All You Have to Do is Buy a Ticket

A co-worker asked where Clyde and I were going on our next big trip. When I told him we were going to Hong Kong and Tokyo right before Thanksgiving, his eyes opened wide and he shook his head with disgust.

"You ... jet setter!" he said.

He didn't mean anything bad, I don't think. But it amazes me how most people think that world travel is beyond them. I used to be that way until I met Clyde.

My annual trips to San Diego were the extent of my travels. I bought the least expensive plane tickets - the ones with a stop in Houston (a thousand miles out of the way) in the middle of the night. I rented cars from the low cost places where they often ran out of the economy model I reserved. So they bumped me up to something huge like a Yukon which I had to fit into the tiny parking spot at the cheap hotel, where the shampoo comes in a paper envelope.

Then I started hanging out with Clyde and realized, and I said this to my co-worker, that it's easy to go to Hong Kong. All you have to do is buy a ticket and go.

The world is so small now. You can go anywhere. All it takes is money. Then again, my perspective may be that of a relatively financially well off old white man. My dental hygienist, Chris, who I also saw this week (my teeth are fine thank you) is young, I would guess in his 20s. He went on a "once in a lifetime" trip to Japan last spring. Chris is still paying off the credit cards he maxed out to go and he says he won't be going anywhere again for a while.

I remember travel in my 20s. I never saved up to go anywhere. All of it went on credit cards. I never stayed in hotels, always with friends or relatives. Or friends of friends or relatives. I slept on a dining room floor on my first visit to San Francisco. I got around on BART and the public bus, not in a rental car. I hung out with lots of other young people, including some sailors I met who were on leave. It's not what it sounds like, but I did become acquainted with someone under that dining room table.

Anyway, back to the present. Clyde and I put travel at the top of our priorities. We live in a modest home. We drive ordinary cars. We have no debt except a small mortgage, so we can afford two big trips a year and a couple of small ones.

We do get around. But jet setters? I guess I've been called worse.

And with Clyde, I no longer stay in cheap hotels. He has years of corporate travel under his belt with all the benefits. So we rarely stay anywhere but the Marriott. I love the Marriott with its all you can eat breakfast buffets and wonderful coffee. Even in the most humid cities (Hong Kong, Rio), our room is chilly with air conditioning.

That's how grownups travel.

My poor co-worker just bought a house in Arvada. As Clyde and I watch YouTube videos about Japan in order to make plans for our trip, he's probably scraping together his next house payment and college tuition for the kids.

It was fun all those years ago, but I prefer traveling in my 50s with Clyde to crashing under furniture even with, um, temporary travel acquaintences.


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Falling Palms: Autumn in Southern California

There were more people than seats in the tiny little boarding area. I was torn between sitting on the floor or walking around with my heavy carry-on bag. It would surely be more comfortable to sit, but I'd be on a plane for two hours and I thought I should keep off my butt as much as possible.

When the usual boarding rituals finally commenced, I waited anxiously to be allowed on the plane. But first the disabled could board. Then families with small children. Then special club members and people assigned to the seats with extra leg room. I wasn’t in any of these groups. Then the back five rows could board. Then the back 10, and so on.

As people shuffled forward, the gate agent got on the PA system and announced that the flight was overbooked. They needed a volunteer to be bumped to a later flight. In exchange, the volunteer would receive a voucher for a free flight in the future.

 I was so tired, all I wanted to do was get home. Traveling is such a hassle and the less time spent at the airport, the better.

The agent made another announcement: still looking for a volunteer to get bumped. Won't someone please come forward?

I couldn't believe no one wanted that free flight. I suppose everyone was just as tired as I was. On the third request for a volunteer, I heaved myself and my carry-on off the floor and made my way through the gathered passengers. I told the agent that, yes, I would volunteer to get bumped.

