VIE Do
 

A bad start: I can't get on the Internet upstairs so go to the
lobby to pick up my e-mail and a flood of Easy Updates the
gist of which is that we're now scheduled to spend about 5
hours in LAX. Maybe we should take a field trip to In-n-Out
or Encounter - this latter less likely, as I've checked the
re-envisioned menu and see things like
:mr. yuck face:

UX6322 SAN LAX 0946 1032 CRJ 8A

Seatmate said that we should try to get on the previous
one, as one never knew with the fog at SAN. The flight
was Y3, so we asked - shot down due to weight restriction.
In the end, no worries. Our trip lasted 16 minutes. The
only particularly exciting part was that it took off on
time and came in a bit early, so we had 15 extra minutes
to enjoy the clubs.

UA 934 LAX LHR 1245 0710 777 8E

I kept getting Easy Updates. They ran in the usual way.

So we had a whopping 5 hours in the airport. I suggested
an In-n-Out run, but that particular brand of burger greps
her, so lili nixed that. I said the Encounter menu looked
chichified and not worth the trip outside security.

Checkin as *G was easy and got coupons. RCC member checkin
got coupons only on request.

All was well in the end; we used them on Jekel Cabernet -
not too bad actually for one chit each. The bartender
appeared to like us, and the wine was good enough for
seconds.

Some guy came up and ordered a drink with his wallet open,
as if he were going to give a nice fat tip. When he was
served, he snapped it shut, took the drink, and went away.
In lili's considered opinion it was a deliberate, practiced
act. How naughty.

At length it got sort of boring at the bar, so we went off
to the PC, where the free red wine from Canyon Creek was
some of the nastiest I've ever tasted. The lounge guardians
were nice as usual.

Jody Maroni's Sausage Kingdom: the regular footlong tasted
decent (I got a splotch of mustard on my luckily already
somewhat mustard-colored shirt); the "boudin" slightly
spicy, a bit porky and livery, but of a sausage rather
than a boudin texture. Okay food, not too much money.

Back to the RCC, where we received a tribute of additional
coupons (perhaps because of the length of the delay?
Perhaps because the system doesn't track you as well as we
feared?) and went back for more of the same.

Around 3:15 we went off for our rescheduled 3:47 departure.
We boarded around 3:47.

Row 8 middle isn't too bad. The legroom and recline appear
to be as good as anywhere.

Our very senior crew was reasonably attentive and reasonably
nice, with the possible exception of one rather painted FA
of a certain age, who kept making peculiar and personal
remarks, to which I said nothing. They related mostly to
what she thought I wanted to do to or with white women.
Annoying, yes. Out of line, yes. Worth reporting, probably
not.

to begin
Grilled shrimp brochette with sugar cane skewer (United
Airlines Executive Chef selection) - over mango and tomato
relish

and

Fresh seasonal greens - Creamy Garlic or Balsamic
Vinaigrette

The shrimp were two fairly large ones, pretty good,
with tart very firm mango and fairly ripe soft tomatoes.
Greens were sliced romaine and lots of cucumber.

main course
Filet mignon with herbed compound butter (United Airlines
Executive Chef selection) - red skin garlic mashed potatoes
and grilled asparagus

Sate spiced chicken - jasmine rice with chives and herbed
asparagus, carrot saute

Lasagna classica with roasted vegetables - Alfredo sauce

I was a nice boy and said I'd take whatever was left. lili
asked for the steak and commented that I was guaranteed
to get the pasta, which turned out to be true.

She cut into her filet, and it was done a bit more than
she would have liked, plus it was served with asparagus,
which she said she didn't eat; and so we traded. The
pasta, by the way, was slightly gummy but in range sheets
alternating with a spinach-ricotta mixture, topped with
a decent alfredo sauce and a sprinkle of grana - not bad
at all, but if I'd eaten it all, I'd have gotten a terrible
case of something, and her brother's keeper might have had
a touch of self-interest in trading with me. The filet
tasted pretty good, despite being done medium plus, and
the asparagus were actually quite nice.

dessert
International cheese selection - San Joaquin Gold, Le Cabrie

The former is a Cheddarlike substance of (according to my
source) no great distinction. The latter a rather dry and
tasteless goat Brieoid substance: it might be unfair to
judge it based on what came, which looked like two thin
slices of rind with a little tiny bit of cheese adhering.
I believe someone in the catering department may be
cheating the airline.

