Mugged

Wendall -- every other Thursday

Like my protagonist, Cyd Redondo, I am a “carry-on only” traveler. 

We’ve all had airlines lose our luggage, either temporarily or permanently, but it was only in my twenties, after I was horrified to recognizes a few of my “scanties” circling the luggage carousel—the handlers had destroyed one of my duffel bags and only partially duct-taped it back together—that I decided never to check a bag again.

Who wants this, really?

 

This makes a lot of things easier, including checking in and arriving at my destination, not to mention reducing stress, but the downside is that it limits the kind of treasures I can bring back from my travels, both international and domestic.

The top of our fridge. The bottom is also full of commemorative magnets.

 

Since I am a Million Miler plus on American, this means I have an inordinate number of postcards, magnets, pens and hotel pads, jewelry, scarves, and coffee mugs.

When we moved last year, I found many of the treasures I was able to tuck away in my two pieces of carry-on and, even though the items in my hoard are small, they still conjure up the delight I felt when I found them, and also some sadness, since many of the places I loved—like the original Sahara Hotel or our favorite restaurant in Carpinteria, Sly’s—are gone. 

 

 

James and I stayed at the Sahara the weekend we got married. And many times after, until it was sold and ruined. This mug has been glued back together, twice!

 

Although there is still a decent restaurant in the old Sly's space, it's not the same. Glad we have the mug.

 

Also glad I have the mug from the London book store where I found most of the books I've used for one of my current works in progress.

 

The booksellers in Wildys deserve a medal.

 

Here are a few more mugs I've dragged home over the years.

One of my favorites, from the Museum of New Zealand Te Papa Tongarewa.

We always try to get exhibition mugs. Particularly happy still to have the MOMA Picasso mug from '96 and the Titanic mug from Belfast.

 

 

And from concerts I've traveled to.

 Hotel mugs, always, if they have them.

I always stayed in the Niche Hotel in Newcastle when I lectured there.

 

And the Beverly Hills Hotel mug was a must, right?

I've been to Santa Fe many times, and have the mugs to show for it.

The mug on the far left features a Harvey Girl, from the exhibit in the New Mexico Historical Museum.

I've brought too many mugs home from England, but here are some of my favorites. The T.E. Lawrence mug from the National Portrait Library, the Lewis Chessmen and 250 year anniversary mugs from the British Museum, and a mug from my favorite store in Bloomsbury, Edwards and Todd.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You can never have too many mugs from the British Library. Here's Alice Underground and one of my favorites from the Penguin mug collection.

 

What do you all bring back from your travels?

 

--Wendall

Short People of the World Unite: Fairness in Flying

Annamaria on Monday

I have a HUGE beef to air!

First of all "huge" is not a word that has ever applied to me.  I am not the skinny sylph I used to be, but I am short!  When we gather to take a group photo, my blogmates hum choruses of "We'd like to welcome you to Munchkinland."

Here is the sort of plane that took me and my friend Nicoletta around Kenya and Tanzania over the past month.  

The night before we took off in this little number, when all the bags were packed and I was already in my jammies, my travel agent sent me the vouchers for our flight the next day from Nairobi to the Masai Mara.  I gave them a cursory glance and went nighty-night.  The next morning in the car on our way to the airport, I discovered that the fine print on the ticket included a baggage weight limit of 15 kilos.  My two small bags I later learned weighed just over 24.

I figure the weight limit has something to do with the amount of fuel the plane needs to cart around a big bunch of avoirdupois.     

The guy at the checkin counter suggested that I leave one of my bags behind, at the airline company's storage.  But.  The flight was leaving in twenty minutes and my underwear was in one and my shoes in the other.  And for reasons I am sure you can understand, I did not want to sort through my undies in the airport waiting room.

I asked what the charge would be for the extra weight.  Sixty-four dollars was the answer.

$64??????

Flabbergasted as I was, the basic unfairness of this rule inspired my argument.  "How much do you weigh?" I asked the hefty guy behind the counter.  His answer: 102 kilos.  "If you bought a ticket on this flight," I asked, "would yours cost the same as mine?"

This is not the man at the airport, but my dear friend,
wonderful writer and publisher--Shel Arensen.  I include
the photo to show the difference between me and another
potential passenger who would also be allowed
15 K of luggage.

"Yes, certainly, I wold pay the same," the big guy said.

