Alarm at 5:30, snoozed until 5:48. No real snoozing involved, just lying lazily in bed not wanting to get up.
Always keep a camera by the bedside for those lazy morning pictures
Tightly rolled up my clothes into the duffel last night which gave me a false sense of having made plenty of room in the bag until, this morning, I had to add my toiletries bag, a sweater and a sweatshirt, making it a cramming exercise again. Nothing in the bag that wasn’t there when I came, yet it seemed heavier.
Decided to Uber instead of walking to Union Station because of the aforementioned laziness. Uber ride was nice enough except for the smell of the air ‘freshener’.
Tried purchasing the train ticket to the airport with the company card again, again it was rejected. Bozos!
Turns out almost everyone else had this problem with the train ticket. Get a bunch of developers in the same room discussing something like this and it becomes a conversation bordering on theology as to the hows, whys, and wherefores of credit card processing and company policies. A couple of us spent some time in this before ending with the equivalent of god moving in mysterious ways.
Train to Pearson has plastic partitions between seats. They’re kept pretty clean. Thinking that in New York there would hair grease, skin oil, and clever epithets scratches into them from day one and they wouldn’t have been cleaned since day two.
Were it not for the reflection, and the constant bumping of the elbow, you wouldn’t know the partition was there
With the knowledge gained during my arrival, it was quicker to find my way to terminal 3. Security was easy enough, people here are sure damn friendly. Almost as if they like their jobs or something ridiculous like that.
Border control was a mess. Two lines: one for MCP app holders with nobody in it; the other for those without with the entire population of Toronto in it. I’m pretty sure that the reason is that people don’t know that leaving Toronto, Pearson (YYZ) is the ‘port of entry’ and many airports (like LaGuardia) aren’t listed. It confused me at first and there was none one to ask, but i reasoned it out: if there’s a border control here, then this must be the POE. Sailed right through.
Terrible breakfast at the airport at somethings called ‘Urban Market’ consisting of a container of chocolate milk, a lemon loaf (what nobody seems to call a lemon pound cache anymore), and a bottle of Perrier. Could have gone to the Starbucks all the way in the other side of the A Gates, actually did go, but the line there was almost as bad as the non-MPC line at border control
Illustrating the value of knowing your customer: shoeshine guy offers me a shine. I look down at my canvas shoes and say ‘no.’
Canvas shoes, canvas bag, nylon backpack
Paid an extra 47 bucks for upgrade to business. Wonder how they came up with that amount. Why not 45 or 50? It’s like they prorated some intangible thing
((comfort * distance/ticket cost) * remaining seats). Anyway, worth the money to get in first and the comfy chair (crowd mumbles ‘the comfy chair?’, ‘the comfy chair!’)
The woman in seat 4A show you just how comfy the chairs are.
Especially with a full flight, it’s nice to have the extra room for legs and elbows between the seats. (Bonus: fig bars and a seltzer served in an actual glass. Coming up in coach we were offered nothing and told we couldn’t bring beverages on board)
Am in the aisle, so no inflight pictures except for this one
Seats 2 and 3A
The woman in 4A was leaning across the aisle and saying something to me. I couldn’t understand her, her voice was muffled. I leaned closer to hear her and the sound of my book falling woke me up. When I looked across the aisle the woman, a very different woman than the one in my dream, was sitting back in her seat reading. The muffled in my dream was that of the pilot, who was still talking, announcing our descent into turbulent skies above New York. I picked up my book and, packing it into my backpack, started to feel the initial jolts which lasted about fifteen minutes until we reached the ground. The woman in 4A took pictures documenting our approach.
First time flying anywhere since pre-covid. Heading to a team meeting in Toronto with mixed feelings, as always: on the one hand, I’m looking forward to seeing people I haven’t seen in close to three years; on the other, I don’t really like traveling all that much.
It’s not so much the traveling, but the crap around it: booking; getting to and from airports; the whole security hassle; our company’s (explitive) expense system and its requirement that we use the corporate credit card for everything that they’ll eventually question you charging; and now, apparently, dealing with multiple apps.
Travel to Canada now requires you to use their ArriveCAN app where you scan your passport and vaccination record and answer all those annoying questions about carrying large amounts of cash and visiting farm areas. You have to show the app to the person when getting the boarding pass, again at the gate getting on the plane and again at Canada customs. The American Airlines app, when you try to check in, now requires yet another app: VeriFLY. I had no idea about this app, had to download it and was such a pain in the ass trying to figure out how to add my personal and flight information that I gave it up I got my boarding pass from a real person (NOTE: I did try the self-service kiosk, first, which showed me ‘we’re processing your request’ for five minutes before crapping out).
