnoxious procedure, and quite task-heavy, and I’m all for making my job easier. But after a moment, I got angry. The whole reason the procedure exists is because people in Newport Beach back in the 1980s complained about noise (aka complained that they had chosen to live off the departure end of an airport, but chose to sue the county because they are people used to getting their way). Spoiler alert: they got their way. But what about the people off the arrival end in Irvine or Santa Ana? Surely they must encounter aircraft noise as well? Airplanes do make noise when they land. And I should know, I’m a pilot. Did these fine folks just never complain about the noise? Are they deaf? Neither of these scenarios seem likely, so I can only conclude that our politics and government are corrupt and favor the wealthy. I see the (quite literally) one-sided noise-abatement procedure as a sort of micro-sample of the issues that the United States has within its political system. Our elected officials represent those with the biggest pockets, not the biggest problems. As is the case in Orange County, more people live off the approach end as the cities of Santa Ana and Irvine are more densely populated than Newport beach and its multi-million dollar mansions. But despite those in Newport being fewer in number, the politicians chose to listen to the more wealthy of its constituents. After all, these people have more money to give to things like . . . Oh I don’t know . . .congressional campaigns for example. And that type of system is dangerous to democracy. One can ostensibly buy an election. Both parties are guilty of this, so I’m not targeting a specific group, though to be fair Orange County is fairly conservative. (*Footnote: They did not vote for Trump. It was the first presidential election since the great depression that Orange County went blue. They may be conservative, but they’re not animals, for god’s sake). Point being, politicians love to pretend that they are the “everyman/woman.” They will show up at a factory, remove their tie and say, “Look everybody! Did you see me partially roll up my sleeves? It shows that I could hypothetically do work!” And for some reason, people keep buying into the illusion.  Most folks will just say, “Ugh, Brian had to ruin a perfectly good sarcastic post with his political soap-boxing.” Politics and religion are taboo topics, they say. But if we don’t discuss these things, we (the actual everyman/woman) have no voice. I am not famous or influential and certainly not wealthy, so my only outlet is bloggery. That way I can reach the staggering audience of three people. And gosh darn it, that’s more than nothing. As the duke himself would say, “There’s right and there’s wrong. Y’gotta do one or the other, do the other and you may be walking around, but you’re dead as a beaver hat.”

G-g-g-ghosts?!!!

At least from my own experience, trying to get a standby seat on a direct flight from Newark to Los Angeles is a near impossibility. Out of the previous five times I have been in New Jersey visiting Nicole, I have ended up in the jumpseat five times. . . including one time where I had previously been awarded an economy-plus seat only to have the plane grounded for maintenance just after it pushed from the gate. Anyway, Nicole found herself in New Jersey once again, and knew that I was going to be overnight in San Antonio, Texas. She felt her odds were good if she met me there and then flew with me back to LAX the next day.

The hotel we stay in is well-located on the San Antonio riverwalk, but is apparently haunted. Now, most of the time, such a claim wouldn't faze me, and I have stayed at this hotel multiple times without giving it much thought.

The hotel is over 100 years old and has changed hands a few times, and is now the Sheraton Gunter Hotel. San Antonio itself has a lot of history, so I feel like there is a lot of, "Ah, this place is old, therefore it's haunted!" There are stories of ghosts of Alamo fighters, the spirits of 1920s flappers, and just about everything in between. I consider myself to have a healthy dose of skepticism about such stories, but then I made the mistake of reading the background of why people believe the Gunter is haunted.

Back in the 1960s, some guy checked in to the hotel, brought in a woman of unknown profession, and then murdered her with a knife, butchered her, and tried to dispose of the body by flushing it down the toilet and down the drain of the bathtub. It was the bloodiest, most gruesome murder San Antonio had ever seen. Since then, guests and staff alike have reported seeing a woman roaming the halls and other strange happenings.

This all took place in room 636, and I recounted this story to Nicole before she arrived so that she could mentally prepare herself for all kinds of paranormal activities. Room 636 was her first destination upon arrival at the hotel. She reported back that she saw, felt, or heard nothing. Phew. I don't need any ghosts following me back to my room. Nobody has time for that. I can't sleep with someone watching me.

