All posts by Deirdre Straughan

The Silent Screams of Dying Trees

Last Sunday Tin Tin and I went to Rocky Mountain National Park. It was a beautiful drive from Boulder, through Estes Park (which is a town, not a park) and on up – and up, and up. At its highest point, the Trail Ridge Road is something over 12,000 feet in altitude (and, obviously, closed by snow for much of the year). On this particular day, the last Sunday before school starts in this area, it was also very crowded – we gave up on the Alpine information center because the parking lot was full.
Clark's Nuthatch
< This cheeky fellow came very close, hoping for a handout of trail mix – not likely to happen, given all the dire warnings posted about feeding the animals and the presence of a park ranger six feet away!

We continued down the other side of the Continental Divide to Grand Lake, then doubled back into the park to take a walk which, according to the guidebook, was supposed to be “easy.” (More on that later.)

I’d just heard about the havoc being wreaked by mountain pine beetles: my friend Sharon, with whom I had dinner in Boulder a few days ago, had seen huge swathes of destruction on her drive up from New Mexico (and had overheard a tourist ask a park ranger: “Where can I get one of those pretty red trees?”).

We saw some evidence of damage on the eastern side of the range, but far, far more on the western side:
trees looking up
Tin Tin and trees

Shorter forms of life, meanwhile, are thriving:

thistle

gray bark with borer damage

The tree above has been recently attacked by beetles: the blobs of sap show where they tunneled in to lay their eggs. Healthy trees can produce enough sap to overwhelm a few beetles and drive them off, but these trees are weakened by prolonged drought, and in the last few years the region has not seen the sustained bitter winter temperatures needed to kill eggs and larvae already inside the trees.
red bark from borer damage
^ This tree is much closer to death, hence the red color (and many, many holes).

^ I don’t know what caused this, but it’s sort of pretty, though probably a bad sign for the tree.
drip
< Dunno what caused this, either. Possibly the bark was stripped off by rangers investigating the infestation.

^ …and this one’s not beetle-related, but just plain scary!

This beetle attack has been going on for years, and many trees have fallen. By some estimates, 90% of Colorado’s lodgepole pines will be lost before this is over.

Of course there is still great beauty in the park, and always will be. Some areas are relatively untouched for now.

^ But reminders of tree death are everywhere.

Apparently the increased sunlight to the forest floor improves the forage for elk, who certainly seem to be thriving – and completely unafraid of all the humans stopping to take pictures of them.

^ This was taken back on Trail Ridge Road, above the tree line, as we returned home in the evening. Very reminiscent of the high Alpine terrain in many parts of Italy – but this is higher.As for our hike… it took us three and a half hours to cover six and a half miles – not “easy” by any definition of mine! My knees and hips were screaming, although, fortunately, the steeper path was on the way up.On the way home we stopped in Estes Park for dinner. I had buffalo burger – bison is ranched for meat in this area, and widely available, even in the Sun cafeteria. It’s a flavorful meat, and supposedly healthier than cow beef. We also had a couple of excellent local wheat beer micro-brews.

VirginMobileUSA – Missing Error Message

Every time I come to the US I have a cellphone problem. International roaming from Vodafone Italy works inconsistently, if at all, with US carriers. The first time I landed in Denver I spent a very frustrating half-hour trying to contact the friend who was coming to pick me up: the T-Mobile network that my phone logged onto in the airport would not let me call, and gave an irrelevant error message which did not explain why (“The caller is not enabled for this service” – since when does a phone owner not allow herself to receive a call?). I sent SMS, but adult Americans are not yet accustomed to using text messages on their phones, so my friend didn’t know how to read it.

Dan bought a phone for me and future visitors to use when here, but before I arrived this time he had realized that it was absurd to pay Cingular a dollar a day to keep the service active when no one was using it. So I had to figure out the most cost-effective solution for myself this time around.

I picked up phone plan brochures from a store and just as the young man at Circuit City had told me, my best bet was VirginMobile: they offer monthly or by-the-minute plans with no contract. I bought the cheapest phone they offer ($20), though I wouldn’t recommend this model (a Kyocera) – it’s the slowest phone I’ve ever encountered, taking a second to respond to a button press to invoke a menu. And the battery life is crap. But it took me a few days to perceive these shortcomings. Next time I won’t buy the cheapest.

When I got it home, I had to deal with signing up with VirginMobile. First I tried their activation website. I followed the clear and easy multi-step process to select the plan I wanted ($100 for a month, with 1000 anytime minutes and free nights and weekends).

After 5 or 6 steps answering questions and making selections, I was supposed to enter the phone’s serial number. Following the instructions on the site, I located it on a sticker inside the phone’s battery bay. It is printed in very small type, and there was one digit which could have been a 5 or a 6. I took a guess, entered a serial number in the text box on the site, and clicked the Submit button.

