Global Adventure-Part 5 in the Series
SEOUL, South Korea
-Jackson Blair
Seoul’s airport is actually in Inchon, Korea. It is about 90 minutes drive into the city. Many of the Asian airports are far removed from the cities they serve and one has to keep this in mind when planning any trip. Whatever the time it takes to fly to a country in Asia you often need to add two more hours, or more, to get through customs and make it to your hotel.
This is my second visit to Seoul. I looked forward to returning because I was staying at the InterContinental Grand Hotel, the same hotel I used six years ago. This hotel has a three-story high lobby area and live classical music is often played for the enjoyment of the guests. There are many comfortable chairs and sofas arranged in conversational groupings. Some days a pianist is playing and on other days a string quartet entertains.
As a cigar aficionado, I also appreciate this hotel because they have a Havana Cigar Bar. This is a beautifully appointed room with leather furniture, great airflow and air cleaning equipment, a wonderful long mahogany bar, and a glass enclosed humidor holding some of the finest Cuban cigars. This is a great place to retreat to after a long and hard day.
The hotel sits atop a huge shopping mall. It is also situated next to one of Korea’s largest department stores. So shopping for gifts to take home is quite easy and convenient. The American dollar still goes pretty far here, although you would not think so when you look at the prices.
For instance, I went to the lobby lounge today and ordered an ice tea. When the bill came it said I owed the hotel 15,400 !!! Now I do not care if the tea was squeezed out of the bag by Bill Clinton, Michelle Obama, and Betty Ford while Madonna sang and Fred Astaire danced, I am not paying 15,400 for the drink.
Then I remembered I had to do some long division. I got out my calculator and divided 15,400 by 1314 and came up with $11 U.S. dollars. I have to tell you I wasn’t a lot happier with the idea of $11 for a glass of ice tea, but I told them if they would keep Madonna and Michelle in the mix it would be “OK.”
In the shopping area I encountered Dunkin Donuts, TGI Fridays, Bennigans and so many more American restaurants. I don’t know whether they are here because Koreans like American food or because so many Americans stay in the hotel and patronize these places. I must admit a morning trip for a bagel and Dunkin Donuts coffee was a welcome part of my day. To take breakfast at the hotel involved a huge buffet that came at a large price. If you ate all the food offered on the buffet, the huge price was probably reasonable. That said, you would have needed a family of illegal immigrants and a couple of very hungry convicts on the “lam” to do justice to this quantity of food.
A friend here who is a professor and a cardiac pediatrician took me for dinner one night to what he termed “a great American place.” It was a restaurant in the Lexington Hotel.
The restaurant featured fantastic steaks and was decorated completely with pictures, autographs, and memorabilia of American presidents.
We dined in a private room where hanging on the walls were personally inscribed portraits from the Reagans, the Carters, the Fords, and individual portraits of Lady Bird Johnson and Betty Ford. There were also four beautifully framed Life Magazine covers featuring the Kennedys of Massachusetts.
After weeks on Asian food, I was so pleased to have a good steak and potatoes. Also, I was moved that my friend went out of his way to select a place he knew I would like.
This is the way visitors are treated in South Korea. For that matter, the experience is similar in China. The entire thrust of any event is to make the visitor comfortable, at home, happy, and to show him the country. I have never visited any country in Asia where my hosts did not go to great lengths to make me feel welcome and to show me all the things of which they are proud.
I happen to like a martini. I also like coffee. And I like a good cigar.
My host doesn’t drink alcohol, does not like coffee, and rarely smokes. He can’t help it. He is a cardiac surgeon! Having said that, I noticed that he ordered a martini for himself at dinner, he ordered coffee after dinner and he joined me in a cigar.
He did all of this to make me feel comfortable, not because he personally enjoyed any of it. I have visited often enough to know, however, that what made him happy and comfortable was in knowing I was happy and comfortable. What a great attitude!
As I look out at the hustle and bustle of Seoul I am reminded that we had a little something to do with their freedom. Ike and his friends made certain these folks could live free of the tyranny of North Korea. You may not remember the story but it has been told often enough to be possibly true! President Eisenhower was golfing at the Burning Tree Country Club and an aide ran up and said: “Mr. President, the North Koreans have invaded South Korea. What shall we do?”
Ike looked up from his putt and is reported to have remarked: “Tell them to get the hell out of there.” And he went on with his game.
The important lesson here is that (1) he meant it, and (2) the North Koreans knew he meant it.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we still could handle international problems that way?
I believe we still have about 138,000 American troops stationed here, most of them on the 38th parallel that marks the separation between the two Koreas.
Now it is relatively well known in our country that North Korea is currently run by a certifiable nut-case. We have no need to discuss this because it is a generally acceptable assessment of Kim Jong Il. Lately, Kim has been making a lot of trouble, mostly surrounding a missile he keeps threatening to shoot at the United States.
There is absolutely no need to run for your bomb shelter yet.
The last missile he launched went up into the sky, headed toward Japan, and immediately fell into the Sea of Japan.
Understandably, the Japanese were still pretty upset and had their Kimonos in a wad over it, but I think Alaska remains pretty safe, for the moment. For that matter, Japan is probably safe, too.
Recently, old Kim has been threatening to shoot down airliners from any nation that interferes with his missile program.
Whew, we are safe again.
No nation wants to interfere with those North Koreans. They can drop as many missiles into the Sea of Japan as they want and as often as they want. In fact, the Free World hopes they will drop all of their missiles into the sea.
Kim has another problem, he is almost dead.
He has belatedly accepted this fact, mostly as a result of a couple of strokes, heart attacks, acid reflux, a few by-pass surgeries and a couple of outbreaks of acne on his face. Yes, North Korea’s “Dear Leader” is about to become history.
This would have absolutely no consequence for you readers except that he will be picking his successor from his three sons. I have done some reading on these boys and, believe me; they all make the “Dear Leader” look good.
This is bad.
Whichever son is selected will be very busy guarding against being knocked out of the game by either of his non-selected two brothers. There will be a lot of interviewing for food tasters and wine tasters up north. I know unemployment is high in the States but I would not recommend sending your resume.
In order to feed his starving people, the new leader will have to make sounds again about invading the south. This has in the past been a proven way to get food from the rest of the world. If you yell loud enough and threaten often enough we will buy you off. North Koreans have been fed in this manner for a very long time.
Just threaten to attack the South. Food is immediately on its way.
This song is sung so often that the South Koreans are beginning to think of it the way we think of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Nice tune. Good melody. Isn’t going to happen.
The reason it isn’t going to happen takes me back to those 138,000 American service people standing around up there on the 38th parallel. You have to get past them to get to South Korea.
Now, I suppose you could get past those 138,000 but not without killing a few of them on your way south. That would not sit well with America. In fact, I feel pretty sure we would head over here immediately on a search for weapons of mass destruction and the Kim boys would find themselves staring up at an incoming missile that actually can get across the Sea of Japan. Only this one would be heading the opposite direction.
So the Kims and their “ilk” can rattle as many sabers, or garbanzo beans, as they want. They are going to have to rule the little patch of desolation known as North Korea until the North Koreans figure it out: no Kims and no nukes equals plenty of help from the rest of the world in building a great and united Korea. I dearly hope I live to see that day.
So as I leave Seoul and head for Shanghai, I give only a little worry to the possibility that The Great Leader might take a shot at the plane I am on. I am comforted by the knowledge that he hasn’t hit anything he has aimed at in years.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
HONG KONG
Global Adventure-Part Four
HONG KONG
-Jackson Blair
Hong Kong may well be the most fascinating city in the world.
It is big, boisterous, shiny, proud and growing every day.
It does not remind me of New York, Chicago, San Francisco or Los Angeles.
It is a city unto itself.
If I were making a small replica of Hong Kong, I would collect those cleaning canisters, like Comet, and paint them white. I would set thousands of them close together on flat land and on hillsides. I would paint small squares, representing windows, on every canister. Hong Kong is like one huge collection of round apartment buildings. There are thousands of them, and hundreds of thousands of people in each one of them.
When you are on the streets of Hong Kong, there are people everywhere. If you could simply stand above and look down you would see the resemblance to a busy anthill. Everywhere you look there are people, and they are all going somewhere.
Of course, the traffic is horrible. The sign of wealth here is that you have a driver. No one wants to have the responsibility of driving, navigating and parking in this behemoth of a city.
Another thing that surprises most visitors is the lack of houses, or homes. You do not even see mansions here for the very rich. People who want land, of any size, live in the suburbs. There is no place, and no interest in any housing that would be horizontal here. This is a vertical town.
On one of my first visits to Hong Kong I dined with a family of some means. They had a Mercedes and a driver and they owned their own company. So imagine my surprise when they told me that the apartments were so small most people had to choose between having a washer or a dryer, space would simply not permit both. That explained the lines of clothing always hanging outside the apartments on the terraces, floor after floor, often reaching 60 stories into the sky. Now when I see that, I am reminded that those folks decided on a washer. They let the wind do the drying.
Most visitors to Hong Kong travel up to an area known as the Peak. The Peak sits atop the highest mountain and provides an incredible view of the entire city below. You can drive up a long winding road to get to the Peak, but most tourists prefer to take the cog railroad. When you are on the Peak and you are looking down it is hard to believe there could be that many people living in such a confined space.
A visit to the Peak after dark is an incredible experience. Then you are looking down on the city when all those apartments are lighted, and all the ships in the harbor are lighted, too.
Fantastic view.
Hong Kong claims one of the busiest harbors in the world. Perhaps it is the busiest. As you drive into the city from the airport you pass hundreds of shipyard locations where containers are being unloaded or loaded onto freighters for trips all over the world. The big cranes required for this kind of work line the waterfront for miles.
When you look out at the South China Sea and you see so many freighters, you also see cruise ships, private yachts and small sampans bumping along and sharing the same churning water.
While it is a pleasant sight, this is also dangerous territory. Hong Kong is said to be the home of many dangerous triads. “Triad” is their word for “mob”. With the huge waterfront, the gambling across the pond at Macau, and the international trading ,it is not surprising that this element has a foothold here.
Homegrown triad members are not the only concern. On an earlier visit, some friends took us out on their large yacht. It had a crew of about six and had three staterooms with large beds and beautiful furniture. We sailed to an island out in the South China Sea and docked to have a dinner at an open-air restaurant.
I commented to our host that he must have enjoyed some really wonderful trips on weekends or vacations on the yacht. He commented that he had never slept on it and probably never would. In answer to my inquiry as to why this was the case, his one word answer was: pirates.
Evidently, folks in Hong Kong with multimillion-dollar yachts only spend nights on them if they go in unison, tie up together for the night, and hire armed guards to stand by the rails.
I couldn’t help but think this fellow would be better off with a Winnebago!
For all the hustle and bustle on the streets of Hong Kong, when one enters the hotels or fine restaurants things slow down significantly. The Chinese are proud of their attention to service and every flower is studied before it is placed on a table, each dish is presented in a previously agreed order, every dirty dish is removed and replaced with a new one prior to the next course, and even the serving is done with as much grace as one could expect from a ballet dancer.
Hong Kong is a fabulous place to visit. That said, it is no more China than New York is representative of what America is like.
As I continue my travels in smaller cities in the Far East, I realize just how different the sophisticated, cosmopolitan, international jet set in Hong Kong is from the remainder of this vast land.