Miraculously we made it through the night and the only thing that disturbed my sleep was a very noisy air-conditioning unit that kept going on and off. Ghosts? º_º

When we woke up, we sought out some breakfast. It must be the end of tourist season because the riverwalk was absolutely desolate. Ghosts? We ended up eating breakfast at La Panaderia, and spent a few minutes looking at the numerous selections of fancy baked goods.

I settled on a cheesecake-flavored pastry as well as this key-lime cruffin. What is a cruffin you ask? Why it is a hybrid croissant-muffin. The worker behind the counter described it as "stupidly good." I feel like that is a fairly accurate assessment. It is an item that shouldn't even exist, yet it was delightful.

Afterward, we strolled along the river, and although the central area of the riverwalk was quite empty itself, we wandered away from the restaurants and bars to find a calmer, quieter portion to walk along. It was very relaxing and a nice change of pace from the times I have been here and frustratingly wondered how many people get pushed into the river every day.

After reversing our course on the opposite side of the river, we walked up to the Alamo to find some shade in the courtyard under a pecan tree. Some birds had decided that they also liked the pecan tree and kept pecking at the branches. Every few seconds, a nut would come crashing down nearby. We felt it was only a matter of time before one hit us on the head, yet miraculously it never happened. Ghosts?

Nicole bought a souvenir pin in the shape of a bottle of BBQ sauce from the Alamo gift shop, then we walked back to the haunted Gunter Hotel.

All in all, I think we made it out of there without being followed, but who can know for sure?

When Nicole tried to check in for her flight online, it said there was no record of the booking or that perhaps she had booked a paper ticket. Paper tickets? What is this 1992? Strange happenings, indeed.

Inside the Bo-Zone

As a result of my new-found ability to bid for schedules I want AND actually get what I ask for, I have not been doing a lot of multi-day trips, and thus no overnights. I have not had an overnight in months. Months, I tell you! Furthermore, any days off have been taken up with going to weddings, baby showers, bridal showers, dental appointments, etc. These would have been totes lame to blog about. Nevertheless, I have returned with an overnight in Belgrade . . . Montana! You see, I have a very early report time tomorrow, so we are just a short distance from the airport and rather than actually being in the much better-known Bozeman, we are in Belgrade. It is not exactly central to . . . anything.

This did not stop me from exploring Belgrade. I went for a walk through what I thought would be downtown Belgrade. I saw a street called "Main," and reckoned this would be real cute and have saloons and gambling halls and such. It did not. In fact, it was primarily grain elevators and warehouses. There were no sidewalks. I was the only pedestrian.

On Main Street, there was a place called the Madison River Brewing Company. It was actually kind of hidden among the other warehouses, but my keen vision aided me in my quest. I sampled two of their beers and I was able to enter the establishment without any records scratching and curious gazes. That being said, I was the only patron who was not part of the illustrious "Mug Club," where one has a permanent mug hanging on the wall. In spite of this, the service was friendly and my bill for two beers was a mere $7. Mmmmm Montana.

It is my hope that my photos have accurately captured the spirit of Belgrade. As this is Big Sky country, I really tried to showcase this fact. Can you see it? It is as big as they say. After the brewery, I made a stop for dinner at McDonalds and made my way past the graveyard of old farm vehicles and back to the Holiday Inn Express.













Later this month, I will have another overnight in San Antonio, but until then you will have to satisfy your cravings for Flyin' Brian with these pictures of beautiful Belgrade, Montana. And the worst part is that, despite being at a Holiday Inn Express, we will be leaving over an hour before they start serving breakfast. No cinnamon rolls! Sad face. 

Bricole Take On Guanajuato

 After months of tired and outlandish excuses like, "I have to work...," Nicole finally gave in and joined me on a red-eye flight to Léon, Mexico.  Nicole, incidentally has been to some pretty interesting places around the globe ranging from Sri Lanka to Albania and Bosnia. Until last week, she had not been to Canada. And until this weekend, she had not been to Mexico. How about those apples? . . . or should I say manzanas.

