I arrived back home in southern Oregon just after midnight this past Tuesday morning after a wonderful vacation with my sisters in the Mediterranean. I’ll continue to share my adventures and impressions of the ports we visited on our cruise in upcoming blogs, but today my body and mind are still recovering from the epic return portion of my journey. I was really quite fortunate in that all of my flights were smooth and on time, but the number and length of the legs of my trip really tested my endurance. I have lovingly informed my husband, who booked my flights (but who did not get to go on the trip . . . hmmmm . . . I don’t think I’ll pursue that train of thought . . . ), that in the future the extra cost for a more direct route is definitely worth the price.

My day began at 3 a.m. in Barcelona after four hours of sleep (or, at least, of being horizontal). My flight on British Airways wouldn’t depart the airport until just after 7 a.m., but my sister’s flight was leaving earlier, and we decided to share the cab ride to the airport. After paying 38 euro to check my second bag (definitely worth it to avoid schlepping that piece of luggage onto four different planes), I had a comfortable wait for my flight as I watched the sky brighten and the corridors begin to bustle with travelers.

I enjoyed the two-plus-hour flight to London’s Heathrow, looking down over France’s Gironde Estuary and the vineyards of Bordeaux between short naps and a light breakfast. I wasn’t concerned about negotiating the transfer from Terminal 3 to Terminal 4 at Heathrow, as I had at least three hours to do so and had accomplished the same task in reverse on my way to Venice. I collected my bags, checked them in with Continental and got through security again — no problem. I did learn that I would have to go through customs control in Houston (I had naively hoped it would be Seattle, at the end of my Continental flights), where I only had a one-hour, 15-minute layover before my next flight. The ticketing agent told me I would have plenty of time for that (REALLY?!!)  and not to worry, which I proceeded to do off and on for the next several hours. A flight attendant on the nine-and-a-half hour flight also assured me that they had the process down to a science, so I felt a little better. I did make a note, however, in the future to not book a seat that is directly in front of the bulkhead, because it cannot be reclined — a definite minus on a lengthy flight.

Arriving in the customs hall with what appeared to be thousands of other people, I was thankful that our flight had arrived a bit early and had deplaned quickly. For a while, as my line stalled, I reflected on the fact that I seem to have a singular talent in picking the slowest line, be it at Costco, the bank or customs! I zinged through at last, with 50 minutes before my next flight was to take off, picked up my luggage at baggage claim (no wait), but at the next stage was told I needed to have my bags inspected. Directed into that area, I, huffing and puffing, dragged up to the only other person waiting, a tall, elegantly dressed gentleman with a British accent. He glanced at me with some concern, and I realized how I must look. I explained with wavering voice that I had less than 40 minutes to my next flight, and he graciously urged me to go ahead of him.

We watched as four agents manning the site became two (shift change, curse my luck!), and those two seemed to be moving in slow motion. As one stood tapping at his monitor, I explained my timetable and inquired as to whether I could still make my flight. He typed away and explained as soon as he was finished he or someone else would help me. After what seemed another eternity, he called me up. As I struggled to get my bags on the conveyor, I asked (again, quavering voice; I did not voluntarily use that tactic; I was 20 hours into my day, 16 of which was travel time) if there was any hope of me making my flight. He took a quick look in my folder, decided the pittance I would have to pay on being slightly over the customs limit was not worth having this middle-aged woman fall apart on him, and sent me on my way. I dumped my luggage at the bag-check, not caring whether it’d make it on the plane (it did) – at least it was in the U.S.! — and tore off to go through security (again) and hop a train to my gate. I made it with minutes to spare, and once on the plane made a quick call to let Harry know I had made it that far. He sounded very relieved, but it was only while I waited for my last flight at SeaTac Airport that I fully understood why. A woman in the seat next to me mentioned that an Air France flight flying from Rio to Paris had been reported missing over the Atlantic. Suddenly my very mundane travel difficulties slipped into perspective, and I said a prayer for those missing and their loved ones, and one of gratitude for my own safe transit.

