Everything in my bags was apparently kosher, with one exception. The inspector seemed to go berserk when she came across my electric shaver. I explained to her what it was, but my word was obviously not good enough. She gingerly placed it in a basket and took it to the X-ray. The X-ray operator ran it back and four seven different times until he finally was convinced it was indeed a shaver. The woman threw the razor down on the table and then rather rudely told me to hurry and get everything packed up, as other people were waiting.
There was a luggage check station right in the Prosegur area. I took my bag there, they placed a barcoded sticker with no wording on it, and it disappeared into the wall. I had my doubts about seeing anything again.
The formalities at exit customs were routine, but there were more delays as we passed through security to the departure gates. There was even more security past there. Guardia officers with dogs walked up and down the concourses, and a few people (fortunately no one in our group) were singled out for additional inspections. Then as we made our way down the jetway they randomly chose a few people (again none of us, thank goodness) for hand searches of their carry-on bags.
As we waited to board Michelle complained loudly about the fact that we had not switched places on the bus. In particular she seemed upset at me because I had "hogged" the front seat throughout the trip. Honestly I was rather offended by her attitude. I sat in front because on the first day in Paris I was one of the last people to board, and that seat was just about all that was available. I'd have been happy to move had anybody asked me to. We rotated on the tour I took in 1985, and that worked well. Absolutely no one-Michelle included-suggested this at any time during the trip, though, and it seemed that now was hardly the time to be belly aching about it.
We boarded the plane and left the gate, but our actual departure was delayed by traffic. I was dead tired, and I sort of faded in and out as we taxied for what seemed like forever. It was actually only about 15 minutes, and we were in the air at 11:45am.
We again were in a Boeing 777, though this one seemed a bit dirtier than the one we had flown to Paris in. This time the flight plan on the in-seat TV screens kept showing a place in Africa called "Argel". I had no clue where it was at the time, but I found out since it is the Spanish word for Algiers, the largest city in north Africa. It was also interesting that when we were still on the ground the elevation was shown as 2,000 feet. I assume that was the actual elevation of Madrid.
We passed over the Atlantic near Santiago de Compostela at 12:45pm. Our route then took us to St. John's Newfoundland (at 12:05 in the local half-hour time zone), over St. Pierre and along the coast of Nova Scotia, and then straight south to Connecticut.
There was a woman about two rows in front of me who asked about and then complained about absolutely everything. For lunch we had a choice of chicken, beef, or vegetarian entrees. She asked if there was a choice in how things were prepared (there wasn't), what the side dishes were, and what sauce accompanied the meat. The flight attendant (a jovial young man) responded to the last question by saying "it's the airline sauce, ma'am ... Come on, it's coach.". She took the chicken, and I couldn't help but notice that she cleaned her plate.
The flight attendant had probably spent about fifteen seconds per passenger passing out meals to everyone else on the plane. The woman detained him for nearly five minutes. Once she had finally made her selection, it was her husband's turn. He was a small, quiet, man who had obviously suffered his wife's eccentricity for years. The flight attendant joked with him saying, "you're married to her; I pity you". It was really quite a rude comment, but it was pretty much how I felt too. The man quickly took a vegetarian entrée, and the attendant moved forward.
In the aisle seat next to this couple was a twenty-ish boy from Spain. At least nine different times during the flight the woman got up-either to use the restroom or just to move around. It was up and down and up and down. Each time she would excuse herself in a sarcastic voice, and the poor kid would just have to move out of the way. The last time she returned to her seat she exclaimed with a huff, "I'm simply never flying coach again!" As a coach traveler, I hope she's true to her word.
The flight was mostly uneventful, but at one point there was a scream from the restroom a few rows in front of me. No one seemed to go to assist anyone there, and I never did figure out what was up.
As we flew over Nova Scotia (at about 12:45 Atlantic Time) we were fed a "snack". It consisted of a tiny sandwich accompanied by what Margaret's friend Marlene described as "Chinese restaurant" mustard (definitely on the strong side), exactly four chunks of fruit cocktail, an "Almond Delite" candy bar, and a foil-sealed four-ounce cup of water bottled in Málaga. Since this was the last food we would eat for quite some time, I was glad to have devoured every bite.
We had a rough, but uneventful landing in Newark. We made our way off the plane and into one of the longest lines I have ever seen. The line at immigration was set up like the line for an attraction at Disneyland. They had a series of mazes set up, and you just kept winding and winding as you inched ever closer. Fortunately our line (for US citizens and permanent residents) moved very quickly, and before long it was our turn to clear immigration. There were probably twenty inspectors, and at the front of the maze a large black woman with a loud voice directed people to stations as they became open.