After catching a few winks, we went into town and walked through the historical center of Guanajuato. Nicole snapped this wide-angle shot of the iconic church, which I believe goes by the official name of "Big yellow church" which is far easier than the unofficial name of "the basilica Colegiata de Nuestra Señora de Guanajuato." We continued our stroll through the streets and went to the Mercado Hidalgo to do a bit of shopping for some kind of memorabilia.

Nicole ended up buying a hand-made spoon rest and drip catcher thingy. Do they have an actual name? You know what I'm talking about, yes? We made our way out of the market and had some drinks in a nearby plaza where musicians kept coming to us like magnets.

A stray dog was also drawn to us, but soon clashed with the musician, whom the dog did not find to be terribly appealing to his ears. We slowly made our way to catch a taxi to the hotel. We then walked down to the tried and true BrasiTacos, which Nicole is standing in front of here. I shall quote her when she said, "You made it seem like much more of a hole in the wall." Unbeknownst to her, Nicole has changed a lot these last few years. Brasitacos, I believe, is the definition of a hole in the wall, seeing as though it is in fact missing a wall and its roof is corrugated metal. Nevertheless it has reliably good and safe food (*cough* Applebee's *cough*) and Nicole had a pair of chorizo tacos for dinner. After this, we relaxed at the hotel by watching American films poorly dubbed into spanish. We tried to go to bed around 9pm local time despite members of a school group running through the halls, yelling, and knocking on doors.




At approximately 1am, the fire alarm went off. Immediately assuming it was a fake, Nicole and I ignored it, though were now very much awake and our hearts were beating quite rapidly. Then it went off a second time. And a few minutes later, a third time. Begrudgingly we got dressed and walked into the hallway where somehow I became the leader of about 40 Mexican schoolchildren who appeared confused. After going down the fire escape and through the parking garage, we ascertained that this was in fact a disorganized mess and while everyone crowded in the lobby looking confused, Nicole and I went back upstairs to bed.

From its famous overlook at Pipila to shopping at the mercado to tacos and a fire alarm, I do believe Nicole had the full Guanajuato experience and I hope she had fun.

Brian's Day Out in Marfil

Where is Marfil you ask? Is that some new overnight? Well, I've been at this location probably 20 times in the last two months alone. Marfil is the technical location of the crew hotel for the Guanajuato overnight. The whole setup can be confusing because the airport is labeled as "Leon" on the departure boards, while the airport is actually in a city called Silao, and the hotel is in Marfil despite its own description as being in Guanajuato. Muy complicado. Anyway, I feel like I have done pretty much every museum in the city of Guanajuato, so I couldn't motivate myself to get in a cab again.

I elected to stay in Marfil, which unlike Guanajuato is not a UNESCO heritage site, but is home to various car dealerships, convenience stores, and an Applebee's (which I have been repeatedly warned to never eat at). Quite often my lunch consists of some packaged carbs purchased at the Oxxo mini mart.

After my "lunch," I decided to walk around the neighborhood a little bit, just to get my legs moving and hopefully encourage my body to be tired enough to fall asleep early enough to prepare myself for another early morning flight tomorrow. While the buildings in Marfil do not possess the same kind of colorful architecture as its neighbor, it is not completely without its charms. I eventually stopped at a small park outside a church to sit for a spell before heading back to the Holiday Inn Express.

It was a mostly safe walk except for a tunnel I had to walk through. The sidewalk did continue inside the tunnel with ample room, but I was more concerned about the ventilation as I did not see any fans to move the air around. Luckily it was a short tunnel and I was soon paralleling the Carrera/highway by the hotel once again.

For dinner I stuck with the flight crew staple of tacos just down the street. It is a very unassuming place. The kind of place your mother would frown upon, but it is quite safe.

The kitchen is within full view and despite having just three walls and a tin roof, it is kept quite clean. I do not know anyone on a flight crew who has gotten sick from eating food in Mexico, unless it was Applebee's.

The captain and I were offered meals during the red-eye last night and immediately declined. Airline food can be a gamble sometimes, and I speak from firsthand experience. I was taken out by a beef wrap a few months back. As the captain later stated, "I feel a lot safer eating street food in Mexico than the salmon in the first-class meals."

Words to live by.

