travel

How to complain.

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After BlogHer 2011 ended my daughter and I stayed in San Diego for a couple of extra days. I’d used a Travelocity voucher I’d gotten through Eversave to get a decent deal for a hotel in the city’s Gaslamp section.

The conference had been pretty tiring, so we were ready to lie down by the time we showed up for the 3 p.m. check-in. A desk clerk told us it would be another 20 minutes because our room had not been cleaned.

Twenty minutes went by. Abby, who has a chronic health condition, was so fatigued she could barely sit upright. I inquired again. Still not clean, but they’d let us know as soon as something was available.

Another 20 minutes elapsed, during which I saw the clerk have a soft drink and chat with co-workers. What he didn’t do was call housekeeping to ask about the progress of the room. Meanwhile, I was wondering just how big a bitch I needed to be to get this fixed.

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Live from BlogHer 2011: Forgetfulness!

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I’ve been so disoriented and exhausted since getting to San Diego on Thursday that I completely forgot to put up a giveaway on Friday — and when I remembered, the Internet was down at the hotel.

That’s my story and I’m sticking with it. So next week I’ll probably give away two things to make up for it.

After the expo hall at BlogHer, the pickings will be pretty rich. Among the things they’re handing out away:

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The $9 airline ticket, and other frugal travel hacks.

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My current piece at MSN Money won’t show up in the RSS feed. That’s because it’s a slide show rather than a column.

“$9 airfare and 9 other travel hacks” offers the skinny on things like “news flash” alerts (e.g., a $9 flight from Boston to New York), ways to get a free flop anywhere from Anchorage to Amsterdam, and how to spend just $1 to journey from Washington, D.C. to Philadelphia.

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13 travel essentials that don’t weigh much.

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When I got off the Megabus from Cardiff to London I was weary from a couple of days of hard walking. Fortunately there are markets in Victoria Station so I picked up a bread “baton” (larger than a hoagie roll, smaller than a baguette), some sliced ham and a single carrot.

Back at the hostel I pulled a Rubbermaid container from my suitcase and took out packets of butter and spicy brown mustard to garnish a simple ham sandwich. The carrot provided a bit of crunch. I finished up with an apple and a small container of Devon Custard Rice I’d bought previously.

Sure, I could made the sandwich without mustard and butter, but it wouldn’t have tasted nearly as good. And eating Devon Custard Rice with my fingers would have been the stickiest of wickets.

When I go to Alaska, I travel with mayonnaise. On all my trips I pack some or all of the following items — small, light, extremely practical things that are worth many times their weight in frequent-flier miles. They don’t take up much room but they pack a mighty impact.

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The cougar in spite of herself.

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I brought a cold and/or upper-respiratory bug from Cornwall to London. (Should have stuck with postcards, huh?) It worsened the next day so I decided to go to bed early rather than see “War Horse.” The virus had chewed its way into my bones.

Fortunately I’d packed some cold meds. A paranoid traveler is a prepared traveler, as well as a traveler who doesn’t have to go out in search of a pharmacy when she’s feeling like homemade shit.

As I crept along the hostel hallway I saw some young dude using a cell phone. He hung up and said, “Hallo, how are you doing?” Couldn’t place his accent or his provenance.

I replied,“I’m sick and I’m going to bed” and kept moving.

He followed me. “You are sick? What’s wrong?”

“A cold.” I coughed to punctuate/demonstrate. “Good night.”

“You should take a shower,” he said.

That sounded odd to me but I shrugged it off. “Maybe later.” As I pushed the heavy door open I saw the light I’d left on was now out. Apparently my roomies were early-to-bed types, too. So I opened the door as little as possible to keep out the hallway glare and slipped through the narrow space.

And the guy tried to follow me in.

 

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Mind the gap, especially on escalators.

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As I got off the Underground an elderly woman was slowly trailing behind me, pulling a suitcase. I got one of those little mental flashes that said, “Let her go. Watch her.” So I stopped and fiddled with my pack and suitcase until she was in front of me.

The woman went around a corner and I lost sight of her briefly. Then I saw this flash of movement off to my left. It was a middle-aged guy making a Superman-like leap up onto the escalator. I swear he made five steps in one bound.

It was to rescue the elderly woman, who had fallen backwards and was lying all twisted as the escalator moved her slowly, inexorably upwards. She hadn’t made a sound.

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In which I (briefly) second-guess the hostel.

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I lived in Anchorage, Alaska, for 17 years. About 15 of those years were spent in a trailer whose flat roof needed to be shoveled. My now-ex husband never acknowledged the existence of household or maintenance duties, so I was the one who clambered up.

I was then and am now afraid of heights. The second-worst part of the chore was stepping off the ladder and onto the roof.

The worst part? Getting back on, because there was nothing to hold onto save the top of the ladder, which extended a couple of feet past the roof line.

The first time I looked at the job I knew that getting back down was going to be scary. That’s why I came up with the strategy of leaving a patch of snow next to the ladder.

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