duck-shaped pain

I hadn't really planned on it, you see. I just kind of decided all of a sudden, the other day. I was mucking around at work, doing some completely unimportant task, when it hit me: I need to get the hell out of town for a couple of days. At the time, it didn't really matter where I went or how I got there -- I just needed to go.

So, my first thought was that I would head over to Denver for a couple of days. See some friends, do some shopping, sleep on my mom's couch, things like that. But, no. I mean, I like doing that, but I felt like doing something different. And, for once, I could actually afford to do something different, thanks to several months of working more hours than usual. I really need this, I thought, or I'll explode. Or smack someone. Or clench my teeth until my jaw cracks. And I'd better do it soon.

The first step, of course, was to decide where to go. I had several possibilities in mind. I first thought about interesting cities I could visit where I knew people I wanted to see. I've been long overdue for a trip to New York City to visit J. I could also go visit some people I know in the Washington, D.C. area. Or I could head to Chicago to see H. Or I could go to San Francisco, just for the hell of it, even though I don't really know anyone who lives in the city (I know some people in outlying areas).

So I picked some dates at random, and started checking airfares. The first rule to remember is that flying out of my town is expensive, no matter where you go. Your best bet on airfare is to just drive to Denver (Salt Lake City is also a possibility, but the drive there is a big huge pain in the ass) and fly from there, stashing your car on the street, at a friend's house -- anywhere but the airport. To put it in perspective, flying from here to Denver -- a 50-minute flight each way -- costs around $200 to $350. And for that price, you don't even get to fly in a real plane. You get the privilege of flying in a 12- to 20-seat puddlejumper, one where, on less-than-full flights, they make everyone sit near the front of the plane so as to not have it tip backwards during flight. Plus, you're flying in a tiny plane over the ROCKY MOUNTAINS. Those planes can't get that high, and the mountain peaks below never look very far away. It's a spectacular sight, but it's best not to think about it too much.

Still, I didn't really want to drive to Denver just to fly somewhere else. It seemed like too much work. Trying to coordinate driving-in and flying-out times would probably mean I would have to miss more work than planned, since I wouldn't want to drive in, rush straight to the airport and go. The drive over leaves me much too sweaty and strung-out to do that. I just decided to go for it and price airfares from here and not worry about it.

Here - NYC: $600. D.C. - $450. Even Chicago was pricey: $390. I messed around with dates, flight times and, even after I said wouldn't, prices flights just from Denver. Nothing I tried really beat the above prices by much.

San Francisco was sort of a long shot, in a way. Of all the cities I thought of, it was the one I wanted to visit the most on its own merits, but the lack of someone to crash with kind of lessened my urges. Airfare is expensive enough, but adding hotel and transportation is another thing.

I gave it a shot, though. Entered my desired times, desired dates. Waited. Gasp. Unbelievably enough, the cost to fly from here to SF, on the days I wanted to go, the times I wanted to go (more or less -- I have to leave here at 6 a.m.) was only $230. Which is completely unheard of for a flight leaving from my town. And it didn't have any weird layovers. No short hops to Phoenix. No enforced visit to Las Vegas. Just here, then Denver, then SF.

So I went for it. It's amazing that I got the idea, did research and then made up my mind in less than an hour. Usually, big expenditures cause a lot of pointless hand wringing and anxiety on my part. But this didn't happen this time, something which amazes me even more than the $230 airfare.

Once that decision was made, the rest was simple. I made a reservation at a hostel for $20 a night (like I'm going to be doing much sleeping, anyway). I told my employer I was going on vacation (one of the good things about technically being a contractor -- I can just say, hey, I'm going to take a week or a month or something like that off. I mean, I don't get any paid time off, but I can have as much vacation as I want). And it was settled.

I'm pretty excited. This is the first real vacation I've ever given myself. I'm not just going because someone else is going or because it's spring break or whatnot. I picked the days, I picked the place, and it's my trip.

I'm not really sure what I'm going to do there. I've been to SF a couple of times before -- once on an overnight stop before going to Japan, and once to help a friend of mine move. I didn't see much at all the first time, and the second was spent going shopping for house stuff or going to typical tourist places (she paid -- I can't complain too much). I at least have my first visit out of the way, which frees me up to do whatever the hell I want on this trip. Which will probably consist of walking around a lot, drinking coffee, going to record stores, and eating at as many interesting restaurants as I can. I have things in mind. More details as they come.

I went out to the pseudo-1950s diner on Main Street for lunch today, to have one of their enormous bowls of tasty yet astonishingly underpriced ($2.50 for a big tanker of a bowl) soup. Clam chowder. Not too salty like many clam chowders, and there were actual clams in it. Plus coffee. I was happy. The guy sitting next to me was happy, too. He did not have soup, rather, he gorged himself on five orders of hash browns and nothing else.

While I love soup, enjoy steak, and go out of my way to eat various Asian cuisines, this restaurant review reminds me what food I really like. Those sound like the kind of chiles rellenos that will make your coat shiny, your eyes sparkle and your toes curl. I want to eat them right this minute.

[1] Going to Denver does not count as "vacation," since I used to live there, can drive there in less than three hours, and who the hell goes to Denver for vacation anyway? Going to Oregon to bring home my stuff isn't really a vacation, either, more of an obligation. Vacations have to be for pleasure and also have to be taken somewhere not handily accessible from home.

previous | next