A Relaxing Workday

After a stressful week during which Nicole and I had to figure out how we were going to move out of our current residence due to some pretty intense fumigation of the entire complex. With that and wedding planning stress building up, I had a trip with a long layover in Palm Springs and found it a perfect time to get away from it all and just enjoy the 90 degrees and sun while the rest of the country gets snow dumped on it.


Nicole accompanied me for this trip and after arriving late last night, we got breakfast at Sherman's Deli across the street for some omelettes. After that we walked around the downtown area for a bit, checked out a couple of the stores, and then walked into the Palm Springs Museum of Art, which was simultaneously marked "free" and also "$12." We ignored the second sign. We didn't spend much time in it, but checked out the Andy Warhol section. Nicole has always been partial to Campbell's Soup.

From there we checked out the rest of town, which seemed to consist of elderly folk and young kids roaming around aimlessly. Nicole stumbled across a statue of her idol, Lucy Ricardo. Lucy was also the namesake of Nicole's childhood guinea pig.

After returning to the hotel, we sat out by the pool for a while and came to the conclusion that nobody is in school today. There were a lot of kids for a Tuesday. Evidently spring break is still happening.









After this very taxing day of sitting in the sun, I had to go to work. Somewhat surprisingly, the most direct way to go from Palm Springs to Los Angeles in the evening is through San Francisco. Nicole narrowly got on the plane. I assume we can thank some geriatrics who were struggling to get their rascal through security and missed the flight. Nicole got the last seat on the plane.

Then in SFO, we had a three hour layover to do some more sitting. While we were eating a dinner from Klein's Deli, we spied Chris Christie, former governor of New Jersey, ordering a pizza next door. He looked like a sad shadow of his former self. The imagery of a large man in a fleece ordering a pizza in Terminal 3 is disheartening enough, but knowing that he was once one of the most powerful governors in the country is sad. I actually felt bad for him. But we musn't let former NJ governors bring us down. Nicole and I had a fine trip to a city that is a mere 2 (maybe 4?) huor drive from LA.

BJX From New Eyes

Well here I am again in good old Guanajuato. For the first time since I've been coming down here, a few crewmembers expressed interest in going into town. If I must be honest, I kind of prefer to fly solo around here because I have a bit of a routine when I go into town, but I was open to see how other folks did things.

We hopped in a cab and took it to the Pipila, the monument overlooking the city center. This saved everyone the trek up the steps, but it seemed like cheating.

From the Pipila, we walked down into town and into the University of Guanajuato. It would not have been a normal stop in my itinerary, but I suppose it's good to see new things.

The captain showed us a few places he liked to eat. For the most part, I made a note to not return to these establishments. They were overly touristy and/or only served pizza. In the captain's defense, he eats vegan, so his dietary restrictions don't do him any favors in a place like Mexico.

After walking into a few churches and mulling about, we ate at a restaurant in one of the secluded squares away from the chaos of the main pedestrian zone.

The flight attendant and captain were both somewhat concerned with what to order. Both were vegan and both were nervous about the water, as they discussed how one shouldn't order a salad. Mexico dining 101 really. About 5 minutes after this conversation took place, they each ordered a plate of fruit and a smoothie.  I sat there befuddled. The human mind is a curious thing.

I'm sure they'll be fine, but I just found the progression from, "I brush my teeth with bottled water!" to "I'll have the mango smoothie!" to be a bit nonsensical, but maybe I'm missing something. The streets were very crowded in the main pedestrian zone, and it really wasn't fun. With the easter holidays looming and a flower festival going on, the timing wasn't ideal. I don't like being sandwiched between a lot of people. I've also decided I prefer exploring Guanajuato by myself. This is nothing against my fellow crew mates, who were very friendly and pleasant, but I've clearly become accustomed to doing things my way.

If I had come across the crowds above and I was by myself, I would have hailed a taxi and left. It was torturous being in the crowds and knowing I didn't have that option without seeming antisocial. I persisted.

After what seemed like hours...because it was, we took a taxi home. I noticed that for both directions, the cab fare was 10 pesos more than what I have paid in the past. Were my cab-sharing gringos the cause for this price hike? We will find out next time I go into town.

Something else we will all find out tomorrow . . . how did that mango smoothie go down?

