Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Getting to NYC

TBG was a trooper and drove me to the airport.  We left the house at 6:15 in the morning; I hate setting my alarm for 5:anything so I zoomed around from 6.  There wasn't much to do - shower, dress, pay a bill I had forgotten - which was a good thing.  I was tired.

The Tucson airport is a dream come true for a traveler.  With my printed out boarding passes, I zipped through the security line with only one person ahead of me.  I didn't get the pre-check this trip; sometimes I do and sometimes I don't and I can't figure out why or when.  My Converse came off, my laptop came out, I was scanned and sent on my way.

Our gate was changed from A8 to A7; I kept my seat.  American Airlines offered me an upgrade to Gold Status; that put me in the fourth group to board the plane.  My aisle seat, a small enough man in the middle, a smooth take off and landing and I was in Dallas/Ft. Worth before I finished my book.  It was a simple, easy trip.  I ate my Kashi bar and a plumcot from the stash I'd brought from home.  American thinks club soda is the same thing as sparkling water, and I drank it (it was free, so who am I to complain..... channeling Daddooooo made me smile).

I took the train around DFW to my next gate.  I had an hour between flights, which was enough time to wait on the long long line at Wendy's.  I've been intrigued by their Strawberry Salad advertisements and this was a chance to try one.  It traveled well, the crunchies were scrumptious, the apple balsamic vinegar was tasty, and the spokeswoman is right - cut up lettuce is cut up lettuce, no matter how much you pay for it.

Boarding the next flight finally happened.  We settled in, adjusted the air vents, and were treated to the news that LaGuardia Airport was having traffic issues; we were delayed for an hour.  I didn't have a connection to worry me, so I finished The Silent Wife and had another plumcot.  The skinny young men occupying the rest of my row were silent, too.

Eventually we took off and bumped our way east.  I took the Airporter into the city, couldn't understand the almost-but-not-quite-English instructions from the driver about securing the free shuttle to my hotel, grabbed a cab driven by an Uber-like, friendly twenty something, and was at my boutique hotel five minutes later.

Cabbies in NYC like to talk. Where was I from?  Why was I here?  How long have I been blogging?  Did I use Wordpress?  Did I find it as complicated as he had?  I left him my card; perhaps he's reading about himself right now.  The demographics of the Burrow's readership is changing.

I took my Hotelie friend's advice and strolled across the street to Avra Estiatorio, an upscale Greek restaurant.  Sea bass souvlaki, fresh bread and radishes and olives and humus as freebies.... my tastebuds and I were very very pleased.  I tried to avoid looking at the prices; this is not Tucson and it's scary.

And now I'm happily ensconced in my upgraded room, typing to you.  I know I said that I wouldn't have time, but, apparently, I was wrong.  Tomorrow starts the fun part of the trip.  As travel days go, this one was long and stupid but relatively painless.  I'm glad to have you around to share the stories.

2 comments:

  1. Love your stories. Happy New York time.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Yes certain cabbies do like to talk!.. I'm glad you left your card with me.. will def. be following more of your posts!

    ReplyDelete

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