Cut to several months later. It occurs to me that I still have the voucher and it will expire after one year if I don't use it. I feel like I have to use it on something special -- not the places I usually fly, which would be San Diego and - well, just San Diego. Frontier's international destinations don't interest me. No other destinations excite me. I suppose I could get worked up about going to Florida to visit Disney World and the retro-futuristic Epcot Center. Key West might be fun, but everyone in the advertising is so thin and hairless, I wouldn't fit in. New Orleans is fun, although I don't have many sober memories of it. Forget New York - I'm still not over having to live there in the 80s.

I've been lucky to be able to travel through the years. I've watched a wall of fog envelope San Francisco. I've stood on a sandbar in the Gulf of Mexico with a school of little fish encircling my ankles. I've leaned over the edge of a pier, Pacific storm waves soaking my legs high above the normal waterline as dolphins and pelicans just yards away feasted on the stuff stirred up by the surf. I've been totally confused by driving on the left side while coming to a roundabout in the UK. I smelled the breath of a humpback whale off the coast of Cape Cod. Last year I went to a retreat in West Virginia - Appalachia in the autumn.

I've been around. I once even took a cruise off the coast of Nebraska - a steamboat on the Missouri River. We went from Brownville down to the nuclear power plant and turned around.

Is there any place that I would like to see but haven't? Not really. My favorite vacations are the ones where I do a lot of beach walking and sitting and relaxing. Guess I'll go to San Diego again - this will be twice in one year.

Southern California in the autumn. Doesn't conjure images of falling leaves and crisp chilly mornings. But to be fair, those big palms do fall off the trees. You could get killed if you happened to be under one as it lands. I will take my chances.  Meanwhile, the voucher was generous and I am, this time, able to upgrade to the special seating with extra leg room. Looks like I’ll be among the first to board this time.

Vacation Bender – A Cautionary Tale

(The following content may not be suitable for all readers.)

Boy, did I go on a bender.

I’m not talking about alcohol. I don’t touch the stuff.

Party drugs? Hardly.

Sex? I wish ...

No, this was a gigantic, out of control, week-long, food binge.

My annual vacation to San Diego was great. I attended a workshop, hiked for miles along cliffs and beaches, observed newborn seals nursing, and drove with the windows down. There was, however, a darker side. It seems that six months of disciplined Weight Watchers goes right out the window when I’m away from home.

To start with, I went to IHOP on the way to the airport. IHOP is very interesting at 3:00 a.m. when the booths are full of the post-bar crowd, roughly counting great amounts of cash and seemingly unaware of Colorado’s smoking laws.

Anyway, it was “All You Can Eat Pancake Day.” The pancake breakfast comes with hash browns, bacon, and eggs. I very sensibly skipped the eggs (I’m allergic). But have you had IHOP pancakes lately? They’re so fluffy. I had to have a second serving. It was going to be a long day, and I didn’t know when I was going to eat again.

By the time I got to the airport I wanted a diet coke. I got to the cookie place on Consourse A just as they were pulling the giant fresh snickerdoodles out of the oven. Hot cookies go well with diet coke.

I think I blacked out after that. The next thing I remember was sitting in a booth at the Point Loma (San Diego) Dennys sinking my teeth into a patty melt where the rye bread was buttered and crisply toasted with two kinds of cheese melted over the juicy burger. That Denny’s has great fries which come out hot and crisp, and it would be almost rude not to follow all that with an Oreo milkshake.

My hotel room was on the top floor overlooking the harbor. Like all hotels these days, breakfast is included – bagels, waffles, whole milk for the Raisin Bran – need I say more? The room also had a refrigerator and microwave - perfect for making popcorn and stashing some of those juicy fresh California oranges.

And since I had those appliances in the room, I could save money by eating in part of the week. So I went shopping at Vons.

Vons is a supermarket chain in California and the Vons on Rosecrans is beautiful. Being in Southern California, part of the store is permanently outside. And that bakery! Well, it couldn’t hurt to just buy one box of those big chewy cookies and spread them out all week. Unfortunately, I got through them in two days and had to go back to Vons for more.