APPS IN USE FOR THIS TRIP:
American Airlines
VeriFLY
ArriveCAN
Hilton
CBP MPC (‘Official App of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security’, no less – for the return
CHECKING IN WITH A REAL PERSON:
Real Person: Where are you going? Me: Toronto RP: what time is your flight? Me: 10:05 RP: so, that’s the 8:40 flight to Toronto. Me: no, 10:05 RP: …(gives me a look and types furiously)
Self-service iosks and apps never give you a look. That’s the only thing I like about them.
Left the house too early to stop at my favorite place for coffee, so waited in an interminable line at Beecher’s (LGA, Terminal B) to get something, having first stopped at Bar Veloce only to discover that, even at 7:30 AM, they only serve alcohol (I actually considered it but, no).
The coffee Line. When you’re almost through the line, you’ll find a sign with a QR code that tells you that you can use it to order on line and avoid waiting in line. Very useful place to have that.
MENU BOARS AT BEECHER’S: Ice Tea – $2.49
Me: I’ll have an iced tea, please. Counter Guy: we don’t make any iced beverages, only hot. Me: … (giving him a look) I’ll have a black coffee, then, thanks.
Online ordering apps don’t give counter guys a look. That’s the only thing they like about them.
On board. We are on an EmbraAir E170 or 171 (seat card is for both.) My assigned seat was 20D, but I was, fortunately, able to jump the aisle to 20A, away from the pleasant, but malodorous, young man in 20F and with two seats to myself.
Boarding, a woman, expressed several times that she couldn’t believe that she had the ‘last seat in the plane! The very last seat!’ (21 C).. By several times I’m thinking that if I heard it only six times it’s because I must have missed two others while trying to fasten my seatbelt. She was incredulous and not a bit happy about it. One of the flight attendants was kind enough to find her a seat closer to the front.
I don’t understand airplane seat numbers. My side of a four-seat row they are 20A and 20C, across the aisle are 20D and 20F. It’s like someone forgot how the alphabet works. I might understand going from A and B to E and F, leaving a space for an invisible C and D, but missing letter in the middle of a sequence of adjoining seats is beyond me.
Unhappily sitting in the very last seat on the plane.
Something fun to do while flying: almost everyone takes in-flight picture or videos out the window. Using my iPhone, I wanted to try using the panoramic feature while resting the top of the phone against the window, the body angled slightly so that the phone was, roughly, at an 80° angle. Took a few pictures like this over New York City and a couple more above some clouds. They came out unexpectedly well! This technique worked well in the air, but not so well on the ground.
Pano 1: Flying over New YorkPano 2: Flying Over New York Pano 3: Still over New York. Here you can see the GW Bridge distorted because of the plane’s shakingPano 4: Above the clouds somewhere over HellifIknow, New YorkPano 5: Above the clouds about fifty miles from HellifIknow, New YorkPano 6: About to land in Toronto
There was a drip above my seat I could never find the source of. I checked the air nozzles, the area around the lights and the seams around the panels: noting – no moisture and nothing dripped as I held my hand under the area and above where I had felt drops falling on my head. By the end of the flight, I began to suspect the flight attendants were spitting at me from the galley, two rows back. Perhaps turning the tables on the current spate of nasty passengers and becoming, themselves, unruly. And who could blame them? Why shouldn’t I be happy to oblige by giving them a target for their pent up hostilities.
The galley – the mischievous flight attendants were to the right and out of sight.
It was supposed to be raining in Toronto and, from the turbulence during the approach, I expected a monsoon, but, once on the ground, it was only partly cloudy.
As it goes, customs was easy. Worst part of the ordeal was walking there from the gate. It might have been a half mile but seemed longer carrying my duffle and a backpack with the world’s heaviest laptop and a power supply that looks like a black brick with cables coming out. (I would have opted for a MacBook, but that would require doing all my dev work on VMs since nothing we do do we do on MacOS (liked all the ‘do’s in that last sentence?).)
Another schlep (second favorite word, only because I feel there has to be a first favorite I have yet to come upon) was from customs to find the train to terminal 1 to catch the train to the city.
