Yup, it is that time again, the time in which I update this blog frequently due to having (semi) intereting happenings to report.
Yesterday was a traveling day- planes and automobies (no trains, sadly). For us, that means waking up at 4am to make a 7am flight (I’m a sicko who believes in starting early to avoid as much airport traffic as possible even in a non pandemic world), picking the layover somewhere booze friendly so I can have a cocktail pre 9am, and then on to our final destination.
Direct flights from Albuquerque to anywhere are freakin rare, yall. (I did get one for our return trip and I’m still amazed.)
So we got up, showered, dressed, and our Uber was even ON TIME. And the driver was NOT CHATTY! We were definitely off to a great start.
Albuquerque security was also a breeze, and we had very little trouble isolating oursevles across from the gate that we were actually departing from.
The ABQ to Phoenix plane was a little on the small side, but they didn’t have to use a slingshot to take off, so all was good there. And (only some people will really understand this for the win it was) the seatbelt fit just fine… we are off to a fanFUCKINGtastic start.
Then we hit Phoenix.. and things are.. less good. The only gate data we can get for our flight to Portland is ‘Terminal 3’. But there’s no terminal 3 this way signs fucking anywhere. Only upon consultation of the touch screen replacement for the surly lady at the information desk did we discover that we were, in fact, in Terminal 4.
It took consultation of an actual human being (after an across the terminal hike during which I am longing for our gate, breakfast, and that pre flight cocktail I promise myself on vacation) that led to the discovery that we had to exit the secured area in order to get to the here to fore mythical Terminal 3 and go through the security checkpoint AGAIN.
Oy veyfuckus. Fine, fine, fine, FINE. And thank heavens we had a three hour layover, there WILL be breakfast. And cocktail.
Now up to this point, people were fairly good about distancing, but for some reason in security line number two there’s this crone type who just seems to want a bit of a cuddle. I keep scootching closer to Rick, and she keeps scootching right in behind me, like I’m on a damn leash. Finally I moved completely unnecessarily to the side, nearly standing ON Rick, and when she followed me I said that I had moved for a reason, please keep your distance. THAT finally got her attention.
So, old ladies in straw hats and security conquered, we headed for the golden gates of Terminal Bloody 3, intent upon breakfast. And cocktail.
At the center where the wings connect, all we find is a Starbucks. I’m not a huge Starbucker, and very much any port in a storm (while my inner Hammy is saying ‘but I want the drinky’) so I whip out my handy dandy cell phone to place a mobile order and avoid the ever sprawling omfg way too close together people line.
Turns out, I have tapped into the ONE Starbucks in the Western Hemisphere that doesn’t do mobile orders.
Hrmph. Down the terminal we go, hoping for some pizza cracker combos and a diet soda.
To our delight, the terminal was not as barren of life as our first glance had indicated. And within minutes, we were ensconced in a comfy spot away from others, with breakfast and beer presented with a smile.
You are correct, beer was NOT in my plan, but if I’ve learned nothing in life, it’s that one has to be flexible from time to time if one wants to avoid paying $20 for a fucking margarita that doesn’t even wash my car.
The second flight to Portland was smooth enough to sleep though until we began our descent, which had enough bumps to wake even Dramamine’d up Rick.
On the ground, with a quick stop at Krispy Kreme for our patient and fearless local, we headed off. It’s been, well, a long time since I’ve been to Oregon, and I’m still enchanted by the long, rolling hills and forests. The drive to the coast flew amidst gorgeous scenery and the random weird conversations that tend to pop up.
We did take a slight detour to the Tillamook Cheese Factory and picked up rather a lot of cheese. And some wine, but mostly cheese. It’s all the super specialty stuff that we never see in the grocery stores back home.
Oh yes, there WILL be charcuterie. ALL the charcuterie.
And have you ever tried going number two in an airplane bathroom? I tell you, these cheesly consumption is more than delightfully tasty.. it’s strategic!
We made another detour for dinner, and got to watch the sun begin to set at the Rogue World Headquarters in Newport. Easily hands down the best shrimp I’ve had in longer than I care to think about, and a pumpkin ale that made me think of Draz and our eternal quest for good pumpkin beer that kicked off every September.
And then we arrived in Yachats (which I was informed I’ve been pronouncing incorrectly; the correct pronunciation sounds like sneezing to me), unlocked the house, checked out the insides (which are mostly purple and I really wasn’t aware of that when I rented it), and hit the hot tub.
After becoming utterly boneless, we flopped on the overstuffed couches in the living room, and what do you know, Armageddon is on Bravo. Back to back.
A good end to a mostly good travel day.
Curiouser and Curiouser 