When traveling, it’s important to avail one’s self of local food. In-N-Out Burger is a very popular chain in Southern California, but I controlled myself by only getting the single cheeseburger and fries, not the double. And I very smartly drank diet coke while somewhere in the back of my mind, a little voice was saying, well, something. I decided not to listen.

Did you know there was a Baskin Robbins on Point Loma Boulevard? Right on the way to the beach! I was on vacation you know, and I could count it as lunch.

After a peppermint shake, I decided to go healthy for dinner so after a couple hours of beach time, it was back to Vons where I bought a little container of Tomato Bisque soup. I could almost hear songs of praise from the Weight Watchers angels congratulating me on my moderation.

Two delicious spoonfuls in, I noticed on the ingredients that the soup was made with butternut squash. Squash is one of those things that, um, causes my intestines to explode. I couldn’t pour that stuff down the drain fast enough.

I was too worried about my stomach to go out. Fortunately there were some cookies left, and some popcorn.

You know what I haven’t had since last summer? Papa John’s pizza. I figured if it was just cheese on a thin crust, it couldn’t be too bad. I could eat half one evening and save the rest. But the box didn’t fit in the little hotel refrigerator, so I ate the whole thing.

Finally, my trip was coming to an end.

In exchange for being bumped to a later flight, I received a voucher for a future Frontier trip. And for my trouble, the airline also gave me some food vouchers to use during my nine extra hours at the airport. It’s not easy to eat healthy at an airport.

The Chillis at San Diego International is a nice big one where you sit down and get waited on. The fries are ok, but not as good as Dennys. I chased that down with a fancy coffee drink and a big cookie at Starbucks.

That was lunch. I had another voucher and needed dinner before catching the late night flight.

One of the things I’ve bragged about since starting Weight Watchers is something that, well, I can no longer brag about.

But when I sank my teeth into that long-forbidden, salty, two all-beef patties, special sauce – you know the rest - Big Mac, and fries, my relapse was complete.

Back home in Denver, carrying nine extra pounds, I went to King Soopers for basics. The big soft cookies beckoned from the bakery but I kept going. Now that I’m home, whenever I get a hunger pang, which is about every 15 minutes, I reach for the grapes.

A One-Finger Salute to February

I've had it. I don’t know how long I can stand it. I hate constantly being chilled to the bone even inside my home. I feel like an astronaut when I have to put on boots, coat, scarf, gloves, and hat just to take my trash out. Is it right that my fingers hurt every time I go outside? Why is it that the interior of my car doesn't warm up until I pull into the parking lot of my destination?

I usually keep a good perspective on the darkest time of year - at first. Early winter has it's enjoyable moments. The holidays sparkle with colored lights and festive merriment. It's fun to pull those sweaters out of storage. The afghan on the sofa beckons cozily. Fantasies of toasty soup and hot chocolate envision a season of cocooning in front of a fire, or in my case, the television.

But by February, the sparkle has turned to gray slush. This is the long stretch between holidays (Valentine’s Day doesn't count unless you're in a new relationship or work for Hallmark) when the drudgery of living without something to look forward to is compounded by endless darkness and cheerless dreariness.

This last round of below zero temperatures pushed me to the limit. I actually wore four shirts at the same time, in hopes of being a little warmer. I considered wearing mittens to bed except it brought to mind an eccentric uncle who wore gloves in the summer.

If Colorado’s Front Range isn't encased in snow and ice this time of year, it's dry and brown. The plains are dusty, dirty, and smoggy between snows. I am aware that the sun is up a little longer each day (everyone is reminding me), but the warmth of spring and the smell of green grass is still a distant dream. And our snowiest month, March, hasn't even started yet.

This past week as I shivered under a heavy blanket and two cats, I watched blizzard coverage on WGN, the TV station out of Chicago that everyone gets on cable. The Windy City was socked with their third worst snow in history, stranding motorists for hours and causing headaches for the outgoing Daley administration. Hey, I'm from Nebraska - I love seeing weather on TV.