As I said earlier, the company wants us to use the corporate card for all purchases. If you don’t, you have to write a nicely worded letter of explanation stating why you didn’t. Otherwise, it has been my experience, you’ll be given a hard time even for a minor expense, such as a twelve dollar ticket for the train from Pearson Intl to Union Station, downtown. So, like a good soldier, I attempt to use that card which was, of course, declined.
I figured it had to do with my never having used the card since it was issued – I haven’t traveled, right? So, I call Bank of America Global Bullshit Services (number on the back) and the very nice woman on the other end of a ten minute hold and five verification questions tells me: no, no, the card is fine. It’s the vendor code. Your company has approved certain vendor codes and this one, 4131, is specifically denied.
Fine, I say, I’ll use another card, then asked if she could send an email (to an email address she just verified was mine) to that effect so that I can rub my company’s nose in it. Oh, sorry, no, she says. It’s against policy and some bullshit privacy policy (hence my calling it Bank of America Global Bullshit Services before). I ask for that vendor code again, write it on the palm of my hand, and verify that the card is okay for future use.
(NOTE: We have people coming to the Toronto office all the time! Why has this not been a problem before? I Teams-text a coworker who said he had the same problem. He said he just kept trying and it eventually went through, he said, by entering it as a new credit card. Really? Ok, next time.)
Walk from Union Station to the hotel (about 15 minutes) was hot, but not bad. Wished I had packed lighter, though – or brought a rolling suitcase.
Hotel checkin was smooth. Was expecting the corporate card to give me another headache, but no! I even remembered my PIN number from three years ago!
Not sure if the people in the room above me are having sex or making popcorn. There are sounds coming from upstairs that could be either. Hopefully it’s popcorn.
At the hotel I unpacked my stuff – hung up pants, shirts, jacket; put away shoes, underwear and socks (I’m staying five days but, oddly, I brought ten days worth of socks! Wonder what was going through my mind.)
Now going to take a quick walk to the office, camera in hand, and see what’s up for tomorrow.
My first post in a while. Consider this a warm up for getting back into the writing habit. Consider yourself warned: you may be bored.
I’m booked on the 11:29 Amtrak Northeast Regional from Stamford to Charlottesville. I had asked my friend, Emil, for a ride to the station. He said yes, but first he needed to take his wife, Sarah, to work at eleven. I was initially okay with this, but when 10:30 came around I became anxious about the potential that he might not get me there on time and, as I didn’t want to chance missing the only train to Charlottesville from Stamford today, I arranged for an Uber, texted Emil that I was getting a ride to the station.
I thoroughly enjoyed my driver, a woman named Joy who moved to Stamford from Port Chester two years ago with her husband and two children – for the schools and a safer neighbourhood. We talked about the advantages of living in Connecticut as opposed to New York State. Her one complaint was the property taxes on vehicles. Between their two cars they pay something in the neighbourhood of One Thousand Dollars annually. She’s glad that gas prices are going down; at their peak they were cutting into about half of what she would make on average. Uber, she said, was giving a Fifty Cent per trip gas ‘help.’ We both had a good laugh at that. I liked her so much I gave her a Ten Dollar tip, just Two Dollars less than the fare.
Stamford Station wasn’t particularly busy. At the newsstand I picked up copies of the Financial Times and The New York Times, a tin of Altoids and a bottle of Canada Dry seltzer. Both papers were thin: I’m already done with the FT and am saving the NYT for the leg from DC to Charlottesville.
Took some pictures at Stamford before the train arrived (late).
I am enjoying my seat in the Business Car. Five-F, a window seat on the West side of the train (if you consider that we’re traveling South). So far, no one sitting next to me.
Just outside of Manhattan, about fifteen minutes from Penn, the train comes to a slow and squeaky stop. We sit there for perhaps ten minutes with no word from the crew. When we start moving again, the conductor announces: ladies and gentlemen, as you can see we have no power in the cars, but the good news is that we’re moving. We apologize for the problems which we’ll address with the maintenance crew when we arrive at Penn Station.
The worst part about the lack of power, it being daytime, is no air conditioning. In ten minutes or so that we’ve been traveling, the air has become thick and uncomfortable. No problem for the remaining five or so minutes to Penn, but I wouldn’t want to finish off the trip to Charlottesville this way.