My trip has taken me to Guangzhou and Shenzhen, two of the other largest cities in China. Before I depart China I will also visit Shanghai, Dalian and Beijing.
Fortunately, my wife and I had previous visits to Guilin and Xi’an and we have seen how the more typical Chinese live.
Would you want someone to visit America and stay in New York, Dallas and Los Angeles and then assume they knew America and Americans?
Do yourself a favor. If your travels take you to China go and see The Great Wall, the Terra Cotta soldiers, and the Peak in Hong Kong, but don’t miss out on a trip down the River Li in Guilin, or a visit to the small school houses where the children sing to you, a Tai Chi lesson conducted with a group of others in the early morning along a river bank, or a great foot massage in a small village outside Beijing.
HONG KONG
-Jackson Blair
Hong Kong may well be the most fascinating city in the world.
It is big, boisterous, shiny, proud and growing every day.
It does not remind me of New York, Chicago, San Francisco or Los Angeles.
It is a city unto itself.
If I were making a small replica of Hong Kong, I would collect those cleaning canisters, like Comet, and paint them white. I would set thousands of them close together on flat land and on hillsides. I would paint small squares, representing windows, on every canister. Hong Kong is like one huge collection of round apartment buildings. There are thousands of them, and hundreds of thousands of people in each one of them.
When you are on the streets of Hong Kong, there are people everywhere. If you could simply stand above and look down you would see the resemblance to a busy anthill. Everywhere you look there are people, and they are all going somewhere.
Of course, the traffic is horrible. The sign of wealth here is that you have a driver. No one wants to have the responsibility of driving, navigating and parking in this behemoth of a city.
Another thing that surprises most visitors is the lack of houses, or homes. You do not even see mansions here for the very rich. People who want land, of any size, live in the suburbs. There is no place, and no interest in any housing that would be horizontal here. This is a vertical town.
On one of my first visits to Hong Kong I dined with a family of some means. They had a Mercedes and a driver and they owned their own company. So imagine my surprise when they told me that the apartments were so small most people had to choose between having a washer or a dryer, space would simply not permit both. That explained the lines of clothing always hanging outside the apartments on the terraces, floor after floor, often reaching 60 stories into the sky. Now when I see that, I am reminded that those folks decided on a washer. They let the wind do the drying.
Most visitors to Hong Kong travel up to an area known as the Peak. The Peak sits atop the highest mountain and provides an incredible view of the entire city below. You can drive up a long winding road to get to the Peak, but most tourists prefer to take the cog railroad. When you are on the Peak and you are looking down it is hard to believe there could be that many people living in such a confined space.
A visit to the Peak after dark is an incredible experience. Then you are looking down on the city when all those apartments are lighted, and all the ships in the harbor are lighted, too.
Fantastic view.
Hong Kong claims one of the busiest harbors in the world. Perhaps it is the busiest. As you drive into the city from the airport you pass hundreds of shipyard locations where containers are being unloaded or loaded onto freighters for trips all over the world. The big cranes required for this kind of work line the waterfront for miles.
When you look out at the South China Sea and you see so many freighters, you also see cruise ships, private yachts and small sampans bumping along and sharing the same churning water.
While it is a pleasant sight, this is also dangerous territory. Hong Kong is said to be the home of many dangerous triads. “Triad” is their word for “mob”. With the huge waterfront, the gambling across the pond at Macau, and the international trading ,it is not surprising that this element has a foothold here.
Homegrown triad members are not the only concern. On an earlier visit, some friends took us out on their large yacht. It had a crew of about six and had three staterooms with large beds and beautiful furniture. We sailed to an island out in the South China Sea and docked to have a dinner at an open-air restaurant.
I commented to our host that he must have enjoyed some really wonderful trips on weekends or vacations on the yacht. He commented that he had never slept on it and probably never would. In answer to my inquiry as to why this was the case, his one word answer was: pirates.
Evidently, folks in Hong Kong with multimillion-dollar yachts only spend nights on them if they go in unison, tie up together for the night, and hire armed guards to stand by the rails.
I couldn’t help but think this fellow would be better off with a Winnebago!
For all the hustle and bustle on the streets of Hong Kong, when one enters the hotels or fine restaurants things slow down significantly. The Chinese are proud of their attention to service and every flower is studied before it is placed on a table, each dish is presented in a previously agreed order, every dirty dish is removed and replaced with a new one prior to the next course, and even the serving is done with as much grace as one could expect from a ballet dancer.
Hong Kong is a fabulous place to visit. That said, it is no more China than New York is representative of what America is like.
As I continue my travels in smaller cities in the Far East, I realize just how different the sophisticated, cosmopolitan, international jet set in Hong Kong is from the remainder of this vast land.
My trip has taken me to Guangzhou and Shenzhen, two of the other largest cities in China. Before I depart China I will also visit Shanghai, Dalian and Beijing.
Fortunately, my wife and I had previous visits to Guilin and Xi’an and we have seen how the more typical Chinese live.
Would you want someone to visit America and stay in New York, Dallas and Los Angeles and then assume they knew America and Americans?
Do yourself a favor. If your travels take you to China go and see The Great Wall, the Terra Cotta soldiers, and the Peak in Hong Kong, but don’t miss out on a trip down the River Li in Guilin, or a visit to the small school houses where the children sing to you, a Tai Chi lesson conducted with a group of others in the early morning along a river bank, or a great foot massage in a small village outside Beijing.
MACAU-former Portuguese Colony, Now Gaming Mecca
Global Adventure, Article Three
Global Adventure; Article Three
MACAU
Jackson Blair
I made my journey from Hong Kong to the island of Macau on a Super jet Hovercraft. It takes about 60 minutes and you travel across the South China Sea in a comfortable leather seat with good views of the water. A small meal and beverages are served.
The sea is unpredictable here so the ride can be rough or smooth.
When you arrive in Macau you hustle through customs and then head out to one of the most interesting islands in the world.
Macau’s history traces back to the time before the birth of Christ.
Most of Macau’s familiar history traces back to the rule of Portugal and the trading business that was centered there.
Wikipedia offers some really interesting facts about Macau:
“Macau is the most densely populated area in the world.
Macau has one of the lowest birth rates in the world.
In 1962 with the issuance of a monopoly license to Stanley Ho the gambling business became paramount on Macau.
When the monopoly ended in 2002 several casino owners from Las Vegas entered.
With the opening of the Sands Macau, the largest casino in the world as measured by total number of table games, in 2004 and Wynn Macau in 2006, gambling revenues from Macau's casinos were for the first time greater than those of Las Vegas Strip making Macau the highest-volume gambling centre in the world.
In 2007, Venetian Macau, at the time the second (now third) largest building in the world, opened its doors to the public, followed by MGM Grand Macau. “
I have had the pleasure of visiting Macau on a number of occasions. On some of these visits my wife has accompanied me. While most people immediately think of the casinos when you mention you have been to Macau, I have only been in a casino on Macau on two occasions.
The Portuguese architecture of this lovely island is not to be missed. The old buildings, especially the churches, the cobble stoned walkways, and the beautiful statuary are outstanding.
Macau also can claim some of the finest restaurants you will encounter anywhere.
Finally, the shopping in Macau is outstanding as the prices are quite cheap, especially for clothing. When you shop in the United States you will often see a “Made in Macau” label in what you are purchasing.
I have friends who are in the construction business on the island. As you can appreciate, with the great building that has occurred with all the new casinos, and the subsequent need for new apartment and condominium buildings, they are enjoying a very profitable life. They are proud of Macau and so pleased to be part of the growth there.
Over my past five visits, it seems Macau just continues to grow. Each time I get off the ferry there are new buildings, larger and more colorful than before. With the new casinos comes a great many jobs. So even though Macau has a very low birthrate, the population continues to grow with the entrance of gaming company workers.
When I encounter visitors from America in Macau, they are usually on shore from one of the many cruise ships that regularly dock in Hong Kong harbor and send their travelers over to Macau by ferry to gamble and shop. Gambling, other than horseracing, does not occur in Hong Kong.
Visits to my friends in Macau are always fun. They make any visit an occasion for celebration. Every meal is held in a private room in one of the restaurants. All members of the family are in attendance. We dine from a common lazy susan that is heavy with foods of all kinds. Everyone tells stories and engages us all in conversation. As one would guess, fresh fish is typically the menu item of choice.
On most occasions, after dinner, we all head out to another place to sit and have coffee and dessert and continue the conversations. On the second stop, the ladies and children tend to disappear, leaving the late night gathering to the men.
When you finally return to your hotel, you are more than ready for bed. That said, my wife and I could always be enticed to go with the group for a foot massage.
I never encountered foot massages prior to visiting China. If you have never had a foot massage, you are really missing something.
A foot massage business consists of several chaise lounges. They are dimly lit, and soft and quiet music plays in the background. You sit on the lounge, you are provided with hot tea or bottled water, whichever you might prefer, and then someone washes your feet in very hot water, kneads and rubs your foot and your lower leg for an hour.
It starts as simple and pleasurable massage and graduates to harder and more vigorous massage. It is not unusual to fall asleep while this is occurring. Your whole body rests, as the different bones of your foot and ankle are each treated by expert fingers, fingers that know every important pressure point.
Considering how wonderful we feel after one of these sessions, I am surprised that it has not caught on in much of the rest of the world.
As I said earlier, the restaurants are wonderful. With the kind of clientele the casinos bring to Macau, standards are pretty high.
However, if you eat in the neighborhood establishments, as we often do, you will be confronted with some dishes very different from those you encounter at the casinos and hotels.
In one restaurant the waiters brought a giant turtle to the table. The turtle had been killed and cubed and then carefully reconstructed.
Accompanying the turtle was a large pot of boiling water with some sort of flavoring. This was a version of what we know as fondue. You were to stab a cube of turtle with your chopstick, hold it in the boiling water and then eat it. The taste was not bad but it seemed a lot like I was chewing rubber.
After eating in a number of restaurants where they pride themselves on bringing you the entire fish, where the fish retains eyes and fins and bones, I came to realize that this is all part of wanting guests to understand that everything is fresh.
For this reason, they ask you to select a fish from a large tank when you enter a restaurant. When you make your selection, the fish is alive and enjoying his last swim. Perhaps the reason they present him to you at the table in all his glory is so you will know they actually did cook the fish you selected. Personally, I have absolutely no need to know the fish intimately, they can substitute any fish they want for the one I picked from the tank, and I would appreciate their removing all identifying features like, faces, eyes, fins, bones, and innards!
I didn’t find this very appetizing.
Imagine my happiness when at one restaurant I found they had chicken salad on the menu. I quickly ordered the chicken salad and relaxed knowing that I would not again have to fight with the fishes.
The waiter brought me a huge plate of chicken salad.
Unfortunately, sitting on the top of my plate of chicken salad was the head of the rooster that had been killed to make my salad.
This was worse than the fish. No one should have to look this closely at a beheaded rooster no matter what country they are visiting.
Dining on Macau is a challenge for squeamish eaters. I am a squeamish eater. I spend a lot of time raving over the wonderful soups, the rice and any noodle dish I can find. I am afraid I am a major coward when it comes to culinary adventures.
On this visit my friends took me to The Venetian Hotel and Casino. I have never encountered a casino this large. In addition to the gaming tables, every major clothing brand seems to have a store here.