I remember winters in the Midwest. One year in Lincoln, my front tire got caught in the same ice rut multiple times over a period of months. It didn’t melt. It might still be there. I remember not seeing the sun for weeks at a time. Denver is downright tropical by comparison. At least our snow melts between snowfalls and we do have the occasional 60 degree day.

Ah! 60 degrees! That's around the average temperature in San Diego this time of year. Sometimes it's a lot warmer. But there is no snow, at least down in the city. There is occasionally snow up in the nearby mountains, causing many who live at sea level to drive up a couple thousand feet to see it. Watching local weather in California, I’m amazed that, unencumbered by snow tires, people visit the chilly mountains wearing flip-flops and actually roll around in the freezing stuff I desperately try to escape.

Next week I will take my 12th annual vacation to San Diego. Leaving a poor winter-bound friend to sit my house and cats, I'll be staying at a nice hotel, Facebooking on a balcony looking over the bay at the downtown skyline. I'll have to motivate myself to drive over a big hill to get to the beach, but I'll be wearing shorts. There’s an In-N-Out Burger on the way. I'll drive with the windows down. I'll gaze at palm trees and think about how they don’t look real. I'll walk barefoot in salty wet sand.

When I return from 10 days of lovely California sunshine, April will be that much closer. And if it rains, I’ll still enjoy myself. Rain isn’t snow.

Open Up that Golden Gate – Maybe (Part 1)

I’m seriously considering a move to Southern California. That’s a big temptation considering we’re in the middle of one of those famous Colorado March snowstorms. But this has been on my mind a long while.

I’ve considered the Golden State many times over the decades. When first graduating with my teaching degree in the 1980s, I interviewed with several California school systems. I even passed the California Basic Educational Skills Test (CBEST) to qualify.

Later, I married a man from San Francisco who made the move east to be with me. He nearly talked me into returning to the Bay Area with him, and then decided to go - alone. I came that close to living in Frisco (that’s passive aggressive for San Francisco – they hate it when you say Frisco – and while you’re there, ask them about their trolley cars – they hate it when you call the cable cars trolleys).

Probably best I didn’t go.

The past decade I’ve vacationed in San Diego once or more a year. Southern Cal is warmer and less densely packed than San Francisco, which has a somewhat Manhattan feel to it – including the provincialism and snobbery. I did time in Manhattan long ago. No need to repeat that miserable experience.

Historically, Colorado’s Front Range is a stop on the way west. Many young Boomers were on their way to California when their VW vans ran out of gas near Boulder and they ended up staying. Perhaps I’m gassed up again and ready to go.

I know what you’re thinking, but Denver has traffic and smog too.

Last month in San Diego, for some perhaps fortuitous reason, I ran into a lot of people who had lived in Colorado for many years. To a person, they loved California and had no regrets about relocating. When I asked about contending with traffic, high cost of living, and earthquakes, they replied that it was, and I quote, “Totally worth it.”

Regular readers will remember that in September, I considered a move to Chicago. Well, as the temperature dropped and relatively mild Denver began its annual six month chill, I realized that one winter in Chicago would kill me dead.

Now it looks like if I want to pursue them, some opportunities may soon arise on “the coast.” Even if those particular opportunities don’t materialize, I may just go find some more.

It’s also possible that as April arrives and the grass greens up, I’ll forget all about it – until November.

In the next BillsWeek, some pros and cons of picking up my middle aged ass and heading into the sunset.

Bayside on V-Day

Sitting on my balcony overlooking the bay
Left snowy Denver early today
Toes wiggling in the open air, computer on my lap
San Diego skyline brightens Valentine crap
Palm trees waving gently, lowering my stress
Went to Orange County, was not overly impressed.