I suddenly found myself back at the beginning of the activation process, with no explanation as to why I was there. I knew the activation hadn’t been completed, because I had not yet been asked for any personal information, credit card, etc. But I had no clue what had gone wrong. Was the site simply broken? I tried twice more, with the same result.

There was nothing for it but to call the toll-free number to activate by phone. I had to do this from my friend’s cellphone, which cost her minutes. (I know most people don’t care about this, having far more minutes than they actually use every month – and Tin Tin certainly didn’t – but I’m always acutely aware of it.)

The automated phone system is done with a “hip” young voice, obviously designed to appeal to the majority of Virgin’s customers, which instantly grated on my bitchy-middle-aged-lady nerves. Having to g through a phone tree to make the same choices I had already made three times on the website was also irritating, though understandable. But I was not pleased when the cheerful recorded voice advised me, during a wait period, that I could do all this myself on the website! Believe me, honey, if I coulda, I woulda.

I finally got a live operator (who had a distractingly bad head cold but was nice and competent) and went through a bunch more choices. When we got to the serial number, she told me that number was already in use. This explained the problem I had on the website – it choked when I entered the wrong number. But instead of telling me that was the problem, it bounced me out of the process without any explanation. Not helpful.
Then it came time to pay. Uh oh. Here we go again. My credit card, though issued in the US, has a foreign billing address. Many or most American companies can’t deal with that. The operator I was speaking to spoke to a supervisor, but there was nothing to be done. I had to borrow Tin Tin’s credit card to pay for the phone. Which is ridiculous and humiliating for a grown woman who is otherwise completely capable of managing her own financial life!

 

Security in a Single Bag?

Even if you have not travelled through the UK recently, you may have heard of the annoying new regulation that passengers going through airport security there may have only one bag. Security people and signs remind you of this multiple times en route to the scanners. For me, this means stuffing the small purse in which I carry wallet, boarding pass, passport, and iPod into an empty compartment of my large backpack – irritating, but not too traumatic.

For tourists who want to board with a large handbag plus a fully-stuffed carry on and a tube of posters, however, it can be a nightmare to learn this at the last minute. The solution some airlines are adopting is to give passengers a large plastic bag into which they can place multiple items.

The man in line behind me at Heathrow grumbled that this contributes nothing to security (which I can well believe), and is solely intended to speed up scans, reduce the need to staff some scanners, and thereby save costs. However, I’m not sure it even accomplishes that. The many of us who carry laptops are ordered to take them out and put them into separate bins, which is harder to do and takes longer when your bag is stuffed tight with things you didn’t originally intend to put in there.

 

British Airways Online Check-in

I love online check-in, where I can select the seat I want and take care of some formalities before I ever get to the airport.

So I checked in online for my British Airways flight to Denver, but didn’t have an easy way (at my dad’s house) to print the boarding card. The site assured me that I could do this when I arrived at the airport.

When I got to Heathrow, several big and immediately obvious signs advised me that if I had checked in online but had NOT yet printed my ticket, I should proceed to a kiosk to do so. I was pleased at this rare example of clear instructions at an airport.

I went to the kiosk, punched in the number of my reservation, and got a screen saying: “You have already checked in.” And that was it – the kiosk returned to its original “check in here” state. I had seen no option to print a boarding pass, nor did the machine look as if it was going to do this on its own initiative. I tried again, and, even looking carefully, could not find any print option, though the screens were very clear and uncluttered. Fortunately, there was a lady standing behind the kiosks ready to help, so I asked her.

“If you’ve already checked in, go straight to the Bag Drop and they will print the boarding pass for you.”

…in flat contradiction of the instructions on great big signs all over the place!

 

My Baby’s Gone: Ross Departs for Woodstock

Ross and I had an eventful few days in the UK, including a get-together with Woodstock alumni in London (Ross didn’t want to hear any more about Woodstock right at that moment, but she did get some valuable tips),massages, a wildly overpriced wash and curl (results above), tapas, andAvenue Q (fantastically funny).

We spent a lot of Wednesday at Heathrow, where we had hassles galore to keep my mind off Ross’ departure. Turns out that Air India only allows 20 kg of baggage for passengers flying from London, instead of the two bags of 23 kg each that we had been told she was entitled to and had so carefully packed for (with a great deal of dispute over what was to go in – you try limiting a fashion-conscious teenage girl on what she can pack for a year away from home!).

I don’t know why Air India has this ridiculous limit; I have never run into it on any of my flights from Italy to India on various other airlines. Furthermore, they charge £24 (about $50) PER KILO for excess baggage – my initial estimate was close to $1000 in baggage fees on top of a not-terribly-cheap ticket.