No expense was spared in constructing this gaming Mecca. I toyed with the idea of sitting down at a blackjack table but I couldn’t find any with a minimum bet that I would be comfortable making. I have had some great times in Las Vegas at the $2 and $5 blackjack tables. If you are looking for those in Macau, stay home. They have to pay for these palaces somehow!
I do want to close with the thought that if you visit Las Vegas, or Macau, and every time you do they are building more casinos, why would you think the “odds” there were in your favor?
I think P.T. Barnum had the answer! One really is born every minute.
Global Adventure; Article Three
MACAU
Jackson Blair
I made my journey from Hong Kong to the island of Macau on a Super jet Hovercraft. It takes about 60 minutes and you travel across the South China Sea in a comfortable leather seat with good views of the water. A small meal and beverages are served.
The sea is unpredictable here so the ride can be rough or smooth.
When you arrive in Macau you hustle through customs and then head out to one of the most interesting islands in the world.
Macau’s history traces back to the time before the birth of Christ.
Most of Macau’s familiar history traces back to the rule of Portugal and the trading business that was centered there.
Wikipedia offers some really interesting facts about Macau:
“Macau is the most densely populated area in the world.
Macau has one of the lowest birth rates in the world.
In 1962 with the issuance of a monopoly license to Stanley Ho the gambling business became paramount on Macau.
When the monopoly ended in 2002 several casino owners from Las Vegas entered.
With the opening of the Sands Macau, the largest casino in the world as measured by total number of table games, in 2004 and Wynn Macau in 2006, gambling revenues from Macau's casinos were for the first time greater than those of Las Vegas Strip making Macau the highest-volume gambling centre in the world.
In 2007, Venetian Macau, at the time the second (now third) largest building in the world, opened its doors to the public, followed by MGM Grand Macau. “
I have had the pleasure of visiting Macau on a number of occasions. On some of these visits my wife has accompanied me. While most people immediately think of the casinos when you mention you have been to Macau, I have only been in a casino on Macau on two occasions.
The Portuguese architecture of this lovely island is not to be missed. The old buildings, especially the churches, the cobble stoned walkways, and the beautiful statuary are outstanding.
Macau also can claim some of the finest restaurants you will encounter anywhere.
Finally, the shopping in Macau is outstanding as the prices are quite cheap, especially for clothing. When you shop in the United States you will often see a “Made in Macau” label in what you are purchasing.
I have friends who are in the construction business on the island. As you can appreciate, with the great building that has occurred with all the new casinos, and the subsequent need for new apartment and condominium buildings, they are enjoying a very profitable life. They are proud of Macau and so pleased to be part of the growth there.
Over my past five visits, it seems Macau just continues to grow. Each time I get off the ferry there are new buildings, larger and more colorful than before. With the new casinos comes a great many jobs. So even though Macau has a very low birthrate, the population continues to grow with the entrance of gaming company workers.
When I encounter visitors from America in Macau, they are usually on shore from one of the many cruise ships that regularly dock in Hong Kong harbor and send their travelers over to Macau by ferry to gamble and shop. Gambling, other than horseracing, does not occur in Hong Kong.
Visits to my friends in Macau are always fun. They make any visit an occasion for celebration. Every meal is held in a private room in one of the restaurants. All members of the family are in attendance. We dine from a common lazy susan that is heavy with foods of all kinds. Everyone tells stories and engages us all in conversation. As one would guess, fresh fish is typically the menu item of choice.
On most occasions, after dinner, we all head out to another place to sit and have coffee and dessert and continue the conversations. On the second stop, the ladies and children tend to disappear, leaving the late night gathering to the men.
When you finally return to your hotel, you are more than ready for bed. That said, my wife and I could always be enticed to go with the group for a foot massage.
I never encountered foot massages prior to visiting China. If you have never had a foot massage, you are really missing something.
A foot massage business consists of several chaise lounges. They are dimly lit, and soft and quiet music plays in the background. You sit on the lounge, you are provided with hot tea or bottled water, whichever you might prefer, and then someone washes your feet in very hot water, kneads and rubs your foot and your lower leg for an hour.
It starts as simple and pleasurable massage and graduates to harder and more vigorous massage. It is not unusual to fall asleep while this is occurring. Your whole body rests, as the different bones of your foot and ankle are each treated by expert fingers, fingers that know every important pressure point.
Considering how wonderful we feel after one of these sessions, I am surprised that it has not caught on in much of the rest of the world.
As I said earlier, the restaurants are wonderful. With the kind of clientele the casinos bring to Macau, standards are pretty high.
However, if you eat in the neighborhood establishments, as we often do, you will be confronted with some dishes very different from those you encounter at the casinos and hotels.
In one restaurant the waiters brought a giant turtle to the table. The turtle had been killed and cubed and then carefully reconstructed.
Accompanying the turtle was a large pot of boiling water with some sort of flavoring. This was a version of what we know as fondue. You were to stab a cube of turtle with your chopstick, hold it in the boiling water and then eat it. The taste was not bad but it seemed a lot like I was chewing rubber.
After eating in a number of restaurants where they pride themselves on bringing you the entire fish, where the fish retains eyes and fins and bones, I came to realize that this is all part of wanting guests to understand that everything is fresh.
For this reason, they ask you to select a fish from a large tank when you enter a restaurant. When you make your selection, the fish is alive and enjoying his last swim. Perhaps the reason they present him to you at the table in all his glory is so you will know they actually did cook the fish you selected. Personally, I have absolutely no need to know the fish intimately, they can substitute any fish they want for the one I picked from the tank, and I would appreciate their removing all identifying features like, faces, eyes, fins, bones, and innards!
I didn’t find this very appetizing.
Imagine my happiness when at one restaurant I found they had chicken salad on the menu. I quickly ordered the chicken salad and relaxed knowing that I would not again have to fight with the fishes.
The waiter brought me a huge plate of chicken salad.
Unfortunately, sitting on the top of my plate of chicken salad was the head of the rooster that had been killed to make my salad.
This was worse than the fish. No one should have to look this closely at a beheaded rooster no matter what country they are visiting.
Dining on Macau is a challenge for squeamish eaters. I am a squeamish eater. I spend a lot of time raving over the wonderful soups, the rice and any noodle dish I can find. I am afraid I am a major coward when it comes to culinary adventures.
On this visit my friends took me to The Venetian Hotel and Casino. I have never encountered a casino this large. In addition to the gaming tables, every major clothing brand seems to have a store here.
No expense was spared in constructing this gaming Mecca. I toyed with the idea of sitting down at a blackjack table but I couldn’t find any with a minimum bet that I would be comfortable making. I have had some great times in Las Vegas at the $2 and $5 blackjack tables. If you are looking for those in Macau, stay home. They have to pay for these palaces somehow!
I do want to close with the thought that if you visit Las Vegas, or Macau, and every time you do they are building more casinos, why would you think the “odds” there were in your favor?
I think P.T. Barnum had the answer! One really is born every minute.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
HOW DID WE BEAT THEM?
HOW DID WE BEAT THEM?
By Jackson Blair
For those of you who read my previous article about traveling between the United States and Japan you will remember that I planned to take on the role of the “Ugly American” on arrival at Narita Airport in Tokyo.
It turns out that was an idle threat!
Before deplaning I was advised that I had missed my connection for the flight on to Hong Kong. I was also advised there were no other flights available that night.
I think they made a conscious decision to tell me while I was confined to that metal tube they call an airplane as it would limit the damage I might do. It is a confined space and there were other passengers in the same predicament. Even the Japanese have a certain reluctance to encounter irate people in their airports.
So as I steamed off my 14-hour flight and targeted one of the airline representatives at the end of the ramp something disarming happened.
She smiled… and she bowed!
There is no way a person could be mean to a beautiful young lady who smiled at you and then bowed to you. This is even an impossibility for an “Ugly American.”
She asked my name and checked it against the list in her hand. She bowed and apologized again for my troubles (and I hadn’t even outlined them yet), asked for my baggage claim tags, copied the numbers on them, arranged for my baggage to be on the first flight to Hong Kong in the morning, handed me a packet of information that said I would be their guest at the airport hotel overnight and their guest for both a late dinner tonight and a breakfast tomorrow. A seat had been booked for me on the morning flight to Hong Kong. There was not even a mention of a Bataan-like death march!
Some more of “sorry for your inconvenience” …and more bowing. I particularly like the bowing!
I was immediately reduced to polite responses. I became a coward. I was completely neutralized. But at least I wasn’t bowing back! Not to a citizen of the Empire of the Rising Sun! I know they have hardly bothered us at all since Pearl Harbor but being nice is still tough.
Actually, perhaps I could consider the first President Bush’s throwing up all over their Prime Minister at a State Dinner in Tokyo as bringing this whole matter of “us vs. them” to an end some years ago. Yes, that is how I will view it.
The Japanese are extraordinarily well organized. The van to the hotel was exactly where I was told it would be. The driver took care of the carry -on bags. More bowing and pleasantries.
To my surprise, the van was spotless. I think they were warned that some potentially explosive folks would be getting on so they prepared in advance. Every one of my fellow passengers on the van had been a fellow passenger on the plane. Maybe we were just too tired to complain.
On arriving at the hotel, we were greeted and escorted to the check-in desk. No fewer than three uniformed employees lined us up, showed us to the desk to register, connected us with our bags and walked us to the elevators.
Come on! They had to have been warned. They were way too nice.
The free room was unlike free rooms in our country. It was actually nice, spacious and clean. If we give anything away free, you usually can expect to need to clean it, sanitize it, and spend a lot of time wondering what the “catch” might be.
But then I confronted THE BEST.
I thought I would take a shower. On entering the bathroom I noticed the toilet looked different from ones we have in our country. I hate to admit this in the paper but I did check it out a little more closely.
In this hotel the toilet seat is heated. And I do not mean just warm, I mean hot. Their scientists obviously knew that if anyone was sitting down with no clothing covering their vital parts the seat needed to meet all expectations. After all, it is the country of the Rising Sun. After this experience they should rename it the country of the Descending Moon!
In this case, the seat met my wildest expectations. I am in love with this seat! My mind is racing, trying to decide how I can bring it back to America on the plane. Since airlines will only permit me to carry small sandwich bags with tiny samples of shampoo, shaving gel, or cologne, how will I ever get a full sized toilet seat past them? Assuming I could get through security, would it fit in the overhead compartment? How would I “declare” it on my Custom’s Form when I get back to Boston? I don’t think they have any category for bathroom appliances.
The toilet also had a remote control on the side. There were a number of choices on the remote. Perhaps the most revolutionary was the one that let the toilet spray you clean. The “Green Police” have obviously been here because there was absolutely no need for paper. Are you groaning yet? Who else would tell you these things? I do see this as a “teachable moment”. So bare (whoops) with me!
The choices on the remote included hot, cold, warm, and then full power, half power, and what must have been Japanese for “drizzle”.
At this point I was sure some Geisha was going to magically materialize and offer to dry me after the shower! Hope springs eternal.
After the shower (no Geisha although I did stand around for an extra ten minutes hoping), I dressed and went for my free dinner, which my American suspicion was certain would be a lotus leaf and caterpillar.
Actually, it was a beautifully presented dinner. I ran into another passenger from the plane and he was a vegetarian and they accommodated his requirements easily. Ever notice how happy restaurants are when they are giving away a free dinner and one of the diners says: “hold the meat”! Man, they must make a fortune on those Vegans. I envisioned Japanese cooks and waiters doing a lot of dancing (and bowing) in the kitchen when that order arrived.
