Random Thoughts on Travel to Hong Kong

• Time is a fluid concept. We had breakfast on the plane (it was Central Time on board I guess) and an hour later we were on the ground at 7:30 p.m. local time. I asked Clyde about dinner, naturally.
• The Arctic Ocean. It's the only way Chicago could conceivably be on the way to Hong Kong. San Francisco seems like it's on the way to Hong Kong but not Chicago. United Airlines had suggested we change our connection from San Francisco to avoid delays due to the terrible California wildfires. So instead of flying over the Pacific Ocean, we flew over the Arctic Ocean. And by going through Chicago, we actually got there an hour earlier. It makes my head spin.
• Hong Kong is a tiny little city by Chinese standards. A mere 7 million inhabitants, it is dwarfed by many other Chinese cities that are home to 25 to 40 million. 
• The Arctic for a second bullet point. Does anyone else think it's mind blowing to be  going on a flight that goes inside the Arctic Circle? I understand in my head that the Earth is round and this is the most direct route. But my mind still can't quite grasp it. 
• It is yesterday at home. 
• In the taxi from the airport train to the hotel, I freaked a little because the driver drove on the left side of the road. I'd temporarily forgotten that in this former British colony, people drive on the left. I thought for sure we were going to crash into oncoming traffic.
• Back to the Arctic, people aren't meant to travel so far north. It isn't natural. Nor is it natural to fly at 30,000 feet. The only natural way to go to China is to travel for several months on foot to the ocean, the Pacific Ocean, take a ship for several more months, and never return. It only took us 15 hours to get here from Chicago. And that's a long travel day by 21st century standards.
• 18th century pioneers went great distances and never returned, but they also never had to make a connection at O'Hare.

The Best and the Worst of the US of A

If you want to see America at our best and at our worst, go to Costco.

Clyde got a household membership through work so he took advantage.

"Do you want to go on Saturday?" he asked.

"Let's go before lunch," I said naively, "we have to meet L___ at 11:00 so why don't we leave here at 9:30."

Now I always allow for way too much time. We both realized that we would be puttering around the store for a whole hour if we did that, so we agreed to leave at 10:00. 30 minutes would be plenty of time to see what this new store was all about.

We couldn't have been more wrong. 30 minutes didn't even cover the food section. If you've never been to Costco before, allow a good two hours to get acquainted. The new member orientation takes 15 minutes, and that's just to get your card with photo ID and to understand all the benefits and discounts.

USA: land of abundance, where there is plenty of everything, much of it affordable and available immediately. At Costco, you can buy a pretty good apple pie and a new washing machine in the same trip.

I'll never forget years ago when a friend visited from Eastern Europe. I had no idea what he'd want to eat, so I waited until he arrived and we went to the supermarket together. His reaction to King Soopers was one of amazement. First of all, it was huge. Not only were there millions of products, but several brands of each product to choose from. In his country, there might be one brand of everything, if it was there at all. And I was worried about how to entertain this guy.

USA: land of unfettered waste and addictive consumerism. We take convenience and immediate gratification so for granted that we're angry when we don't get it.

I recently ordered a washer through another big box retailer and found out I'd have to wait nearly two months for the exact model we wanted. I was livid. When I stop to think about it now, I realize that it's an unusual model that fits in our weird kitchen.  They don't sell that many. It's probably shipped from China on one of those gigantic container ships. It's amazing that it only takes two months.

We completely disregard the resources used and the people whose labor it takes to get those products here. Our biggest worry is where to park the Range Rover on Saturday morning because have you seen that Costco parking lot? I give little thought to where that apple pie is made, where the apples come from, who trucks it in. 

At Costco four pounds of chicken costs the same as one pound at King Soopers. Granted, at King Soopers, I buy the free range organic kind. At Costco, I am so blinded by low prices, I temporarily forget about my free range organic principles.

For all our worldliness, Clyde and I are about as American as you can get. Now we go to Costco. Is a Range Rover in our future? I don't think so. You have to draw the line somewhere.

U.S. Continues to Go Downhill

You think the jackass in the White House and the Republicans in congress can't go any lower, but every day they prove us wrong.

I know Michelle Obama said we're supposed to go high when they go low, but come on. How high can we get?

The recent circus around the confirmation of that blustering pig, Brett Kavanaugh, to the now right wing Supreme Court set me on course to yet another depression about the direction of this country.

I grieved, along with more than half of the rest of the U.S., and the rest of the civilized world, about President Dumb Ass's election two years ago and all of the implications of that. Now some of the worst implications are coming to pass with the confirmation of said blustering pig. Added to that, this week's stark news that we have a decade, more or less, to change our ways before global warming is completely irreversible. Meanwhile Donald Dumbo and the Republicants are actually throwing any progress we've made into reverse.