I presented my passport and was asked exactly one question at immigration. I was wearing a Milwaukee Brewers cap that I got a year ago when Brad Nelson was drafted by that team. The officer gave me a quick look to verify that I was the person in the passport photo, and asked "What does the 'M' stand for?" I answered quickly, and once again I was in America.
Customs was equally "thorough". Indeed most of the formalities in Newark seemed the exact opposite of the tight security we had dealt with in Madrid. My bag had made it to Newark with no problems, and just past customs they had a very efficient re-check station where I sent it on to Minneapolis.
Newark airport has several terminals that are spaced out over a lot of land. They have a monorail that runs between the terminals and also connects to the parking lots and to an NJ Transit station where you catch commuter trains to New York City. We had to take the monorail to a different terminal to catch our plane to Minneapolis. The cars were very small (shorter than the extra-short rolling stock they use on the Chicago 'L') and extremely cramped. We had to split the group into different cars, and as it turned out Michelle and Margaret weren't able to make it onto the same train as the rest of the group. We ended up going to different security checkpoints, and there was a bit of problem getting everybody together again.
Once again at security one of the girls from Cresco had scissors in her carry-on. While I can understand the rule against knives (in fact, I wondered years ago why they didn't ban them), it's really hard for me to see scissors as a lethal weapon. They have been on the banned list since September 11th, though, and that meant another full hand search.
There was not a lot of time between our flights, and with the delay at security we had to almost literally run the length of the concourse to Gate 82. We needn't have bothered. There was apparently some delay, and they didn't even begin boarding until the time we were scheduled to take off. I killed the time by enjoying a $3 butter pecan yogurt cone from TCBY.
The airplane was completely full. Michelle had been assigned a seat in the middle of the row, and she was obviously not happy with that. I was on an aisle, and I agreed to trade so she could have a bit more room.
We waited at the gate for what seemed like forever. No reason was specified, until eventually the pilot told us "Newark is on alert, and no flights are leaving." There was a storm north of Newark, and a year ago I would have just assumed that was the reason for the delay. Indeed it was; but the pilot didn't specifically say anything about weather. Given all the security we had to deal with to fly into Newark, it didn't take a lot of imagination to think of scarier reasons that Newark might be on alert.
After a long wait, the pilot came on the intercom to tell us that they had to move us away from the gate, but we wouldn't be taking off. They had to make room for planes that were landing, and there was nowhere to put us. Normally they show the safety demonstration as the plane taxis prior to take-off; this time the flight attendant told us she would be demonstrating the safety procedures "as we prepare for push-back".
We ended up waiting about ten more minutes at the gate, and then at 5pm we pushed back and started to taxi toward a parking area. We saw a plane taking off as we taxied, and as it turned out we parked only briefly (probably just five minutes or so) before we again taxied and then immediately took off ourselves. We were in the air at 5:15, and the pilot told us we should be about an hour late arriving in Minneapolis.
After the long delay on the ground many people had to use the restroom. People were up and moving around long before they turned off the seat belt light. The pilot gently scolded everybody, noting that we were about to fly into turbulence. (There was a lot of turbulence on this flight.) People returned briefly, but they were up again before he finally gave official permission.
I could tell we were headed back to the Midwest by watching the flight attendants picking up the trash from people's drinks. While on other flights they had just thrown everything into a trash bag, this time they sorted everything for recycling.
We landed at 6:30 and proceeded to head straight to a parking area. Apparently all the gates were full, so we had to wait before we could de-plane. (Why they couldn't bump someone from the gate like they had done to us in Newark, I don't know.) We finally made it to the gate at 6:45. The kids' parents met us at baggage claim, and soon they all departed. We adults made our way to a parking ramp where the hotel shuttles depart. Vicki went to a courtesy phone to call when we noticed that the Exel Inn van was already there. Before long we were back at the same motel we had stayed at two weeks ago.
There was a bit of discussion as to where we should eat tonight. I would have preferred something quick and inexpensive, but that's not at all where we ended up. Some of the women thought the Outback Steakhouse would be nice, so we waited for twenty minutes to get a vacant table there. They serve enormous portions there, and no one was really all that hungry, so we mostly had appetizers. I ended up having French onion soup and a salad. After dinner we returned to the hotel, and it was between 9:30 and 10 that I finally went to sleep.
