FROM LOS ANGELES

(click on images to enlarge)

Leaving LA

PARIS, May 4, 2008 - When I got into the cab that was to take me to the Los Angeles airport (LAX), I found my knees bumping against the back of the front bench.  "Can you move this forward a bit?" I asked the driver. 

He shook his head and smiled.  He had a nice smile. "Why don't you sit upfront with me?"

I did.  This led to an interesting conversation with this young man, probably in his late 20s.  He told me he he was originally from Kenya.  Went to New York, graduated from high school there, and then moved to LA some eight years ago.  "I didn't like the weather in New York," he said.  "Too cold."

What I found particularly fascinating about him besides his gentle demeanor was that he spoke seven languages - Kenyan, Somali, Swahili, Mozambiquean, French, Italian and English.  And that he had traveled to 95 of Africa's 98 countries.  "I could make my living as a tour guide," he said. 

And will he go back?

"I'll go back in 2010."

"Why 2010?"

"Because that's when the World Cup (of soccer) is being held in South Africa.  It will be the first time ever in Africa.  And my country has qualified.  So I want to go and see them play."

Soccer passions... they are the same world over.  Except in North America, of course.

Once at the LAX, thought I'd let you see a "positive" and a "negative" of yours truly at the Air France lounge.  "Here's looking at you kid," as Bogart said in "Casablanca" - I said to a friend back home to whom I sent the "positive" version.  :-)  And then I heard a cute boarding call... for the flight to Papetee (Tahiti).  "A bunch of lucky-ducks...", I thought.  Once I almost ended up there, but changed my plans and went to Maui instead.  No regrets.  That was the trip on which I wrote "Between Two Volcanoes" (Dec 2005) that started changing and centering my life.

Heathrow: An Airport to Avoid

Based on my several other unhappy experiences with Air France, I was a bit apprehensive about the upcoming 10-hour flight when I boarded the aircraft at the LAX.  But everything went surprisingly well. The equipment was a brand new Boeing 777, well appointed, the staff were very courteous and friendly.  The seats stretched into a bed so that I slept seven-eight hours, which is pretty amazing as far as overseas flights go.

I woke up as we were flying over Scotland (left), and then starting clicking with my camera as we were approaching Heathrow.  The yellow patches you see among the green meadows are probably mustard fields.  I learned that some eight years ago when I saw the same thing around Prague at exactly this time of the year.  A friend later suggested that the ellow flowers may be canola or rape seed oil.

I didn't know there was so much water around Heathrow, almost like landing at LaGuardia (NY) or at Dallas Forth Worth.  Anyway, we were glad to be finally on 'terra firma.' But as we exited the aircraft and came to the end of the jetway, we found the door locked. 

"This happened to me also the last time I was here," a pretty blonde said, the first passenger to reach the barrier. 

We waited for about three or four minutes before finally someone showed up with a key.  Meanwhile, the jetway had become packed with people impatient to get on with their lives.  "This is also a fire hazard, you know," the blonde said.

As we proceeded to the next chamber, we found that door locked as well.  And again, there were no airline or airport staff on hand to unlock it.  After some yelling down the jetway to get someone's attention, finally somebody showed up and unlocked it.  And yes, you probably guessed it, it happened the third time, too.  They say trouble always comes in three's.

As you can see, the now infamous Terminal 5 is not the only place at Heathrow that doesn't function properly.  "Why are you so disorganized?" I asked the airline staff member who unlocked the third door. 

"I'm sorry," is all I got by way of reply.  It was a statement echoed several times again during the next hour or so.

First, because I followed the signs to "Connecting Flights" in Terminal 2, where we arrived, only to find myself in Terminal 1, and having to go through security again.  So when I told the ground staff there where I was going (to Paris), they sent me back to Terminal 2, from where I had just come.  I did not mind the walk after a long flight.  But the stupidity of the Heathrow signs and practices is becoming legendary.

Not to be outdone by the British, the French then stepped forth to hoist their claim to competition in superciliousness. When I arrived at the Air France lounge in Terminal 2, they refused entry even though I had just flown in business class from LA to London.  Since the business class was sold out on the London-Paris flight, I was booked in coach.  Never mind that I am also flying first class tomorrow on Air France from Paris to Belgrade, and that they could see on their computer my Platinum and Gold status with Delta - their partner who booked this trip, and my  permanent membership in Delta's Crown Room.

