Gadling + BootsnAll – Picks of the Week (5.15.09)

by Jeremy Kressmann on

Welcome back to Gadling’s weekly “Picks of the Week” feature, brought to you by our friends at travel website BootsnAll. How does it work? We input thousands of travel variables into the Gadling mainframe computer, and out comes five of the best and most interesting travel stories from BootsnAll this past week, ready for your reading pleasure. Got your 5.25″ floppy disk ready? Alright, here’s what we found:

  • The Venice of the… – Venice Italy is arguably one of Italy’s, if not the world’s, most popular tourism destinations. So popular in fact, that it’s spawned a fair share of “imitators.” As Roger Wade points out, pretty much any city that has a canal or waterway is laying claim to the nickname, including spots in Iraq, Russia and India. Check out his list of “Fake Venices Around the World.”
  • Life and Death in New Orleans – New Orleans is renowned for its spooky above-ground tombs, a feature of the city obviated by its elevation below sea level. Jessica Spiegel takes a photographic tour of New Orleans’ many atmospheric burial grounds. Don’t be afraid – the images are downright beautiful.
  • Drunken Culture – go on, admit it. You like to have an alcoholic beverage now and then. Lucy Corne is in on your secret – and knows how to help you make the most of it. She’s compiled a list of 10 places where you can drink and pretend like you’re soaking up all kinds of local culture. It’s OK…we promise to tell everyone that you went to Dublin to see the Book of Kells. No really, go see that too after you finish your Guinness.
  • Staying Healthy – when you’re out traveling, having fun and throwing caution to the wind, it’s suprisingly easy to forget to take care of your body like you might at home. Never fear, Eileen Smith has six cautionary reminders to make sure you spend your trip having fun and not in the hospital.
  • Thailand English – ever considered teaching English abroad? It can be a highly rewarding experience, but also one not without its challenges. Chabli Bravo spent the past seven months teaching English in Thailand and has a few suggestions to make the experience as good as possible. Even if you want to teach English elsewhere, it’s a post that’s certainly worth a look.

Well folks, looks like we’re out of room for this week. We’re just going to have to save all the other great links for next time around. Tune in again next Friday for more Gadling and BootsnAll Picks of the Week.

Galley Gossip: Swine flu on the airplane (a few things you can do)

by Heather Poole on

Today I’m flying from Los Angeles to New York to start my reserve rotation for May. I’m bringing my son along with me. He’s two. Because my husband travels on business often and I’ll be on-call, my son will be spending eight days with grandma and grandpa. Oh sure I’ll take the train out to see him in-between trips. That’s not the problem. The problem is with all this talk about swine flu, I can’t help but be a little nervous, not for me, but for him!

We’ll be traveling by plane and in New York where 75 people in Queens were recently diagnosed with the disease. Did I happen to mention my crashpad is in Queens? I’ll have zero control over where I’m going and how long I’ll be there. When I voiced my concerns, here’s what a few of my friends had to say…

  • “Heather, I think there’s a Mexico City layover with your name all over it! Hee, hee!”
  • “Don’t think you have to go to Mexico, Mexico will come to you. Start a new trend, nothing is hotter than a flight attendant with a Michael Jackson mask on! If you rock the body condom from the movie Naked Gun, I want to be there!”
  • “Every time I wake up in the MEX layover hotel I breathe a sigh of relief that I wasn’t crushed in an earthquake overnight. Now if I can just not breathe while down there . . .
  • “The only other thing you need besides a diagnosis is a company that’s not completely irrational and predatory about sick leave use. The company has denied me sick time, garnished pay for the days missed, and said to the union, “grieve it,” which is a years-long process.”
So what am I, the flight attendant, required to do if I see a passenger who may be exhibiting swine flu like symptoms?

  1. Isolate the person as much as possible.
  2. Contact the airline physician on-call. What I would actually do is call the cockpit who would then contact the ground who would then pass along important information.
  3. The airline I work for is providing extra gloves and thermometers for flight crews to use, as well as masks for passengers who may be infected.

Please note: As of April 26 there have only been mild cases of swine flu reported in the United States and most people have made a full recovery.