I was up around 7am and spent quite a bit of time watching television. The big news today was a California court's decision that the phrase "under God" in the Pledge of Allegiance violated the separation of church and state. Politician after politician paraded across the screen saying they just couldn't understand how a court could make such a decision. While it's not an issue I care deeply about one way or the other, it bothered me a bit that no one brought up the fact that "under God" wasn't even part of the original Pledge of Allegiance; it was added during the Cold War to highlight the distinction between our country and those atheist Rooskies. Conservatives always talk as if the Founding Fathers were born-again Christians, as if we were abandoning some religious tradition they had established. They've obviously not read any of the history of that era, and they seem to miss the whole idea of freedom and the founders' goal that government should be above any particular religion.
In addition to the news, I also watched Sportscenter on ESPN. It was interesting after all the soccer hype in Europe that the World Cup coverage took less than a minute on America's biggest sports show. Much more lengthy coverage was given to the possibility of a strike in Major League Baseball-which gives me another opportunity to editorialize. I'm probably a minority of one, but even before I knew someone who had a chance of one day playing in the Majors I sided with the players in these labor disputes. While you could make a valid argument that our society has skewed priorities and that other professions (teaching, perhaps?) should earn more, the fact is that people are willing to pay to see athletes play. Essentially they are entertainers. No one calls musicians or actors "greedy spoiled brats" when they sign multi-million dollar contracts, and professional athletes really should be treated the same way. Beyond that, sports owners-even those who own teams with alleged financial problems-make absurd amounts of money. People don't buy tickets to see owners; they come to see the athletes. It's only fair that the biggest share of the income should go to the people who actually do the work to generate it.
My opinions have become even stronger this past summer, while following Brad in A-ball. When they see athletes signing huge contracts, most people don't stop to think that the average Major Leaguer spent from three to six years in the minors, where he worked 10 - 12 hours a day, seven days a week, for a salary that works out to significantly less than minimum wage. The wages are reduced even more by fees that are paid to the clubs for things such as uniforms and the right to use shower facilities. The players are also expected to work in the off season-at training camps and instructional leagues-but they get paid absolutely nothing for that. Some minor leaguers have substantial signing bonuses that they can fall back on, but the majority really struggle to get by. I sat next to a man in Peoria who pooh-poohed the players and said he'd play ball for free. He obviously didn't realize that being a professional athlete is a full-time job. Even if he had the skills to be in a group that includes about 1 in 50,000 American men, unless he was independently wealthy and completely debt free, he couldn't afford to quit his current job to play baseball.
We had muffins and coffee for breakfast and then drove in Vicki's van down to Cresco. I retrieved my car from Marlene's neighbor's garage. As I drove home I couldn't believe how green everything was. I'd find later that people in Algona were worried about drought, but compared to Spain everything was lush and verdant. It was mid-afternoon when I got home, and I quickly unpacked and then basically collapsed at the end of a long, but enjoyable trip.
I'll recycle some of the "FAQ" I used in my travelogue back in 1985, with a few more that are appropriate for this trip:
I had heard a lot of negative things about France and the French people before this trip, and I was pleasantly surprised with what I found. France is certainly not a beautiful country. It's actually surprisingly like the American Midwest, both in good and bad ways. The rural areas are flat and agricultural, while the cities are mostly tacky suburbs. The historic sites are interesting, but they're often overshadowed by the rather dumpy present-day country.
That said, the people of France were surprisingly nice. I had heard the French described with just about every possible synonym for "rude". I definitely did not find that to be the case, and I think the others on this trip would agree. While I won't say they bent over backwards with hospitality, virtually everyone in France was cordial and made us feel most welcome.
I surprised myself with my abilities in French, and again the attitude of the people helped. Unlike the Quebecois I had dealt with before (where anything less than perfection seemed an insult to them), the French seemed very understanding of any attempt to communicate. It was also helpful that English seems to be widely spoken throughout France and that English words are becoming more and more part of the French language.
Seventeen years ago I said that I liked Spain, though much of the landscape was far from beautiful. On this trip we saw parts of the Spanish landscape that were truly spectacular. So if anything my opinion of the country has improved.
Honestly I probably found the Spanish people ruder than the French. They're certainly louder and more boisterous, and at times I got the feeling I was crashing a big party. In spite of that I liked the Spaniards and certainly found them friendly enough. If anything they just come across a bit too strong.