Ice cream

Chocolate; this went untried.

Courvoisier tasted pretty good, and lili now has learned
to tolerate Sandeman's Founder's Reserve fairly well.

midflight snack
Honey roasted turkey with baby Swiss cheese

Cucumber and Provolone sandwich

Sandwiches may be served either hot or cold

Mini pretzel twists

Walkers two finger shortbred [sic] cookies

Ghirardelli dark chocolate squares

Please help yourself to assorted sandwiches and snacks
located near the galley

I didn't, as my personal guide and bodyguard told me
that I should get some sleep, which I did, obediently.

prior to arrival
Continental breakfast - featuring a fruit appetizer, yogurt,
breakfast bread and fruit preserves

For the heartier appetite, you may select the following
entree:

Chive scrambled eggs - with turkey sausage and breakfast
potatoes

Exactly the same as previous incarnations of this food,
except that the sausage was spongier and more turkeylike,
and lili rejected it, so I got two extra sausages, of
which I ate one (speaking volumes for the quality of the
food).

champagne
Gremillet Brut nv Champagne or Pommery Brut Royal nv

The Champers was actually Drappier.

white wine
Selbach Riesling Kabinett "Feinherb" Mosel, Germany 2007 or
Kapuka Sauvignon Blanc 2008 Marlborough

Jean-Claude Fromont Chablis 2008

red wine
Altos R Tempranillo 2007 Rioja

Pedroncelli Three Vineyards Cabernet 2007 (DCV) or
Finca La Escondida Reserva Malbec 2007 San Juan

The Malbec was peachy and drinkable. The Rioja was oddly
also somewhat stone-fruity but had a distinct tone of
old shoes and was way too tannic to drink.

Revised flight times: 1619 1000. Fast Track immigration took
moments, and we were out and at the Tube by around 1020.

Our credit cards didn't work in the machine, one of the few
times on this trip that this happened - restaurants, shops,
and more importantly the transit systems in Dublin and
Vienna accepted them, so we had to go to the real person
window and get our Oyster cards refilled.

Downstairs, the unwelcome announcement "We are experiencing
severe delays on the Piccadilly Line due to an earlier
malfunctioning signal at Finsbury Park." Okay, that's what,
ten miles down the road? Whatever. We waited nearly half an
hour for a train, which eventually lurched its way slowly to
Acton Town, where we waited over half an hour until allowed
to continue on our way, somewhat faster but still quite
under normal. We were supposed to switch to the District
line, which we eventually did at Earls' Court - for future
reference, the transfer is easier at Barons' Court or even
better, Hammersmith.

Off the District line at Victoria, then onto the Southern
train to Streatham Hill, a refreshingly speedy trip for a
change. [Unfortunately, at some point lili lost her Oyster
card; so henceforth she traveled using various kinds of
day passes, which worked out fine but for the lost of ten
quid or so on the pass.] Our friends G and B's comfortable
home is only a couple hundred paces from the station, and we
were happy of that. We were welcomed at around 1300 as the
exhausted travelers that we were, and after washing up were
served a nice Sri Lankan lunch of chicken curry and yellow
split peas with coconut, prepared extra mild for lili's
delicate palate.

After which we wandered about Lambeth a bit (nothing much
of note there - just a reasonably civilized suburb) and
returned for the evening.

Bed felt mighty good that night.

I was going to show lili my old stomping grounds, so we took
the bus to Paddington, which the driver turned off at Marble
Arch, so instead we walked through Hyde Park, Knightsbridge,
and South Kensington, ending up somehow at Bibendum. I gave
her a little song and dance about how it's my friend
Nicholas's favorite restaurant, la la la (Nicholas's other
favorite London restaurants are or were a peculiar lot, in
order of goodness Vama, Brasserie St. Quentin, and Daquise),
and started walking off, whereupon she grabbed my arm and
stopped me, saying, you really want to eat here, don't you,
so I allowed that I did but hadn't planned on spending that
kind of money for lunch. It didn't take much convincing to
get me up those stairs and into the store. The girl really
does know me.

Despite my relative disarrayed appearance, we were welcomed
nicely and given a fine window table: I feel that I could
not have been responsible for this consideration.