As of today, Argentina and Japan are the only two countries I’m aware of that are taking action. If you are flying into Argentina, all passengers and crew will be required to fill out a form that ground personnel will be distributing in order to enter the country. If you are traveling into Japan, all passengers and crew will be quarantined. That means passengers and crew will be required to remain on board the aircraft until Japanese health officials come on board and clear the flight.

Remember that post I wrote not too long ago about the sick passenger who didn’t ask for much (just my next unborn child), well if I had her on board a flight today I’d definitely wonder if she had the flu – as well as whether or not she was crazy. Honestly, I have no problem helping sick passengers, but at the same time I really don’t want to get sick and bring whatever it is they may have (or may not have) home to my son. Remember, he’s two! So what am I going to do (that you can do, too) in order to make sure this doesn’t happen?
  1. Wash hands often with soap and water (I’ll be packing travel size antibacterial hand lotion)
  2. Cover mouth when coughing or sneezing (use the inside of your elbow, not your hand)
  3. Report anyone who may appear sick. Passengers can report to a flight attendant who will then pass along the information to the correct authorities.

Peter Greenberg, the travel detective, doesn’t seem to be all that concerned. Yesterday he wrote on Twitter.com..

Remember SARS? I traveled at that time to Hong Kong — when hotel occupancies were around 3%. Had one of the best travel experiences ever. And how about the avian flu? About the only people infected (and there were incredibly few) were those who actually worked on chicken farms.”

I have to admit that Peter actually made me feel a little better about flying. Even so, I did what every flight attendant has probably already done, I went online and plugged the words SWINE FLU and FLIGHT ATTENDANT into the search engine. Just to see if anyone had it. So far so good. No one has it. Thank god! Here’s some other interesting information I found online concerning flight attendants, passengers, and the swine flu…

USA TODAY wrote… the USA’s largest flight attendant union, says it is directing members to keep an eye out for flu-like symptoms, especially on trips to Mexico. “We’re also pushing airlines to supply gloves and masks.” If a flight attendant observes a passenger with flu-like symptoms, the procedure is to isolate that person as much as possible, Caldwell says. So far, the travel industry is trying to accommodate travelers’ fears. Nearly every U.S. airline with routes to Mexico is waiving cancellation fees or rebooking flights.

Barcelonareporter.com wrote..The union STAVLA, a union that fights for the rights of flight attendants has condemned the airline for not allowing attendants to wear gloves to protect themselves against possible Swine flu infection. A source within the union said it had reiterated a request first made in 2003 for flight attendants to wear gloves when handling biological waste that is generated aboard, this request was put to the Health and Safety Committee and denied.

STAVLA, which has announced that it may take legal action against Iberia, has stated that each flight attendant assigned to the overseas fleet is in contact with about 33,000 passengers a year and has stressed that flights go “several times a day to Mexico.” The union said that after a circular sent to employees yesterday Iberia said ” it only allows the use of gloves by the flight attendant serving a passenger who, in his opinion, is affected by the infection.”

The union representatives of flight attendants recalled that the Regional Institute of Occupational Safety and Health at Work (IRSST) in Madrid has admitted that biowaste requires protective gloves, but “Iberia the practice remains prohibited for reasons of image” .

THE DAILYRECORD.COM wrote…

Q: What can flight attendants and gate agents do?

A: At the airport, gate agents can notify CDC officials at the airport to check waiting passengers who exhibit flulike symptoms. On board, flight attendants are authorized to isolate a sick traveler from the rest of the passengers if possible. Flight attendants also are authorized to dispense face masks to passengers who exhibit flu symptoms.

Have you booked a trip to Mexico and can’t decide what what to do – whether you should stay or go? And if you do decide to stay home, how do you get a refund? Click here for answers

Photos courtesy of (passenger) Wendy Tanner, (flight attendant) Aaron Escobar, (hands) Cafemama – Flickr.com

Galley Gossip: The passenger didn’t ask for much

by Heather Poole on

It happened right after the woman wearing black yelled at me because she had to wait in line to use the lavatory in coach, and that happened shortly after I noticed she, the woman wearing nothing but black, was eyeing the bathroom in business class, which is officially designated as the business class bathroom, which explains why there were three business class passengers stretching in line as they patiently waited their turn.