It was helpful that I had taught Spanish recently at the college, because otherwise my skills would have been very rusty. It struck me that it was more important to know Spanish in Spain than it was to know French in France. Fewer Spaniards speak English, and often the ability of those who do is far from great. Like before I found that the main skill I used in Spanish was reading. I often wonder why modern classes concentrate so much on speaking and listening, when the skill you actually use for survival in a foreign land is reading. Like before I had absolutely no problems reading anything, and I could easily make myself understood when speaking. The fact that I talked at length with José shows that my speaking and listening skills have improved, but I still found spoken Castilian Spanish to be extremely hard to understand.
That's not really a fair question, because really I liked both of them. I probably paid more attention in France, because it was new to me. I'd been to Spain before, so everything there was more familiar. Spain is the more attractive country, but I think France fits my own personality better. I'd be happy to go back to either of them, though Spain is probably the easier place to visit.
That's hard to answer, because the real answer is both. The countries of Europe remain separate countries, much more independent than our states. It's not all that different than the provinces of Canada, though. There's an increasingly large central government in Brussels, but in most cases any country can pretty much ignore European legislation that it doesn't want to go along with. (Britain still doesn't use the euro, for example, and France still has major restrictions on goods imported from other European countries.) There are a lot of major changes, though-like unified European passports, EU license plates on cars from across the continent, and a single currency in most countries that is much more stable than those it replaced. While the borders between countries have not vanished, the formalities are almost nonexistent for EU residents and relatively painless for other people as well. The EU has certainly brought more change to Europe than NAFTA brought to North America. It's not really a surprise that the countries of eastern Europe (and even mostly Asian countries like Turkey and Russia) want to join in the progress it has brought.
It would almost be easier to say what hadn't changed. It amazed me at what a different place it was. Spain is unquestionably one of the most modern countries on earth, much more so than France and really more modern than the U.S. In 1985 it seemed a very inefficient country, a place where it took three people to process a credit card charge at a department store. Now everything is fast paced, and you see the latest electronics everywhere.
In 1985 Spain really was the poor stepsister of Europe, a somewhat backwards place with extreme unemployment that had only recently stepped out of the shadow of a fascist dictator. Today that same country is the fastest-growing industrial powerhouse on the continent. It comes across as a much wealthier country than it was seventeen years ago, though a lot of the materialism is undoubtedly fueled by credit.
The public infrastructure has improved beyond comparison. A network of four-lane highways now connects every major city in the country, and ultra high-speed trains rush people halfway across the country in just a couple of hours. The Madrid metro has expanded to one of the largest and most modern subways anywhere. Literally everybody has a cell phone, and the wireless network seems to penetrate even the most remote parts of the country.
The economic boom isn't all good, of course. There seems to be much more of a distinction between rich and poor today than there was in '85. Also a lot of parts of the traditional lifestyle (like shopping in small neighborhood shops instead of huge supermarkets and discount stores) is gradually dying. What's more, in a single generation what was a deeply religious Catholic country has become almost totally secular.
The big thing I noticed in Tangier was the increased population. You hear about the high birth rate in the Third World, but seeing the same city almost twenty years apart really brought that home. The city is pretty much the same-just much, much larger and more crowded.
I've been asked this enough that it really could qualify as a "frequently asked question". Some of my friends and co-workers implied that after the terrorist attacks last year, it might not be the most prudent time to travel overseas. I certainly thought about things before deciding to go, but really money was a much more pressing issue than security. Even before the increased security, the risk of problems on an airplane was extremely remote ... it's just so dramatic when hijackings or air crashes do happen.
Security was definitely higher than when I have flown before, but it still struck me as inconsistent. I wondered years ago why they didn't X-ray every single suitcase that went into an airplane hold and why they didn't screen each individual passenger with those handheld metal detectors. Even with the increased security procedures, they still don't do either of those things. "Random" screening strikes me as inefficient and open to prejudice. I 'd prefer they just screen everyone and everything-and adjust the schedules accordingly.
"Least" is easy to answer-Bordeaux. I'm not sure I've ever seen an uglier urban area; both the city proper and the suburbs were disgusting. There's really nothing of much touristic interest in Bordeaux, and I kept wondering why we spent so much time there.
It's harder to pick something that I liked the most, but after much thought I'll go just south of Bordeaux and select the Basque Country in the Pyrenees Mountains on the border between France and Spain. The mountains there are just spectacular. Sometime I'd love to go back and spend some time in Bilbao and San Sebastian, and across the border in Bayonne and Biarritz. It will be years before I have the money to do such a trip, but perhaps 18 years from now-in 2020-I'll be back to enjoy that lovely mountainous coast.
The background music on this page is the mid 20th Century favorite "Far Away Places", originally made popular by Bing Crosby.