If I had known in advance about this limitation, I would have found a way to ship a bag separately. Hell, for that much money I could have accompanied her and brought it myself! The alternative suggested by Air India – a third party baggage company – didn’t look certain enough; I wasn’t sure I could trust them to get a bag all the way to Mussoorie, and Ross was near-hysterical at the thought of being separated from half of her so-carefully-considered luggage.

In the end, I took out a few kilos’ worth of stuff, we were granted a 10 kg reduction by the supervisor and, on the sly, another 10 kg was deducted by the lady at the counter, who had felt sorry when Ross collapsed sobbing over her bags (I’m not sure how much of that was calculated theatrics on Ross’ part – a young male employee of Air India seems to have been instrumental in obtaining the reduction). I am very grateful for the kindness of the AI staff but, with that absurd baggage limitation, I won’t be flying them. I still paid £96 in excess.

My stepmother Ruth and I had just seen Ross off through security when we got a call from the father of Anja, a girl who was supposed to be joining the group from Amsterdam. For reasons unclear (either the airline screwed up or the travel agent who booked the tickets did), she couldn’t check her bags all the way through: she had to pick them up at Heathrow and re-check them for the Delhi leg. Because she had to change terminals as well, her two and a half hour transit time was never going to be enough (though the person who checked her in at Amsterdam claimed it would).

We went back to the now-familiar Air India customer service desk and explained the situation. The man there was able to tell us that she hadn’t checked in for the Delhi flight, but we didn’t know where in Heathrow to find her (she didn’t have a cellphone). As I was casting about for a way to locate her, she turned up there at the desk. By this time the Delhi flight was closed and there was no way they would let her on it. (Although Ross, in touch by cellphone from the gate, insisted that “if she runs she can make it!”)

We got Anja rebooked for a flight to Mumbai and then a connection to Delhi, which would arrive just eight hours after the rest of the group. Then we dealt with the baggage problem again. Anja and her father had had the same rude baggage surprise we had, but because they learned about it when she checked in at Amsterdam, her father had given her his credit card. Unfortunately, the nice lady who had checked Ross in had gone off duty in the meantime, so the only concession we were able to obtain was the 10 kg discount from the supervisor. Stuffing more into Anja’s carry-on was not an option – it was already full, and they weigh that, too! Poor Anja (or rather, her father) ended up paying close to £300.

I talked to Ross briefly before the plane doors closed and she departed along with the rest of the SAGE group for Delhi. It was probably just as well that I was so agitated about everything else that I didn’t have time to think about her leaving.

Ruth and I had been up since 5 am, Anja at least that long (and she was jet-lagged, having just returned from a family visit to the US). We found some comfy chairs in an airport cafe and collapsed until it was time for Anja to go through security. Then Ruth and I waited another hour until the flight actually took off, just in case anything else might happen.

I spent some of the time making phone calls all over the place. Anja’s father had called the school to let them know she’d be arriving on a different flight, and I was able to track down the staff member who would be meeting them at the hotel in Delhi, though by the time I reached him he had already heard from the school. Somewhere in there I even remembered to call Enrico and let him know Ross had taken off. I was pleasantly surprised at the impact on my cellphone balance – I had expected all those calls in international roaming (from Italy) to be a lot more expensive than they turned out to be.

I also tried to reach my classmate Sanjay. Part of his business is airline catering, so I thought he might be able to help with Anja’s transit through Mumbai. I knew he was in Mussoorie, but couldn’t reach his cellphone – got a different error message each time I tried. I reached my classmate Yuti in Mumbai instead, and she was able to get through to him and relay back that he would have someone meet Anja inside the terminal and accompany her to her Delhi flight – which in fact happened. This was the best possible solution, and I was much relieved to know that Sanjay was on the case. Anja’s father complimented me on my network, but it’s not me in particular: that’s Woodstock. We look out for each other, and we are everywhere.

Ruth and I finally got home to Milton Keynes around 1:30 pm. She took a nap, I couldn’t sleep – still too much adrenaline in my system. In the evening Ross called to let us know the group had reached Delhi and were on the way to their hotel, and I relayed that information to the other parents via our group on Facebook.

I spent Thursday more or less in a daze.

Friday I headed back to Heathrow for my own flight, to the US. It was three hours late.

Now I’m in Boulder with my classmate Tin Tin again. Haven’t heard much from Ross, and I am resisting the temptation to try to relive through her my own first days at Woodstock. I suspect she is deliberately maintaining radio silence because she wants this to be her experience, not mine. I know she’s enjoying it and I know she’s in good hands. And that’s what matters.