Bread was terrific, and butter was better (though cold) and
went well with the Zefir Viognier that I'd ordered because
I was hot and bothered from all the walking.

I started with grilled pigeon breast on polenta with a wine
demi-glace: requested blue rare, it came blue rare and
very delicious. Kidneys in cream and pepper, also ordered
rare, were tasty, though for some reason the cores of a
couple of them hadn't been properly cut out. These came
with a garnish of carrot strings tossed in grainy mustard
and French beans on the side.

lili had a spectacular perfectly done filet, also with
French beans.

A perfectly respectable but somewhat forgettable Medoc went
with - though being youngish and purplish, it had lost much
of its fruit and turned into a stemmy superior bourgeois
nonentity.

More walking, but with a destination - the V&A, where we
saw the Raphael cartoons and went through much of the
permanent exhibition, until we were kicked out at closing.

Bus to Victoria, then a stop at a nearby pub (noisy, and
we stayed just for the one drink), the train, and home,
where G and B had prepared a nice roasted chicken. We had
a few laughs at the expense of lili and white food, though
I enjoyed the white food as much as anyone.

Another day pass day. At last I got her to Little Venice,
where friends used to regularly put up with me at their
townhouse on the Blomfield Road. lili enjoyed walking along
the water and looking at the quaint canal boats; we went a
bit farther west than I was accustomed to, and the walk
looked less attractive, and the weather was getting a little
windy and threatening, so we walked around Notting Hill and
back to Paddington. Stopped off at The Dickens (the longest
pub in England, something like that). I had the pretty
normal sausage and mash; she had what was billed as a rump
steak burger but was much more like meatloaf. We drank
Fuller's London Pride and Young's London Gold; I preferred
the latter.

I'd always wanted to go to Sir John Soane's Museum, one of
those eccentric phenomena, the house museum: Sir John was a
collector of antiquities, and after his death, his home at
Lincoln's Inn Fields was opened to the public. There's some
cool stuff - the sarcophagus of Seti I of Egypt, the Hogarth
Rake's Progress, a Fuseli of some guy mooning over a dead
girl (name of which I've forgotten) - and lots and lots of
interesting but lesser merchandise - bits of pulled-down old
Roman buildings, 18th and 19th century first editions, a
couple Canalettos (I don't see the appeal). An interesting
but odd way of spending a couple hours.

We had time to visit to the Wallace Collection, one of my
old favorites, where we spent more time in the armoury
collection than I had spent before but still got upstairs
in time to see the old old masters of which I am fond.

Bus to Victoria, where we found the plebeian pubs way
crowded, but there was a place with a pretentious Oxford-
referenced name (again, I've forgotten) that had places
free and a wine list. We had a bottle of Veneto Merlot
Cabernet that was reasonably well made and did the job.

There was a breakdown of some kind on the Victoria line, so
we hauled upstairs and got a bus to the station; then after
another small delay at Clapham Junction, we made it back for
an authentic Sri Lankan meal, which I'd requested.

Tuna curry with coconut, chicken curry, eggplant relish, and
onion relish, all properly spiced, thank the heavens, with
stringhoppers for starch - these last being a soft red rice
flour vermicelli. B had made Gordon Ramsay's recipe for
pasta salad with chicken for lili; it was cluttered but
good, the across-the-pond counterpart of Wolfgang Puck's
chicken and mandarin orange salad that has so often been
imitated, especially by the airlines.

As it had been the appropriate number of days, and we had a
morning plane to catch, it was premature goodbyes and an
early turn-in.

At oh dark hundred, G drove us to Brixton (a couple miles
down the road), where we steeled ourselves for another
Victoria line adventure, but there was no particular
adventure, and even the Piccadilly line was behaving. So
we got to LHR in the hour claimed by the Tube people.
Lufthansa-womanned checkin was efficient and friendly, and
we were in the Star lounge in a jiffy. Refreshments
included bacon butties and breakfast things, but I poked
my nose in the wines - for a change the whites were better
than the reds: Wandering Bear Zinfandel Rose, Stonebauer
Merlot 08, Wolf Riesling (Pfalz) 08, and a decent Chard
from Marmesa. The selection looked like what you might get
in a Japanese edition of Sky Mall.

I poured lili a sinfully large Famous Grouse and myself a
Remy, and life was good.