We look with hope to the rest of the world to take the lead on climate. But things are pretty grim out there too. Brexit is a huge distraction for the UK and was brought about by the same problems that brought us President Turd. And Brexit is more irreversible. Germany, a leader in green, is dealing with a growing right wing. The most environmental progress in the world today is being made in, wait, it can't be, China?

Don't think I've spent the past two years just wallowing in depression. I've redirected more of my energy to social justice. We've all but stopped eating red meat. I got myself appointed to my employer's diversity committee. I give to the ACLU. I'm better about speaking up when I see bigotry in action. I'm more aware of my white privilege. I'm not sure how that helps, but it seems important. I'm doing the best I can.

The country is so divided. And one side is so obviously right and the other so clearly wrong. Even after Dumbo is gone, we will still be a divided nation. With a hot world to live in.

There is one thing that can make a big difference. Now. One thing. And that is to change the direction of the congress, and send a message to state and local governments that we the people have had enough. We are in charge. If this is going to be a democracy, then this is how we take our government back. The way to do it is to vote. Vote. Vote. Vote. I can't say it enough.

A lot of damage has been done, but we can reverse the red tide. A blue congress can put the brakes on the dump administration and even make some good things happen. Let's make a difference now. Let's vote.

And in case you're wondering, I endorse the Democrat side of the ticket.

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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Time to Take Down Those Welcome Signs?

"Yep, this is Colorado. Just keep on moving." 

Clyde and I left the unusually hot temperatures of Denver to view the changing aspen in the high country today. Kenosha pass was particularly colorful - and crowded.

We've never seen so many people up there. The traffic was terrible and parking lots were packed at every trailhead with cars parked along the sides of the roads for miles.

There are too many people in this state. It might be time to take down those "Welcome to Colorful Colorado" signs at the border and replace them with something like, "Yep, this is Colorado. Just keep on moving."

 They say that you can't hike any trail, even in the most remote corners of the state, without running into hordes of other hikers. So many people want to climb every fourteener (mountain over 14,000 feet) that they're like city parks up there.

 I have to confess, I've become kind of indifferent to the mountains in the past few years. Yes, I "oooed" and "ahhhed" at the aspen today, and there were some spectacular views if you could see over the roofs of the SUVs parked along the roadsides. But I hardly ever go to the mountains anymore. I've seen more of the Pacific Ocean in the past few years, more than 1,000 miles away, than the Rockies in my own back yard.

It's not that I don't like the mountains. They are very pretty. When I'm driving around the city, I admire them from afar. When I'm driving around a city where there are no mountains, like Houston, I wonder how people can live without any mountains nearby.

 It's just become a pain to actually go to the mountains. Today, for example. On Highway 285, the alternative to busy I-70, we were in two major traffic jams before noon, on Saturday. I'd rather go to, say, downtown Denver, where the crowds aren't so bad.

Connected by Stories

... her skillet is a tangible reminder that there really were people then, as now, who came to this country looking for a better life.

While visiting my sister recently, we came across an old cast iron specialty skillet used for making ebelskivers, a kind of pancake, muffin thing with fruit (or chocolate or cheese) inside. We remembered that our mother made these every July 4th holiday while we were growing up. Seeing the skillet conjured images of July 4th breakfast parties in our back yard with dozens of people sitting around in lawn chairs eating home made ice cream and playing in the pool.

The skillet originally belonged to Mom's grandmother who came to this country from Germany more than a century ago. For all we know, it was passed to Grandma Rickertsen from a previous generation. It could be older than we think. It's black and heavy and indestructible.

I never knew Grandma Rickertsen. She died before I was born. But I knew her son, my grandfather, who, when encouraged, would tell stories. Mom would occasionally chime in with details and editorial.

Having arrived in Nebraska shortly before World War I, Grandpa's family had to keep pretty close to the farm for their own safety. Americans at that time didn't take kindly to people with German accents. They could be agents for "the Hun."

100 years ago, just like now, immigrants were welcomed with prejudice and ridiculous ignorance. Why would there be German spies in Lexington, Nebraska?

Grandpa told me other stories from his youth: about mischievously digging up hidden beer buried by bootleggers during prohibition in the 1920s - he claimed he emptied the bottles and used them for rootbeer; and about waking up in the 1930s to see his new wife covered in dirt because during the drought induced dust bowl it literally blew through the walls overnight.

Without those stories, the dust bowl would only be a black and white photo. Prohibition would be nothing more than a cartoon. But because someone I know lived though and described them, I see those events as real, happening to living, breathing people.

And even though I never knew Grandma Rickertsen, her skillet is a tangible reminder that there really were people then, as now, who came to this country looking for a better life.  And they weren't just crowds waving on a ship in a crackly old newsreel. They were human beings who carried personal items, like skillets and recipes, with them.