I pointed to the rear of the aircraft. “There are two other bathrooms in the back and I only see one person waiting in line.”

The woman in black looked at me as if I had two heads and snapped, “I fly international all the time and we always travel in business class.” I smiled and did not point out the obvious, that today she sat in coach. She glared at me and added, “I’ve never been so uncomfortable in my life!” Then she went on to use the phrase cattle car three or four times in three or four different sentences, giving me a piece of her mind. All this because she didn’t want to wait in line to use the bathroom like everyone else. Thankfully we only had thirty minutes left in flight.

“Is there anything I can do to make this flight better for you?” I asked. It’s true, I really did ask that. Of course she had no suggestions – none, zero, zilch. But she did call me honey and used the word cattle car one more time before stomping off to the back.

This is when it happened. This is when I took a deep breath, turned, and the young woman who had complained about feeling sick before we even took off out of Los Angeles, the one I had tried to talk into not flying because she felt sick, the same one who may or may not have thrown up in the bathroom (depending on who you asked), which in turn may or may not have been the reason why the sink was now overflowing with what may or may not have been water, brown water, and why the bathroom had been locked off, looked at me angrily and said, “I haven’t asked for much on this flight!”

Oh really?

This passenger had asked for more than any other passenger in my fourteen years of flying! But I did not tell her that. Instead I kept my mouth shut and got down on one knee, like I had several times before on the flight, looked her in the red eyes, and listened as she not so very nicely added, “And I’ve been pretty nice on this flight, considering the circumstances…”

The circumstances? I just nodded and waited for what I knew would be an insane request, because all she had done the entire flight was make odd requests. Oh she did not disappoint when she demanded to be the first one off the airplane when we landed.

That was not going to happen. She sat in coach. There were at least 40 passengers ahead of her in first class and business class combined.

“The only way you’re going to get off this airplane before anyone else does is if we call the paramedics to meet the flight,” I told her very sternly. “Do you want me to tell the Captain you’re sick so he can radio the ground?” It was not the first time I had asked, nor was it the first time she had declined.

How it all went down…

During boarding – There I stood between business class and coach greeting passengers and hanging coats when she who looked to be in her early twenties pulled me aside and told me she felt ill, that she’d been sick all day, that she had a fever, and then she looked me earnestly in the eye and asked, “Is there a first class seat available?”

Immediately the bells began to ring in my head – alert, alert – scammer, drama queen! I told her no, because there were no seats available. And even if there had been an open seat she still would not have sat there, considering she paid for coach, not first. Then I suggested she deplane, talk to the agent, and take another flight when she felt better. I didn’t want our passengers to get sick and I definitely didn’t want to bring whatever she may or may not have had back home to my two year-old son. Of course she waved me away and told me she’d be fine.

During the beverage service – Because her seat was beside the business class galley and because I happened to be working in business class that day, she rang her call light and looked directly at me. I held a linen lined tray in one hand, four drinks balancing on top – diet coke, water, ginger ale, and Chardonnay, when she said, “I don’t feel very good. Can I have a cup of tea. But not in a Styrofoam cup. Can I get it in a mug, a real mug.”

I forced a smile and nodded.

“Oh do you have herbal tea?”

During the meal service – As my partner and I picked up thirty meal trays and shoved them into a dirty cart, I heard her say it once again, that she was ill, which was quickly followed by, “Can I get something to eat?”

“Of course.” I told her the buy-on-board food options in coach, but she just shook her head and said, “I can’t eat that. I have a special diet. Do you have any cooked vegetables?”

“Cooked vegetables,” I repeated, wondering why she didn’t bring her own cooked vegetables on board with her since she had such a special diet. Please note that I normally never – ever – offer business class food to coach passengers, but she did look a little pale and I did not want to divert. “All we have left in business class are rolls and cheese and crackers.”

