quote:

Originally posted by pianojuggler:
Most of the best travel stories revolve around, or at least prominently feature, food!

quote:

Originally posted by pianojuggler:
Well, this month has pretty much collapsed in on me. I have some good travel stories. No pictures, and the names have been changed to protect the innocent (mostly me). If I get some time before the end of the month, I'll write a couple more. But here is one of my favorites:

So, there I was. I had been in Kreplachia for three weeks in the middle of summer, teaching a class for the local airline about their shiny new NFFMCo aeroplanes, and I was very much looking forward to getting home. It never dawned on me that in some countries you were still expected to "reconfirm" your reservation a day before your flight. So, I got to the airport a good two and a half hours before my flight and had no reason to suspect there would be so much as a hiccup.

I got to the business class check in counter and the gentleman looked at my ticket and frowned and asked if I had not reconfirmed my reservation. Of course, I said I had. He frowned some more and said that because I had not reconfirmed, they had given away my seat. I told him I had just spent three weeks in his lovely country teaching a class for his glorious airline, but he shrugged and told me it was out of his hands, but if I wanted to make a case, go over to the long counter over there (he waves) and talk to Omar.

While I was teaching there, one of my fellow NFFMCo employees told me that when you are dealing with Kreplachians, you don't ask for their help, you tell them 'this is what you are going to do for me'.

So, I shoved my bags over to the long counter, elbowed my way to the front and saw there was a scrawny guy in thin wire-framed glasses looking up at me. I asked, "are you Omar?" He nodded. I proceeded, "I am with the NFFMCo and I have just spent three weeks in your lovely country teaching a class for your glorious airline and here is what you are going to do for me: I have a ticket for the flight to London this morning and you are going to make sure I am on that aeroplane."

Omar didn't flinch, he didn't wince, he didn't frown. He poked at his computer, he looked at a printout of reservations for the flight, and after several tense minutes, he dragged a yellow highlighter through a line on the printout. He stamped my ticket, printed a boarding pass, scribbled something on it, and handed them over the counter.

He also told me where the business class lounge was.

I thanked him and headed to security.

In the lounge, enjoying my non-alcoholic beverage and some member of the baklava family, I looked at the boarding pass. I was in seat 2A. And the flight was on KreplachAir's very old seven-forty-seven. So, that was upstairs, in first class.

We boarded and I settled into my seat. Over the next quarter hour or so, there was some commotion in the flight deck. Captain Ahmed Muhammed Hussein al Hooziwhatzit had gone in and out of the flight deck several times, and up and down the stairs a few times, as well. At one point, the flight engineer, stormed out of the flight deck and declared, "that does it! I am NOT flying today!" Captain al Hooziwhatzit stemmed the mutiny and convinced the flight engineer to go back to his seat and all would be sorted shortly.

I dug into my carry-on bag and got out my business card a couple of pens with the NFFMCo logo. I went over to Captain al H and told him I worked for the company that built this magnificent machine, and was curious as to the nature of the problem. He looked at my card for a second and said, "this is not an aeroplane problem… this problem is that I have one more passenger than I have seats." Of course I knew that I was the one passenger too many. And I knew I really did not want to wait another day, or maybe more, to get the heck out of this lovely country.

I told him, "well, if it would help solve your problem, I would be more than happy to ride in the flight deck in the jumpseat."

Captain Ahmed Muhammed Hussein al Hooziwhatzit looked back into the flight deck, looked at me, looked at my business card, looked at me again, and said, "please get your bag."

I followed him into the flight deck and he announced to the first officer and the flight engineer, "this is Mister Piano Juggler from the NFFMCo. He will be riding with us today."

The first officer, who was a young Australian fellow, looked at me, and asked, "do you know how to put on an oxygen mask?"

Now, one of the things I had just covered in the class was how to remove, install, inspect, and test flight deck oxygen masks. But I had never actually put one on. Again, not wanting to catch a later flight, I just said, "yes."

Then I noticed there was a second jumpseat behind the flight engineer's station. Frequently if an airline pilot is "deadheading", they ride in the jumpseat. And who was sitting in the second jumpseat? A scrawny guy in thin wireframe glasses.

"Hi, Omar," I said.

"Howdy."

"Where are you off to?"

"London," he said. He was the pilot for the return trip to Kreplachia.

"Oh, so in between flights, you sit at the long counter and deal with passenger problems?"

"Yup."

I said no more. He had taken care of my little problem, and I had solved the one he created as a result.

I had gladly traded my comfy first class seat for a wobbly jumpseat for the eight hour flight to London. I still enjoyed a first class meal along the way while Captain al-H quizzed me about the new aeroplanes. He chainsmoked something like seven cigarettes from the start of the descent until we landed in London.

That's my story of how I got out of Kreplachia. It's a lovely country. In fact, at one point in the air, the flight engineer pointed out the window and exclaimed, "look at that! Have you ever seen such a beautiful country???" I looked out the window and all I saw was sand. Windswept dunes for thousands of miles in every direction.

"No," I replied. "I have NEVER seen such a beautiful country."

quote:

Originally posted by pianojuggler:
Most of the best travel stories revolve around, or at least prominently feature, food!


So, there I was in Southern California for an industry conference and I had a couple open evenings and a rental car. So, the obvious course of action was to hail the local forumite and see if we could meet up for dinner. Why certainly, he replied. Where shall we go?

I told him I wanted to try some of the local Mexican fare… as muy authentico as possible. He suggested a few places in the next suburb over and one in particular… but don't tell the Missus, because she would never approve of him taking me to such a seedy place.

Never correctly judging California traffic, I was a few minutes late. My host was already seated and had ordered us some appetizers that featured very spicy squid parts. Quite delish.

I looked over the menu and decided on a grilled steak thingy with a delightful array of things on the side. My host picked a burrito. We chatted until the food arrived. I looked at his dinner, and all I could think was the title of the Kliban book: Never Eat Anything Bigger Than Your Head. I wondered if he was thinking the same:



And here is what I was presented:

I perused the plate and decided to start with the grilled pepper. I cut it crosswise, then cut a small slice from the middle. I popped it in my mouth. The amazing thing about grilled peppers is that momentary delay between biting into it and the flamefront passing through. I gasped… but trying to maintain some dignity. I think my first words were "oh, my god, that's hot."

My host casually said, "most people start with a small piece."

I said, "that was a small piece."

I stuffed a few forkfuls of less threatening food into my mouth and took a few slurps of beer to regain my composure.

The rest of the meal was positively amazing, especially the onion.

It was a splendid time, and I am embarrassed that it was a year and a half ago, and I'm just now figuring out how to post pictures post-photobucket.

So, here we are:


Just don't let the Missus see this. She'll never let him meet up with other WTFers without adult supervision ever again.