From The New Yorker

I have been on so many planes in the last few years and these are exactly the kind of thoughts that I am obsessed with on most flights....


My Airline
by David Owen July 7, 2008

Luggage surcharges are old news at my airline. I’ve had them for years: for second bags that don’t contain golf clubs, for cardboard boxes held together with twine or duct tape, for long, rolled-up things that you bring into the cabin, and for any carry-on item that I have to help you stow or retrieve, or that you jam into the overhead compartment sideways, so that it crushes my sports coat, which I have folded using the time-tested inside-out method, or whose size forces me to place my briefcase in a compartment other than one directly over my row. The charge is fifty dollars, exact change only. From now on, I will also be charging fifty dollars for any piece of luggage on which you have written your name and address in gigantic letters.

Previously, at check-in, I have visually estimated your weight. From now on, you may be required to step onto the luggage scale. You must also certify, before boarding, that no part of your arm or torso will extend over your armrest and touch me or cause my arm or side to get hot at any time during the flight. If the test calipers at the boarding gate cannot be passed freely over your entire body, you will be required to purchase an additional ticket and to sit in the exact center of your two seats. Furthermore, you must keep your feet stowed directly in front of you at all times in such a way that your legs do not touch my legs or penetrate any part of the imaginary vertical plane separating your seating space from mine. Fifty dollars.

Staring blankly at the seat back in front of you for the entire flight is no longer permitted on my airline. If you have brought nothing to read, a book will be provided for your use, at a charge of fifty dollars. Flipping through the airline magazine or the duty-free catalogue in your seat pocket is allowed only while the aircraft is on the ground and other reading matter is temporarily inaccessible. You may no longer hum or do any form of beadwork. If you wish to attempt a Sudoku puzzle during the flight, you must demonstrate to my satisfaction that you realize that the nine spaces in every row and column must each contain a unique digit, and that the nine squares that make up the over-all Sudoku square cannot be completed without consideration for how they fit into the entire puzzle. Do you understand this? No? Fifty dollars.

Laughing out loud at anything in any movie, whether it is playing on the cabin system or on your own DVD player, is fifty dollars per incident. Asking me to turn off my reading light so that you can see the screen better: also fifty dollars.

If you and your spouse are dressed almost identically, or if you are carrying your passport in a thing around your neck, or if you are wearing any form of footwear or pants that you clearly purchased specifically to wear on airplanes, or if you make it obvious (by repeatedly turning around and talking to passengers in seats not adjacent to yours) that you are travelling with a group, the charge is fifty dollars.

As always, tipping back in your seat is fifty dollars, payable to the person sitting behind you, unless you are sitting in front of me, in which case the charge begins at a hundred dollars and my permission is required. Ask nicely, and if we can agree on a figure I will ask a flight attendant to unlock your seat.

I don’t serve meals on my airline anymore. Get over it! What’s the matter— you can’t last two hours without chicken parmigiana? Why are you even going to Indianapolis? If you don’t like waiting in the terminal while your aging aircraft is being repaired, I suggest that you go to the Hertz counter, rent a Hummer, and spend the next five days driving to San Diego. Are you aware that it took Ben Franklin more than a month to travel from Philadelphia to Paris? No, you may not have the entire can.

I realize that you have a choice of airlines, and I encourage you to exercise it. In the meantime, please enjoy the flight.

Livin' la Vida Monastica

We had a "puente" this past weekend. Tuesday was the fiesta of Santa Maria de la Cabeza (whoever the hell she was!) so a lot of people took Monday off as well. I went to a monastery at Santo Domingo de Silo near Burgos (about 2 and a half hours from Madrid). I spent 3 days reading El Pais, speaking Spanish with the other guests and some of the monks and walking in the hills. The monastery was founded in the 11th century and the buildings and gardens are exquisite. My celda had tile floors and rough-hewn wooden furniture. I could sit at my desk and read and look out over the cobblestone courtyard and the gardens beyond. I read several interesting articles in El Pais, including one by my favorite economist Joseph Stiglitz (he wrote Globalization and its Discontents). So I am picking up some worthwhile vocabulary like "economias de goteo" which means trickle-down economics. I made it to virgilias (6:00 a.m.) y completas (10:00p.m.) almost every day. The monks sang beautifully and the stay was a very relaxing experience. Apparently the monks have more gold records than Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera combined. Of course I was glad to get back to Madrid yesterday. I gave one of the monks a lift to Madrid -- he was on his way to Rome. He was very chatty for someone who had taken a vow of silence and seemed unduly interested in what the good discotecas were in Madrid. I asked, naively, "los monjes van a discotecas?" and then he clammed up! I left him on Gran Via with three hours to kill before he had to be at the airport. He trotted off toward Chueca with his roller suitcase. I can only imagine what he got up to......

Madrid

Andy and I have relocated to Madrid to learn Spanish. Andy has learned several words -- Sit, come, etc. I am amazed at how fast my confidence in speaking and vocabulary are developing.