Breakfast was a similar experience.
The van to the airport not only arrived on time, but two uniformed hotel employees insisted on carrying my two small bags to the van, numbering them, and placing them in the cargo area. Again, with the bowing.
On arrival at the airport there were many people available to provide directions and help. Check-in was simple. Then I moved on to security.
I should mention that when I went through security, with exactly these same bags in Boston, I was sent aside, patted down, my shoes were taken, my computer was uncased, and I had to stand in a glass enclosed room until one of the checkers was ready to see me.
In all U.S. airports they keep asking the same question: “Did you pack these bags?” And I keep wondering exactly who they think packs my bags. If there is somebody out there who is supposed to pack my bags…take me to him! I would love to answer this question with a “no, my valet packed my bags”.
In Tokyo, they asked me to please take off my shoes, bowing and more bowing, and they handed me a pair of leather slippers!
Leather Slippers!!!
They asked my permission to look at my laptop. Now, I know this was just a courtesy because if I had said “no” that would have ended the bowing, but there would definitely have been some scraping as they dragged me off to some terrorist examination room, where the Geisha’s were old, fat and very mean and wore rubber gloves. But I played along and happily presented my computer.
When this short procedure was over, they apologized for any inconvenience. Let me tell you, if anyone at an American airport ever apologizes for anything you had better look around for the tour director escorting the folks from the state insane asylum because you just found the patient they were missing.
The flight from Tokyo to Hong Kong was uneventful. The seats were comfortable, the food was good, the in-flight entertainment was free, and the attendants were….. attentive.
It was impossible not to compare this with my U.S. flight where I paid a big amount for the ticket and then they nickel-dimed me to death on meals, headsets, and drinks. Not to mention- not a leather slipper in sight, and certainly no bows!
On landing in Hong Kong I went immediately to the ferry that would take me to the new gambling capital of the world: the island of Macau.
So, on balance, I have to give the Japanese a big A+.
Let’s let bygones be bygones.
These are some of the nicest, friendliest and most helpful people I have encountered anywhere.
And then there is the matter of the toilet seat!
By Jackson Blair
For those of you who read my previous article about traveling between the United States and Japan you will remember that I planned to take on the role of the “Ugly American” on arrival at Narita Airport in Tokyo.
It turns out that was an idle threat!
Before deplaning I was advised that I had missed my connection for the flight on to Hong Kong. I was also advised there were no other flights available that night.
I think they made a conscious decision to tell me while I was confined to that metal tube they call an airplane as it would limit the damage I might do. It is a confined space and there were other passengers in the same predicament. Even the Japanese have a certain reluctance to encounter irate people in their airports.
So as I steamed off my 14-hour flight and targeted one of the airline representatives at the end of the ramp something disarming happened.
She smiled… and she bowed!
There is no way a person could be mean to a beautiful young lady who smiled at you and then bowed to you. This is even an impossibility for an “Ugly American.”
She asked my name and checked it against the list in her hand. She bowed and apologized again for my troubles (and I hadn’t even outlined them yet), asked for my baggage claim tags, copied the numbers on them, arranged for my baggage to be on the first flight to Hong Kong in the morning, handed me a packet of information that said I would be their guest at the airport hotel overnight and their guest for both a late dinner tonight and a breakfast tomorrow. A seat had been booked for me on the morning flight to Hong Kong. There was not even a mention of a Bataan-like death march!
Some more of “sorry for your inconvenience” …and more bowing. I particularly like the bowing!
I was immediately reduced to polite responses. I became a coward. I was completely neutralized. But at least I wasn’t bowing back! Not to a citizen of the Empire of the Rising Sun! I know they have hardly bothered us at all since Pearl Harbor but being nice is still tough.
Actually, perhaps I could consider the first President Bush’s throwing up all over their Prime Minister at a State Dinner in Tokyo as bringing this whole matter of “us vs. them” to an end some years ago. Yes, that is how I will view it.
The Japanese are extraordinarily well organized. The van to the hotel was exactly where I was told it would be. The driver took care of the carry -on bags. More bowing and pleasantries.
To my surprise, the van was spotless. I think they were warned that some potentially explosive folks would be getting on so they prepared in advance. Every one of my fellow passengers on the van had been a fellow passenger on the plane. Maybe we were just too tired to complain.
On arriving at the hotel, we were greeted and escorted to the check-in desk. No fewer than three uniformed employees lined us up, showed us to the desk to register, connected us with our bags and walked us to the elevators.
Come on! They had to have been warned. They were way too nice.
The free room was unlike free rooms in our country. It was actually nice, spacious and clean. If we give anything away free, you usually can expect to need to clean it, sanitize it, and spend a lot of time wondering what the “catch” might be.
But then I confronted THE BEST.
I thought I would take a shower. On entering the bathroom I noticed the toilet looked different from ones we have in our country. I hate to admit this in the paper but I did check it out a little more closely.
In this hotel the toilet seat is heated. And I do not mean just warm, I mean hot. Their scientists obviously knew that if anyone was sitting down with no clothing covering their vital parts the seat needed to meet all expectations. After all, it is the country of the Rising Sun. After this experience they should rename it the country of the Descending Moon!
In this case, the seat met my wildest expectations. I am in love with this seat! My mind is racing, trying to decide how I can bring it back to America on the plane. Since airlines will only permit me to carry small sandwich bags with tiny samples of shampoo, shaving gel, or cologne, how will I ever get a full sized toilet seat past them? Assuming I could get through security, would it fit in the overhead compartment? How would I “declare” it on my Custom’s Form when I get back to Boston? I don’t think they have any category for bathroom appliances.
The toilet also had a remote control on the side. There were a number of choices on the remote. Perhaps the most revolutionary was the one that let the toilet spray you clean. The “Green Police” have obviously been here because there was absolutely no need for paper. Are you groaning yet? Who else would tell you these things? I do see this as a “teachable moment”. So bare (whoops) with me!
The choices on the remote included hot, cold, warm, and then full power, half power, and what must have been Japanese for “drizzle”.
At this point I was sure some Geisha was going to magically materialize and offer to dry me after the shower! Hope springs eternal.
After the shower (no Geisha although I did stand around for an extra ten minutes hoping), I dressed and went for my free dinner, which my American suspicion was certain would be a lotus leaf and caterpillar.
Actually, it was a beautifully presented dinner. I ran into another passenger from the plane and he was a vegetarian and they accommodated his requirements easily. Ever notice how happy restaurants are when they are giving away a free dinner and one of the diners says: “hold the meat”! Man, they must make a fortune on those Vegans. I envisioned Japanese cooks and waiters doing a lot of dancing (and bowing) in the kitchen when that order arrived.
Breakfast was a similar experience.
The van to the airport not only arrived on time, but two uniformed hotel employees insisted on carrying my two small bags to the van, numbering them, and placing them in the cargo area. Again, with the bowing.
On arrival at the airport there were many people available to provide directions and help. Check-in was simple. Then I moved on to security.
I should mention that when I went through security, with exactly these same bags in Boston, I was sent aside, patted down, my shoes were taken, my computer was uncased, and I had to stand in a glass enclosed room until one of the checkers was ready to see me.
In all U.S. airports they keep asking the same question: “Did you pack these bags?” And I keep wondering exactly who they think packs my bags. If there is somebody out there who is supposed to pack my bags…take me to him! I would love to answer this question with a “no, my valet packed my bags”.
In Tokyo, they asked me to please take off my shoes, bowing and more bowing, and they handed me a pair of leather slippers!
Leather Slippers!!!
They asked my permission to look at my laptop. Now, I know this was just a courtesy because if I had said “no” that would have ended the bowing, but there would definitely have been some scraping as they dragged me off to some terrorist examination room, where the Geisha’s were old, fat and very mean and wore rubber gloves. But I played along and happily presented my computer.
When this short procedure was over, they apologized for any inconvenience. Let me tell you, if anyone at an American airport ever apologizes for anything you had better look around for the tour director escorting the folks from the state insane asylum because you just found the patient they were missing.
The flight from Tokyo to Hong Kong was uneventful. The seats were comfortable, the food was good, the in-flight entertainment was free, and the attendants were….. attentive.
It was impossible not to compare this with my U.S. flight where I paid a big amount for the ticket and then they nickel-dimed me to death on meals, headsets, and drinks. Not to mention- not a leather slipper in sight, and certainly no bows!
On landing in Hong Kong I went immediately to the ferry that would take me to the new gambling capital of the world: the island of Macau.
So, on balance, I have to give the Japanese a big A+.
Let’s let bygones be bygones.
These are some of the nicest, friendliest and most helpful people I have encountered anywhere.
And then there is the matter of the toilet seat!
Everything Can Be Solved in Twenty Minutes
EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED IN TWENTY MINUTES
- Jackson Blair
Last week I wrote you about the west coast in general and San Francisco in particular. Well, I have escaped San Francisco. Actually, I escaped at 7:35AM today and flew to Los Angeles on American Airlines. I am enroute to Hong Kong.
In order to get to Hong Kong I have to take a plane to Los Angeles and then fly from LA to Tokyo, Japan, where I catch another plane to Hong Kong. This is required because San Francisco simply refuses to make it easy for anyone to leave.
Now you are probably thinking that is a lot of trouble just to get away from San Francisco. And, as it turns out, you are correct. But I thought it would be worth it.
When I landed in Los Angeles, and that city is worth an entire column of her own, I had to wait three hours for the privilege of jumping on another plane that would keep me captive for 12 hours on the way to Japan.
Realizing this would be a long time on the plane, I decided that I would kill the three hours in Los Angeles by going to a restaurant for lunch. So I sat down at the counter of an airport restaurant to watch a basketball game on the big screen television and have a bite to eat. A nice young waitress approached me and gave me a menu.
I studied the menu and took a good deal of time deciding on the turkey and cheese sandwich with fries. When the waitress returned I gave her my order and she said I couldn’t have it.
Now, as you know, west coast rudeness doesn’t exactly surprise me but I decide to stay calm and ask why I could not have the sandwich. She responded that I could wait ten minutes until they stopped serving breakfast, at which time she would get me the sandwich, or I could order breakfast, in which case I could be served now. For a fleeting moment I thought I would ask why she gave me the lunch menu, but then I remembered where I was and decided not to waste my time with anything that rational.
Now life in the fast lanes is pretty busy and I know there are more and more rules and regulations- but this is ridiculous! I am sitting at a counter in a restaurant in one of the busiest airports in the country and they cannot serve me what I order unless I agree to wait ten minutes. Since I didn’t want eggs or pancakes, I waited.
They must have been changing shift cooks because it took my sandwich the stated ten minutes plus another thirty minutes to make it from the kitchen to my mouth. And here I thought at airports where everyone is on a tight schedule, and running to make a connection, service would, as a general rule, be fast!
Then, keep in mind I am on the west coast! The rules are different.
There is an old saying that something will happen in a “New York second” which is meant as a compliment to the prodigious work effort and the fast pace of the environment in New York City. Then there is a song that further underscores the expectation of performance in New York, the one that says “if you can make it here you can make it anywhere, New York, New York.”
We east coast people know a little bit about hustle, timeframes, dedication and commitment.
