Have You Seen This Bag?

My bag looks like the one in the middle. No one seems to know where it is. We thought the flight was bad but the real fun started when they gave us the lost baggage claim form. We were told that it would not possibly show up for 24 hours. The first information we were given was that it was never put on the plane in Houston. And no it was not a "tight" connection. We had time to eat a leisurely lunch in the Houston airport.

So we went straight to Clacton to visit Mark's 90-year old dad. We had to cut the visit a bit short because we had to go into town before the shops closed at five so we could get underwear, some clean shirts, toothpaste and toothbrushes and some cosmetics.

Our UK phone was packed in Mark's bag. This was a one-off. It's always in the carry-on - except for this time. His US phone is set up for international roaming but we've found that the Samsung doesn't work quite as well as the iPhone. It makes calls - but it doesn't do a good job of receiving them.

British Airways was supposed to phone us when they located the bags but we hadn't heard anything and it had been six hours. We weren't sure whether they had tried to call and been unsuccessful because our electronics weren't working properly. We tried calling them.

I waited on hold for an eternity and then found that I had a rough connection. I couldn't hear him particularly well, nor could he hear me. I thought for a minute that he was going to hang up, but thankfully he didn't. He told me one of our bags was in Paris and that they had requested that Air France return it but they hadn't responded. Really? It's gone from not being put on the plane in Houston to being in France. But that was only one - the other was still at large.  Nothing to do but wait.

We gave them another six hours and phoned them again. They were sticking to that same story.

I was having trouble believing them. How did one of our bags end up in Paris if it never left Houston? I called American Express Global Assist. Within an hour I had an email letting me know that both bags had been located and were on their way from Houston to London - Flight 194. That would arrive at 7:30 am on Friday. We were assured that they would be couriered to our hotel in Manchester as soon as they arrived and cleared customs. We thoroughly expected them to be waiting for us at the Church Inn. We also got a text message from BA informing us that BOTH bags were en route from London to Manchester. Later we got another text saying that one bag was with the courier. That had to be a mistake. Why would the courier only take one of the two bags? I was convinced it was a typo.

By the time we arrived in Manchester on Friday evening, Mark's bag was waiting at the hotel. I was told it arrived after 6 PM - roughly 35 hours after we arrived in London. It arrived completely soaked and some of the clothes were damp. But at least it arrived. Mine still hadn't arrived. So much for the typo. Another call to British Airways. This time they told me that my bag was still in London and would be sent to Manchester on Saturday. So much for the text message that both bags were sent to Manchester on Friday. Another call to American Express.

Around 5 PM on Saturday I got an email from American Express Global Assist telling me that British Airways had reported to them that my bag had been delivered. What great news! Problem was that there was no truth to that report.

So the pressing question was "Where is MY bag?" It's been AWOL for over over 72 hours now. British Airways stops talking to customers at 8 PM. When I phoned them at 7:45 on Saturday they assured me that the bag was in Manchester and would be delivered by 10 PM at the latest. Of course, once I asked the young man for his name, he backed off and said that he couldn't actually "guarantee" that it would be delivered. And since it didn't turn up on Saturday, I'll have to spend Sunday afternoon shopping AGAIN - cutting in to the time we wanted to spend with the grandchildren.

When I phoned British Airways on Sunday morning they informed me, in that quaint rude way they have, that my bag had been turned over to the courier in Manchester around 11 PM on Saturday (so much for being delivered before 10 PM) and that they were no longer responsible for it. Great! He did give me the number for the courier service. It seems they don't answer the phone on Sunday. Maybe they don't deliver on Sunday, either. Who knows? I don't. Because even though I asked him to spell out the name of the courier company, he had such a thick Asian accent that I couldn't understand anything past "T". Of course there's a recording on the number that suggests you track your bag online - but the web address was delivered in such a thick Glaswegian accent that I still had no idea which courier company had my bag.

I finally got through to the courier company who claims they don't have my bag. British Airways claims they do. Another call to American Express. I now know why you don't dare leave home without it.