OS 452 LHR VIE 0920 1245 738 16EF

This was an hour late, owing to late arrival of equipment.
lili had been given the infinite legroom seat, which she
kindly ceded to me. Nobody in seat D.

The refreshment involved a rather wilted turkey sandwich
whose wrapper crowed "Best ingredients, all natural flavour,
handmade today." An Ottakringer helles helped.

Then the search for the All You Need 2, during which we got
lost several times in several ways. To give us our due, the
hotel's instructions were pretty weird, something we should
have figured out from the fact that they told us to take the
tram from the S-Bahn but neglected to say in which direction
(turned out it would have been just as quick to walk).

After a freshen up, what to do but go walking - and in fact
we did most of the next day's tour, but sans knowing what
we were seeing. We got to the 12 Apostles quite early so
ducked into Bane's, a quaint little bar, where we set the
precedent for several evenings to come by testing the local
mediocre Zweigelt against the local mediocre Blauburgunder.

Back to the Apostles right on time, where we found our table
already oversubscribed (with more to come). Jolly strolling
music, plenty of alcohol, abundant food, and a poker-faced
but accommodating waiter all contributed to an atmospheric
and memorable evening. I drank the caramelly thick Kaiser
doppelmalz, while lili and AC777 shared a bottle of a much
better Zweigelt than we'd had before or were going to get
later. For sustenance we split a sampler platter for two:
bacon-infused Kraut, meat dumplings, caraway roast, smoked
pork loin, blood sausage, and frankfurters. All were varying
degrees of good - the pork loin, dry, and the franks, wet,
the least good.

There were issues with wijomas's meal, as his abundant and
good-looking sandwich contained ingredients he couldn't eat
and that he had nixed when making his order (we speculate
that they couldn't believe "no butter," but he'd said
something about butter, so they figured "extra butter").
I ate the butter-contaminated slices of smoked pork loin
(better than ours, as not dry), and, feeling guilty, paid
for his sandwich, and apparently off he went to McDonalds
afterwards.

After a few hours of FlyerTalking, I walked lili back to the
hotel, the_happiness_store joining us shortly after. We bade
our lovely friend goodnight and asked the girl at the desk
for a recommendation for a place to drink. Turns out she
didn't drink, so she turned to another staffer - in Muslim
garb - who couldn't help either. Someone eventually pointed
us vaguely in a direction, and we took it, only to find the
local bar, which was closing up and sent us to the local
Chinese restaurant, which was closing up. Shortly we came
upon a wine bar that was open late; we split a bottle of a
Gruner Veltliner, decent, not memorable, but it did the job.

"Our lovely friend" being lili, not the_happiness_store!

An early breakfast and exit from the All You Need 2,
followed by the U-bahn to the S-bahn thing. I swear I
thought it said S7, but it really said something like S4,
and only when we whooshed by the south train station did
I figure that out, so a backtrack was in order, so our
time cushion was lost, and when we finally made it to the
airport, we had only moments to spare. It must have been
amusing to see these gray eminences running through the
tunnels as though the Cossacks were after them. But we made
it on time and were greeted by smiling Austrian Airlines
faces and blue Austrian Airlines umbrellas for the taking. I
prudently refrained from grabbing one - I have enough
knickknacks and didn't want to be saddled with one for the
rest of the trip.

After coffee and pastries and warm greetings all around,
the first order of business was the safety training,
something I think should be offered to elites and others
who might find themselves in the exit row - and actually,
to people in general who might want an extra edge in the
unlikely event of a water landing or an emergency of any
kind. Travelers are woefully uninformed about what would
actually be required of us in such situations.

The life rafts - how, if at all, would they be propelled
in the water? How would we get on in the first place?
Imagine this big floppy thing, which repositions itself
every time someone attempts to board it, and then, even if
there's land in sight, here it is, spinning and twisting and
pitching and yawing, how to get there? The excellent
overview was only that, but now we have some idea of what is
entailed in a water evacuation.

Exit door operation. Now we are confident we could handle
the things - 40 lb, something over what your average FTer is
accustomed to heft on an aircraft, is manageable after all.