The song that comes to mind regarding the west coast is the one that says “I left my heart in SanFrancisco”. That is a pretty good example of what happens out here. One way or another, you lose a body part before you escape. Some critics even think the guy who sings that song left his voice out here, too.
So I am whiling away my time in the great Los Angeles airport, three hours of whiling as I said earlier, and it is time to go to the gate for my flight to Tokyo.
I got there. About 200 other people got there. The folks at the check-in counter were there. The plane was clearly there and visible outside the window. But no one was boarding.
Finally came the announcement.
Due to the work the cleaning crew had to complete on the plane we were taking we would board 20 minutes later than scheduled.
Nineteen minutes later we were told the cleaning was taking more time than anticipated, but we could board in another twenty minutes.
You guessed it; in nineteen minutes we had another twenty minute warning.
It was right after the third reminder that the cleaning crew must be engaged in a really competitive game of “who can find the barf bags” when a long line of flight attendants passed by and went on the plane.
Once again, the great Airplane God had lied to the passengers. No one was cleaning the plane. The crew was just late!
Now you might think I have no evidence to back this up but let me tell you when I actually boarded the plane I expected to see the big guy, bald head, arms crossed, earring in place: Mr. Clean Himself! What a disappointment. The plane looked as though it had been cleaned by a group of disgruntled husbands.
What was worse, the flight attendants forgot to smile. They were not happy. Whoever recruited them must have dropped some broken glass in their morning bowl of Cheerios cause this was one unhappy bunch.
Brrr. I didn’t think we had much chance of flying any friendly skies.
We were now roughly 60 minutes behind schedule. I had a 90 minute window in Tokyo to catch my plane to Hong Kong. Using the special math known only to world travelers, I computed that the plane could make up the lost time and still arrive in Tokyo in time for me to make my connection.
I settled into my economy seat, which was slightly wider than a child’s booster seat at your favorite restaurant and just a little longer than a normal sized whoopee cushion (and made similar noises when you moved), and which is in a seriously small and crowded space if the guy in front of you likes to sit upright. If he yearns for a more relaxed position, you are about to make a very intimate new acquaintance because his head will be in your lap. If his eyes are open you simply have to speak to him, as it would be rude to pretend you didn’t notice. If his eyes are closed you have to be very careful not to spill any of your food on him.
Then my very good new friend, the Captain, came on to announce that maintenance had found a small problem with our plane.
Now folks, when you are planning to fly over the Pacific Ocean for the better part of 12 hours there are no “small” problems. All problems are “big” ones.
Seems we were missing a bolt, or a nut, or a screw and they were calling in management to see if they had a replacement in the storeroom.
Yes, we were back to the twenty-minute rule. In twenty minutes they would give us an update.
Nineteen minutes later the Captain announced that there was a replacement part on another plane that just happened to be on the ground in LA. How lucky could I get? Now the corporate biggies were trying to decide whether to have us all schlep off and change planes or whether to get the little bugger off the other plane and put it on ours. They had to call in reinforcements for a question of this magnitude.
Yup, the question would be answered in twenty minutes.
After the customary nineteen minutes we were advised the surgical procedure was actually taking place and whatever we needed was being removed from another plane and placed on ours.
This must be something like stem cell research, or hormone replacement therapy, or transplant surgery. Who would know?
I had mixed emotions. I was glad our problem had been solved but I felt guilty for the passengers that would board the other plane only to go through the same rigorous twenty-minute games we had.
I should have realized this nightmare would not end with the pilfered part.
The Captain greeted us again.
First we got the good news. The missing part had been successfully replaced. But there was, of course, bad news.
There is some rule the Pilots’ Union has that suggests if they work more than a couple of hours past their normal schedule they might fall asleep and crash the plane so, you guessed it, the Captain, with whom I had developed a first name relationship, was actually bidding us a fond adieu, even went so far as to say he hoped he would have the pleasure of Captaining another plane we might one day take (it would have to be a very cold day in hell!) and then he led his four man cockpit crew off the plane.
In my heart of hearts I hoped he would be assigned the plane they took the part from.
The corporate bigwigs now had to scour around for a new crew, preferably one that had some recent sleep. I envisioned them running around out in the corridor, visiting every gate, and asking pilots if they had a few hours, twelve or more, that they could give to the company.
As you know, on the west coast there are always exceptions to any rules. So, there is a hidden little item in the union contract that says if you can find one, even just one (I think I read something like that in the Bible) God would let this plane fly. So they did find one poor soul. Back came the Captain with his original three pals and one new addition. Now we were ready to fly.
My mind raced. I tried not to think of the obvious. Four tired cockpit workers. One untested new part. Company afraid they would loose the plane because of lack of sleep. One wide-awake guy is found roaming around the airport, probably just fresh from a caffeine fix at Starbucks, and now we are safe.
Forgive me my disbelief.
The new guy is going to sub for the pilot, the co-pilot, the navigator, and the off –the- clock guy that always gets a free ride in the jump seat all airlines keep for decrepit former pilots. That is one heck of a lot of responsibility on one guy’s shoulders. He has to hope they decide to nap consecutively rather than concurrently.
I decided to calm myself with the thought that his job was simply to keep brewing coffee and serving it to the pilots and navigator.
As we taxied out onto the runway, we were treated to a wonderful visual on a screen tiny enough for a gnat to use for shaving, in which the airline runs through all the possible ways you might die on this plane and what you can do to prepare for it. They could have summed it up in one word: “pray”.
I was especially fond of the part where they told you that you had available to you a life vest. It could be found either under your seat, between your seats, or in a side compartment. It was comforting to know the people running this airline have absolutely no idea where they put the life vests! Clearly, they hope you can find them.
What great news. If the plane takes a dive I get to play a game of “find the life jacket”. The rules of this game are very simple. If you don’t find it before the plane hits, you drown. If you do find it and get it on before the plane hits, you live long enough to actually see the sharks that are having you for lunch.
I am now flying. Sometime in the very distant future I shall land at Narita Airport in Japan. Waiting there for me will be a very pompous airline representative who will tell me that I missed my flight to Hong Kong but have been booked on another, one that will arrive sometime around 3 or 4AM. Or he will tell me I have missed my flight but will have to find a hotel on my own because the International Code of Airline Stupidity that was adopted by all the free nations of the world has determined that the loss of a nut, bold or screw is really an act of God and the airline cannot be held responsible. No wonder the government wants to run these companies.
This announcement brings with it the knowledge that I need to fetch my luggage, go through Japanese Customs, hope for a hotel room somewhere that will cost about 200,000 yen per night and that I will most assuredly still have to pay for the hotel room waiting unused in Hong Kong.
If I get my anger under control and my sense of fair play returns, I will pick up this story in next week’s segment of why Americans are considered ugly by the rest of the world.
You can be sure that I shall be living up to that description when I engage the airline representative who meets the plane in Tokyo.
- Jackson Blair
Last week I wrote you about the west coast in general and San Francisco in particular. Well, I have escaped San Francisco. Actually, I escaped at 7:35AM today and flew to Los Angeles on American Airlines. I am enroute to Hong Kong.
In order to get to Hong Kong I have to take a plane to Los Angeles and then fly from LA to Tokyo, Japan, where I catch another plane to Hong Kong. This is required because San Francisco simply refuses to make it easy for anyone to leave.
Now you are probably thinking that is a lot of trouble just to get away from San Francisco. And, as it turns out, you are correct. But I thought it would be worth it.
When I landed in Los Angeles, and that city is worth an entire column of her own, I had to wait three hours for the privilege of jumping on another plane that would keep me captive for 12 hours on the way to Japan.
Realizing this would be a long time on the plane, I decided that I would kill the three hours in Los Angeles by going to a restaurant for lunch. So I sat down at the counter of an airport restaurant to watch a basketball game on the big screen television and have a bite to eat. A nice young waitress approached me and gave me a menu.
I studied the menu and took a good deal of time deciding on the turkey and cheese sandwich with fries. When the waitress returned I gave her my order and she said I couldn’t have it.
Now, as you know, west coast rudeness doesn’t exactly surprise me but I decide to stay calm and ask why I could not have the sandwich. She responded that I could wait ten minutes until they stopped serving breakfast, at which time she would get me the sandwich, or I could order breakfast, in which case I could be served now. For a fleeting moment I thought I would ask why she gave me the lunch menu, but then I remembered where I was and decided not to waste my time with anything that rational.
Now life in the fast lanes is pretty busy and I know there are more and more rules and regulations- but this is ridiculous! I am sitting at a counter in a restaurant in one of the busiest airports in the country and they cannot serve me what I order unless I agree to wait ten minutes. Since I didn’t want eggs or pancakes, I waited.
They must have been changing shift cooks because it took my sandwich the stated ten minutes plus another thirty minutes to make it from the kitchen to my mouth. And here I thought at airports where everyone is on a tight schedule, and running to make a connection, service would, as a general rule, be fast!
Then, keep in mind I am on the west coast! The rules are different.
There is an old saying that something will happen in a “New York second” which is meant as a compliment to the prodigious work effort and the fast pace of the environment in New York City. Then there is a song that further underscores the expectation of performance in New York, the one that says “if you can make it here you can make it anywhere, New York, New York.”
We east coast people know a little bit about hustle, timeframes, dedication and commitment.
The song that comes to mind regarding the west coast is the one that says “I left my heart in SanFrancisco”. That is a pretty good example of what happens out here. One way or another, you lose a body part before you escape. Some critics even think the guy who sings that song left his voice out here, too.
So I am whiling away my time in the great Los Angeles airport, three hours of whiling as I said earlier, and it is time to go to the gate for my flight to Tokyo.
I got there. About 200 other people got there. The folks at the check-in counter were there. The plane was clearly there and visible outside the window. But no one was boarding.
Finally came the announcement.
Due to the work the cleaning crew had to complete on the plane we were taking we would board 20 minutes later than scheduled.
Nineteen minutes later we were told the cleaning was taking more time than anticipated, but we could board in another twenty minutes.
You guessed it; in nineteen minutes we had another twenty minute warning.
It was right after the third reminder that the cleaning crew must be engaged in a really competitive game of “who can find the barf bags” when a long line of flight attendants passed by and went on the plane.
Once again, the great Airplane God had lied to the passengers. No one was cleaning the plane. The crew was just late!
Now you might think I have no evidence to back this up but let me tell you when I actually boarded the plane I expected to see the big guy, bald head, arms crossed, earring in place: Mr. Clean Himself! What a disappointment. The plane looked as though it had been cleaned by a group of disgruntled husbands.
What was worse, the flight attendants forgot to smile. They were not happy. Whoever recruited them must have dropped some broken glass in their morning bowl of Cheerios cause this was one unhappy bunch.
Brrr. I didn’t think we had much chance of flying any friendly skies.
We were now roughly 60 minutes behind schedule. I had a 90 minute window in Tokyo to catch my plane to Hong Kong. Using the special math known only to world travelers, I computed that the plane could make up the lost time and still arrive in Tokyo in time for me to make my connection.
I settled into my economy seat, which was slightly wider than a child’s booster seat at your favorite restaurant and just a little longer than a normal sized whoopee cushion (and made similar noises when you moved), and which is in a seriously small and crowded space if the guy in front of you likes to sit upright. If he yearns for a more relaxed position, you are about to make a very intimate new acquaintance because his head will be in your lap. If his eyes are open you simply have to speak to him, as it would be rude to pretend you didn’t notice. If his eyes are closed you have to be very careful not to spill any of your food on him.