The Worst Flight Ever

Our flight from Dallas put us in to Houston with over two hours to spare before boarding British Airways Flight 194 from Houston to Heathrow. We didn't get off to a great start. When our group was finally called to the gate for boarding, we were pulled aside so they could "check our IDs". That's what they do at the gate. They look at the name on your ticket and compare it to the name on your passport. They look at your passport picture and compare it to your face. For some reason all three gate agents had to look at ours. One of them felt compelled to look at mine twice. I have no idea what that was about, but if it would have stopped there, I would have been happy.

But as it turns out we were just getting started. We were in the center seats, two rows back from the bulkhead. The bulkhead is where people with babies and toddlers want to be. There was a family with three toddlers to the left of us, a family with one toddler to the right of us and a family with two older children and one toddler directly behind us. These kids started making a fuss before the plane even left the ground. Toddlers and babies often make a fuss until the plane reaches cruising altitude and levels off, so we didn't get too excited about it.

But in this case, that didn't happen. At the worst, all five of the toddlers were screaming and crying at the same time. At it's best, it was only one of them. But for seven solid hours (the flight from Houston is about eight and a half) at least one child was screaming non-stop. I tried putting on the headphones to watch a movie. I wanted to see The Invisible Woman, I'd missed it at the theatre. I saw it, but I heard very little of it. All I could hear was "The Tantrum".

I decided to try music. I looked at the Rock/Pop category. I had never even heard of any of those people. Where were the Beatles and the Stones? I checked Easy Listening. Again, people I'd never heard of. I settled on Classical, but the only thing even remotely loud enough to drown out The Tantrum was Strauss, and it really didn't work that well. I could still hear those wailing kids.

I finally woke the guy in the aisle seat (how he went to sleep I'll never know) and went to the far back of the plane. Mark went, too. We sat in the flight attendants' jump seats. One of the flight attendants apologized for the ruckus, told me to stay there as long as I liked and offered to get me some earplugs when I returned to my seat. Which turned out to be much sooner than I anticipated because the father of the most determined and consistent screamer decided to give the folks in the front a break and bring the little screamer to the back of the plane. By the way, the earplugs didn't help.

There were several times when I wanted to just stand up and start screaming myself. But I'm pretty sure that if I'd done that I would probably have been met by the police when we landed.  I still can't believe that those kids could carry on like that for seven straight hours. (We had a respite for about half an hour and then they had a reprise when the lights came back on an hour or so before landing. As another flight attendant pointed out to me, "only an hour and a half to go!") And just don't get me started on these parents who are more than happy to subject anyone and everyone within earshot to their child's bad behavior.

This whole incident had me so frazzled that I didn't even care how bad the food was. And it was bad. We were offered a choice between chicken curry and pasta with meat. "What kind of meat?" She didn't know. "Meat" as a general category isn't specific enough for me. It could be anything. I went with the chicken curry. I'll only say that if this had been my first experience with curry, it would have also been my last. The dish seemed to have two different sauces. A tomato-based sauce for the chicken and a turmeric-based sauce for the rice. Except that the sauce for the rice as only around the edge of the container instead of being stirred into the rice. Three bites was all I could manage but it would have to do until breakfast. I was looking forward to breakfast. But when it arrived in a container that required an engineering degree to open, I found I had a cold, greasy croissant. I also had a "good for you" granola bar. I did read the label - full of all kinds of good things - quinoa and other whole grains. You could probably make pressed cardboard taste as good and have an equal amount of fiber. It was disappointing because the last time we flew British Airways the food was better than what they serve on American Airlines. But not anymore.

We were just so happy to get off the plane and away from those screaming kids. But wait! There's more! It does not end there. After watching the same bags, none of them ours go round and round on the carousel, I went to see if all the bags for our flight had been unloaded. Yep, here we are starting our three week vacation with no baggage.

The fun was just beginning...

The Hardest Thing

I just don't know where to start. I haven't shed this many tears since my parents died. I cried when we had to put Judy to sleep. Judy was my little calico that was with me for nearly 23 years. But that was not as hard as this. Probably because I expected Hefner to be with me until he was closing in on 23 years old. But he's only nine.

I noticed he was losing weight back in the spring. I took him to the vet and they ran multiple tests on him and he checked out okay on everything. We thought up all kinds of reasons why he might have lost weight - maybe he picked up a worm from one of the mice he caught and nibbled on. Maybe he was stressed out by that stray tom cat that tried to invade his yard. Maybe the last dose of Revolution was too strong. All sorts of things could have caused that weight loss. Maybe all he needed was a different food.