Perhaps most importantly, the slides. In an emergency, long
pants, natural fabrics, jeans if possible. Flat shoes with
toes covered. We learned how to jump without being injured,
to control ourselves during that terrifying 5-second ride,
to help others on the ground. And we got to experience it:
our group had 4 opportunities, plus one on the overwing
exit (much harder to do, as you end up several feet above
the ground). Even in the simulated situation, there was
some anxiety involved - but now we've done it and know that
we can do it again if we have to.

A stimulating and exhausting session, and we were ready for
our generous lunch of local specialties: hugely abundant
servings of roast pork in a salty brown gravy and this odd
bread dumpling made out of leftover caraway rye bread and
eggs. I saw this later elsewhere, so it must be well liked,
somewhere. To go with I had a bottle of a sparkling beverage
flavored, supposedly, with Alpine herbs.

Then on to the maintenance hangar, which was heaven for
hardware geeks - I'm not one but found it interesting anyway
with the opportunities to see aircraft of famous people and
to peek into the spare engine room and various other places
that the public doesn't see.

And the now-obligatory behind-the-scenes baggage handling
tour - an impressive operation, with huge input and output,
and it's a wonder so few pieces go missing in proportion to
what gets delivered reasonably on time and intact. Funny how
many of these I've attended lately - it's almost as though
the airlines are trying to reassure their most frequent
flyers that it's okay to check a bag.

Operations headquarters is a treat for the IT people, with
the mind-boggling amount of data that has to be collected
and collated in order to get us where we need to go.

Finally, the bus tour of the tarmac. We were treated to some
beautiful takeoffs and landings and some less beautiful
statistics about the airport, and then it was time to say
auf wiedersehen, and to the Hilton, where I had a nice
corner room. Vienna with its terrific public transport is
easy to get around, especially from this great location.

Off to Figl's for drinks and a nice Schnitzel buffet.
Ottakringer dark was the order for the day, though some
oddballs had glasses of Zweigelt (okay) or Blaufranksch
(more okay) instead.

Appetizers: sliced beef with raspberry vinaigrette and
mozzarella and tomato salad, both homey and filling.

Soup course: I was one of the few to get leberknoedelsuppe,
whose dumpling was enormous (there are pictures out on the
Web someplace) and quite like what I used to make for myself
back when I was a Teutonic boy [g]; I forget what the other
soup choice was.

The buffet: pork and chicken schnitzel, of which I had the
former, quite nice though not so nice as made to order, but
what can you do about that; kummelbraten, good but not
fatty enough for my taste - probably too fatty for others;
schinken (ham).

For afters, a respectable strudel and a warm chocolate cake
that unfortunately tasted as if it had been made with whole-
wheat flour in a polite nod to health concerns.

Jollity aplenty, but suddenly an alarm rang simultaneously
in several Hilton Gold and Diamond heads, and we lit out of
there at 2215, hardly pausing to say "until tomorrow," and
well before the festivities had ended.

We hopped on the bus to the subway and back to the hotel,
hoping we'd get there before the executive lounge closed!

We returned to the lounge at quarter to, only to find that
the staff had cleared the booze. Somehow we managed to get
a couple bottles of Blaufranksch; when we were done with
these we were gently encouraged out by such methods as the
cleaning person vacuum around us: to be fair, it was at
least ten after when we toddled to our respective homes.

Altogether too early it was time to go downstairs for what
turned out to be a decent, fairly comprehensive breakfast
buffet, the only notable features being a horrid-looking
murky miso soup (no bowls near the soup, one had to go to
the cereal stand to get one) with a tray of jasmine rice
next to it. Oh, also, in addition to the usual raisins and
almonds to put in your cereal, there were pepitas.

Good service, and I ended up with about six refills of
orange juice without asking.

We met at the Hohen Markt for a tour of the old city. Our
guide was an energetic and attractive woman perhaps a bit
younger than myself who, though well versed in Vienna's
amazing and varied history, was equally interested in
discussing the sociological trends that had also helped
shape the city. The tour involved minimal walking, not my
preference, for for me at least, walking slow is more
difficult than walking fast. Our foci: the executioner's
square (a penalty that used to be quite frequent, with
major political figures as well as other kinds of criminals
being brought down in the wild old days), the Jewish
quarter, the oldest church still standing, and the Greek
neighborhood. We parted at noon, and lili and I had to
figure out where to lunch. The restaurant on Greek Street
where Mark Twain and Lieber Augustin had dined looked kind
of recherche and the prices high, so we retreated to
the Bermuda Bar for a really excellent Schnitzel and some
somewhat less than excellent Goulash. The Blaufranksch was
pretty good for 1.90 a glass and Ottakringer helles did the
job for me. Oh yes, a totally meat-free potato salad (I
think potato salad must have bacon or at the very least
bacon fat in it).

