A very tired Rhys on Wednesday, having returned home from the East Coast at 1:30 this morning. And the first thing I read was Ann Parker's post on the ease of travel in the present time, compared to travel in the nineteenth century.
She may be right, of course. To get to America before WW2 involved the arduous task of a luxury stateroom on the Queen Mary, sumptuous meals for several days, a dance band at night, romantic strolls around deck and no sudden adjustment to the time change
Now all we have to do is get up at 4 in the morning to stand in a security line for hours, take off our shoes, and then get on a plane that will be delayed for weather or mechanical failures, causing us to sit strapped to our seats, either too hot or too cold, on the tarmac, surrounded by crying babies, and then be served no food or maybe rubber frozen food, until we reach London at what is for us four in the morning and for them is afternoon. Leisurely and relaxing? I don't think so.
Travel today is not for sissies! One must be physically fit enough to lug around suitcases, fling them into the overhead rack, open them for inspection, drag them off the carrousel--not to mention the hiking involved. I swear every time I land at Heathrow, my gate is so far from customs and immigration that I walk a greater distance than I have flown.
Oh, and the rudeness. How can one forget that? Those days on the Queen Mary would have been made more pleasant by hordes of caring waiters, stewards etc whose only mission in life was to make sure that the traveler had everything he or she needed.
Last night our flight arrived an hour late, and minus my bag. So what, I was told. They'd presumably find the bag and deliver it to me some time. No apology. When somebody actually went to look--using initiative, mark you--they found the bag, hidden at the back of one of the carts where it had been overlooked.
So give me the good old days any time!
Just back from Malice Domestic in DC, the Festival of Mystery in Oakmont PA and several stops in between.