But when you're with someone (and my Hefner is someone!) every day you don't necessarily notice the severity of the weight loss. After all, he seemed relatively healthy other than he was losing weight. He was still being Hefner - patrolling the perimeter of the yard, chasing squirrels and catching mice in the garden. But we couldn't ignore that weight loss. By this time he'd lost about 40% of his body weight.

Test after test turned up nothing and it was recommended we take him to a specialist. That's when they determined that my Hefner has cancer. These specialists don't want to tell you much. While I didn't really like what the Internet sources had to say, I'm glad I saw it. The prognosis wasn't good. The intestinal cancer was too far in to make endoscopy possible - they wanted to investigate it surgically to determine which of two cancers it was. We didn't allow it. It really wasn't going to make any difference which cancer it was. Even though the treatment for each type differed, the end result was that he "might" live two months to one year if we went ahead with the treatment. And he would probably be sick for most of that time he had left. Without treatment, he would probably only last two to six weeks.

At the time, he was still acting pretty much like himself and we decided to let him be himself and not inflict him with constant trips to the vet where he'd be poked and prodded. If it would have extended his life I would have subjected him to a few months of treatment. But it just didn't seem worth it for two months to a year. If I'm realistic, it still doesn't - especially when you factor in quality of life.

Over the weekend he stopped being himself. He didn't go outside. He retreated to a hiding place in the closet and stayed there pretty much all weekend - it's the place he goes when he doesn't feel good. He'd stopped sleeping at the foot of the bed a few weeks ago. He's not following me around the way he used to.  And he's getting even thinner. I so much wanted to see evidence that he was putting on weight. I wanted that doctor to be wrong. (I'd taken Judy to a specialist when she was 18. They said she "might" have a brain tumor and that they needed to operate. I decided not to do that. After all, she was already 18 - old for a cat. She was good for another five years - and then she went into kidney failure - nothing to do with any brain tumors.) So I was praying that this vet was just wrong.

But I also read the list of symptoms for these cancers on the web and I don't believe the vet was wrong. And hiding in a closet all day doesn't constitute good quality of life, even with Mark and I making frequent visits to cuddle him and make a fuss of him.

So I've made an appointment to put him to sleep. Mark and I will both be with him. I hope my crying doesn't upset him too much. And I hope he knows just how much we love him.

A Room with a View

Little Rock isn't all that far from Dallas. When we were near Little Rock we only had about five hours of driving left to get home and it was getting close to 6 PM. Decisions, decisions. Should we press on toward home or stop for the night. We'd been driving for twelve hours already.

Mark asked, "What do you want to do? Stop or keep going?"

"Right now, I'd say I'm good to keep going. But I might feel differently when it's after 11 and we've got that stretch between Greenville and home."

He pretty much felt the same way. If we'd continued, we'd have had to stop for dinner and that would have put us home well past midnight. We opted to do the easy thing and stop in Little Rock.

I was able to book a room at the DoubleTree in downtown Little Rock for a fantastic rate just minutes before we arrived there. In fact, we drove by it to make sure it was in a location we liked before I clicked the "book" button. I love my smart phone!

Our room had such a fantastic view!

Even though the area seemed to have plenty of places to eat, we opted to eat in the hotel and make an early night of it so we could be back home in the early afternoon. But I think the next time we're looking for a weekend trip - something in the five hour drive range - Little Rock will get serious consideration.

Our Bridge Day

We were told that each year in October, on or near the anniversary of the opening of the New River Gorge Bridge, they hold a festival. One lane on the bridge remains open for emergency traffic but the rest of it is closed to cars and open to pedestrians, base jumpers, and crazy people. The event is called "Bridge Day".

Being surrounded by crazy people isn't that high on my "to do" list anymore, so I'm glad we went in July when no one was actually jumping off the bridge. At it's highest point, it's 850+ feet above the ground. I thought that taking the walking tour on the catwalk under the bridge would be fun. I was right! Great views!

Approaching the bridge on foot

Looking straight down using a zoom

The bridge as seen from the road on the next bridge over

Of course, if you don't like heights, you could always opt for the whitewater raft trip down the river. I think that might have been worth a try if the weather had been a bit warmer.