Reasons Why I go to San Diego Every February: A BillsWeek List

Surfers off Ocean Beach Pier


• The smell of green grass.
• Palm trees.
• The Pacific Ocean.
• Surfers in the Pacific Ocean.
• Spring-like temperatures generally in the 60s (this time of year). I’ve been there when it’s been in the 80s and the 40s, however, so dressing in layers is a good idea.
• Wildlife in The Pacific Ocean (seagulls hanging out, pelicans diving off the pier for fish, sometimes I even see dolphins).
• Wearing shorts and sandals outside.
• Ocean, Coronado, and La Jolla Beaches – where I spend hours and hours walking along the Pacific Ocean in my shorts and sandals.
• Ocean Beach Pier: the longest on the west coast and a great place to watch the large waves coming in off the great Pacific Ocean.
• Balboa Park – site of the 1915 World Exposition, an outdoor pipe organ, and palm trees. You can also lie on the green grass and watch big jets fly just over your head on their way to the local airport.
• The airport, by the way, is conveniently located near downtown, just minutes from wherever you want to go, unlike some other airports which are miles and miles and miles away from the city out in the middle of nowhere.
• Cheaper to get to than Hawaii or Australia.
• The option to visit Sea World, the Wildlife Park, a first class zoo, the Scripps Aquarium, whale watches, the Maritime Museum (where you can walk around on an old sailing ship which carried immigrants from England to New Zealand I believe), Los Angeles just up the road, or Mexico just down the road. Of course I rarely or never do these things, but it’s nice to have the option.
• People in San Diego drive up to their local mountains when it snows. I do not do this.
• Flowers blooming.
• This is the time of year when the seals at La Jolla give birth to their pups. So cool to see those wiggly little babies torment their more staid elders.
• Watching air craft carriers and huge Navy ships come and go. There are also sailors.
• Hiking on the Sunset Cliffs. In shorts. In winter.
• I don’t care what anybody says, I think California is awesome!

Breaking Up the Long Winter Blah

As winters go, Denver isn’t bad. We occasionally get the big snows, but it melts within days. We don’t have the ruts of ice on the street that you find in the midwest. When I lived in eastern Nebraska, that first November snow was still there in March as a pile of dark, hard ice. Here in the mile high, the winter temps can climb into in the 50s. The sky is often a magnificent deep blue, and the snow covered Rocky Mountains stand guard over the city.

But in my opinion, this time of year still sucks, even in Colorado. From my office window, I can see a carpet of dirty air lying over the region. “You mean we are breathing that stuff?” we regularly say of the infamous winter “Brown Cloud.” All the trees are bare and, well, brown, and while we're at it, so is the grass. There is not a stitch of green anywhere.

There are many Coloradoans whose favorite season is winter. I am not one of them. No matter how luxurious the "champagne powder snow" is up in the mountains, it’s still brown down here.

The colder weather is tolerable during November and December. There are holidays to look forward to, and time off from work. Pretty colored lights brighten the darkness. It's fun to get out the sweaters and flannel sheets.

By mid-February, Christmas is a distant memory and Memorial Day is impossibly far away. There seems no relief from the dark nights and brown days. I've always hated February.

There are parts of the world, however, that are warm and spring like - where people wear shorts and don't have to put on a coat, gloves, and a scarf just to take out the trash.

About a decade ago, I added a new holiday to my year. In the middle of every February, I pack my shorts and head to the sunny city of San Diego. In February, southern California basks in the comfortable 60s and 70s. I spend most of my time walking up and down the beautiful beaches or watching huge Navy ships moving in and out of the bay. I have all the tourist areas practically to myself because Californians, having a different perspective on winter, are too cold to venture out when it’s only 65 degrees.

I should mention that I did go to south Florida once and it was ok, but Florida weirds me out. It's so flat. I don't understand why the ocean doesn't just wash over the whole state. I had trouble sleeping for the anxiety of it. And culturally, Florida is basically New Jersey south. I was never comfortable with the aggressive rudeness of the east. In California, people are friendly and courteous, just like at home.

But unlike home, San Diego has a beautiful coast punctuated by sandy beaches and dramatic cliffs. Flowers bloom all year around. The grass is green. You can go to concerts in the park - in February!

I love San Diego. A week from now I'll be heading out there for the eleventh year in a row.

Up yours winter!

When I come back from “the coast,” spring will only be a few weeks away and I will have worn my shorts.