July 28, 2005

Europe 2005 - Day One

Somewhere over the Great Lakes. I haven't written seriously by in hand in what seems like several years, so forgive me the choppiness of style while I cope with the burden of a pen and paper.

As I am sitting here, attempting once again to remember the lost art of longhand, the plane is heading towards London's Heathrow Airport at the astonishing speed of 622 MPH. It's a Boeing 777, a model I don't recall ever traveling in before and not one I will look forward to in the future, considering several poor design elements that make it markedly inferior to my personal favorite, the Boeing 747.

This trip, unlike the one to Cancun in December 2003, started without much melodrama, at the almost decent time of 7 AM PDT. Only minor complications interfered with our arrival at Los Angeles International Airport, not the least of which was the inexplicable shutdown of two lanes on Century Blvd., for what appeared to be the perenially stupid digging and refilling of holes.

At LAX, I also had the distinct displeasure of discovering the world's worst Burger King (sic!). Combined with a Starbucks Coffee, and with available standing space for maybe 50 people, it was catering to atleast twice that many customers, and doing a bad job of it to boot. First, there was absolutely no space for both customers and luggage in the coroned off line, a matter that was severely complicated by the presence of a door in the middle and the abnormally large number of major deliveries needing to be processed through the said door. Also, for unknown reasons, it seemed the employees of this establishment were more than happy to take customer orders, but very reticent to actually serve any food. Add to that a woman with no notion of an outdoor voice announcing orders, dozens of crying children (and corresponding irate parents), and hundreds of shuffling roller wheels, and what you had was absolute pandemonium and a 50 minute wait for a box of chicken tenders.

Thankfully, the idiotic Burger King seemed to be the most severe episode of bullshit before our exit from the States, as the flight to Chicago's O'Hare and corresponding layover went by without incident. In fact, I was actually able to finish two novels on my summer reading list, Vladimir Nabokov's Despair, and Albert Camus' The Stranger, for which you can find my book reviews on this site. With any luck, the remainder of this flight and subsequent trip to our hotel in London will be equally uneventful.