Turns out she couldn’t eat rolls. She couldn’t eat cheese. She couldn’t eat crackers. She couldn’t eat salad. She couldn’t eat nuts. She couldn’t even eat chocolate – chocolate! Nor could she eat the delicious homemade combination fried rice the passenger sitting directly in front her had kindly offered. (So I did. It was amazing. Thank you Mr. Exit Row Passenger!) The only thing she could eat were cooked veggies, so I went up to first class to see what was left over after the service and not only did I find uncooked peas from the salad cart, the lead flight attendant actually allowed me to take the first class peas to a coach passenger.

I handed the young woman a silver spoon and a silver bowl of peas. No thank you. No nothing. She took two bites, made a face, and handed it back to me.

During the dessert service – We were just about to pull the carts to the front of business class and start the dessert service when she rang the call light. I didn’t have to walk far to turn the light off. The unfortunate passenger sitting beside her rolled his eyes as she said, “I’m violently ill and I need your help to get to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” The bathroom was four steps away from her seat. “Give me a second.”

In the galley I told my colleagues the dessert service was now on hold so I could assist a sick passenger to the lavatory. But when I went to help her stand, grabbing her elbow to help her up, she got to her feet and walked to the bathroom like there was nothing wrong. I handed her a barf bag, shut the door, told her I’d return to check on her later, and then went back to my dessert cart.

After the service – “I’m not going to make it,” I barely heard her mumble as I passed her seat on my way to the galley in coach.

Quickly I spun around. “What do you mean you’re not going to make it? Do I need to page for a doctor?”

“No no no, I just need…potatoes. Do you have any potatoes?” she asked, and when she asked this it sounded as if it took all her energy just to get the words out.

I took a deep breath and sighed. “We do not have potatoes on board our flight today. Just potato chips. Which you said you can’t eat. Are you sure you don’t want club soda or a roll because that will make you feel better.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Are you sure there aren’t any potatoes?”

It was during the potato request that the lady wearing black appeared. Remember her? The one who didn’t want to wait in line to use the lavatory? So when the one in black tartly called me honey and then stormed off to the back right before the sick one in need of potatoes said that she hadn’t asked for much, it took all my might not to remind her all that she had, in fact, asked for – a first class seat, a business class mug, cooked vegetables, help to the bathroom, potatoes, and to deplane first. That’s it. Nothing more.

Photos courtesy of (occupied) travelin librarian, (coach) carrib, (barf bag) ben howes – flicker.com

Beef brain tacos and Haggis – eating the foods that scare you

by Jeremy Kressmann on

The past week has been an interesting one for me, food-wise. Last Monday I had a chance to sample a Mexican “beef brain” taco (de cabeza) and this weekend I found myself unexpectedly eating a plate of Haggis. You know – the Scottish dish made with a stomach-churning mixture of sheep’s lungs, heart and liver mixed with spices and boiled in the casing of a sheep stomach? Yeah, that Haggis.

While I would never go so far as to describe myself as the next Andrew Zimmern or Anthony Bourdain, I have become significantly more adventurous in my eating habits in the past five years. It’s perhaps an inevitable consequence for any frequent traveler. The more time you spend abroad, the easier it becomes to adjust to the rhythm of life and customs of places unlike your home. But even for many self-proclaimed “adventurous” travelers like myself, certain foods are the equivalent of a culinary no-fly zone. Phrases like “It’s unsafe” or “I might gag if I eat that” are often provided as rationalizations.

While I can empathize with these excuses, I think all of us (barring dietary restrictions) should try every food at least once. A lot of what we fear about certain foods is mental – a perception we’ve gained from anecdotes and popular culture that’s often not grounded in reality. More often than not you’ll find yourself enjoying the supposedly forbidden food, wondering what had you all worked up in the first place. And if you don’t like it? So what…the worst that happens is you spit it out and have a fun story to tell your friends.

Take Haggis – a food that has become the punchline to a bad joke. When I tried it recently, I found the taste and texture to be fantastic. It was like eating a spicy version of ground beef – I had myself wondering what all the fuss was about. And those beef brain tacos? I wasn’t a big fan – the meat was relatively tasteless and I found them to be too chewy. But you know what? I’m happy I tried both of them. Even if I don’t plan to snack on Haggis and beef brains every day, I’ve gained a newfound appreciation of each of these unique cultures – and that to me makes it worthwhile.