Again, we walked around town and sightsaw for a while; then
I abandoned lili to her independent wanderings and took the
subway to Schloss Schoenbrunn to meet up with the others. We
had a rather too short but crackerjack tour of the palace,
where I hadn't been in maybe a decade, followed by a long
and amusing stroll through the garden, where I'd never been.

Back to our hotels for a refreshment and perhaps a nap.

The Heurige (wine bar) 10. Marie was our dinner destination.
To get there we took one of the subway lines to the end and
waded through a street fair, then in the door and way to the
end on the left for, OMG, more FTers and, surprise, lots of
wine. We plopped down at a table, whereupon the waitress
took an instant anti-shine to me probably for being too
pushy ordering drinks. But to my credit my friends and I
were parched by this time.

I'm not that fond of Sturm. In addition to its causing a
storm in the belly and then a storm in the head next day,
to me it tastes too much like ordinary spoiled juice. We
had the obligatory glass per person, and then (remember
that the waitress was being hostile) I ended up going to
the bar and ordering a couple carafes of the house rough
red, for which I think a couple of people, whom I forget,
might still owe me a couple of Euro. Or might not - the
wine really wasn't worth paying for.

A buffet of Viennese specialties was abundant and tasty,
with the Kummelbraten again being my mainstay (here, the
outside was strangely resilient). Surprisingly good was an
eggplant schnitzel that I could have eaten all night; but
again the executive lounge summoned, and a bunch of us
left before dessert and closed up the joint again, this
time closer to 2330.

Donauturm day.

I walked from one of the U-bahn stops on the river and then
through the park: it was a gorgeous day, and I must have
moseyed rather slowly, as I didn't get to the tower until
right at 11, despite having allowed huge scads of time.
Our jolly crew took a breathtaking ride up to about the
150m level, where we had several tables reserved at the
buffet.

A great panorama, varied by our revolving at once per 20
minutes or so, so we all got to see it all. As my eyesight
isn't very good, I sat at the aisle end (good for getting
food) until late, when others had cleared out, and I could
move over and squint to my heart's content.

The food was quite varied and good on the whole. The oddest
thing I got was minced up tripe and lungs in a slightly sour
sauce; everything else, various kinds of roast (hot and
cold), fried chicken, herring, salmon, mussels, stews,
vegetables, salads, was abundant and tasty. Ottakringer beer
for about a 25% tourist tax.

szg's bungee jump was cancelled for some reason, so there
went the thrill of the day. A few of us visited the open-air
observation deck (I think where the jump was supposed to
take off from) - same view, only windier.

I returned to the hotel and picked lili up at the bar, well,
you know what I mean, and we went on a field trip to see the
beautiful blue Danube. We explored the riverbank for a while
and then crossed the pedestrian bridge to the island, where
we found a wine bar and Iris30, not necessarily in that
order. We passed up the opportunity for a glass of Sturm
preferring beer and red wine instead, after which we decided
to take the subway to the Prater (what else to do when it's
dark?).

The Prater is sort of like the Alaska State Fair times ten
(description borrowed), only a little more seedy around the
edges. Food stalls, sideshows, rides, including a giant
Ferris wheel and this star-shaped thing that whips riders
around on its arms - very vertiginous-looking.

We'd planned on dining at the boiled beef restaurant near
the hotel, but we got a little peckish a little early and
found ourselves in front of the Schweizer Haus, a jolly
beer garden stuffed with locals (or at least, people
speaking varieties of German). You sit at long tables with
bunches of strangers, and ingest curious liquids and pinguid
meats. We split a large roasted pork hock and an order of
potato pancakes, and that was close to the end of us: an
enormous amount of food, but the issue was that it was
dead salty and not roasted with quite the level of care that
I've become accustomed to at my favorite Munich places, so
a little dry. Budweiser dunkel and some glasses of cheap
Zweigelt helped it down.

And in the fullness of time U-bahn and back to the Hilton
for our customary nightcap at the lounge.