San Antonio for "Spring Break"

I'm a few days late in posting this, but I am ... what's the word . . . ah yes, lazy. Anyway, I once again had an overnight in San Antonio for the first time in a while. Unlike my previous visit in December, it was not cold and rainy. In fact, it was quite pleasant with temperatures in the 80s.

As a crew, we went out for food and beverage. It was nice to be able to sit outside and relax a bit. This was in stark contrast to my previous visit where I was attempting to blow warm air onto my hands to keep them from freezing.

Now the unfortunate downside to this improvement of weather, further exacerbated by the time of year which coincides with many a spring break, there were a lot of people. This made for a lot of slow walking behind people who were lost/drunk/annoying/choosing to walk 6 abreast/oblivious.

I was devilishly thinking to myself about how easy it would be to start pushing people into the river. How many people fall in during a day? I think 17.

One of my greatest pet peeves in life is slow walkers. It's right up there with people who stand real close to me in a line, and people who take longer than 15 seconds to drive away from a parking spot after getting into their car. Maybe I'm not good with people.

When the crew all returned to their rooms, I ventured out for what I hoped would be a relaxing stroll around the river walk. It was still wall-to-wall (or river to restaurant) people. I eventually had to go up some steps and walk on surface streets because the slow walkers and abrupt stoppers were driving me bats (which were also getting in my way, particularly below bridges.)

It's kind of a catch-22 for someone like myself. When the weather's good, the people come out and ruin the atmosphere. As a result, Nicole and I have been forced to travel in off seasons. London in February. Peru in the rainy season. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but maybe San Antonio on a rainy December's day was more photogenic and enjoyable.

Las Momias!

Well here I am, back in Guanajuato, a UNESCO world heritage site, and home of the Museo de las Momias (the mummy museum). I had tried to go a few months back, but it was a Saturday and the lines were out of control just to buy tickets. As today is a Tuesday, I had better luck and was able to see this unique place. I went in not knowing much about the mummies of Guanajuato, so it was a bit of a surprise to discover that this is all a relatively recent process. Evidently, you cannot be interred forever unless family members continue to pay a tax.

 So to make space for new bodies, those that went unclaimed or hadn't paid the tax ended up in a storage building next to a cemetery, which is now the museum. As most bodies in this town were kept in dry, air-tight crypts, the decay was slow and thus mummified these corpses. How this all ended up being a museum is the more intriguing part of the story. And it really just seems to tie in more to the fact that Mexican culture is far more embracing of death as a normal cycle of life than its northern neighbors. The macabre displays are treated with more fascination and reverence than horror.

I have been to many museums showcasing mummies from ancient egyptian times or viewed displays of people who were preserved in the bogs of england, or in lava cavities in Pompeii. For some reason, those exhibits interested me and I did not have a feeling of unease like I did here in Guanajuato. For the historical exhibits I mentioned, there was a feeling that the displays contributed to greater scientific or historical understanding. In Guanajuato, I was viewing bodies whose families simply didn't pay a tax. These are bodies from the 19th and 20th centuries, not ancient periods of time.

The clothes were still visible on many of the bodies. Some were just babies, dressed up as saints because it was believed it would make for easier passage into heaven.

It was absolutely bizarre to see these kinds of things. Based upon the timeline, the child's parents could hypothetically still be alive. Should we go pay a visit to the cemetery to see little Pedro? Oh that's right, he's not there anymore. Do you have 60 pesos, so we can pay him a visit in the museum?

Another section showed the body of a woman lying down with her hands up over her face. It was believed she had been unintentionally buried alive due to a rare medical condition that made her heart appear to stop. Based on the movement of the arms, it was deduced that she was not actually dead, but unfortunately now finds herself in a museum . . . very much dead.

It was all . . .  interesting to say the least. The museum ended with a photo op with empty coffins and one with a mummy in it (labeled a replica, but it would not have shocked me if it wasn't). After the photo op was a gift shop featuring skeleton t-shirts, mummy dolls to hang on your rear-view mirror, and other curiosities.

It was different than most museums I have been to in recent memory. I learned more about Mexican culture than I did about the mummies themselves. The other visitors gazed closely at the mummies with a respect and fascination whereas I was more bewildered by the whole thing. I have much to learn about the rest of the world.