I was headed to Atlanta for the NAPL Technology Conference (or whatever it was called) and the hotel it was held at (the Renaissance Concourse) was located right at the airport, which was a pain, as I like to be closer to things to do and places to go rather than trapped at a conference. It was also one of those irritating hotels that have a fee for everything--Internet? $15 (uh, no, thanks; thankfully the BlackBerry worked just fine). Want to use the computer in the lobby? $10. Want the air conditioning on? $5. Want the air conditioning off? $6. Want towels? $9. Oy.
Still, this was the view from my room:
It's interesting how the universe loves to taunt me so. But sitting and watching planes take off and land for a while is really quite hypnotic, and was actually quite therapeutic for anticipating the return flight.Anyway, I really don't like business travel all that much, and I find that the only advantage to it is to explore cities I've never been to--like Atlanta. The woman I sat next to on the plane (who is a sales rep for a company that imports handbags that resemble dogs--it sounds extremely upsetting) recommended a jazz club in Atlanta called Dailey's. I arrived at the hotel about 5:30 and was starving, and I try to avoid chain and hotel restaurants, so I looked up Dailey's Web site on my BlackBerry. It looked like a nice place, so I grabbed a cab and headed downtown. And it was a terrific restaurant--if a tad on the pricey side. They were known for a cracked pepper swordfish and it was phenomenal. I had never heard of black bean soup, but it was very good. After the second gin and tonic, I kept wondering if the restaurant was owned by Bill Daily, who played Major Healey in I Dream of Jeannie. (The spelling should have been a good indication that it was not.)
Next door to Dailey's restaurant is the jazz club/bar area I had heard about. I had about a half hour before the band came on, so I walked around downtown for a bit. Not a massively bustling city, but clean and pleasant enough. It definitely looks like it's in the midst of a renaissance of sorts.
The jazz club was nice enough, although it is also billed as a "cigar bar," which usually means you have to put your clothes in a HazMat van when you're done, but fortunately it wasn't crowded and no one was smoking cigars. It wasn't really a jazz band--more like a blues band and they did a decent enough job covering Van Morrison.
I was exhausted so I did not stay very long, although I did enjoy a local Georgia microbrew called Sweetwater Pale Ale, which is quite good.
The cab driver--the same one who had driven me there from the hotel; he gave me his card and was having a slow night and said to give him a call when I was ready to return--was a really nice if often impenetrably accented guy named Bade, who was of Nigerian extraction, having lived in Atlanta for 16 years. He gave me a tour (it was a flat rate to the hotel, so I wasn't being taken for a ride, so to speak) of the city--mostly of Martin Luther King Jr.'s birthplace, his original church, and where one of his first marches took place (it's a National Park now). We also went past Turner Field (the Braves were playing the Red Sox--I do not know who won, but was glad that I do not have a New England accent).
I did not see "The Magician" (you'll have to watch the Futurama clip below).
After my presentation Wednesday afternoon, I headed back to the airport. As I mentioned previously, I had not flown since before 9/11 and was not used to having to remove my shoes (although all I could think of was Kurt Vonnegut's quote that it was a good thing no one tried to sneak exploding pants onto a plane). Still, even with the immense security lines in Atlanta, everyone was well-behaved and the staff there know how to keep everyone moving. The Atlanta airport has its own subway system, but I elected to walk (I had a lot of time) the 3000 feet to Concourse B. Unfortunately, I realized too late that I had left my shoe inserts (for my plantar fasciitis foot problem) in my dress shoes--which were in the luggage I had checked. Doh!
It was about dinner time and after searching desperately and with aching feet for a place to eat that was not completely mobbed, I finally found a Sam Adams pub right near my gate and had a few pints of Sam's Summer Ale and a cheeseburger that was slightly less inedible than a McDonald's cheeseburger.
As it turned out, the flight was an hour late taking off because the crew were delayed getting in from Gulfport, MS. There was some grumbling; actually, every Delta flight was delayed, leading some to think DELTA stood for "Doesn't Ever Leave The Airport," which I found amusing. Still, I'm a veteran of Amtrak, so an hour late is nothing. I just wish they had more seats at the gate (my feet were really killing me and the beer was wearing off).
The flight back itself was very pleasant (there's something quite ethereal about night flights), and I found the drive back up I-87 at 2 a.m. a much better time to be driving. I can see the appeal of being a vampire (except maybe for the blood thing).
All in all, I achieved my goal of coming several steps closer to getting over my fear of flying. London, here I come!
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