The Otter Trail – Tsitsikamma National Park, Eastern Cape, South Africa

If there is one thing I have learned in my 42 years it’s that there are no coincidences. I was thoroughly depressed after sitting for 3 days in the “alien” waiting room at The Department of Home Affairs in Barrack Street, Cape Town, trying to sort out my permit. I struck up a conversation with a woman who I had seen, two days earlier, cleaning the room. Sure, I thought the place was a pigsty and I was bored to tears but she actually saw that as an opportunity while I was content to silently curse the situation. I thought she was weird when she demanded that a staff member give her a plastic garbage bag then tore around the room picking up discarded candy wrappers, coffee cups and crumpled up immigration forms. I saw her again and told her I recognized her from the prior day and we exchanged a few words. She was Miems Swanepoel and her son was a tennis coach in Boca Raton, a few towns up the coast from Fort Lauderdale where I spend time when I am in the States and where I play lots of tennis. Her day job was sorting out other people’s immigration problems but she soon told me about her passion for hiking and adventure and what she had planned. We spoke about my dog, Andy, and she insisted I come by for tea so her husband could meet this dog that had come all the way from America. I had a lovely visit with Miems and her husband, Swannie, and Andy was on his best behavior. The tea and homemade rusks were wonderful. Of course, I was slowly being caught up in Miems’ web but I let it happen willingly knowing the there might be a reward in the end. A few weeks later I was off to hike the famous Otter Trail.


The Otter Trail was a tremendous experience, physically and emotionally challenging but incredibly beautiful and full of surprises. Five days of hiking along this beautiful rocky coastline included some really precarious rock climbing sections and several steep, steep ascents and descents. At the end of each day, a sense of accomplishment and a delicious meal cooked by Miems in a large tin can as she called out for the ingredients and utensils stowed away in different hikers’ rucksacks. My rucksack, initially light with only my stuff, weighed at least 60 pounds after food, a stove, fuel were added. On one ascent, sweat was poring down my face and my left knee started to buckle. No problem – I just switched legs so that I was raising myself up with the right knee. We were 12 altogether and there are 2 cabins with bunk beds at every stop. After the first few kilometres of Day One, we didn’t see another person. The group came together as the time passed and I soon started to recognize the uniqueness and charm of people with whom I initially felt I had nothing in common. There were lots of jokes, skits and singing around the fire every night. I soon realized that Miems doesn’t like to go to bed – to her the camaraderie and team building is as important as the physicality. I can honestly say that I haven't felt that youthful and happy in a really long time. At one stop five of us swam in a gorge where the water was so cold my heart stopped beating for the first minute. We swam though a long narrow, nave-like tunnel with only a little sun coming in 60 feet above. What sun there was reflected off of water dripping down off the high rock walls. At the end of the tunnel was a pool and small waterfall. We climbed the rocks on the side of the waterfall to reach a large pool on another level and swam through that to another waterfall and so on until we reached a large waterfall feeding what Miems assistant, Jannie, called the "Pool of Eternal Youth". I said "Well thank God you got here while you were still young!" but I plunged into the icy water hoping there was some truth to what he said. I can't tell you how great I felt at that moment -- I was so happy and excited about seeing what was beyond the next waterfall that I swan and climbed the rocks without any fear or desire to stop and go back. If only I could approach the rest of my life with that same fearless enthusiasm.

Thank you Miems for helping me explore the World outside my box!

Nkosi Sikelei ‘i Afrika* -- Gugulethu and Brown’s Farm – 3 March 2006

Today I had the opportunity to visit two community-based primary health care facilities -- Gugulethu 24-hour Community Health Center and Brown’s Farm Community Health Center. The visit was coordinated by Dr. Robert Martell, Medical Superintendent for the Cape Town Metropolitan Health District.

Gugulethu is one of the older townships within the Cape Town metro district. The community is primarily formal settlements (i.e. non-shack dwellings). There are approximately 300,000 persons in the catchment area for the CHC. The CHC has a maternity ward for ante-natal care and non-problem births. Gugulethu CHC also features a trauma center that treats a large number of gunshot and knife wounds, most related to alcohol abuse, and victims of domestic violence.

At Gugulethu there is a dedicated Anti-Retro Viral (ARV) Clinic with approximately 1,300 persons on ARV Therapy. The Clinic is housed in a purpose-built pleasant building with a large waiting room. Newly diagnosed patients could distract themselves by watching the highly dramatic Afrikaans “soapies” on a large television while waiting to be attended to. The unique ARV program relies largely on HIV-positive counselors (who are themselves stable on ARV Therapy) to counsel and encourage patients in their adherence to drug regimens. The program also uses the “Buddy System” and cell phone text message reminders and has a high rate of patient compliance. According to the Clinic Director, budgetary constraints limit treatment to basic ARV drugs. Patients that fail on these treatments might be able to participate in clinical trials for other HIV/AIDS medications. There is a Buddy Room that has days dedicated to common illnesses – Diabetes, Asthma, Hypertension, etc. – where patients get treatment, special information and support groups meet.

Browns Farm is a large community consisting of both formal and informal (shack) settlements, including the infamous Crossroads squatter camp, where residents survived Apartheid government harassment (including murder) and countless attempts to level their shack community with bulldozers. Not surprisingly, the community runs a tight ship at the Browns Farm CHC. The current facility, a rabbit warren of shipping containers and connecting sheds, is immaculate and patients proceed through intake, preparation and treatment in an orderly fashion (see picture). Construction of a 5 Million Rand ($800,000) new facility is well underway and expected to be completed by August. The new facility will be air-conditioned with sky-lights and a spacious waiting area and several consultation rooms. The gentleman who showed us around let us know how large the community was and mentioned to Dr. Martell that the CHC needed two more doctors.

* God Bless Africa

My Nephew James

St. Mary's James Sheehan controls Spalding's Mitch Reece in a match he won by pin to help the Saints record their eighth straight win this season. The Capital (Annapolis, Maryland)

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