You could make it across the bridge strolling leisurely in about 15 or 20 minutes - less time if you hurried. The tour takes about an hour and a half. The guide makes frequent stops and gives you lots of information about the surrounding area, the bridge and how it was built. You also have lots of time to take pictures.

But for those with zero sense of adventure, find a cafe and have a cup of coffee overlooking the river. This was our view at breakfast in Hinton.

Almost Heaven

We spent four nights at Pipestem Resort in southern West Virginia. A quiet and peaceful change from the noise and bustle of Beale Street in Memphis. We stayed in the Mountain Creek Lodge. It's at the bottom of the mountain - accessible to the public only by aerial tram.

Going down - in the rain

Going up

We arrived late Saturday evening - only 15 minutes before the restaurant was due to close. Having our priorities straight, we headed straight for the restaurant and left our luggage stored on the cart just inside the entrance to the restaurant. It was a good choice, our room was as far away from the restaurant and tram entrance as you could possibly get. Even though we arrived 15 minutes before their scheduled closing, we were treated to a leisurely meal. No one rushed us - we were actually encouraged to take our time. I really can't say enough about how good this restaurant is. The park encourages guests at the main lodge to plan to eat there one night during their stay. Personally, I think a guest would do well to eat there every night - we did. (They only do dinner. They are not open for breakfast or lunch.) The food quality and presentation are exceptional and the service standards are quite high. Since we had breakfast and lunch at some of the other eateries within the complex, I feel qualified to say that the food and service at Mountain Creek Lodge is absolutely the best.

View from the dining room

The room was fairly standard - somewhat rustic (after all, it is a lodge) with two double beds (one to use as a storage area and one for sleeping). We had a flat screen TV that we never turned on, a desk, a closet, and a double wide dresser. We had a fridge and a microwave that we never used. We also had a balcony equipped with a table and two chairs - just perfect for that rainy day where we didn't do anything other than read and watch the wildlife. The Bluestone River is just outside! I was a bit concerned after the first night when we went to sleep to the sound of whining children and were awakened at dawn by the sound of cartoons. (Do they have to have them on loud enough for everyone in the lodge to hear??) Then there was the smell of cigarette smoke wafting up from the balcony below. But lucky for us, those people checked out that day and we had peace and quiet for the rest of our stay. The only drawback was that we never got the wifi in the room to work, which made it a bit challenging to stay in touch with the office but we were able to take the laptop and the ipad up to the top of the mountain and keep up with the necessities.

The view from our balcony

Our evening visitor

There were also two golf courses - a championship course and an executive, or short course. We'd intended to play both of them but since we were rained out one day, we only played the championship course. It wasn't the most meticulously manicured course I've ever been on, but well worth the $78 we paid for both of us to play. There were plenty of deer and squirrels and stunning views of the surrounding area. (And we didn't play too badly considering it was unfamiliar to us.) If we'd had a bit more time, we'd have checked out the paddle boats and some of the nature hikes.

I took a look at the other cars in the parking lot. Having come from Texas, we'd driven the farthest - but there were cars from Maryland, South Carolina, Ohio, Georgia and of course, West Virginia. I don't think there's an airport that's particularly close, but if you're out for a drive you should consider stopping by.  

Eggs, Pastels and Pretentiousness

If you think that eggs and pastels have something to do with Easter, you've not been to the Westin Hotel in Memphis.

They had a "pastel of egg" on the breakfast menu. This was new to me. Even though I don't eat eggs for breakfast I still wanted to know what a "pastel of egg" is. The waitress told me it is just eggs and sausage or bacon. What's "pastel" about that?

Feeling that there must be a bit more to it, I Googled it. Pastel of egg. Turns out that in this usage "pastel" refers to a pastry and the plural is pasteles. Hmm, I think I have heard of those. But it certainly isn't the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the word pastel. So why didn't the waitress tell me that it was eggs and sausage or bacon in a pastry? I think it was because the menu was a bit pretentious. As in "let's serve relatively ordinary food and give it a pretentious description". I mean, who hears "pastel" and doesn't think of pale pinks, blues, greens and yellows?

But this particular menu also had "cinnamon-scented oatmeal". Indeed. How do they get it to smell like cinnamon unless they've put cinnamon in it? See what I mean about pretentious?