At last, after 26 hours of flight and layover time and 30 hours after I arose from my bed in Barcelona, my Horizon flight touched down at Rogue Valley International-Medford Airport. I have never been more thankful to be home and safe.

Again, my thoughts and prayers go out to the 228 souls on Air France flight 447 and all those who knew and loved them.

Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Over the course of the week, news and stories of Air France flight 447 continue to unfold. The terrible tragedy has captivated the attention of the world and brought many questions to the forefront. As I was starting my morning yesterday, I turned on Good Morning America and caught a segment on one such question being raised: Should families travel together on flights or split up? To be honest, I had never even considered this question. In reality, plane crashes are so rare. No one questions if families should be splitting up and driving two cars when they are all going somewhere together, and fatal car crashes are far more common.

The segment continued to recount many different stories and opinions on this subject. A young European couple, with two young children, took two separate flights to use up airline miles. The young mother and her son were passengers on that fateful Air France flight. The father and daughter were on a separate flight, which raised another question: Is it better to live without half your family? For this family, safety was not the issue for splitting up and, sadly, their lives have been forever changed as a result.

Other stories included a woman who lost both her parents in a plane crash when she was a girl. Today, when her family (her husband and two kids) go on a trip together, they all fly together. When she and her husband travel without the children, they travel separately. Another family profiled also always travels together, but the parents travel separately — even if they are going to dinner with friends at a local restaurant on a Saturday night. The segment continued for several minutes, even spotlighting airline employees and other frequent travelers and their opinions on the subject.

I found the segment to be very interesting. I didn’t fly too much as a child, but we always flew together as a family. I wonder if my parents ever thought about splitting up on flights. Perhaps when I have children of my own, this will be something I will start to consider. I began to wonder what other precautions I never consider that many people do. Over the past three years, travel has become a more regular, normal thing in my life — something I do without even thinking twice.

Does your family split up when traveling? What other safety considerations do you put in place before trips? Have you considered this and other precautions in the past? What are your thoughts?

My heart truly goes out to all those who have lost family and friends in the recent tragedy.

-Kim Krol, eFlyer editor, circulation and public relations executive

John and I were recently in New York for Global Traveler’s annual wine survey. Unfortunately, we were not part of the judging but were in charge of transporting the wine to the restaurant. We originally planned to assist during the actual tasting, but it turned out our help was not needed until the end of the day. Suddenly, we had about five hours of free time to do whatever we wanted.

Since it was such a nice day, we decided to get some lunch and then walk a few miles to The Dakota, the spot where John Lennon was shot. Across the street, in Central Park, was the Strawberry Fields tribute to Lennon. We sat around for a while, enjoying the day and also trying to kill some time.

We wandered around a bit and happened upon a competitive league of guys playing fast-pitch softball. There were two games simultaneously being played on separate fields. The players were men from the media and newspaper business. I was envious while watching, thinking to myself how cool it would be to get out on the field and play softball in Central Park.

Luck was on my side. On the next play, one of the players pulled a hamstring running out a ground ball. I turned to the umpire and told him I could substitute in for the injured player. To my amazement, he told me to get a glove and get out there. I was now playing for the New York Post; ABC News was our opponent. I was the happiest person on the planet. It kept getting better and better as I made some solid defensive plays and drove in a couple of runs.

Sweaty and dirty from playing, but feeling great, I was smiling from ear to ear as I rushed back to the restaurant. As I reflect on the day, I can only think one thing — not a bad day at all!

–Lou Atsaves, distribution specialist

On Saturday night, some relatives flew into JFK from California. I met them in NYC for a night out on Broadway, which is one of my favorite activities in the city. Their flight was scheduled to land at 5 p.m., but was delayed a half hour and forced to circle because of a VIP on the ground.

Luckily, they made it from JFK without traffic, and we made it to the theater with five minutes to spare. After the show, we expected to see Broadway crowded. We were also curious to glimpse the city’s new arrangement — Broadway is closed off to traffic between 42nd and 47th streets; it is for pedestrians only.