Catching the travel bug: Midair malaise

by Kent Wien on

Welcome to Catching the Travel Bug, Gadling’s mini-series on getting sick on the road, prevailing and loving travel throughout. Five of our bloggers will be telling their stories from around the globe for the next five weeks. Submit your best story about catching the travel bug in the comments and we’ll publish our favorite few at the end of the series.

It was 1989. In an effort to build flight time after earning my private pilot’s license in college, I managed to convince my boss at the hobby shop where I worked that it might be a good investment for him to loan me the $5500 I needed to buy a two-seat 1946 airplane called a Luscombe.

After tiring of touring around the local airport, shooting ‘touch-and-goes’ well into the night and giving rides to share the fuel costs with everyone I knew or even the strangers I sat next to in my classes at W.S.U., I decided to venture out on a cross-country flight.

What better excuse than the annual Luscombe fly-in which was held at a beautiful airport near the mountains in Columbia, California. The event attracted over 100 of the durable little airplanes and their owners, allowing the pilots and spouses a chance to socialize about two things they were sure to have in common: a love of flight and an interest in a small part of aviation history.

I flew out to Seattle the day before so I could join up early in the morning with another Luscombe that was attending the event. Since my airplane didn’t have a baggage compartment, I stuffed the full size suitcase, tent, portable VHF radio, Sony Walkman and a bag of groceries into the right seat of the airplane, strapped down so nothing interfered with the second control stick on the right.

We were to meet up at 6 a.m. on an early May morning before heading south toward San Francisco. Seattle isn’t known for it’s good weather in May, and this morning was no exception. A low layer of clouds hovered over Puget Sound, and if I weren’t following an experienced Northwest captain out of the area, I’m not sure I would have been comfortable flying an airplane with virtually no navigational equipment that day.

I stuck close to the other airplane as we worked our way around the Tacoma area, listening on the pilot-to-pilot frequency while a half dozen Cessnas were reporting their locations to each other and patrolling up and down I-5 to report on the local Seattle traffic conditions.

As we crossed into the state of Oregon, the clouds lifted and we made our first fuel stop. The formation flying made the trip go by in no time, and I was really enjoying the experience. I would follow the captain for another few hours before he had to make a detour towards San Francisco to visit his sister before arriving at the fly-in.

We parted ways as we flew past Mount Shasta and I broke off to land at another airport for refueling. The airplane held 14 gallons of gas, enough for at least two hours of flying. I dug into some yogurt and a breakfast bar before leaving again.

The final stop before Columbia was a little residential airpark in Cameron, CA that sold fuel. I visited with one of the residents who told me that Columbia was just another two hours south.

Up to this point I had been either following another airplane or navigating from town to town using my map, since I had no navigational instruments and my compass had a rather persistent tendency to only point east regardless of my true heading.

But this leg would be over the western portion of the Sierra Nevada mountains, over Yosemite park. I soon discovered how difficult it was to match up the lakes and mountains depicted on my map with what was on the ground below me.

I’d pass over a lake and then try to find it on the map with little luck. There were so many lakes and mountains, it was hard to be sure just where I was. I elected to stay a bit further east, so I would know the airport would likely be off to my right side after two hours of flying.

I began to doubt the wisdom in my routing as time went on. To make matters worse, something was happening to my stomach. A sharp pain hit me above my seatbelt, as if I had just swallowed an ice-pick. It’s funny how quickly the blame came together in my mind to identify the breakfast bar as the culprit. It might make more sense to blame the yogurt, but I knew that breakfast bar was bad news.

As the pain became debilitating and I was feeling nauseous, I discovered that not only was I completely lost, but the batteries in my handheld radio had died.

Fortunately I had come prepared, with an extra set of eight AA cells to pop into the radio. But doing that wasn’t exactly easy. As I flew along, heading south, indicating east, I had to take apart 4 philips screws in my lap, looking down while bouncing over the afternoon bumps that naturally occur over the mountains. I had the Terra radio apart in my lap as I opened the new AA batteries that were packed in their theft-proof plastic.