The train came to another stop, high above some part of Queens (interesting that instead of going through the Bronx as other trains I’ve taken to Washington do, we’re traveling across Queens and Brooklyn – sort of along the BQE). There we stayed for a good fifteen minutes before moving again. Power has been restored to the cars, so the AC is back on, but the ride is going slow. We were told that it would be another ten minutes to Penn about ten minutes ago and Manhattan is still across the river.
Power substation in the Bronx near the Randall’s Island Connector
The passage from New York to Washington, DC was fairly uneventful. At one point I walked two cars up to the Bar Car (through the Quiet Car and one of the Coach Class cars). For lunch I had the Angus Burger (a cheese burger microwaved to a shoe-leather consitency), a bag of Miss Vicky’s chips (sea salt), and a slim can of Stella Artois. These I ate at a table I shared with a young woman in possession of a stack of word search and crossword magazines, a bag of peanut M&Ms accompanied me back to my seat. They’re gone now.
Riding through New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Maryland
It was raining hard as we pulled into DC. We sat there for a good long time as they changed the engine, the crew, cleaned the train and took in new passengers – might have been an hour, might have been longer; thank God for the distraction of a good book (still deep into Sally Mann’s memoir, Hold Still). At some point the rain stopped and I didn’t notice. Looking out the window at 17:43 I found it to be darker than I expected (because of the clouds? because we’re that much more south from Connecticut? because of the approaching Autumn?) As I asked this last question, the train started moving.
Union Station, Washington, DC
Hopeful that we would get to Charleston at a time approximating our scheduled arrival, I was disappointed when the conductor informed us that we were an hour behind schedule in a scolding tone, as though we were responsible for the delays. ‘Whatever time you expected to arrive at, just add an hour to that!’ she said out loud while, silently, I heard her add ‘you bastards!’
Texting my wife this last update (and by the way: we’re stopped again in the middle of nowhere, so maybe the hour delay was an optimistic estimate), she hopes that I’m comfortable at least. Must say that, in spite of it all, I’m doing pretty well. Getting in some reading, writing, photography (out the train window) and music reading. I said I was contemplating walking back up to the bar car for a stiff gin and tonic after we pass Alexandria. We’ve been stopped just outside Alexandria for the past fifteen minutes, so I’m getting up now.
Thirty minutes later, still sitting outside of Alexandria, double gin and tonic in hand. On the train, they don’t actually make a gin and tonic. Sort of like the pubs in England, they give you a do-it-yourself kit. The main difference is that rather than pouring the gin in your glass and handing you a bottle of tonic, here you get the gin in airplane bottles. The only thing they put in the glass is the ice – and thankfully, they give you a lot of that because the gin is warm and the tonic is warm so you lose the ice quickly.
On the way back from the bar car I stopped between cars and called Jane. Not a lot going on. Some continuing drama over the thefts of personal property at work which I’ve written about elsewhere. Basically, more victims and an ineffectual response from management that probably emboldened the ‘barracks thief’ in their pursuit.
19:08: after more than an hour, the train moved thirty feet. We’re getting there! I’m afraid that earlier statement of a one hour delay was highly optimistic (since, as I say, that was over an hour ago). I’m sure this is also our fault and I hope the conductor doesn’t come down the aisle flogging us for it.
19:17: we have just inched into a station that is not Alexandria. We’ve stopped yet again.
Train stopped for no apparent reason just outside Burke Center, VA
19:46: Still outside of Alexandria and we were ‘reminded’ that we are stopped because of a tree on the tracks. REMINDED? This is the first time anyone is hearing of it. This is becoming an epic adventure of Homereque proportions.
20:22: Announcement: ladies and gentlemen, the maintenance away crew has arrived and are at work removing the tree in front of us
21:45: Woman lost control of her car and ended up on the tracks. They moved the car and we’re on the move again
22:54: One Virginia woman describing to another Virginia woman where her daughter lives in New York City: ‘I don’t know if you know it: West Village? It’s right next to Greenwich Village.’ I roll my eyes so far back they actually face forward again.
The never ending journey
22:51: Well…. I don’t know how to say this without slamming my head against the seat in front of me, but there is a ‘defect’ on the track and we’re stuck in Manassas for a while. WTF?
22:55: Oh! Either we’re moving or I just passed gas. Too slow to tell
22:55 and a half: No, we’re moving. Verrrrrrrrrry slowwwwly
00:42: Arrived in Charlottesville. There are many ways to look at a bad situation. I’m going to look at this as having gotten an extra five hours on the train for free.
Joearf’s Thoughts 