Then my very good new friend, the Captain, came on to announce that maintenance had found a small problem with our plane.
Now folks, when you are planning to fly over the Pacific Ocean for the better part of 12 hours there are no “small” problems. All problems are “big” ones.
Seems we were missing a bolt, or a nut, or a screw and they were calling in management to see if they had a replacement in the storeroom.
Yes, we were back to the twenty-minute rule. In twenty minutes they would give us an update.
Nineteen minutes later the Captain announced that there was a replacement part on another plane that just happened to be on the ground in LA. How lucky could I get? Now the corporate biggies were trying to decide whether to have us all schlep off and change planes or whether to get the little bugger off the other plane and put it on ours. They had to call in reinforcements for a question of this magnitude.
Yup, the question would be answered in twenty minutes.
After the customary nineteen minutes we were advised the surgical procedure was actually taking place and whatever we needed was being removed from another plane and placed on ours.
This must be something like stem cell research, or hormone replacement therapy, or transplant surgery. Who would know?
I had mixed emotions. I was glad our problem had been solved but I felt guilty for the passengers that would board the other plane only to go through the same rigorous twenty-minute games we had.
I should have realized this nightmare would not end with the pilfered part.
The Captain greeted us again.
First we got the good news. The missing part had been successfully replaced. But there was, of course, bad news.
There is some rule the Pilots’ Union has that suggests if they work more than a couple of hours past their normal schedule they might fall asleep and crash the plane so, you guessed it, the Captain, with whom I had developed a first name relationship, was actually bidding us a fond adieu, even went so far as to say he hoped he would have the pleasure of Captaining another plane we might one day take (it would have to be a very cold day in hell!) and then he led his four man cockpit crew off the plane.
In my heart of hearts I hoped he would be assigned the plane they took the part from.
The corporate bigwigs now had to scour around for a new crew, preferably one that had some recent sleep. I envisioned them running around out in the corridor, visiting every gate, and asking pilots if they had a few hours, twelve or more, that they could give to the company.
As you know, on the west coast there are always exceptions to any rules. So, there is a hidden little item in the union contract that says if you can find one, even just one (I think I read something like that in the Bible) God would let this plane fly. So they did find one poor soul. Back came the Captain with his original three pals and one new addition. Now we were ready to fly.
My mind raced. I tried not to think of the obvious. Four tired cockpit workers. One untested new part. Company afraid they would loose the plane because of lack of sleep. One wide-awake guy is found roaming around the airport, probably just fresh from a caffeine fix at Starbucks, and now we are safe.
Forgive me my disbelief.
The new guy is going to sub for the pilot, the co-pilot, the navigator, and the off –the- clock guy that always gets a free ride in the jump seat all airlines keep for decrepit former pilots. That is one heck of a lot of responsibility on one guy’s shoulders. He has to hope they decide to nap consecutively rather than concurrently.
I decided to calm myself with the thought that his job was simply to keep brewing coffee and serving it to the pilots and navigator.
As we taxied out onto the runway, we were treated to a wonderful visual on a screen tiny enough for a gnat to use for shaving, in which the airline runs through all the possible ways you might die on this plane and what you can do to prepare for it. They could have summed it up in one word: “pray”.
I was especially fond of the part where they told you that you had available to you a life vest. It could be found either under your seat, between your seats, or in a side compartment. It was comforting to know the people running this airline have absolutely no idea where they put the life vests! Clearly, they hope you can find them.
What great news. If the plane takes a dive I get to play a game of “find the life jacket”. The rules of this game are very simple. If you don’t find it before the plane hits, you drown. If you do find it and get it on before the plane hits, you live long enough to actually see the sharks that are having you for lunch.
I am now flying. Sometime in the very distant future I shall land at Narita Airport in Japan. Waiting there for me will be a very pompous airline representative who will tell me that I missed my flight to Hong Kong but have been booked on another, one that will arrive sometime around 3 or 4AM. Or he will tell me I have missed my flight but will have to find a hotel on my own because the International Code of Airline Stupidity that was adopted by all the free nations of the world has determined that the loss of a nut, bold or screw is really an act of God and the airline cannot be held responsible. No wonder the government wants to run these companies.
This announcement brings with it the knowledge that I need to fetch my luggage, go through Japanese Customs, hope for a hotel room somewhere that will cost about 200,000 yen per night and that I will most assuredly still have to pay for the hotel room waiting unused in Hong Kong.
If I get my anger under control and my sense of fair play returns, I will pick up this story in next week’s segment of why Americans are considered ugly by the rest of the world.
You can be sure that I shall be living up to that description when I engage the airline representative who meets the plane in Tokyo.
Friday, March 6, 2009
"LA LA LAND"
“La –La” Land
Jackson Blair
When I was much younger I flew from the east to the west often. It was a pleasurable trip. You entered a plane, they served you coffee or a drink almost immediately. They pushed a nice cart down the aisle and carved you a slice of meat, scooped out some potatoes and other vegetables, poured you a glass of wine, and said nice things about your selecting their airline. I should mention, in those days, a small pack of three cigarettes was served with every meal.
The fare was about $250.
The airline made money and the passenger was comfortable and felt special.
Yesterday I took a trip from the east coast to the west coast.
Every seat in my plane was taken. We were informed on take-off that no food was available, except for purchase. The choices were cheese and crackers for $4 or a chicken sandwich with potato chips for $10. Nobody mentioned “seconds”. If you wanted something more than water or coffee, you could buy one of those very small bottles of booze for $6.
The fare for this trip was over $500.
The airline didn’t make any money and passengers were very uncomfortable.
If you want to buy airline stock, now is the time to do it. They are very unprofitable but since some have announced they plan to charge for the use of the toilet on the plane, I think you will see profits go up. Judging from the line of people waiting to use the two toilets, I would say the airlines should be able to turn a profit now.
I did arrive on the west coast at roughly the time they said I would. This, friends, was the best part of the trip, if you don’t count not crashing.
I am writing you from “La La Land”, the extreme LEFT COAST, the home of “Hippies” and “Drug Addled Winos”. You get the picture.
Specifically, I am in San Francisco and environs.
The recent news that Congressman Gary Condit did not actually kill Chandra Levy was such a relief that I thought about driving down to his trailer to say hello. After losing his congressional seat and being shunned by his family and constituents for almost ten years, I can only imagine how pleased he must be that they finally found someone else to blame. It took a long time. But the authorities, after painstaking exploration and work, identified a man already in jail for doing exactly the same thing to two other young women within months of doing it to Ms. Levy. Wow. What detective work.
Each time I am out here I wonder why all those explorers spent so much time trying to get here. Think of it, all those covered wagons, months of deprivation on the trail, Indians making movement pretty difficult at times, while providing haircuts at no charge, no easy path through the mountains; it had to be arduous and dangerous. Not to mention the total lack of Port-O-Potties on the trail.
It is then that I realize why the west coast is as it is. Only nut cases and folks fleeing the law would have ever embarked on such a journey. Voila! (That is French and it is meant to impress the reader). They are the genetic ancestors of these people who are out here now. When you look at it this way, sort of anthropologically, it all makes sense. Well, actually, not much makes sense out here. These people are in the business of defying description. Well, all of them except my son, his wife and my only granddaughter. I know they are being held hostage and are not permitted to get an exit visa back to the normal world. They are not allowed to talk about it so we just ignore the topic when I am here. When I am here I always comfort myself with the knowledge that I am just “passing through”.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is why you always hear people in the east make the statement regarding the west coast: a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.
People like to go to the Side Show at the Circus, but they don’t necessarily want to dine regularly with the Hairy Woman, the two-headed Aboriginal, or the fire-eating twins.
So visit I must, but stay: absolutely no chance.
By the way, did you ever eat tofu?
Out here the vistas are incredible. You can see from the window of your hotel room to the windows of so many other hotel rooms. You can walk outside, especially in San Francisco, and just inhale. Immediate high! Whatever they are all smoking here is just simply floating around on the air. This must be what Bill Clinton meant when he said “but I didn’t inhale.”
Another thing about the west coast, no one is ever arrested for smoking marijuana. In fact, there is some suspicion that people who are not smoking it are put away for a couple of weeks so they can think about the error of their ways.
And you thought the weird way the Governor here speaks had something to do with his birth country! Everybody out here fully understands what he is saying.
By the way, did you ever eat wheat grass?
You can run outside and into the street here and jump on a trolley, but only if you are out of your mind. Do you have any idea how old these trolleys are? Think about it. Ever since the Big One, the earthquake that destroyed San Francisco, the natives have been riding these trolleys. Not a one of them has probably been serviced since then.
The tracks are the same ones put down in the beginning of trolley service. Governor Schwarzenegger is giving people IOU’s for their tax refunds so what reasonable person would be thinking he is setting aside money for trolley repair?
Have you ever seen the streets of San Francisco. I do not refer to the TV show with Karl Malden but to the actual streets. In any other part of the world they would be called mountains. Nobody can actually walk up one of these streets.
I am pretty sure the steep streets are the reason our early ancestors started walking upright. So they could catch the trolley.
So look at the equation. Really old trolleys. Climbing up really steep streets. Anything fails, like brakes, and you get to ride the trolley back down the hill at about 100mph right into the Bay.
If you survive the trip down the mountain and into the Bay, you then face the plight of the good folks who used to try to escape from Alcatraz by swimming: waters with serious undercurrents and undefined people eating fishlike things.
This is a sport beloved of all visitors. Frankly, I don’t know what the big deal is here. For years in New York City I had to run out in the street and try to flag down a cabdriver who was making so much money on welfare and disability he wasn’t inclined to pick up any fares. At least, if you are in a cab riding on completely flat Manhattan streets, you don’t have to worry about brakes. The worst that can happen is that you cruise into the car in front of you. But since NYC cabs only go about 2mph there isn’t a chance you can actually claim whiplash when you go to court.
And should it happen to be raining the day you need a taxi, the cabbie usually gave you the one finger salute as he splashed you from head to toe with his wide tires, moving through the puddles.
By the way, you have a much better chance catching a cab in NYC than a trolley in San Francisco. This should be a question on Jeopardy. Somebody tell Alex Trebek.
By the way, did you ever stay in a house with incense burning all day? Eye, Ear and Nose doctors prefer to work on the west coast. There are no dummies in that profession.
Also, out here in San Francisco they are famous for those little movements in the pavement and the swinging of their buildings.
You can be seated having a perfectly wonderful cup of coffee only to find it in your lap after a minor earthquake. That must be why some people think of this as such a moving place.
If those people back east that sued McDonalds for spilling hot coffee on them would vacation out here they could get a really good lawsuit going against the San Francisco supervisors.
I went down to Fisherman’s wharf for some good seafood. I decided on a big restaurant sitting on the side of a hill with a panoramic view of, yes, Alcatraz prison. I should mention here that everything in San Francisco sits on the side of some hill.
I reflected on what would motivate anyone to build a restaurant that overlooked a prison.
Since I had absolutely no reason to look out the floor to ceiling windows as the prison is closed and there was clearly no chance of seeing someone swimming in an escape effort, followed in hot pursuit by guards in rubber rafts, I ordered the fish of the day.
No wonder it was called the Fish of the Day. At $37 a plate, it should have been the Fish of the Century. I asked my waiter why it cost so much. Since he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Illegal Alien, he searched out the one or two American waiters in the place.