"Rules are rules," Jean Marc said, the Air France attendant in the lounge.  And Rita, the supervisor who was also called into action, seconded that.

"Rules may be rules, but what about common sense?" I said.  "Is that something that you leave at home before going to work, or just don't have at all?"

No budging.  The three Air France staff remained firmly and proudly ntrenched behind the rule book.  Which made me coin a new word - enfrenched (as a synonym of entrenched).  Lest we forget, "it is the French that invented the word bureaucracy," I reminded the Air France people.  The British only copied the idea and the rest of the world followed. 

As someone once told me about the French generals, "they never forget anything.  But they never learn anything, either."  But it was all good fun.  As I said to a friend with whom I spoke from Heathrow this afternoon, the beautiful thing about snafus like this is they are always good fodder for stories.

[Since this was basically just a visit to the London airport, for those of you who would like to join me for a "real" visit to London town, check out my  travelogues from six weeks ago: London, March 2008].

Tour of Air France Terminal

A cute group of kids all wearing their Sheffield red outfits was evidently on an excursion to Paris, so I took a snap of them (left).  We arrived in Paris more or less on time, around 8:30PM this evening, as the sun was starting to set.  It took me about half an hour of walking back and forth and three overseas phone calls (to Hilton) to find out where the hotel shuttle pick up spot is at Terminal 2F, where we arrived.  I was given conflicting directions by four different people, including the hotel operator. When I finally found the spot, it was in the middle between the two terminals.  And the most interesting thing about all this was that I had to go through all this hassle, and talk to all these people, because there is not a single sign pointing to the hotel or any other shuttles at this terminal that is a pride and joy of French aviation architecture.  Why make things simple if you could test the travelers' intelligence, patience and stamina by letting them figure things out the hard way? Guess that's the French way. 

So a fair warning to everyone traveling through Heathrow or Charles de Gaulle airports.  Make sure you have your wits about you.  And pack plenty of patience in your hand-carry baggage.

The good news is - I am near a bed now.  So good night!

P.S. By the way, the Hilton at which I am staying tonight (right photo, taken May 5) brings back memories of another momentous stay in Paris, on a cold and foggy night in early December 1995.  Paris was snarled by one of its infamous transportation workers' strikes.  And my flight out of Charles de Gaulle was canceled due to fog.  So it was a double whammy of bad luck.  Which turned out to be good luck again - a silver lining that led to a story. 

I checked myself into this Hilton hotel hoping the fog would lift by mid-day.  I used that time to write, what turned out to be, one of the seminal pieces I have ever written - "When Cultures Collide." The idea of a U.S. disintegration along demographic lines was born in Vienna in Sep 1993.  It percolated at the back of my head for over two years, and finally came to fruition in Paris on that cold and foggy December night. The article was published eight months later by the Washington Times, among others.

[Since this was basically just a visit to the Paris airport, for those of you who would like to join me for a "real" visit to Paris, check out my  travelogues from six weeks ago: Paris, March 2008].

Leaving Paris

PARIS, May 5, 2008 - First of all, happy Cinco de Mayo to those of my friends in the Southwest who know what this Mexican holiday is. 

I woke up early this morning in time to catch a beautiful sunrise on this lovely sunny morning in the French capital (left).  I also got a glimpse of former French (and British) glory - the supersonic jet Concord which no longer flies (middle right).  The model you are seeing here is basically a museum piece.  The check at the new Air France Terminal 2E was very smooth this morning.  I remember going through many hassles in the last several years while this terminal was being constructed.  But now it is very nice and very spacious, as you can see from the two right photos.  The perfume shop (middle right) was probably the biggest I have ever seen anywhere.  Guess that's to be expected in Paris.  And the Air France lounge was also one of the largest I have seen (rightmost photo).

More importantly, everything works (the wireless connection and all other amenities) so I am sending you this message along with the above photos literally minutes after they were taken.

Au revoir from Paris!

TO BE CONTINUED, PROBABLY IN SERBIA... 

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