I'd arranged with lili to meet for breakfast at 9, but
RestlessinRNO had dibs on her for 8.

Restless wasn't there at 8:05, so I swooped over and stole
her. Though we asked for a table for 3, the officious spiky-
haired manager trainee type greeter put us at a table for
two where we received really neglectful service, with nobody
coming to serve us beverages (we were waving our hands
perhaps more than normally after a point, the waiters
ignoring us) until some lady at the next table took pity
on us and flagged someone over on our behalf. To be fair,
the room was twice as crowded as over the weekend, and Mr.
Spiky and his somewhat more decorous "colleague" didn't
go into the business to bus tables (which they ended up
having to do). The spread appeared identical to the
weekend's; I had salmon and eggs and refilled my orange
juice myself. At last, just as we were about to leave, a
very young very junior busboy asked if he could refill our
juice and decaf, saving the honor of the hotel for another
day.

lili and I had no fixed itinerary and just wandered off
south. A few blocks away from the hotel we stopped and
looked at a map for a good long time figuring where to go.
Though we knew precisely where we were, we were a bit lost
in our heads and looked it. Nobody gave us a second glance,
though, until presently a tall Danish guy offered his
assistance - though from Copenhagen, he had lived here for
many years and was glad to show off his adopted city. We
ended up just asking about the bus to St. Marx cemetery,
and he walked us to the stop and wished us well.

Mozart's grave is here in amid all the Biedermeyer stuff.
That's why I wanted to visit; lili was more drawn by the
Biedermeyer. The stop made us both happy.

The choice now was - lunch or the Belvedere (Upper); we
chose the latter, with its comprehensive collection of
Austrian art (in general I don't care for Austrian art)
and those amazing Klimt women.

Sadly, we didn't have time for the Music House, which had
come highly recommended; there are probably a dozen other
attractions that will have to wait for next time.

Picked up our bags at the Hilton; then down to the S-Bahn
where we got our supplement tickets for the airport - good
thing, as an inspector came by during our journey.

A quick ride.

lili had to check not only her quite heavy carry-on but
also the blue umbrella, which went through the heavy and
bulky baggage desk. It was just a few minutes until
we were past passport control, past the Senator lounge -
whoops, retrace.

They were pouring decent stuff - Santa Rita Reserve Cabernet
(though the first bottle was a little corked) and a pretty
good Blaufranksch. I had Bisquit VS followed by apple-pear
Schnapps (kind of intriguing). Hot food: creamed chicken
with butter rice (okay, though the rice was Uncle Ben's or
the equivalent) and cream of chickpea soup (odd).

LH3539 VIE FRA 1915 2030 733 19AB

LH in coach is, well, coach. The service is sort of brusque
and the seats are sort of uncomfortable, but it's no worse
than US domestic service. Plus you get a snack, which this
evening was a really nasty "bruschetta with olive oil," to
be washed down with a Blaufranksch of slightly lower quality
than the club had offered. Short flight, thank goodness.

Of course we ended up at a remote stand and were bussed to
an immigration booth, made to walk half a mile and up and
down in the warren that is FRA, and then bussed back to a
remote stand approximately next to where we'd just left.

LH4984 FRA DUB 2135 2230 320 6EF

Another kind of nothing flight, scheduled at 2 hours, and
we needed almost all of that to get our 668 miles. The
snack: a cheese roll filled with capsicum spread; Warsteiner
and a glass of red wine of slightly lower quality still.

We were ready to head for the bus when a youngish-looking
gent accosted me it was my friend M, who had recently shaved
off his beard, which he'd had ever since I'd known him -
three decades at least. He looked rather like his son in
this condition. His wife, MB, looks about the same as when I
met her almost 40 years ago, but she was gray then. The
airport pickup allowed for a nice half hour catchup as well
as saving us time and money. There's a toll bridge and
tunnel and highway built since I last came through a few
years ago. Soon we were in Dalkey and were shown to our
extremely nice digs - lili in the guest room and myself in
the room vacated by their older son when he ran off to
join the navy or something.

In the morning, oohs and ahs at what lili characterized as
the perfect house. After breakfast (for me: juice and a
banana) and appropriately admiring the view of Inis Caoin
out the back porch, we went for a stroll to the quarry, then
up Dalkey Hill, where Neverland, a kind of remake of Peter
Pan, was being filmed, then through town, something I'd not
done as it turns out in 18 years (my other visits apparently
had been short ones or in bad weather).