It was explained to me this way: it cost a lot because of the “middle man”. Aha, the infamous “middle man”.
I reminded the waiter that we were in a restaurant that was located on a coastal area of the continent. He and I together could actually spit in the ocean from where we were standing, although I feel certain they would frown on that.
I simplified it: fish in the water; hungry diner at a table a short distance away; trip from water to table via kitchen at best a couple of hundred yards! And for this they needed a “middle man”.
The waiter went to get the manager. Undoubtedly, the waiter told the manager that another uppity easterner was making trouble. The manager spoke a short form of English. I could understand about 10% of what he was saying. There was a lot of hand and arm waving. I was patient.
I was advised that there were union rules out here. Fish could not just be brought from the water to the table. Only certain highly trained people were permitted fishing licenses for commercial establishment needs. This is the gist of what he was saying. I reached that understanding after roughly 15 minutes of my saying “what” and his repeating an unintelligible gibberish. Finally, we agreed to a truce. He called one of the native born Americans over to translate for me. I think that is what they mean by “extra attentive service”.
The English speaking fellow told me that other, presumably advanced degree holders, were required to actually clean the fish. Then government inspectors would arrive,( federal, state, local and mob affiliated) late of course, to determine if the fish had been properly cleaned. In the old days one assumed a fish swimming around in good old salt water for years was pretty clean already. But in these new days, once the clean fish gets to land, a lot of dirty hands work with it and it gets dragged from the wharf to the docks to the fish houses to the refrigerator trucks. These people need one fish tank filled with Purell. That would do the trick.
After that, another government man would appear to determine if the fish had any rights that might have been violated in the process.
Assuming everything was as it should be, the fish was then loaded on an approved mode of transportation (long way of saying a refrigerator truck) and brought to the restaurant. However, since refrigerator trucks are only permitted on certain San Francisco streets, the trip of a couple of hundred yards becomes a trip of twenty miles. And then there is the matter of paying the fee for “protection” that keeps your truck from becoming unrefrigerated due to bullet holes in the paneling.
When the fish arrives, and that can only be on Wednesday or Friday due to city regulations on delivery options, it must again be inspected to determine if it enjoyed the trip and arrived refreshed, I mean fresh. It is known to most humans that anything that has been dead for a couple of days should never be referred to as “fresh”. This is also the story behind the commonly used phrase: “fish breath”.
By this time numerous mafia leaders have collected their piece of the action, the Association of Longshoremen have been paid off, the members of the Refrigeration and Freezing cartel got their piece, and the fish was now about to encounter the Hotel and Restaurateurs Association guidelines.
There was the Chef, the Pastry Chef, the Sous Chef, and numerous other chefs that were required to actually touch the fish. And each of them had to wear large puffy big hats and that cost money, too.
Did you ever wonder what was under those big puffy white hats? I can finally share the news with you: two sharp knives, a crumb brusher, one small flute, the original score to Damn Yankees, and a slightly balding head).
Then officials of the Waiters Union got in the act and determined the size of the plate permitted, the timing of the pick-up in the kitchen and the delivery to my table, an estimated time for me to consume the fish, a timetable for the removal of the plate, and I love this part, a whole person hired just to come to my table and brush off a few crumbs so things would be tidy for dessert. Somebody should offer a PhD in this.
Let me tell you, I had no more questions. That damn fish had traveled more miles from the water below to my table, and taken more time doing it, than it took me to get from the airport to the restaurant. They talk all the time about meat being aged, wine being aged, somebody should begin referring to fish being aged.
I happily forked over my $37 (along with the required 20% gratuity which, in light of all the folks involved in producing my dinner, I thought was quite minimal)
This is a story of stimulus.
In supporting President Obama’s request that I spend a little money and get things moving, I am personally responsible for a productive and profitable day being had by fishermen, refrigerator truck drivers, inspectors from various agencies, fish cleaners, fish inspectors, fish cookers, fish servers , a couple of mafia chieftains , a crumb remover and, lastly, a fish eater.
Only in America friends!
Jackson Blair
When I was much younger I flew from the east to the west often. It was a pleasurable trip. You entered a plane, they served you coffee or a drink almost immediately. They pushed a nice cart down the aisle and carved you a slice of meat, scooped out some potatoes and other vegetables, poured you a glass of wine, and said nice things about your selecting their airline. I should mention, in those days, a small pack of three cigarettes was served with every meal.
The fare was about $250.
The airline made money and the passenger was comfortable and felt special.
Yesterday I took a trip from the east coast to the west coast.
Every seat in my plane was taken. We were informed on take-off that no food was available, except for purchase. The choices were cheese and crackers for $4 or a chicken sandwich with potato chips for $10. Nobody mentioned “seconds”. If you wanted something more than water or coffee, you could buy one of those very small bottles of booze for $6.
The fare for this trip was over $500.
The airline didn’t make any money and passengers were very uncomfortable.
If you want to buy airline stock, now is the time to do it. They are very unprofitable but since some have announced they plan to charge for the use of the toilet on the plane, I think you will see profits go up. Judging from the line of people waiting to use the two toilets, I would say the airlines should be able to turn a profit now.
I did arrive on the west coast at roughly the time they said I would. This, friends, was the best part of the trip, if you don’t count not crashing.
I am writing you from “La La Land”, the extreme LEFT COAST, the home of “Hippies” and “Drug Addled Winos”. You get the picture.
Specifically, I am in San Francisco and environs.
The recent news that Congressman Gary Condit did not actually kill Chandra Levy was such a relief that I thought about driving down to his trailer to say hello. After losing his congressional seat and being shunned by his family and constituents for almost ten years, I can only imagine how pleased he must be that they finally found someone else to blame. It took a long time. But the authorities, after painstaking exploration and work, identified a man already in jail for doing exactly the same thing to two other young women within months of doing it to Ms. Levy. Wow. What detective work.
Each time I am out here I wonder why all those explorers spent so much time trying to get here. Think of it, all those covered wagons, months of deprivation on the trail, Indians making movement pretty difficult at times, while providing haircuts at no charge, no easy path through the mountains; it had to be arduous and dangerous. Not to mention the total lack of Port-O-Potties on the trail.
It is then that I realize why the west coast is as it is. Only nut cases and folks fleeing the law would have ever embarked on such a journey. Voila! (That is French and it is meant to impress the reader). They are the genetic ancestors of these people who are out here now. When you look at it this way, sort of anthropologically, it all makes sense. Well, actually, not much makes sense out here. These people are in the business of defying description. Well, all of them except my son, his wife and my only granddaughter. I know they are being held hostage and are not permitted to get an exit visa back to the normal world. They are not allowed to talk about it so we just ignore the topic when I am here. When I am here I always comfort myself with the knowledge that I am just “passing through”.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is why you always hear people in the east make the statement regarding the west coast: a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there.
People like to go to the Side Show at the Circus, but they don’t necessarily want to dine regularly with the Hairy Woman, the two-headed Aboriginal, or the fire-eating twins.
So visit I must, but stay: absolutely no chance.
By the way, did you ever eat tofu?
Out here the vistas are incredible. You can see from the window of your hotel room to the windows of so many other hotel rooms. You can walk outside, especially in San Francisco, and just inhale. Immediate high! Whatever they are all smoking here is just simply floating around on the air. This must be what Bill Clinton meant when he said “but I didn’t inhale.”
Another thing about the west coast, no one is ever arrested for smoking marijuana. In fact, there is some suspicion that people who are not smoking it are put away for a couple of weeks so they can think about the error of their ways.
And you thought the weird way the Governor here speaks had something to do with his birth country! Everybody out here fully understands what he is saying.
By the way, did you ever eat wheat grass?
You can run outside and into the street here and jump on a trolley, but only if you are out of your mind. Do you have any idea how old these trolleys are? Think about it. Ever since the Big One, the earthquake that destroyed San Francisco, the natives have been riding these trolleys. Not a one of them has probably been serviced since then.
The tracks are the same ones put down in the beginning of trolley service. Governor Schwarzenegger is giving people IOU’s for their tax refunds so what reasonable person would be thinking he is setting aside money for trolley repair?
Have you ever seen the streets of San Francisco. I do not refer to the TV show with Karl Malden but to the actual streets. In any other part of the world they would be called mountains. Nobody can actually walk up one of these streets.
I am pretty sure the steep streets are the reason our early ancestors started walking upright. So they could catch the trolley.
So look at the equation. Really old trolleys. Climbing up really steep streets. Anything fails, like brakes, and you get to ride the trolley back down the hill at about 100mph right into the Bay.
If you survive the trip down the mountain and into the Bay, you then face the plight of the good folks who used to try to escape from Alcatraz by swimming: waters with serious undercurrents and undefined people eating fishlike things.
This is a sport beloved of all visitors. Frankly, I don’t know what the big deal is here. For years in New York City I had to run out in the street and try to flag down a cabdriver who was making so much money on welfare and disability he wasn’t inclined to pick up any fares. At least, if you are in a cab riding on completely flat Manhattan streets, you don’t have to worry about brakes. The worst that can happen is that you cruise into the car in front of you. But since NYC cabs only go about 2mph there isn’t a chance you can actually claim whiplash when you go to court.
And should it happen to be raining the day you need a taxi, the cabbie usually gave you the one finger salute as he splashed you from head to toe with his wide tires, moving through the puddles.
By the way, you have a much better chance catching a cab in NYC than a trolley in San Francisco. This should be a question on Jeopardy. Somebody tell Alex Trebek.
By the way, did you ever stay in a house with incense burning all day? Eye, Ear and Nose doctors prefer to work on the west coast. There are no dummies in that profession.
Also, out here in San Francisco they are famous for those little movements in the pavement and the swinging of their buildings.
You can be seated having a perfectly wonderful cup of coffee only to find it in your lap after a minor earthquake. That must be why some people think of this as such a moving place.
If those people back east that sued McDonalds for spilling hot coffee on them would vacation out here they could get a really good lawsuit going against the San Francisco supervisors.
I went down to Fisherman’s wharf for some good seafood. I decided on a big restaurant sitting on the side of a hill with a panoramic view of, yes, Alcatraz prison. I should mention here that everything in San Francisco sits on the side of some hill.
I reflected on what would motivate anyone to build a restaurant that overlooked a prison.
Since I had absolutely no reason to look out the floor to ceiling windows as the prison is closed and there was clearly no chance of seeing someone swimming in an escape effort, followed in hot pursuit by guards in rubber rafts, I ordered the fish of the day.
No wonder it was called the Fish of the Day. At $37 a plate, it should have been the Fish of the Century. I asked my waiter why it cost so much. Since he didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Illegal Alien, he searched out the one or two American waiters in the place.
It was explained to me this way: it cost a lot because of the “middle man”. Aha, the infamous “middle man”.
I reminded the waiter that we were in a restaurant that was located on a coastal area of the continent. He and I together could actually spit in the ocean from where we were standing, although I feel certain they would frown on that.
I simplified it: fish in the water; hungry diner at a table a short distance away; trip from water to table via kitchen at best a couple of hundred yards! And for this they needed a “middle man”.
The waiter went to get the manager. Undoubtedly, the waiter told the manager that another uppity easterner was making trouble. The manager spoke a short form of English. I could understand about 10% of what he was saying. There was a lot of hand and arm waving. I was patient.