And then it hit me. I was going to eject one breakfast bar and a cup of yogurt in the next ten seconds. The only question was, where?

I frantically looked around the cockpit. There was no plastic bag, only a duffel bag and my suitcase. I had no choice. I threw open the side window of the airplane and leaned my head out the tiny window, knowing that I would have to explain the mess that ran down the left side of my airplane when/if I made it to my destination. Perhaps it would blend in with the green strip running below the window on the otherwise white airplane.

After this traumatic event and still trying to fly an airplane that had an annoying habit of pulling to the right while I snapped the batteries in place and slipped a few screws into their holes, I began to assess my chances of finding the airport. I checked the time. Two hours exactly. I needed to turn west and hope for the best.

At this point, I was ready to land in whatever flat spot I could find. The “E” was visible on the fuel tank that was mounted above and behind my head and I knew I needed to be on the ground as soon as possible.

I tried to call out on my weak hand-held radio.

“Columbia traffic, Luscombe 71808, anyone in the pattern at Columbia?”

I’m not sure what I would have said if someone responded.

There was no reply.

As populated as the state of California is, the Sierra Nevada mountains looked like the Alaska range. There were no airports, roads or gravel bars below. And it was getting dark.

Maybe it was lucky that darkness had fallen. I scanned the horizon and then it hit. The brightest airport beacon I’ve ever seen. It was an old fashioned airway beacon that was used to navigate from point to point in the 1930’s, back when airplanes were equipped about as well as mine. But was it located on an airport?

I grabbed the full sized pillow next to me and put it in front of my stomach while I leaned forward, trying anything to relieve the pain. I focused on that beacon, descending at 1000 feet per minute and traveling at an excruciatingly slow 95 miles an hour.

I wondered how the landing would be. I crossed over the airport at 1000 feet, looking for the windsock below. I was relieved to see the giant letters written down the runway.

C-O-L-U-M-B-I-A

Whew.

I made an exceptionally abbreviated pattern. I can’t remember how the landing was, but I do remember turning off the runway, and heading straight for the parking area. I spun the tail around, shut the engine off and plopped out onto the grass beside the fueling pit.

I laid flat
on the ground, holding my stomach. This must be food poisoning I thought. Fortunately I was early enough to arrive – the first airplane, in fact – that there were no witnesses to the mess I made beside the fuselage.

I got up and placed a call on the nearby pay phone to my relatives who were my backup search and rescue team if I failed to check in. And then I set up my tent and collapsed inside for the night.

I felt fine the next morning, and as I cleaned off the side of the airplane, I vowed to keep this little incident to myself.

110 Luscombes showed up that year and I made a lot of friends, learned so much about my airplane and joined in some large formations of planes on missions to find the best pancakes in the area or to pass above the clearest lakes in the country.

I swapped planes with the guy parked next to me, a J-3 cub, and we chased each other around for the day while exploring the area. His compass worked fine, interestingly.

For four days, my secret was safe.

Then the Continental Luscombe Association would close up the event with an awards ceremony. I certainly wasn’t expecting to win anything, unless they had the “rattiest Luscombe” trophy perhaps.

But they handed out awards for the oldest pilot and even the youngest pilot at the event. Since I was 19, I accepted that plaque with a big smile.

Finally, they announced something called the “hard luck trophy.” An award given to the pilot who had the most difficulty getting to the fly-in.

Oh, boy. I knew I had to keep my mouth shut.

A pilot stood up and told about his experience flying through a bit of snow on the way there. Then he sat down.

“Anyone else?”

There was silence.

I couldn’t help myself. I had to confess.

I hadn’t realized how amusing the experience was until I was describing the vomit-hiding characteristics of a wide green strip down my airplane.

The only thing I had to worry about for the flight home was how I would get the three foot tall “hard-luck” trophy into my already stuffed airplane.

Then it dawned on me. I could make a little more room by leaving the box of breakfast bars behind.

Photos by Russell Croman

Epilogue: read about the fate of that little Luscombe and where it is now.

Check out Kent’s other flying stories in Gadling’s Cockpit Chronicles feature.