Tag Archives: airport

Can you say spin-off?

When I travel for business, I often go from the airport to the hotel and back again, which doesn’t guarantee much of a view.

Of course, my hotels don’t often look like this –

Chateauform

This is where I’m staying today:  the Chateauform Schloss Löwenstein, located 45 minutes from the center of Frankfurt, Germany.

It’s part of a chain, if you can believe it — one of a collection of properties set in a private parkland well outside the city.  The castle has been fully renovated, somehow maintaining its period details while being outfitted with all the bells and whistles you need at a conference center.

It has its own winery and spa.  Two serve-yourself-anytime bars.  Archery.  There’s even a resident chocolate lab in the lounge named Easy.

It’s all so…Downton Abbey, don’t you think?

Quick trip

I just attended a business meeting at an airport hotel.

hilton chicagoNot near the airport. Not within two miles.  Not conveniently offering a hotel shuttle.

In the airport itself.

I never went outside. I never saw the city. Heck, I never even saw the sun except from the meeting room windows (and we drew the shades).

Then I jumped on a plane and headed home — on an earlier flight, no less, because I was at the airport and could.

Is it wrong to want to minimize the travel in my business travel?  To reduce the trip to the quickest way between points A and B and back again?  To forget the city my meeting was in because I never made it to the city?

You know, I’m okay with that.  ‘Cause I’m almost home.

Trick or treat

I returned to New York City today.

I couldn’t wait to get home, but was frightened of what I would see.

The aerial view of the city, half blacked out and silent, haunted me. The news cameras had focused on flood, fires, that precarious shifting crane. My airport cab driver told similar tales.

But then he dropped me off at my door. Businesses are open. People wander the street, friends gather, dogs bark. My neighborhood looks much like I left it three days ago.

And just 50 blocks south lies destruction.

Tonight I am a very, very lucky girl.

Late

Rain in Syracuse.
Cancelled flight.

New itinerary.

Rain in Philadelphia.
Flight delay.

Class pushed back.

Rain in Boston.
Traffic jam.

Delay day becomes night.

Home…finally.
Sun tomorrow?

In good company

I made a new friend today in the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport.

We had electricity.

Actually, he did. He was seated next to an electrical outlet in the gate area, the only one I was able to find. And he wasn’t using it. If I wanted to, I was going to have to sit on the floor…or ask him to move down to the next open seat.

I asked and offered some candy as a bargaining chip. He said that ‘being nice’ was reward enough.

So I took his seat and charged my phone for the next hour. And I learned that he worked in Dallas and lived in Boston — where we were both headed — making the flight home every two-to-three weeks. Today he was going home for Father’s Day. His daughter was picking him up at the airport.

And when we eventually parted company to find our respective seats on the plane, I couldn’t help but think…

She’s one lucky girl.

Head down

The ceilings in the terminal at Miami International Airport are so low, I feel like I’m gonna bump my head.

I’m only 5’7″, folks.

image

Why would any airport, your last stop before flying off into the ‘wild blue yonder,’ be so claustrophobic?  Wouldn’t it try to inspire, to remind you of the trip ahead with grand vistas and high ceilings?

This terminal is so cramped, the airplane I will soon board is gonna feel roomy.

Oh — maybe that’s the plan.

Belly up

Remember The Accidental Tourist, starring William Hurt and Geena Davis?

(It came out way back in 1988 — Davis won an Oscar.)

Hurt portrayed travel writer Macon Leary, whose books were geared toward people who want to travel with “the minimum fuss and as little impact as possible on their lives.”

I realize I have become somewhat of an ‘accidental’  business traveler.

Once I hit the airport, I am focused on one goal:  getting to my destination as quickly as possible (with supporting goals of checking email, charging my phone and getting snacks for the plane). Though surrounded by literally hundreds of people, I’m in my own little world.

Even yesterday, with two hours until departure, I charged with single minded determination toward my gate at LAX.  But a chance glimpse of the UK-Florida basketball game in progress on a TV in an airport ‘On the Border’ pulled me up short.  So I decided to stop and watch.

Now, I usually always ask for a table in a restaurant.  Tables give me room for my entree and my phone or magazine or book.  It’s just more comfortable…and more private.

But yesterday, there wasn’t a table in sight, so I took a seat at the bar… and was quickly reminded of all the reasons why bars are great in the first place.

The bartender was a character — quick with a refill and a clever word.  The guy next to me was also a college basketball fan…and a proud grandfather.  When I started cheering on the Cats, a couple at the other end of the bar joined in.

Soon a UCLA alum and union organizer — who knew that job still existed?  — sat down and joined in the conversation.  When the Cats defeated the Gators, the whole bar joined me in clapping.

I was sad to have to leave.

But now back in New York, I can enjoy thinking about the people I met ‘by accident’ on my way home from work.

Cold blooded

Once again, I’ve managed to visit Miami without making it to the beach.

Yep.  My shuttle is driving me back to the airport, and I never stepped foot outside the hotel.

Wait…I did take a couple of photos off of my balcony this morning — does that count?

This is not the first time this has happened.  Work takes me to a warm, sunny clime…and I don’t even make it outside to enjoy it.

I’m an embarrassment to business travel.

I could blame my schedule, I suppose.  Or my skin, which is very fair and shouldn’t be exposed to the sun much anyhoo.

But the truth is…beaches just don’t appeal to me up close and personal.  They are beautiful to look at in photos, and lovely to dream about from afar.  But once I’m at the beach, I really don’t want to spend that much time on it.  Looking at it out the window will suffice.

So off I go, back to the cold wintery streets of Manhattan.

I can hardly wait!

Rainy days

It’s raining, so I must be flying somewhere.

That a bit whiny, I know.

I’ve never been one to mind the rain or let the rain affect my mood.  In fact, I’ve always liked rainy days.  Rory sleeps in a bit longer, and he doesn’t like to walk in the rain like a Golden Retriever or Lab might.  That gives me some extra time in the morning that I don’t normally have to get things done.

It’s a win-win.

But on travel days, rain just kinda mucks up the works.

It’s harder to hail a cab…’cause even the locals don’t want to walk on rainy days.  When I get to the airport, it’s filled with other slightly damp, even-more-rushed-than-usual people trying to get through security to their gate.

And once they are through?

Well, they’ll probably sit and wait because the rain will more often than not delay their flight.  And then they’re grouchy and mouthy with the poor gate agents.  It’s not pretty to watch.

Man, this is a fun blog entry. Clearly, the rain doesn’t affect my mood at all…except maybe on travel days.

Come on, sun!

Southern comforts

I’ve said it before — I’m no foodie.

Many of my friends bemoan the fact.  Here I am, living in New York City, a bazillion wonderful restaurants literally steps from my apartment, and I go out to eat rather infrequently.

I’m an embarrassment to my ‘hood, no doubt.

But send me back to the South for no more than 24 hours, and every Facebook post I make…is about food.  Not the delicacies you would find at the five-star restaurants lining the streets of Manhattan.

Oh, no.

I wax poetic about the Southern-style veggies served for lunch at Cracker Barrel. (Sweet potato casserole — I mean, come on!)

Shed a tear at how much bacon they put on a breakfast platter at the airport diner.  (Nine strips.  That’s just wrong, but oh, so right.)

Smile nostalgically when asked if I’d like “sweet or un-sweet tea.”  (I always choose un-sweet and add my own Sweet ‘n’ Low, but you know you’re in the South when you hear those words.)

I guess you can take the girl out of Fancy Farm, and tempt her with ‘fancy foods,’ but I’ll always have more simple tastes.

Or, as my friend Denny Keller would say…

“You’re so simple.”