I was advised that there were union rules out here. Fish could not just be brought from the water to the table. Only certain highly trained people were permitted fishing licenses for commercial establishment needs. This is the gist of what he was saying. I reached that understanding after roughly 15 minutes of my saying “what” and his repeating an unintelligible gibberish. Finally, we agreed to a truce. He called one of the native born Americans over to translate for me. I think that is what they mean by “extra attentive service”.
The English speaking fellow told me that other, presumably advanced degree holders, were required to actually clean the fish. Then government inspectors would arrive,( federal, state, local and mob affiliated) late of course, to determine if the fish had been properly cleaned. In the old days one assumed a fish swimming around in good old salt water for years was pretty clean already. But in these new days, once the clean fish gets to land, a lot of dirty hands work with it and it gets dragged from the wharf to the docks to the fish houses to the refrigerator trucks. These people need one fish tank filled with Purell. That would do the trick.
After that, another government man would appear to determine if the fish had any rights that might have been violated in the process.
Assuming everything was as it should be, the fish was then loaded on an approved mode of transportation (long way of saying a refrigerator truck) and brought to the restaurant. However, since refrigerator trucks are only permitted on certain San Francisco streets, the trip of a couple of hundred yards becomes a trip of twenty miles. And then there is the matter of paying the fee for “protection” that keeps your truck from becoming unrefrigerated due to bullet holes in the paneling.
When the fish arrives, and that can only be on Wednesday or Friday due to city regulations on delivery options, it must again be inspected to determine if it enjoyed the trip and arrived refreshed, I mean fresh. It is known to most humans that anything that has been dead for a couple of days should never be referred to as “fresh”. This is also the story behind the commonly used phrase: “fish breath”.
By this time numerous mafia leaders have collected their piece of the action, the Association of Longshoremen have been paid off, the members of the Refrigeration and Freezing cartel got their piece, and the fish was now about to encounter the Hotel and Restaurateurs Association guidelines.
There was the Chef, the Pastry Chef, the Sous Chef, and numerous other chefs that were required to actually touch the fish. And each of them had to wear large puffy big hats and that cost money, too.
Did you ever wonder what was under those big puffy white hats? I can finally share the news with you: two sharp knives, a crumb brusher, one small flute, the original score to Damn Yankees, and a slightly balding head).
Then officials of the Waiters Union got in the act and determined the size of the plate permitted, the timing of the pick-up in the kitchen and the delivery to my table, an estimated time for me to consume the fish, a timetable for the removal of the plate, and I love this part, a whole person hired just to come to my table and brush off a few crumbs so things would be tidy for dessert. Somebody should offer a PhD in this.
Let me tell you, I had no more questions. That damn fish had traveled more miles from the water below to my table, and taken more time doing it, than it took me to get from the airport to the restaurant. They talk all the time about meat being aged, wine being aged, somebody should begin referring to fish being aged.
I happily forked over my $37 (along with the required 20% gratuity which, in light of all the folks involved in producing my dinner, I thought was quite minimal)
This is a story of stimulus.
In supporting President Obama’s request that I spend a little money and get things moving, I am personally responsible for a productive and profitable day being had by fishermen, refrigerator truck drivers, inspectors from various agencies, fish cleaners, fish inspectors, fish cookers, fish servers , a couple of mafia chieftains , a crumb remover and, lastly, a fish eater.
Only in America friends!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Economic Winds Buffet Buffet
WINDS BUFFET BUFFET
Jackson Blair
Forbes Magazine once declared Warren Buffet of Omaha, Nebraska the world’s richest man. Estimates today list him as the second richest man, behind a fellow down there in Mexico.
Warren Buffet is the CEO of Berkshire Hathaway. The company defies easy description because it owns many businesses engaged in a wide variety of production.
Buffet also defies description. He continues to live in a house he bought decades ago at a price in the $30,000 range. For years he continued to drive an old car. He does not choose to be a “player” in the international Jet Set and he told his great friends Bill and Melinda Gates that he just wasn’t interested in the nitty gritty of giving away billions so could he just put his in their foundation and they could handle that for him.
Perhaps a further quirk were all those Christmas cards over the years signed “Warren, Susie and Astrid.” You see Warren was married to Susie but lived with her good friend Astrid until Susie died. Then Warren married Astrid. Actually, Susie introduced Warren to Astrid when Susie decided to move to California.
Not only can Warren pick stocks, evidently he is a gold medal picker of women. How many of us could expect our wife, worried that we might be lonely while she is away, to seek out and introduce us to one of her friends, who then was encouraged to move in with us.
I digress.
The point I want to make here is that one of the savviest investors of all times managed to lose something in the neighborhood of $11 billion in 2008.
This fact enables all of us who are down a couple thousand bucks, or are worried that we cannot buy next year’s new car or truck, or have to ask the kids to take a job waiting tables so they can still get through college, are all keeping good company with guys like Warren.
The current recession, which to me feels a lot like a depression, has not been an observer of class lines. The rich have seen their non-earned income payments dwindle, the mighty million dollar babies on Wall Street have seen their paychecks drop to zero when famous names in the annals of American business disappear from the scene or suddenly are taking marching orders from the U.S. Government.
Buffet has stated (as quoted in the N.Y. Daily News)
that our “economy will be in shambles in 2009, and perhaps longer, before recovering from the reckless lending.”
When a guy like Buffet, known for his great optimism, puts that out there for the public to consider, we all had best take note. Lets keep in mind that although his company’s profits fell 96% we don’t actually have to take up a collection to buy this fellow lunch. All things in life being relative, Warren is still going to appear in the top five of the wealthiest men in the world when Forbes gets around to that survey again. In fact, there is probably a greater likelihood that Forbes will disappear from the scene than that Warren will be considered poor.
Are you wondering what Warren might advise you to do if you could afford his advice? Warren’s Berkshire Hathaway in the last 52 weeks would have let you buy one share if you had the $147,000 that it cost. Today you can get one share for the bargain basement price of $78,600. What a deal!
Just put down the paper for a moment and run to the phone and call your broker. How many shares are you planning to buy before they go up again sometime in 2050?
I decided a long time ago that I couldn’t afford a share of Warren’s stock so I make a practice of reading everything he has to say. When I know what he is thinking about an industry, I look pretty seriously at that industry and try to find an affordable investment. So when Warren, often called the Oracle of Omaha or the Sage of Omaha, tells me the economy is in a shambles, I look for non-stock investments.
One naturally considers gold. Everybody tells you to buy some gold. If you have gold and the world goes kaput you can trade around with some cavemen or other humans roaming the earth.
Well, I checked with Warren on that idea only to find that around 1998 Warren was speaking at Harvard and some bright young Wall Street bound investment-banker-to-be wore his ignorance on his sleeve and asked the question I planned to ask: how about gold?
Buffet’s comments, related in many a newspaper then and later:
“Gold is non productive. It gets dug out of the ground in Africa or someplace. Then we melt it down, dig another hole, bury it again and pay people to stand around guarding it. It has no utility.”
I pause here because I am running out to sell my supply of gold.
Shortly thereafter I will have to dismiss the guards I had standing around to guard it and they, in turn, will increase the unemployment numbers that the White House will announce next week.
And so the world continues to rotate on her axis, Buffet continues to look for new investments while he is buffeted by the same ill wind that now blows on us all, and each of us tries to guess when it will be the best time to reenter the market.
Unless by market you are referring to the local grocery store, I suggest you sit tight for a while.
Jackson Blair
Forbes Magazine once declared Warren Buffet of Omaha, Nebraska the world’s richest man. Estimates today list him as the second richest man, behind a fellow down there in Mexico.
Warren Buffet is the CEO of Berkshire Hathaway. The company defies easy description because it owns many businesses engaged in a wide variety of production.
Buffet also defies description. He continues to live in a house he bought decades ago at a price in the $30,000 range. For years he continued to drive an old car. He does not choose to be a “player” in the international Jet Set and he told his great friends Bill and Melinda Gates that he just wasn’t interested in the nitty gritty of giving away billions so could he just put his in their foundation and they could handle that for him.
Perhaps a further quirk were all those Christmas cards over the years signed “Warren, Susie and Astrid.” You see Warren was married to Susie but lived with her good friend Astrid until Susie died. Then Warren married Astrid. Actually, Susie introduced Warren to Astrid when Susie decided to move to California.
Not only can Warren pick stocks, evidently he is a gold medal picker of women. How many of us could expect our wife, worried that we might be lonely while she is away, to seek out and introduce us to one of her friends, who then was encouraged to move in with us.
I digress.
The point I want to make here is that one of the savviest investors of all times managed to lose something in the neighborhood of $11 billion in 2008.
This fact enables all of us who are down a couple thousand bucks, or are worried that we cannot buy next year’s new car or truck, or have to ask the kids to take a job waiting tables so they can still get through college, are all keeping good company with guys like Warren.
The current recession, which to me feels a lot like a depression, has not been an observer of class lines. The rich have seen their non-earned income payments dwindle, the mighty million dollar babies on Wall Street have seen their paychecks drop to zero when famous names in the annals of American business disappear from the scene or suddenly are taking marching orders from the U.S. Government.
Buffet has stated (as quoted in the N.Y. Daily News)
that our “economy will be in shambles in 2009, and perhaps longer, before recovering from the reckless lending.”
When a guy like Buffet, known for his great optimism, puts that out there for the public to consider, we all had best take note. Lets keep in mind that although his company’s profits fell 96% we don’t actually have to take up a collection to buy this fellow lunch. All things in life being relative, Warren is still going to appear in the top five of the wealthiest men in the world when Forbes gets around to that survey again. In fact, there is probably a greater likelihood that Forbes will disappear from the scene than that Warren will be considered poor.
Are you wondering what Warren might advise you to do if you could afford his advice? Warren’s Berkshire Hathaway in the last 52 weeks would have let you buy one share if you had the $147,000 that it cost. Today you can get one share for the bargain basement price of $78,600. What a deal!
Just put down the paper for a moment and run to the phone and call your broker. How many shares are you planning to buy before they go up again sometime in 2050?
I decided a long time ago that I couldn’t afford a share of Warren’s stock so I make a practice of reading everything he has to say. When I know what he is thinking about an industry, I look pretty seriously at that industry and try to find an affordable investment. So when Warren, often called the Oracle of Omaha or the Sage of Omaha, tells me the economy is in a shambles, I look for non-stock investments.
One naturally considers gold. Everybody tells you to buy some gold. If you have gold and the world goes kaput you can trade around with some cavemen or other humans roaming the earth.
Well, I checked with Warren on that idea only to find that around 1998 Warren was speaking at Harvard and some bright young Wall Street bound investment-banker-to-be wore his ignorance on his sleeve and asked the question I planned to ask: how about gold?
Buffet’s comments, related in many a newspaper then and later:
“Gold is non productive. It gets dug out of the ground in Africa or someplace. Then we melt it down, dig another hole, bury it again and pay people to stand around guarding it. It has no utility.”
I pause here because I am running out to sell my supply of gold.
Shortly thereafter I will have to dismiss the guards I had standing around to guard it and they, in turn, will increase the unemployment numbers that the White House will announce next week.
And so the world continues to rotate on her axis, Buffet continues to look for new investments while he is buffeted by the same ill wind that now blows on us all, and each of us tries to guess when it will be the best time to reenter the market.
Unless by market you are referring to the local grocery store, I suggest you sit tight for a while.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)