Lunch at M's favorite pub, Finnegan's, where the joints of
the day were pork loin and pork belly, both quite good, with
green beans and butternut squash with cumin. The loin came
with a big blob of mash; the belly with some very strongly
cruciferous colcannon. Guinness and red wine followed by
more walking around town, during which we got a couple
bottles of Clancy's at The Grapevine for not much more than
they would cost back in the States (though twice the price
as in Australia).

I'd wondered about the Guinea Pig for its name - turns out
to be one of the most acclaimed restaurants in the Dublin
area. M was working late, so lili and I took MB out there
for dinner. Other than a questionable smell in the
anteroom, it was a pleasant enough space.

A starter of coarse pate was excellent.

MB ordered the mixed grill of fish (plaice, cod, haddock,
salmon I think) - each was done right - a lovely plate.

lili's rack of lamb too was perfectly medium rare.

My strip steak came out a generous 10 oz, blue as ordered:
the chef came out to check that it was rare enough. Indeed
it was - the garlic butter blopped on top refused to melt,
which was fine with me, as I pushed it off to the side.

Mixed vegetables with carrots, zucchini, peppers, and bean
sprouts perhaps in an homage to me, perhaps because they're
cheap; roast potato wedges, so the garlic butter had a use.

A Chilean Merlot, name forgotten, was forgettable but did
the job.

next morning
 

MB was free so took us on a drive; we went past Bono's house
- two decades ago he'd been living in a large but perfectly
normal house with a gate that was open all the time; now, as
he's become uber-famous, he's moved one town south to a
giant spread in Killiney invisible for its great wall on our
way to Powerscourt, the destination I'd suggested. This
important estate had been a burnt-out ruin when I'd visited
it before - the Slazenger family had restored it and held a
gala there, but on that very night it burned down, the cause
forever unknown, - but the gardens had been meticulously
tended and very beautiful. Now, the castle has been fully
restored, and it's turned into a flourishing enterprise,
entrance costing something like E7, and some of the property
having been sold off for a golf course and a Ritz-Carlton.

The gardens were not quite so carefully tended as before,
which is a little odd - but back then there was nothing for
the staff to do, I guess. They were still beautiful, and, as
it had lately rained, there was a guidebookful of mushrooms
for me to poke around and try not to be poisoned by.

In order to avoid this, lili and MB steered me in the
direction of the Avoca restaurant (on premises); the ladies
had various kinds of quiche, each of which come with three
serves of salad (lili chose carrot, tabbouleh, and tomato).
On seeing the size of the portions it was suggested that I
not order any food, but I had a bowl of celeriac and bacon
soup, which was fine but didn't have enough bacon in it.
This came with an enormous slice of brown multigrain bread,
whose saving grace was that it didn't have much salt. I
also shared lili's salads, which were made with good fresh
ingredients but made me think too much of Whole Foods.

The house wine was Chantefleur Rouge, which MB and I had
drunk much of together 30 years ago, and which I'd have liked
to have for old times' sake, but it was out. So another
forgettable Chilean Malbec was the order of the day.

Butler's dark chocolate from the gift shop made a nice
little dessert.

Back via Enya's home in Dalkey proper, a castle such as she
had apparently always dreamed of living in, so when she
became wealthy enough to buy one, she did. It's mostly
obscured by a wall, not surprisingly. The days when you
could just walk into one of these people's front yards and
maybe get to say hi to them as they pulled weeds is gone,
but even in my 30s and 40s we could do things like that.
It's a loss of innocence, and I can't figure out quite why
it happened - have people and the world changed that much?

On the way, home we passed a quaint little C of I church
that had a peculiarly large number of cars parked there,
given it was a weekday afternoon, something on which MB
remarked. It turned out that M had skipped out of work
and attended a funeral there - someone who had taught at
the school their sons had attended, and we'd unknowingly
crossed paths.

A nice dinner at home after drinks (Tahbilk Shiraz 2001)
followed by dessert on the deck (Avoca gingerbread).

Nice "foodie" story. Made me hungry! :)

"are gone." Brian, this wasn't even a foodie trip report!