Now we tell countless stories about my mother. There's the time a neighbor shot at her while she walked the dog; and the time she packed a lunch for me and my friends for a day of skiing. When we opened it at noon, we found a note that said, "Keep cold or die," a subtle warning that the mayonnaise might spoil and make us sick. The sandwiches were frozen solid.

Stories about Mom help us to remember her.

On the way home, Clyde and I stopped to see my niece, who I can't quite believe is all grown up and has a child of her own. My great-niece is not yet a year old, but has a winning smile and charming personality. Naturally, the entire world revolves around her. I was eager to hold Kaycee and couldn't help but think about how pleased Mom would be to meet her.

My mother is Kaycee's Grandma Rickertsen. I hope Kaycee gets to enjoy the stories about her great grandmother. Perhaps one day she'll inherit the ebelskiver skillet. I hope she knows it was Grandma Rickertsen's and what a treasure it is.

In case you're wondering, we made ebelskivers for July 4th,  using the recipe Mom attached to the skillet years ago before wrapping it up for posterity. They were delicious.

Enough! I'm Not Sharing My Email Address

It doesn't matter that every other company in the world, from Microsoft to the neighborhood ice cream shop, already has my email address. I'm not giving it to PetSmart.

Way back in the 1970s I went to Radio Shack for an adapter to hook my tape recorder up to my LP stereo so I could play cassettes through the big speakers. I was very high tech back then, and Radio Shack was the place to go for odd little things that nobody else had, such as adapters to hook things up to other things.

Radio Shack was the first place I remember that always asked for your phone number whenever you bought something.  At first it seemed odd, then it became annoying. All I wanted was an adapter. Why did they need my phone number? Even then, I suspected some sort of vast conspiracy though I wasn't sure what it was.

In fact, it was the beginning of the data megastorm that now characterizes the 21st century.

What started as Radio Shack attempting to keep track of individual customer spending is now every company keeping track of everything you do, buy, look up online, and watch on TV.

Our world now runs on data - bits of information you can't even see that fill warehouses full of computers all over the world.

It's so pervasive we don't even think about it. Every rewards program is just a way to keep track of your spending habits so they can figure out how to sell you more. Every click of your mouse is tracked. Every web site you visit is tallied. Department stores know from tracking your cell phone when you walk through their doors. They even know what section you're shopping in. Based on your age, zip code, marital status, and lots of data that doesn't even seem relevant, they can estimate the probability of your buying a particular item. Have you seen the little TVs in some store aisles? They might be programmed to advertise a particular product to you, personally.

And companies don't just collect and use data. They sell it to each other. That's why when minutes after I look up prices for tickets to Hong Kong on the United Airlines web site, I see ads for Hong Kong hotels on Facebook.

The main thing that George Orwell, author of the book, 1984, got wrong is this: it's not the government that tracks your every move with the intention of controlling everything you do, it's big business. Corporations monitor everything you do with the intention of controlling everything you buy. 

I'm sometimes disappointed when the data gods don't work better than they do. Last year after we purchased a brand new TIVO system online, TIVO started sending me advertisements for TIVO systems. Wasn't it smart enough to figure out I'd just bought one? Why would I buy another one so soon? TIVO should wait a year and then push out the new ads.

But then the data harvest gets annoying. It's not enough that businesses passively collect our personal information and then swap and sell it to each other. Sometimes, they mandate it, as if they have a right to it.

PetSmart demands my email address every time I make a purchase. They already have my phone number. I use my credit card every time I shop there. What more do they need? But when I buy cat food, the check out clerk doesn't politely ask for my email address, she commands me to give it to her. The system actually won't process my purchase until she enters an email address.

I don't think it's the clerk's fault. She's just taking orders from above. Yet she must suffer my ire when I continue to refuse to give my email to her. I imagine "Corporate" thinks I'll just give in and surrender it, but at this point I'm feeling stubborn. I'll be damned if I'm going to be pressured into giving up any more personal information. It doesn't matter that every other company in the world, from Microsoft to the neighborhood ice cream shop, already has my email address. I'm not giving it to PetSmart.

To complete the transaction, both of us near tears and all of the people behind me in line getting agitated, the PetSmart clerk finally types in a fake email address (noname@noname.com) so the transaction will complete and I can take my cat food home.

I've shopped at PetSmart for years. I am a loyal customer. I appreciate their partnership with shelters to promote adoption of homeless animals. But this is ridiculous. I wonder if PetCo requires an email address when you make a purchase.

Your data is out there no matter what. To fight it is exhausting and probably futile. In addition to the physical "you" there's a data "you" and there's not a thing either of you can do about it.