So I argued that fully-clothed, shoes and all, I weigh just under 70 K.  Therefore, my "overweight" baggage and I - put together - weighed less than he, all by himself.  Therefore,  I should be able to take my bags without an extra charge.

It didn't work.  Not really.  In the end they gave me a reduction in the cost, but I still had to fork over fifty bucks for the privilege of taking my belongings with me.

Nicoletta kindly took this picture after the return flight.
The man to my left paid less to fly than I did for me and
my luggage.  AARRGGHHH!!!

Now I ask you, is this right?  Is this fair?

NOT FAIR!!!

PS: I also think that people 5"2' should get the front seats in the theatre.

The Safest Way To Travel?

Zoë Sharp

Last Tuesday, January 22, a Piper PA-46 took off from Nantes in France. On board were the pilot, Dave Ibbotson, and Argentinian football (soccer) player, Emiliano Sala. Sala had just been transferred from FC Nantes to British Premier League club, Cardiff City.

Tragically, the plane disappeared from radar somewhere near the Channel Islands and a search of the area has so far revealed no trace of the aircraft or passengers. Investigations are still ongoing, but it seems another example of the dangers of private air travel.

Looking back over the years, we’ve lost a lot of famous names in private aircraft of one form or another. The very first could be claimed to be Charles Rolls, co-founder of Rolls-Royce, in 1910. He died when the Wright Flyer he was piloting broke up in mid-air.

Musicians seem a particularly hard hit profession when it comes to air accidents. When his tour bus broke down in Iowa in 1959, Buddy Holly decided to fly to Fargo, North Dakota. Holly, together with his guitarist Richie Valens, and JP ‘the Big Bopper’ Richardson, died when the plane crashed shortly after take-off.

Then there was Patsy Cline in 1963, Ricky Nelson in 1985, Reba McEntire’s whole band in 1991—McEntire herself was taking a later flight—and John Denver in 1997.

The sporting world has had its share of tragedies, too, not least of which is this latest crash. Motorcycle champion Steve Hislop died in a helicopter crash in 2003, as did Scottish World Champion rally driver, Colin McRae in 2007. In November 2017, baseball pitcher Roy Halladay died in a plane crash in the Gulf of Mexico.

Before you cancel your next holiday flight abroad, bear in mind the statistics. We are constantly told that flying is still one of the safest ways to travel. That you take a far greater risk every time you get into your car. 

Or do you?

Certainly, when I've been writing the Charlie Fox series, she's been in more than her share of crashes involving vehicles (can't call them 'accidents' when most were intentional) but she's only been in one helicopter which was actually shot down in flight. (As yet...)

Anyway, while commercial aviation has improved its safety rating over the past few decades, general aviation has remained static. The latest figure I could find for general aviation—counted as all domestic civilian flights—equates to 1.05 fatalities for every 100,000 hours flown. That was in 2013.

That same year in the US, there were two deaths in commercial plane accidents. Before that, fifty people were killed when a Colgan Air flight crashed in New York in 2009.

In 2013, figures show that 32,719 people were killed in traffic accidents. But, as traffic fatalities are calculated on the basis of per mile travelled, while those for air accidents are worked out on the number of hours, you have to do a bit of maths to equate the two. Cars equal 1.1 deaths per 100 million vehicle-miles. To work this out in a way that can be compared to flight, you have to assume an average speed, which is a hugely elastic thing to do. A fascinating article on the Live Science website from 2017 gave figures based on a 50mph average. But in NYC motorists apparently spend 91 hours a year battling gridlock, when their average speed is just 7.4mph. 

But, on the assumption of a 50mph average, the fatality rate for vehicles works out as 1.1 for every two million hours. And comparing general aviation in those terms shows 21 fatalities per two million hours. So, general aviation—that’s private, not regular commercial flights—is about 19 times more dangerous than going by car.

This year’s World Economic Forum is currently taking place in Davos, Switzerland. During the four-day summit, one of the major issues being addressed is how best to tackle climate change. Experts estimate there will be a record 1500 private aircraft flying in global leaders. I wonder how many of them might be persuaded to take alternative means of transport, if not for the good of the planet, then for their own safety?

This week’s Word of the Week is altiloquent, meaning loud, elevated, pompous of high-flown speech or writing. From the Latin altus meaning high and loquens, having the power of speech.