Instead, we were quite surprised to see an enormous number of police on 44th street, blockaded off by two cement trucks. I became nervous at first, as I thought something violent had happened. I ushered my relatives through the crowds, only to hear that President Obama and Michelle were in town, attending theater. My first reaction was, “That’s nice; good for them.” Then I wondered what event had brought President Obama to New York. I hadn’t heard about any official meetings.

I later learned that it was date night for the Obamas; a fulfillment of President Obama’s campaign promise that he would take his wife to Broadway once the election was over. Now, I, personally, would love to meet a man who keeps his promises. I imagine it is equally as hard to find those men in Washington as it is in New York. However, I can’t say I’m pleased with my tax dollars going to the President’s security detail for his date night. Not to mention, we can’t forget the accommodations they made to get to NYC in private aircraft.

Why again was it such a problem for CEOs to fly private jets when they were actually conducting business and helping the economy? Mr. Obama couldn’t be bothered to take Amtrak to NY, or, at the very least, combine his leisure plans with an official visit to NYC? That is, after all, common practice for most other business travelers when they are on the road. I doubt I, or the general public, will ever get answers to such questions. At least the show we saw, Blithe Spirit, was worth the extra commotion!

I would also like to extend my thoughts and prayers to the friends and family of those who have disappeared on Air France Flight 447.

-Alex Young, vice president and associate publisher

On Monday of this week, the repercussions of the recession – or economic downturn or whatever you want to call it — resounded much closer to home for me, literally. The plywood mill which employed 125 people in our small town of 2,000 announced it had closed for an indefinite period of time. Workers said they had not received any warning of the move, and with the nationwide stall in construction, it’s likely that those jobs are gone, for all practical matters, for good.

That same afternoon I got a call from my newlywed daughter in Chicago, telling me she had just been laid off from the job she’d held in the publishing industry for almost two years. She and the other employees let go that day accounted for about 10 percent of the office’s workforce. While Sarah was given about a month’s salary in severance pay and assured she would receive excellent references, they hardly assure us that she will rapidly find work again in her field — or in any job that will make use of her four-year private college education. Since arriving in the Windy City almost three years ago, she has done all the right things to make connections professionally and personally, so she goes forth on her job search armed not only with her skills, smarts and resume but also with a few potential leads. Until (when, not if!) she steps on that next rung of her career ladder, though, she knows she will likely be holding down some part-time jobs to help pay the bills.

While the evening news brings us headlines of the collapse of large retailers like Circuit City and trouble for yet another banking giant, we should remember that for each of those, there are hundreds if not thousands of unreported stories of small businesses closing or laying off workers. These have an enormous impact on their communities and the lives of all those suddenly un- or underemployed.

Flipping through a magazine last week, I scanned a page on which the editor asked a number of celebrities what they were doing differently in response to the shift in the economy. One reply, by a young actor I did not recognize (I realize I have reached that age where I do not fit the demographic at which a whole slew of programming is targeted), made me want to reach into the picture and grab him by his couture lapels and give him a shake. He said he was going to eat out less often and cook at home. Well, fine if he wants to hone those domestic skills, but doesn’t he realize the biggest  contribution he can make to this economy is to go out and spend some of that ridiculous salary he gets (note I did not say “earns”)?

I’m not suggesting that anyone spend beyond their means or consume frivolously or gluttonously. At the same time, it seems that for those of us that have the security of a steady income and savings, we should continue to support the businesses in our communities who rely on our patronage. Fewer diners mean restaurants hire fewer waitresses, bartenders, cooks and dishwashers. Shops that see a drop in revenue must lower their overhead, and so clerks and stockroom personnel see their hours reduced or jobs eliminated. Those folks are all our neighbors, our sons and daughters, our brothers and sisters.

So if you can, go buy a book at the local booksellers. Buy those new tires the car needs, and get a tune-up while you’re at it. Treat yourself to a massage or manicure. Take in a movie (be sure to buy some popcorn from the high school student at the refreshment counter), and then go have a nice dinner at the restaurant down the street. And please, tip generously . . . if you’re somewhere in the Chicago area, your waitress could be my daughter!

Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader