Chicken or the pasta? I like airline meals. It’s not that I always see culinary merit. But I generally enjoy the vibe of eating while flying. More often than not, I find the food isn’t actually bad, whatever the class of service. But I’m easy to please.

However, even at the front of the plane, the food is nothing extraordinary. I never count on a long-haul Business Class meal being better than what I’d get with a ready-made meal from a fancy supermarket (especially U.K. supermarkets, which have long mastered ready-mades in a way their American counterparts never have). It’s fair to say that hardly anyone chooses an airline because of the food.

A fixed-price airline in the sky

There was a time, however, when that wasn’t the case. Until about 40 years ago, U.S. airlines were not permitted to set their own fares. Instead, domestic fares were laid down by the Civil Aeronautics Board, a precursor to the Federal Aviation Authority. There were also international agreements that fixed what airlines could charge between different countries. So in those days, all airlines flying a given route had to charge the same. The rationale was that if they competed on price, they would cut corners, thereby compromising safety. Maybe there was validity in that concern back in the days when aviation was still a fledgling industry. But the result was that aviation was priced beyond the reach of many.

Unable to compete on price, airlines competed heavily on service — and food was a major battleground. Meals could be impressive, especially in first class. That was long before the era of lie-flat jet travel. In fact, it was long before the onset of what we today call “Business Class.” Then, First Class passengers — even on long-haul flights — enjoyed comfortable and wide recliners, but nothing like today’s semi-private pods that convert into beds. The food, however, was something else. Think, for example, roast beef carved and plated in front of you from a cart (or “trolley” as the Brits would say), lobster, caviar, and the like. Airline regulation made for, literally, a fixed-price menu in the sky.

Much of the culinary luxury was in First Class. But passengers in the back sometimes also experienced things they could only dream of today. For example, TWA and Continental — much later absorbed into American and United, respectively — had stand-up bars with lounge seating in coach on some of their 747s. And free meals in economy were the norm.

How deregulation changed the menu

All that changed with the U.S. Airline Deregulation Act of 1978, signed by President Carter. It phased out the Civil Aeronautics Board’s control over routes and fares, with the process complete by 1985.

Some might find it surprising that it was Carter — often looked back on these days as on the left of U.S. politics — not Reagan, who defeated him after one term, who deregulated the airline industry. But Carter was a Southern Democrat who ran partly as an outsider and budget hawk. He was not ideologically aligned with the pro-regulation wing of the Democratic Party. He believed in market efficiency and was skeptical of bureaucratic bloat. Plus, deregulation was not simply pandering to the airline industry. It opened up aviation to the masses. It was as much an egalitarian move as a capitalist one. It is hard to overstate how much deregulation changed the airline industry — food, included.

A celebratory dinner at PDX

An event caught my eye recently that sought to revisit the glory days of airline meals. It was a ticketed dinner that took place in February at the Portland International Airport titled: “Greatest Airline Meals of the 20th Century.” Portland was not a particularly prominent outpost in the “glory” days of pre-deregulation aviation — even though today it has, at least on some criteria, the best airport in the USA (more on that shortly) — but it happens to be the home of the person behind the event, Bill Oakley.

Oakley is best known as a former writer and producer for The Simpsons, the iconic animated American TV comedy. These days, Oakley has a following as a foodie and also has an interest in aviation. Combining his talents, he put together this dinner that ran on two consecutive evenings, seating around 75 people each time — many of whom flew in specially. It took over Loyal Legion PDX, a pre-security beer hall at the airport.

Both nights sold out quickly after word got around on the aviation blogosphere and the Portland foodie-sphere. No tickets were available when I found out about it, but I checked obsessively and snagged a couple after a cancellation.

The dinner involved a seven-course meal drawn from airline menus at various points in the 20th century. It was more of a tasting menu than a veritable feast. But it was a valiant culinary effort and was accompanied by an entertaining presentation by Oakley himself who — outfitted as a Pan Am captain — introduced each dish with vignettes about the aviation era from which the course was drawn. An optional curated flow of themed cocktails accompanied the meal.

Among the more interesting dishes were kangaroo soup — served by Qantas in the days when London to Sydney was a multi-stop route traveled over days — and caviar and blinis, with shots of vodka, served by Alaska Airlines in the days when they ran charter flights to Russia. Alaska was the main sponsor of the event, incidentally. There was also Pan Am lobster salad. The penultimate course was a TWA steak. And dessert was copied from the British Airways Concorde.

A brief supersonic and North Korean detour

I flew on Concorde a couple of times. Fortunately, other people were paying. I don’t recall the dessert. But what’s remarkable looking back is how the hard product — the cabin seating — was nothing special. The seat in the single-class cabin was no more spacious or comfortable than the LOT Polish Airlines Premium Economy seat on which I’m sitting while writing this flying to Miami after running the Warsaw Half Marathon (of which more in a later post — although, spoiler, LOT PE is surprisingly good as the service merges more into the Business Class end of the plane than regular Economy).

Supersonic long-haul passenger travel might be making a comeback soon with Boom Supersonic’s promised narrow-body Overture aircraft, on which some airlines — American, United, and Japan Airlines included — have options. But whether they’ll go lie-flat or take the view that the shorter flight times inherent in supersonic travel obviate that need remains to be seen. Concorde did not fly any red-eyes, as I recall — so the upright seating gelled with the model.

Oakley’s presentation also highlighted what he thought might be the worst airline meal of the 20th century — a somewhat gray slab of meat served on North Korea’s Air Koryo. I’ve only flown on Koryo once — traveling with my then teenage daughter from Beijing to Pyongyang in 2008 — but I recall being given a ham and cheese sandwich that wasn’t bad. It was more than I’d be given on a U.S. domestic flight today.

This past New Year’s Eve, my daughter — now an attorney — posted a short TikTok video as a flashback on that North Korea trip. For reasons I do not fully comprehend, it went “viral” and has, as of this writing, had over 8.5 million views. That’s more than 0.1% of the world’s population. I wish this blog garnered similar attention.

The race to the bottom

After U.S. deregulation, price competition in passenger aviation became paramount. And cutting costs became essential to airline survival. Food was an easy target. The race to the bottom began gradually. Throughout the 1980s and 90s, meal quality declined steadily — portions shrank, ingredients cheapened, and hot meals began disappearing on shorter routes.

Then came 9/11 and the airline downturn that followed. What remained of the free meal in economy on longer domestic routes soon disappeared. The buy-on-board era, such as it is, arrived.

Culinary life at the front of the plane remained better, of course, but only up to a point. I can only recall one flight in recent years with food plated from a trolley, and that was while non-revving in Royal Jordanian Business Class from Chicago to Amman four years ago.

Sexualization and gender in aviation

Oakley’s presentation reminded diners of something else that existed pre-deregulation. That was the sexualization and objectification of flight attendants, or “stewardesses” as female cabin crew were known in those days.

Airlines had strict rules on the appearance and age of stewardesses. Braniff — a Texas-based airline (which briefly partnered with BA to fly the Concorde subsonically between Dulles and Dallas as a continuation of flights from London) — was known for its stewardesses in “hot pants” and go-go boots as well as its “air strip” service. American, Pan Am, and others required stewardesses to be single. United even ran men-only flights between New York and Chicago, on which stewardesses would offer to light passengers’ cigars.

One can debate the extent to which all that came to an end because of the economics of deregulation, or because of changed societal norms. No doubt it was a combination. But that era was all part of a male-focused airline industry that emphasized indulgence combined with sexual innuendo. In parts of the world — especially Asia — some airlines continued to promote female cabin crew as a “service feature” for much longer.

With the assumption that flights attendants were female went one that pilots were male. That has not yet gone away. My wife, an airline captain, still quite often encounters situations where people assume she is a flight attendant.

Post-World War Two, not a single female pilot worked for a U.S. scheduled passenger airline until 1973. That was five years before deregulation. And it was 13 years before my wife got her pilot’s license. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to pursue that, but for the fact an aviation course sparked her interest while browsing a college catalog.

The passenger jet era began in the late 1950s. And just as the flight deck was, for practical purposes, off limits to women for many years, so too were flight attendant positions to men. But in 1967, a man called Celio Diaz Jr. sued Pan Am after being denied a job as a flight attendant because of his gender. Pan Am argued that feminine traits were better suited to the job, and that passengers preferred women. Diaz’s lawsuit went to the U.S. Court of Appeals, which ruled in 1971 that limiting the role to women violated Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act. The court found that a flight attendant’s gender was not a bona fide occupational qualification and hiring men did not hinder the core, safe operation of the airline.

Diaz’s win opened up the profession to men (and likely also helped open up the flight deck to women). But sadly, by the time the case was won, he was no longer eligible for the position with Pan Am due to age restrictions in place at the time. It took a bit longer for that barrier to be raised as well.

A journey

Passenger aviation is on a journey. As much as people complain, it has — overall — changed for the better over the years. It is safer, more affordable, and more inclusive (both for passengers and crew). Depending on where you are sitting, it is not necessarily less comfortable. Men no longer run the show on their own. My wife talks of her “unmanned flights” where all the crew — flight deck and in the cabin — are female.

Where that journey will go is far from clear. There’s evidence, for example, of a substantial increase in turbulence caused by climate change. What would happen if turbulence became so prevalent globally in future years that meal service became impractical? Or if the skies became so unfriendly as to make passenger aviation untenable?

The aviation industry is barely 100 years old. In the context of human civilization, it is not even a blip on radar. I’d be curious to know what aviation in the 22nd Century will be like. Maybe there will be a dinner in 2126 harking back to today. Or maybe not.

In praise of PDX

I flew into Portland on the morning of the dinner. There is usually only one flight a day between Santa Barbara — my hometown — and Portland, and it currently leaves very early in the morning. That gave me a long time to kill at PDX before meeting my wife who was getting there in the early afternoon after coming off a work trip. But I’d been meaning to check out the airport, which I hadn’t been to since its recent massive upgrade.

A $2-billion renovation has made PDX into what is visually probably the most stunning airport in the USA. The centerpiece is a vast timber roof covering nine acres — apparently the largest of its kind in the world — made entirely from wood sourced within 300 miles. Two 120-foot video walls above security display an electronic art installation featuring Oregon-inspired scenes that shift with the time of day and weather.

More than half the shops and restaurants are locally owned, including Portland staples like Powell’s Books and Stumptown Coffee. All vendors are required to charge the same prices as they do on the street in Portland — unlike at most airports, where they tack on hefty mark-ups. And since Oregon has no sales tax, those street prices are what you actually pay. A nice feature is the wooden stadium-style seating where people meeting inbound passengers can wait or, indeed, where arriving passengers can chill before braving the wider world. The aforementioned Loyal Legion Beer Hall is pretty unique in the overall desert of U.S. landside airport concessions (and even has a speakeasy, which featured in the airline meals dinner).

Better still, PDX has a good lounge scene, which is shortly to get even better. Alaska is the dominant carrier at the airport. Right now, its two lounges there are nothing special and can be overcrowded, but it will be opening a new, huge one later this year that promises to be one of the best on the West Coast of the U.S.A.

And there is already an excellent Priority Pass lounge, the Escape Lounge. PP lounges within the U.S. aren’t always great (if they exist at all), but the Portland one — where I hung out that day — is among the best. It has nice views, and the staff are unusually attentive in the way they proactively check to see whether you want anything. It even has a private room with a daybed — it has glass walls, but curtains for privacy — as well as a small meeting room and a shower. All are available at no extra cost on a first-come basis.

I am, as I noted earlier, easy to please, and see merit in all of the other main U.S. West Coast international airports — LAX, SFO, SAN, and SEA. But if your connections align — and they may not as PDX is among the smaller of the five — Portland is the nicest. I plan to find an excuse to go back soon to check out the new Alaska lounge soon after it opens. ✈️

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The Taipei Standard Chartered Half Marathon is part of a large event that also includes a marathon and an 11-kilometer run, the latter an unusual distance. I ran it in January. It was a short trip, with just two nights on the ground. I flew out of Taipei on the afternoon of the race and — thanks to the magic of the international dateline — was in bed at home in Santa Barbara, California, that same evening.

Table of Contents

• Taipei or not Taipei?

• The admittedly absurd allure of the medal

• The Standard Chartered race series (and how I might have been a bank manager in Karachi)

• A very brief history of modern Taiwan

• Registration and packet pick-up

• 一切都是中文的

• The race-day experience

• How my finisher’s medal became famous

• A short hike up Elephant Peak

• Night markets and 7-Elevens

• Taipei travel logistics on the ground

• The outbound journey to Taipei: a cautionary tale of a wasted non-rev lie-flat

• Starlux in brief

• Non-rev return: the last standby standing

Taipei or not Taipei?

I came close to not going to Taipei. I have a protocol that unless I can perform a plausible 10-mile run within a couple of weeks before a half marathon, I’m not good to go. I act as my own examiner, trying to impress myself enough to obtain the sign-off. I don’t set the bar too high, but there are various criteria, including finishing with at least a modicum of strength.

This time it was a close thing. I hadn’t done a half marathon for over four months. And life had lately got in the way of my running. As the race approached, I was far from sure I was fit to run 13.1 miles. I somewhat dreaded putting myself to the 10-mile test.

I cut short the first 10-mile check-run, realizing it would not work out well. I finished the second, but it was very marginal. I thought of downgrading to the 11K distance in Taipei. But when I emailed the organizers, they told me it was too late to transfer registration. They said I was welcome to run the 11K course, but I wouldn’t get an official time or a medal.

The admittedly absurd allure of the medal

I get it that the allure of finisher medals is a little absurd. I can imagine the awkward conversation after I am gone about throwing out my collection. (“He’d totally get it. What are we meant to do with them? It’s not as though he did anything with them when he was alive!”)

But the prospect of no medal was enough to make me try the 10-mile run again with one week to go until race day. And this time it was just about okay. I guess medals do motivate. The Taipei medal, by the way, turned out to be a bit of a collector’s item — although not for the reasons that the organizers planned. More on that later.

So I gave myself the nod to fly to Taipei three days later. Still, my goal there was modest. It was simply to do a slow, steady run.

The Standard Chartered race series (and how I might have been a bank manager in Karachi)

Standard Chartered — the race sponsor — is a British bank with roots going deep into the country’s imperial past. When I was an undergraduate at a fancy university in the UK in the late 1970s, I reviewed their recruiting materials. In those days, career options literally came in thick catalogs. With wanderlust in my bones, I toyed with the idea of joining Standard Chartered’s retail banking operation in Africa or Asia as I leafed through the pages. Had I played my cards right, I might have become the manager of a branch in Khartoum or Karachi by my late twenties. Life took me in other directions, however.

I suspect that those who took the opportunity were ones who — a generation or two earlier — would have been recruited in the colonial service to become district commissioners in such places, civil servants sent from Britain to rule over swathes of colonial territory. For my generation of Brits, banks like Standard Chartered — and a couple of big trading companies — were a chance to try to hop onto the last colonial bus that had left the station but was still picking up a few stragglers on the outskirts.

Today, Standard Chartered, while no doubt having shed its imperial coat, is still active in the markets that defined it back in those days. And it is a major sponsor of running events in a number of them. There are Standard Chartered races in a bunch of countries, most of which were either British colonies or places where some imperial or trading footprint was planted — for example, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, and Nairobi. There’s even one in the Falkland Islands, Britain’s still-remaining outpost in the South Atlantic. Not to mention a 5K in London’s financial district.

A very brief history of modern Taiwan

Standard Chartered’s presence notwithstanding, Taiwan was never a British colony. But it was colonized by various powers — Holland, Spain, China, and — from 1895 — Japan. It was known to Europeans as “Formosa.”

Following Japan’s defeat in World War two, Taiwan was handed to the Republic of China. In the ensuing civil war, Chiang Kai-shek’s Kuomintang anti-communist forces retreated to Taiwan, establishing Taipei as the provisional capital of the entire nation of China. And the standoff between Beijing and Taipei has continued ever since, each claiming to be China’s legitimate seat of power.

For many years, Taiwan was ruled by a Kuomintang military regime. But in 1987, the Kuomintang lifted martial law and Taiwan began to evolve into a liberal democracy, culminating in the first direct presidential election in 1996. It developed cutting-edge tech industries and pioneered same-sex marriage in Asia.

The Kuomintang remained in power until 2000, when the Democratic Progressive Party was first elected and began to pursue a distinct Taiwanese identity, without formally giving up a “one China” position.

For many years, it seemed that China and Taiwan would, for practical purposes, coexist as separate “countries,” even though Taiwan has never claimed to be a “country” and is not internationally recognized as one. But with mainland China now adopting an increasingly aggressive stance, nothing in the future seems certain.

Today, the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial Hall in Taipei remains a flashpoint for debate, with some viewing it as a site of national commemoration and others as a symbol of authoritarianism. I stopped by the day before the race and happened to be there for the ceremony of the changing of the guards.

Registration and packet pick-up

There aren’t that many big January races in the world. In the Southern Hemisphere, it’s a bit too much in the height of mid-summer. And in the Northern Hemisphere, it can be too wintery or close to the holidays.

But the Standard Chartered Taipei event is a big one that takes place in the first half of the month. Between the various distances, it attracts around 26,000 entrants. Registration is inexpensive by international standards. I paid around $43. The registration window is tight, however, and generally takes place late in the preceding summer — so check out the race website carefully. It’s first-come, first-served, not the ballot system that you find in some large races in Asia.

Packet pickup took place over three days at an event venue called the Songshan Cultural and Creative Park in the center of the city, not especially close to the race start or finish. However, many — perhaps most — participants who live in Taiwan receive their bibs through the mail. So although there was an expo, it was quite small and low key.

They called the pick-up venue the “Runner Shakeout Station.” That suggests some sort of warm-up run associated with it, and there was a small one the day before the race. But it seems to have been limited to around 20 runners, all from overseas. I only found out about it after the race.

Unusually, there were no race shirts — either included in the registration amount or for sale separately at the expo. Instead, runners got a singlet, a sleeveless substitute. Maybe singlets are good for those with more buff physiques, but I chose — in the public interest — not to take the one offered to me. (Oddly, participants in the 11K did get a shirt, although I’m not sure how good it was.)

There was one of those display walls just outside the expo, where they list the name of every registered runner in tiny print. I was relieved to find my name included in the non-Chinese section of the display before entering the expo, as until then I had a nagging doubt as to whether my attempt at registering on the Chinese-language portal had successfully checked all the required boxes or whether I had mistakenly registered for something entirely different.

一切都是中文的

The race makes relatively few accommodations to English speakers. Although the front-facing website has an English option, registration involved navigating a Chinese-language site. It was a bit tricky, but translation tools made it manageable. All the pre-race email communications were also in Chinese. As were the signs and notices at packet pickup (except for the aforementioned “Runner Shakeout Station” sign).

There was, however, a PDF runner’s guide with some parts translated into English. And the race slogan was also in English — “Together, We Run Further.” I had mixed views about that message. Thirteen point one miles seemed plenty to me, without any “further.”

The general lack of English extended to race morning as well. None of the signs or announcements were in English — except for the “10, 9, 8, etc.” countdown as runners were released.

I was a little surprised at how little accommodation was given to English speakers. Taipei — in general — does make an effort in that regard. Helpful signs make it fairly straightforward to use the metro, for example.

That said, I can’t recall the last time I attended a race in the U.S.A. with announcements in Chinese. And I have never taken part in a race anywhere in the world where — whatever the language or other logistical difficulties — I was not able to register, pick up my bib, make it to the start line, and then run the race to the finish. Having everything be in Chinese simply underscored the travel experience of running a race in Taipei — which was the whole purpose of my visit. So I point out the language thing not to complain, truly, but simply to advise. If you don’t want to deal with not understanding the language, be careful about where in the world you run.

The race-day experience

The half marathon was scheduled to start at 5:45 a.m., and it went out on time. That’s before the sun rises in Taipei at that time of year.

There was a huge bag drop-off operation at the race start, with trucks lined up to take runners’ stuff to the finish line — one of the largest I’ve seen anywhere. I rarely make use of these, however. The effort in terms of lining up at both ends seems to outweigh the benefit, especially if I’m staying close to the race start and/or finish (as I almost always am). And on this morning, the weather, while crisp, did not require extra pre-race layers for the walk to get there and time spent lingering before the start.

It took a while for me to locate the porta-potties and when I found some, the lines were very long. So I decided to skip that part of the pre-race ritual. But I did, conversely, take advantage of the well-stocked pre-race water station, something you can’t always count on at race starts.

What was missing at the race start was any type of corral system to separate runners of different speeds and meter the flow onto the course. Maybe there was an area right at the front reserved for elite runners. But, that aside, runners just gathered in a huge crowd and then — when the race started — pressed forward to the start line with no waves to ensure spacing.

On the plus side, this meant there wasn’t much waiting. I wasn’t particularly close to the front, but I started running just a few minutes after gun time. They certainly got runners out quickly. In fact, they had got the entire full marathon — with somewhere in the region of 7,000-9,000 runners — out in very short order just before. That race began at 5:30 a.m., only 15 minutes before the half. They seem to have launched the entire full-marathon field in well under 10 minutes.

However, on the minus side, the unmetered flood of runners entering the course made for very crowded conditions in the first mile of the half. I wasn’t aiming for a fast race. But in the first mile, my pace was 11 minutes 32 seconds — slower even than my modest target. The density of the crowd meant that no one was moving faster in my part of the pack. And in the first half of that split, the pack moved even slower.

None of this really bothered me. It gave me a good excuse to be slow. And going out too fast can be a mistake in an endurance event. But the course is one that could lend itself to PRs. It is overall quite flat. And the race takes place at a time of year when temperatures can be ideal for running. So I imagine some runners might have been frustrated by the slow-moving pack until it started to spread out in the second mile and beyond. There is nothing inevitable about this with large races. I have run plenty of other races with comparable numbers where serious congestion was avoided, albeit at the price of more drawn-out starts.

The course is, overall, a point-to-point one, but with some out-and-back segments along the way. It starts in the heart of the city, close to the Chiang Kai-shek Memorial and Presidential Palace. It ends in a riverside park not too far from the city’s close-in, second airport.

Taipei is a fantastic, world-class city in many ways, but it is not, candidly, an especially beautiful one at a street level. There seemed to be a lot of gray along the course. And there wasn’t a great deal of crowd support or course entertainment. So I wouldn’t say this half marathon follows an amazing course. But there’s enough to remind you of where you are. I never felt bored. There were plenty of water stations, all well organized.

There was also a generous amount of nutrition at the end. And to make up for the absence of a race shirt, they did give out towels and tote bags. So I felt satisfied in the swag department.

I had some anxiety about how easy it would be to get back from the finish to where I was staying. I don’t feel great about getting into an Uber in sweat-soaked running clothes. (I sweat a lot when running.) And there wasn’t a metro station close by. Fortunately, it turned out that the race organizers had laid on a large fleet of buses to take runners to various places for free. It was a bit difficult to figure out where they were all headed, but I stumbled on one going to a station close to the start line from where I was able to walk back to my hotel.

How my finisher’s medal became famous

I succeeded in my modest goal of running the whole thing, finishing in under two and a half hours, and recording relatively even splits. So I felt I had earned my finisher’s medal according to those criteria.

I mentioned earlier that the medal turned out to be a collector’s item. It actually got some regional press coverage. And the reason was a glaring typo. The medal spelled “marathon” as “marathan.”

The race organizers were reported to be very embarrassed. A few days later, indeed, I received an email from them — in English, actually — apologizing profusely and offering to send me a replacement with the error corrected. It was a nice gesture, but I did not take them up on it. I thought the flawed medal had character.

The medal glitch did make me wonder why they even used English. Nothing engraved on the medal was in Chinese. It’s odd, in a way, that English is used for certain purposes — not just in this instance, but all over the world — but not for others. What sorts of discussions go into deciding what gets to be in English and what doesn’t? Medals, apparently, need to be in English — the most international of all languages — perhaps so that those who receive them can hope for the widest recognition.

A short hike up Elephant Peak

I landed in Taipei around breakfast time on the Friday before the Sunday race. Since I was planning to fly out on the afternoon of the race, that meant that I had the better part of two days to explore Taipei. It’s a pretty walkable city and I covered a lot of ground on foot — I notched up 27,398 steps on the day I arrived, alone.

One distinctive thing about Taipei is that it has a lot of hiking very close in to the city. It reminded me of Cape Town in that respect (although the two cities don’t have much in common in others). The most famous close-in hike — Elephant Peak — is also the shortest. I did it — up and down — in around an hour. Some might call it a “walk,” more than a “hike.” But it’s quite steep with a lot of steps, so it’s a reasonable work-out — especially if you do it only hours after getting off a transpacific flight in a middle seat in the back of the plane (of which more shortly).

The trailhead is about a 15-minute walk from the Xiangshan metro station. Once you are on the trail, there are viewing platforms along the way, with great panoramas of the city, including the iconic 101 Tower, which for a period of six years from 2004 to 2010 held the crown as the tallest building in the world.

If you’re not vigilant, it’s quite easy to miss the spot that actually defines Elephant Peak itself, as this is really just the gateway to trails going much further as opposed to some obvious summit. After reaching the peak, you can either go back down the way you ascended or continue along the path and look for ways down. I did the latter and got a bit lost, but so long as you continue on a general downhill trajectory and vaguely in the right direction, you’ll be fine — even if you land in a place a little different from what you were expecting. This is not the wilderness.

After the hike, I walked for about an hour or so through various non-touristy neighborhoods to the venue where packet pick-up for the race was taking place.

Night markets and 7-Elevens

Taipei has a strong food culture. Being on my own and focusing on a pre-race diet, I didn’t explore much of what it had to offer in the culinary department during my two-night stay in the city. I did, however, wander through Ningxia Night Market, packed with stalls cooking all manner of street food, including specialities such as “stinky tofu,” oyster omelets, and gua bao (braised pork belly in a steamed bun, also known as “Taiwanese hamburger”). There are a number of night markets like this in different parts of the city. I can imagine a fun Taipei visit with my wife involving hikes during the day and food adventures at night.

One place where Taipei residents often pick up prepared food is at 7-Eleven stores. Although you wouldn’t think it based on the reputation of the company’s U.S. stores, the takeaway food there is reportedly pretty good. There are around 7,000 7-Eleven stores in Taiwan, and a large number are in the capital. I think it would be no exaggeration to say that in the center of the city, you are rarely more than a five-minute walk away from one. I’ve noticed the same in Tokyo and Osaka. And the reason for this regional presence is that 7-Eleven is actually a Japanese company.

Its stores in Asia have a different feel from those in the U.S. They don’t have that slightly sketchy, gas-station vibe you often encounter in the U.S. Rather, they are wholesome neighborhood convenience stores used by local residents and commuters alike, and they manage to pack in an astonishing array of inventory into their crowded spaces. Another very similar chain with locations throughout the city — also Japanese — is FamilyMart.

While night markets and 7-Elevens might seem very different concepts, they are both very much part of the fabric of Taipei.

Taipei travel logistics on the ground

I didn’t take taxis or Ubers in Taipei. I managed to go everywhere by public transport and on foot. The train from the airport to the city center is excellent, incidentally, although it can get crowded. Just make sure you get on the express, which makes only a few stops, not on the commuter one that makes a lot more. You can tap-to-pay using Apple Pay or similar without getting a special app.

I stayed at the citizenM hotel. I’d chosen it as I wanted to be within a 20-minute walk of both the race start and the main railway station. citizenM — yes, it has a small “c” — started out as a German chain, but is now part of Marriott. It’s known for its ultra-compact, but well-designed rooms and modern, high-tech vibe. Although the citizenM rooms are small — think ship-cabin small — the beds are actually quite large. The properties all have comfortable public areas for sitting and working as well as a bar and a limited-menu restaurant.

I’d previously stayed in citizenM properties in Los Angeles and San Francisco, and my room in Taipei — as well as the common parts — could easily have been copied and pasted from either of those. This is a very formulaic hotel brand. I may have missed out on some local Taipei atmosphere for that reason. But I was happy with my choice. Small rooms don’t bother me in the least if I’m traveling on my own.

The outbound journey to Taipei: a cautionary tale of a wasted non-rev lie-flat

For those who are not already regular readers of this blog, I fly standby — or “non-rev” — using travel benefits from my wife’s work for an airline. I wouldn’t count this trip as an epic win on the non-rev standby front. But it could certainly have been worse. Here’s what happened….

Because of a work commitment, I couldn’t leave my hometown of Santa Barbara, California, until late afternoon on the Wednesday before the Sunday race. California to Taipei is a very high-traffic route. There were five flights going out from San Francisco, alone, late that night, all within the space of an hour, and all of which would put me in early on the Friday morning.

I was reluctant to get on a Thursday morning flight, as that would cut into the limited time I had to explore Taipei. So it was a matter of picking the best of the Wednesday night options.

There are three Taiwanese airlines that fly from the U.S.A. to Taipei: China Airlines, EVA, and Starlux. But I set my sights on United out of SFO, as it was the only option where I qualified for standby Business Class and the loads weren’t looking too bad. As I got ready to leave home, I found myself wondering whether to pack pajamas for the trip or to rely on the Polaris ones I’d hope to be given on board United. And I debated whether to skip dinner on the ground as I’d have a decent meal on the plane. In other words, I felt hopeful about getting into a lie-flat pod. There were a dozen open ones upfront and, if all else failed, enough seats at the back. What’s more, there were only five other standbys. I was looking forward to the flight.

But by the time I landed in SFO, there had been a massive change. The number of Business Class seats had gone down to just a few. Worse, there were now no less than 27 other standbys — all United employees, and, therefore, with higher priority than me (my wife flies for a different airline). Not only did my chance of getting into Business seem hopeless, but there was a very real risk I wouldn’t get on the flight at all as there were more standbys than open seats in any class. And if I did get on, it would surely be a middle in the back.

That can happen with standby travel — passenger loads and standby lists can change rapidly, very often for no discernible reason, except for the tendency of airline employees in hub cities to swarm when premium seats seem to be available.

So I made a decision to abandon United and try instead for Starlux, which seemed the best of the other options. I had up-to-date load information and it seemed virtually certain I’d get on, even though it would be in the back of the plane. Starlux doesn’t allow online check-in for non-revs. I didn’t relish the prospect of exiting security and going to the check-in counters. So I remained in the United Club until when I figured the Starlux gate would open and then headed over to check in there. (I could legitimately use the Club having flown in on United from Santa Barbara, even though I was no longer planning on flying outbound on the airline.)

When I got to the Starlux gate, they accepted me on the flight immediately. But all they could offer me was a middle seat. It was not a total disaster, however. It was a middle in the first row of economy on the bulkhead with extra room in front — the best middle seat on the plane.

But there is a twist in the tale…. The United and Starlux flights went out within 10 minutes of each other soon after 11 p.m. And I couldn’t resist looking at the United app to see how the UA flight had played out. United’s app is industry-leading in terms of the information it gives, and — unlike just about all other airline apps — it continues to display the final seating chart while an aircraft is in flight.

I did not expect to see what I saw. I was shocked and amazed to find out that the United flight had not only gone out with empty seats in the back — including at least one aisle — but that there were two empty ones in Business. There must have been a massive no-show or desertion rate among standbys, as well as, perhaps, some revenue no-shows. Many of those standbys probably didn’t relish standing by at the gate that late at night and then not getting on. The fact that United’s flight to Taipei the following morning was wide open likely contributed to this.

The moral is the age-old one about standby travel — it isn’t over until the door is closed and, indeed, the aircraft has pushed back.

I still think I made a rational decision based on the information available, as I wanted to be sure of getting on a plane to Taipei that night. And standing by for both United and Starlux until the last minute was not a practical option since they were more or less at opposite ends of the large airport.

But it was kind of annoying. So I suppose another moral is that if you don’t want to be annoyed, don’t look back once you have made your choice. That might go for life in general.

Starlux in brief

The upside of this tale is that I got to fly on a new airline. I’ll keep my comments about Starlux brief, as this post is getting quite long. (“You think?”) Suffice it to say that it is a newish airline that only began operations early in 2020, weeks before the pandemic tore into global aviation. Today, it flies to five destinations in the western United States and numerous places in Asia. It isn’t part of any alliance, but it does code share with Alaska. I wouldn’t be surprised if, one day, it becomes part of Oneworld.

One of the nice things about new airlines is that they tend to have very new planes. My flight was fine, the middle seat notwithstanding. It was one of those odd situations where a couple had the window and aisle, but decided to keep those seats even with a stranger in the middle. I slept most of the way. I liked Starlux. My impression is that it is to airlines what the Toyota Prius is to cars. (And I say that as a Prius Prime driver.) Functional, almost appliance-like, not charismatic — but hard to fault. I’d definitely fly on them again.

Non-rev return: the last standby standing

Returning the following Sunday immediately after the race, the loads on all airlines were pretty dire. I had real concerns about not getting out. I thought of going through Tokyo, but the flights to Narita and Haneda were even worse. Hong Kong, Seoul, and other transit points didn’t look much better. I couldn’t even get loads for some of them, like Manila. I couldn’t delay my return by more than a day for work reasons and began to start looking at creative routes from Taipei to California, such as via Amsterdam or Dubai.

In the end, however, I found myself the only standby trying to get on United’s flight back to San Francisco that afternoon. The other standbys who had listed had all bailed. So this time — unlike the outbound — I was the last standby standing.

There is no standing by at the gate in Taipei, so I had to wait at check-in until the flight had closed. No lounge opportunities, sadly. The lead check-in agent could not have been kinder. The aircraft was weight-restricted for some reason — meaning not all seats could be filled — and the outcome seemed very uncertain. But at the very last moment, and after some phone calls, he gave me a window in Economy with an empty middle. So that was a decent outcome. ✈️ 🏃

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Want to jump to the part of this blog post dealing with aviation and non-revving? If so, click here. Otherwise, read on and you’ll get to it toward the end.

This blog is mostly about flying to run. But occasionally I post about hikes instead of runs. Or trains instead of planes. This was to have been my first combo train-hike post. But a cyclone washed away the railway tracks on which I’d planned to ride, scuppering that plan. Still, I thought I’d post anyway about what became of the trip, including the hike — especially as, for one reason or another, I didn’t get to fly to any races in the last quarter of 2025.

I did get to do a couple of non-race trips during that time. The first was to Istanbul for a wedding. And the second — the focus of this post — was to Sri Lanka, departing on Thanksgiving. My wife and I were meeting our daughter who was headed down there after a wedding in Chandigarh in the Punjab region of India.

It was only when we were halfway to our destination — during a short stopover in London — that we learned about Cyclone Ditwah, one of a pair of cyclones battering parts of South and South East Asia in what was a rare weather event at that time of year.

What’s a cyclone?

“Cyclone” isn’t a term used to describe weather events that impact North America. The U.S. and neighboring countries deal with hurricanes instead. But “hurricanes,” “typhoons,” and “cyclones” are essentially the same weather phenomenon. They are large storm systems that revolve around an area of low pressure, producing heavy rain and wind speeds of around 75 mph or more. The difference is purely semantic.

For reasons that are unclear, the labels attached to such events differ depending on where in the world they occur. “Cyclones” are formed over the South Pacific and Indian Ocean. “Typhoons” are what happen in the Northwest Pacific. And “hurricanes” take place in the Northeast Pacific and Atlantic. There are parts of the world, including Europe, that escape this type of weather phenomenon entirely, so no label attaches in those regions.

These weather systems spin counterclockwise in the Northern Hemisphere and clockwise in the Southern Hemisphere, incidentally. I wondered what would happen if one of them ever crossed the Equator, but that, apparently, is something that could never happen due to the laws of meteorological physics.

Change of plan

Cyclone Ditwah killed approximately 650 people in Sri Lanka. And it caused significant damage to infrastructure. By the time we landed, the storm had moved on — although the ocean was still rough — and many parts of the country were resuming somewhat normal life. However, the railways were still shut down. There are times when ethical traveling means staying away from areas hit by natural or other disasters. But there are others when supporting the local economy is the right thing to do.

The plan had been to travel by train from Colombo — the capital — to the south of the island, and then, after some r-’n’-r at a beach resort, to proceed by road to Ella, a town in the central mountains that’s a good base for hiking. From there, we would make one of the most spectacular railway journeys in Asia — taking the train from Ella to Kandy, which continues back to Colombo.

When we arrived at the start of our six-night stay on the island, we had hopes that the train from Ella might resume in time. We had reserved seats on the last day of our trip. But it turned out that the post-cyclone closure will last for months. So while we still covered the ground in our itinerary, vehicles had to substitute for the two rail segments. Even that was uncertain initially due to mudslides and other post-cyclone damage.

The hike to Ella Rock

The classic hike for visitors to Ella is the trek up to Ella Rock. It’s about six miles round trip and is of moderate difficulty. You could walk to the trailhead from Ella, but that would take you along roads better suited to vehicles than pedestrians. So it makes more sense to get a ride to Kithalella Station, a few miles away. From there, you begin the hike following the railway track for a while before making a left turn into the hills.

The trail starts with some gentle uphill through tea estates and then — as it becomes steeper — it takes you through eucalyptus forest to the summit. You may see monkeys along the way. There are a few rocky parts along the trail where you might choose go on hands and knees a little, depending on your balancing skills, but you should be upright for almost all the time. When you get to the top, you’re rewarded with fine views — although there’s a hut with a ticket window and you have to pay a small amount to reach the look-out points.

Many visitors guide themselves up to Ella Rock. However, you’d need to rely on GPS, as the route isn’t obvious at all points. We decided to hire a guide, in part because we wanted a driver for the whole day, and the guide came with one. And we were glad we did. He took us down a different way for much of the way from how we ascended, and showed us things we would otherwise have missed. His name is Dinuka, but he goes by “Dinu.” His WhatsApp is +94 75 098 1007. Be sure to contact him if you’re ever headed to Ella. He has a real passion for the outdoors.

Don’t confuse Ella Rock with a nearby climb to Little Adam’s Peak. We did that later the same day, but that one is really more of a short uphill walk on a well-curated path. There’s another hike not too far away that takes you to the top of “actual” Adam’s Peak — without the “Little” — but it’s difficult to do in a day if staying in Ella. If I go back, I’d like to do Adam’s Peak, but would stay in Nallathanniya or possibly Nuwara Eliya. However, those places are not on the railway, so you’d need more time to plan a trip that takes you there as well as on the scenic train. Ella offers the most accessible hiking if your time in Sri Lanka is limited and you want to pack in other things as well.

Nine Arches Bridge

The third thing to do during a day in Ella is a visit to Nine Arches Bridge. It’s a railway bridge built of concrete and cement, completed in 1919 under the supervision of the British when Sri Lanka was a colony called Ceylon. It was quite the engineering challenge, as it had to accommodate a nine-degree curve and a gradient.

We did about 20,000 steps in Ella that day, but getting to the bridge involved the fewest of the three things. It might be a challenge to fit in all three without a guide/driver, especially if you want to allow time for lunch along the way.

The community dogs of Sri Lanka

Dinu — our guide — has a great love for animals. I’ve written in the past about how Istanbul has community cats, ones all over the place that are not owned but are looked after collectively by neighborhoods. In Sri Lanka, there are community dogs. They are street dogs, in the sense of not being owned. But they are well fed and genial in their overall demeanor. Some mix with other dogs wearing a collar who, presumably, are more like conventional pets that are allowed to wander the streets before returning home. In Ella, the dogs are not only on the streets. They are also to be found on Ella Rock and Little Adam’s Peak.

When we reached the top of Ella Rock, Dinu was greeted by a couple of the dogs who live up there and know him well. Their excitement upon seeing him was palpable, as he comes with a supply of treats. More than that, he brought first aid to treat the injured paw of one of them who some months earlier had taken a serious fall from the top of the mountain.

One of the dogs followed us all the way down from the peak until we got back to our vehicle. It waited patiently when we took a break midway while Dinu served us orange pekoe tea in coconut shells with English-style biscuits.

Sri Lankan street dogs are pretty chill. You see them sprawled asleep across the street, oblivious to oncoming traffic veering around them. Sri Lanka is a mostly Buddhist country, and Buddhism fosters deep love and respect for living creatures of all types as fellow beings with consciousness and the capacity to suffer. The emphasis on not harming animals, and showing them compassion, is rooted in rebirth doctrines where any living creature could be a past relative.

Some recent contrasting history

Buddhist culture fosters an overall gentleness and kindness that we noticed in many of our interactions during our short visit to Sri Lanka. It felt hard to reconcile that with the fact that this relatively small nation was host to one of the world’s longest and most vicious civil wars of modern times.

The Sri Lankan civil war was fought from 1983 to 2009. It pitted the Sinhalese-dominated government against Tamil separatist insurgents in the north, and the fighting led to almost 30,000 deaths and numerous casualties beyond that. The government forces eventually prevailed and, today, Sri Lanka is a peaceful nation. However, corruption at high levels has deprived its people of some of the benefits of peace.

Sri Lanka’s peace was briefly broken in 2019 with a series of bombings on Easter Sunday, striking three of Colombo’s best hotels and various Christian sites, killing 269 people, including at least 45 foreign nationals. The bombings, attributed to a local ISIS chapter, seem to have been an isolated atrocity. Muslims make up about 10 percent of the country’s population. There is no evidence of widespread support in that community for fundamentalist extremism. Still, all upscale hotels in Colombo now screen the bags of incoming guests and visitors.

In praise of hotel balconies

We stayed in three hotels on this trip. And we had a balcony in each of them. It was no coincidence. When I travel, I often make a point of seeking out hotels and specific room categories with balconies. I enjoy being able to soak in a place from the comfort of my own space. A balcony turns an ordinary room into a lookout. In crowded cities, especially, a balcony is a humane gesture, an acknowledgment that people need more than just enclosures. It is a modest luxury.

Balconies with views of nature can be great. But I especially like balconies that allow me to watch people in a city going about their days. Time spent on a city-facing balcony can be a halfway between going out and staying in. And while high floors can deliver great panoramas, lower ones can make you more intimate with life on the street.

I recall once checking into the Sheraton in Doha with my son — a great, classic hotel that I recommend to anyone visiting that city — and the front desk staff being puzzled as to why we would turn down an “upgrade” to a room whose balcony faced the ocean in favor of a standard city view. But at night, there is nothing to see when facing the ocean. Even during the day, an ocean view often lacks life. But the city view represented an illuminated living and moving tapestry.

The best balcony on this trip was at the Galle Face Hotel in Colombo, a fine old colonial hotel in which I first stayed over 40 years ago. Our balcony there was enormous, more like a terrace. It overlooked a corniche-like promenade, and so combined views of both ocean and city.

But balconies often don’t get used. There’s something aspirational about them, as though they beckon to a lifestyle enhancement on which people tend not to follow through. Sort of like New Year gym memberships. Advertising often shows idealized versions of balcony usage, with good-looking couples in white bathrobes enjoying freshly squeezed orange juice as they gaze at one another or read the New York Times. But the reality is that actual users of hotel balconies are often just smokers getting a quick fix. And when I go to cities like Miami or Vancouver, with endless high-rise apartment buildings with balconies, I see hardly any people out there on them, whatever the time of day or weather. The house that I have called home for over 30 years has a nice balcony, but I don’t use it as often as I should.

With hotels, however, I do make a point of using them. Often with coffee in the morning or, later in the day, with a cold beer or while nursing some duty-free scotch.

Sri Lankan Airlines mini-review

Next, some thoughts about Sri Lankan Airlines. We non-revved from the U.S. to London on British Airways and picked up Sri Lankan from there. We split up for the return journey as we were headed to different places, but I took Sri Lankan back to London as well. We can’t list for Business on that airline, so my comments about it reflect rides at the back of the plane.

Like many national carriers, Sri Lankan provides an instant introduction to the country. The service was good, the food was fine, and the drinks trolley well stocked. So it checks some essential boxes. It’s also part of Oneworld, meaning you can get your benefits and perks if your loyalties are to that alliance. But be prepared for some slightly shabby and old-fashioned aircraft interiors. And, likewise, don’t expect the latest and greatest cabin technology. My seat-back screen was doing odd things in both directions. None of that bothered me particularly, but if you are looking for the most slick airline experience, you may want to choose another carrier.

The seats in coach have footrests. Personally, as a male of average height and weight, I find these are never really useful or comfortable in economy seats, and they can get a bit in the way of stretching out your legs. But my wife — with a more petite frame — thought it was a nice feature.

Sri Lankan flies Airbus 330’s to Europe (currently only to London, Frankfurt, and Paris), the Middle East, Australia, and various destinations across Asia. The A330 is one of my favorite aircraft, due to its two-abreast seating on the window in economy. But the airline’s route network doesn’t touch the United States (and never has, I believe).

No U.S. or European airlines currently fly to Sri Lanka. So if you want a one-airline route from the U.S., you have four options if taking the eastbound route — Emirates, Etihad, Turkish, and Qatar. And if approaching from the other direction, the options that come to mind are Cathay and Singapore. You could also take Air India if you want the shortest connecting flight — and that could mean approaching from across the Atlantic or Pacific, depending on where you start.

Non-revving on Sri Lankan

If you’re non-revving, you’ll find Sri Lankan doesn’t do gate standby either in its home base of Colombo or at its destination cities. Nor does it allow online check-in for non-revs. If the flight is sufficiently open, you’ll get accepted when you arrive at airport check-in. But if it’s looking a bit full, be prepared to be told to return closer to when check-in closes. I find that airlines with that arrangement sometimes keep you standing by longer than necessary — eating perilously into airside lounge time — but there’s not much you can do.

I don’t know what happens if you do show up at the gate as a standby if you’re connecting from another airline. Whether you can get away with that may depend, in part, on the specific airport in terms of whether they’ll let you get to the departure gates without a boarding pass.

It’s difficult to get reliable load information if non-revving on Sri Lankan. You may get a response on the crowd-sourced Staff Traveler app, but don’t count on it. I found that most of my load requests went unanswered (I’d considered a variety of routes, including picking up Sri Lankan in Tokyo). Overall, though, the airline does treat non-revs well. On the London-to-Colombo flight, we’d bought bags of Trader Joe’s holiday candy for the crew. And they, in turn, brought a half bottle of champagne to our seats.

Other non-rev notes

Although we were at the back of the plane on the Sri Lankan flights, we fared better on the others. My wife scored standby Business on Qatar on the first of the two segments taking her back to the U.S. I got Polaris Business on United from London back to Los Angeles. And we were both upgraded by the cabin crew on the British Airways flight that took us to London at the start of our trip.

What made the BA upgrade even better was that it was to the airline’s new Club Suites, which they are still in the process of rolling out to replace their very dated Club World cabins with the dismal 2-3-2 and 2-4-2 layouts. The new 1-2-1-configured “suites” with privacy doors to the aisle are a massive improvement. Indeed, the individual pods are so private that even with the privacy screens lowered between the two center seats, it is quite difficult to talk to the person next to you.

Getting upgraded by the flight attendants when non-revving isn’t something that ever happens on many airlines. It will never happen on any of the major Middle Eastern carriers, for example. But it does occasionally happen on some airlines.

You should never ask outright, but it never hurts to let the crew know that you are non-revs — especially if you know there are empty premium seats. (While perhaps looking puzzled as to where you should sit.)

Your luck can depend on who you interact with upon boarding and how. We boarded the BA flight right at the end. The cabin crew were upgrading the partner of one of their own who boarded at the same time — but hadn’t been given the upgrade at check-in for some reason — and we just happened to be in the right place at the right time as non-revs. We’d bought gifts for the crew, but the upgrade occurred before they even took that in. The lead flight attendant seemed a bit confused as to who we were at first. It all happened quickly, with her just directing us to a row number that differed from the one printed on our boarding passes — and which happened to be in the back of the forward Business Class cabin. The word “upgrade” was never mentioned. No new boarding pass was issued. We just followed crew member instructions, sitting where we were told.

It was Thanksgiving night, and BA had a menu option in Business Class with turkey and trimmings. ✈️ 🦃

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Here’s a post arising from a couple of back-to-back trips to Los Angeles recently. As usual, it’s a mix of running, aviation, and travel. Most of my running posts are about half marathons, but this one starts with a discussion of the 10K distance.

In praise of 6.2 miles (a.k.a. 10K)

The North American running world is selective with its embrace of the metric system. You’ll never see a half marathon in the U.S. refer to itself as a 21.1-kilometer event. It’s always 13.1 miles. Same with 26.2 for the full. But, for some reason, U.S. runners do join with others worldwide in referring to “5K” and “10K” distances — the “K” short for thousand meters or kilometers.

A 10K course is 6.214 miles. So a bit under half of a half marathon (which is 6.55 miles). It’s a great distance. It’s long enough to be something of an endurance run, but also very manageable. I aspire to do a 6-mile run — roughly a 10K — every week, unless travel, weather, injury, or other things get in the way. That means I can do a 10K race with no special training, unless I’m out to prove something with my speed (which I’m usually not).

Although a 10K is almost half of a half marathon, I would say it requires less than half the effort in terms of gearing up and doing it on the day. Does that make it a bit less satisfying? Yes, probably (at least, if you are used to running 13.1 miles). But it is still a great workout, and one that involves less risk of injury.

In fact, if I had to settle on just a single distance for all my runs — recreational ones on my own as well as races — it would undoubtedly be the 10K. It’s a versatile, one-length-fits-all type of distance. If I get to the point of retiring from half marathons (and I am already past my peak, such as it was), I can see myself making the 10K my “thing.”

Serious runners — as opposed to recreational types like me — probably take the view that if you’re running a 10K, you should aim for a faster pace than with a half marathon. There’s some logic there. Personally, though, I tend to cruise at roughly the same sort of pace. However, there’s less chance with a 10K of a slowdown in the second half (something I try to avoid, whatever the distance, in my quest for even splits). So my average pace may end up a bit faster.

Some large marathons and half marathons have 10K events as add-ons. These can be good choices if you want to partake in the big event without running the big race. But there can be a slight “B-team” vibe to a 10K run alongside something with “marathon” in the name. So perhaps the best type of 10K is the standalone variety in which that is the distance (or, at least, the longest distance). There are relatively few major standalone 10K races, as opposed to small local events. I’ve reviewed a couple in this blog — the Adidas Paris 10K and the Great Ethiopian Run in Addis Ababa (both of which I highly recommend). Recently, I ran another, the Santa Monica Classic.

The underwhelming Los Angeles race calendar

Santa Monica is part of Los Angeles. It’s a tony area on the ocean about nine miles north of the Los Angeles International Airport. It actually has its own small airport, used only by private aircraft. When my wife and I owned our Cessna 172, we occasionally flew in there from our home base in Santa Barbara some 90 miles away.

With its long beachside bike path stretching to Venice Beach and beyond, Santa Monica is a great place to go running on your own if you’re visiting LA. But LA overall is surprisingly under-served when it comes to races. Oddly, there is no such thing as “the Los Angeles Half Marathon,” either in name or spirit. Yes, there are half marathons that take place within Los Angeles County (although not that many). But none that really aspire to be a flagship running event.

Recent LA race history is strewn with memories of half marathons that didn’t quite make the cut and didn’t endure. One example is the Hollywood Half, my first-ever half marathon back in 2012. Others include the Los Angeles Rock-n-Roll, the LA Run to Remember, and the LA Allstate 13.1. None even aspired to be events on a par with, say, the New York Half Marathon or even the San Francisco one.

Los Angeles does have a large full marathon, but that tends to punch below its weight on the global running stage. It’s not the sort of race where there’s any difficulty securing a place. It’s no London or Tokyo.

I’m not sure why LA hasn’t been able to host world-class races. It may, in part, be to do with the sheer number of separate cities that make up Los Angeles County. Visitors often don’t realize that places like Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, West Hollywood, Culver City, Pasadena, and a bunch of others are not simply neighborhoods, but actual separate cities within LA County alongside LA City itself. There are, in fact, a total of 88 cities within Los Angeles County. And, no doubt, the proliferation of jurisdictions makes permitting and policing all the more complicated and expensive if you want to chart a 13.1-mile course through the metropolis.

That, apparently, was the reason why the full Los Angeles Marathon ended up scaling back from the iconic route it used to follow all the way from the Rose Bowl Stadium to the Santa Monica Pier. The LA Marathon — back in the days when that was the route — was the one-and-only full I ever did. Today, that race no longer reaches the coast.

There is, however, one large race that takes place wholly within Santa Monica. And that is the aforementioned Santa Monica Classic, which is put on by the same race organization — the McCourt Foundation — that produces the full marathon (as well as a half in Pasadena).

Santa Monica Classic overview

The Santa Monica Classic consists of a 10K and a 5K. It begins and ends close to the Santa Monica pier. It takes place each year early in September. I’ve been meaning to run it for a while, and finally got around to it this year.

Santa Monica isn’t a parking paradise, but most people arrive by car. As discussed later, it is actually quite well connected to the rest of Los Angeles by public transport, but it might be challenging to take advantage of that in time for the 7 AM race start.

If, like me, you are visiting LA, there are hotels within walking distance of the race, but they are expensive. I stayed in a Hampton Inn less than a 15-minute walk away, which had an urban vibe not typical of that chain. The words “Hampton Inn” typically conjure up visions of sub-$200, but I paid $300 even after applying some Hilton points to bring the price down from something closer to $400.

This race sells out, usually several weeks ahead of the event. I paid $105 about a month before when it was close to selling out, but you can do better price-wise if you commit further in advance.

Packet pickup the day before the race is outdoors on the Third Street Promenade, a pedestrianized street at the heart of Santa Monica’s shopping area. It was quick and efficient. You can also pick up your packet early on race morning, but be prepared for lines. I walked past them on my way to the start line and was glad I already had my bib.

The main race sponsor is ASICS, the Japanese running company. A sponsor like that raises hope of decent shirts. Sadly, that was not the case here. The race entry did include a shirt, and it was ASICS-branded, but it was barely worth picking up. It was a cotton shirt. No one should run in cotton shirts, let alone in a climate like California’s. The only running shirts worth having are made of a tech material of some sort. I’m totally fine with races not bundling a shirt into the price. That’s pretty common in other countries. But if you are going to offer a race shirt, make it one that runners might actually want to run in. I’m surprised that ASICS wanted to lend its name to a shirt like that.

There is no race-day gear storage. I wouldn’t really expect it with a 10K. But it’s a factor to keep in mind if you do want to pick up your bib on race morning and do want to keep the low-grade shirt.

The race day experience

I did my full day-before-the-race thing in terms of stuffing myself with bagels and eating a pasta dinner. It was probably overkill for a 10K. The extra carbs I took in the day before were more than those I burned off during the race. But that’s just part of my race ritual. It helped create the mindset.

Runners started to gather on race morning as the sun was coming up. It was perfect running weather given the time of year when it can be hot. The previous year, they cancelled the 10K because of the heat.

The overall race start atmosphere was somewhat muted. I get it that loudspeaker announcements and music can be jarring. But they do help build up some electricity in the half hour or so before a race begins. Here, there was literally no race morning vibe other than what the runners themselves brought to the event. Not a single announcement before the start. No music. No national anthem. Nothing.

But the race did begin more or less on time. The start was confusing, however. About a minute after passing through the start arch with the timing mats, runners had to go through a second, narrower arch where there were more mats of some sort. This caused the runners to have to slow down to a walking pace as they were funneled through — and at one point, they came to a complete halt.

Why this second arch? Maybe it was for the start of the 5K, which went out later. But it made no sense. It was also confusing. I’d started my watch as I passed through the first arch, but I then wondered whether the second one was actually the start. However, I think the first was the real start, as the finish time on my watch at the end of the race correlated exactly with the official chip time. But the slow start cost me around 45 seconds on my first split.

Even after I got through the second arch, it was slightly slow going at first, with an unusually large number of walkers in the first quarter mile. The race organizers don’t even try to corral runners at the start according to anticipated pace.

The course — apparently a bit tweaked from previous years — was pretty flat, but with a bit of an incline in the second half. It was a decent course that made you feel you were in Santa Monica well enough. But if you are expecting to be running in close proximity to the ocean for the six and a bit miles, think again. For most of the first half, you are not in sight of the ocean as the course wends its way a bit inland. It then loops back and takes you past the start line headed northbound. You have better views in the second half. But you’re still quite far set back from the ocean. I have much better views on my regular home-town runs in Santa Barbara. I’m a bit spoiled in that regard.

If running in sight of the Pacific isn’t something you do all the time, you’ll like this course. For me, it was fine — but nothing special. Given that this is too large a race to be on the bike track, a bit closer to the water, I’m not sure the organizers could have come up with a much better course than they did.

Overall, I enjoyed the Santa Monica Classic 10K. I’d recommend it. But I think the organizers could have done a better job with a few things — the third-rate shirt, the muted start, and the confusing and annoying second arch. It’s a fine event if you look at it as a local/regional race. But it lacks a certain something. Compared with, say, the Paris Adidas 10K, it really wasn’t in the same league in terms of a big-city event of this distance. And it probably doesn’t aspire to be and, realistically, could never be. When it comes to urban landscape, the Santa Monica Pier just isn’t the Arc de Triomphe or the Eiffel Tower.

Los Angeles public transport

My preferred means of getting to Los Angeles is train or plane. Car comes a distant third. But it’s one thing getting to the city, it’s another moving around within it. Many people don’t even consider public transport, imagining that it is only for those whose economic means leave them no choice. But public transport within Los Angeles is better than people often imagine — and there have been some improvements lately.

One of the main improvements is that LAX is now finally getting connected to the city’s metro system. The new LAX Transit Center opened earlier in 2025 and provides a stop on the subway as well as a bus station. Right now, you still have to take a shuttle bus from the passenger terminals to the Transit Center. Soon, however, there will be a 2.25-mile “elevated guideway train system” that will whisk passengers to and fro as well as taking them to new offsite parking and car rental facilities. Ticketing for both the bus and metro is easy if you add a TAP Card to your phone.

I find taking public transport in cities goes well with non-revving. There’s something asymmetrical about spending much more money on your transportation on the ground within a city than it costs you to get there by air. I also take the bus whenever possible to get to the airport in my home town.

I took the short United flight from Santa Barbara to LAX to get to the race. Not many people do use this for point-to-point travel. Like most routes that are this short, it is priced for revenue passengers to make it attractive only to those who connect onto other flights. After some quality time in the very spacious United Club on arrival — enjoying the terrace with great runway views — I took a bus from the Transit Center to the heart of Santa Monica a block or two from packet pickup. The fare was just $1.25, compared with probably at least $50 if I’d taken an Uber. The bus made a lot of stops, but was fine.

Returning to LAX after the race, I took the metro, with one change along the way. That cost me a little more, $1.75. The Santa Monica metro stop was very close to my hotel. There was a mix of overground and underground along the way. There weren’t many other passengers for most of the way to LAX that Sunday morning. The trains were very clean, as nice as you’ll find in any city.

An unspoken — or maybe spoken — reason why a lot of people don’t use public transport in LA is fear of crime. And it obviously only takes one bad incident to change one’s experience. I’m not sure I felt less safe taking it there than in other cities in the U.S.A. But, yes, compared with places like Canada, Europe, Australia, and Japan, public transport in U.S. cities can be a bit edgy. I was on the phone with my wife while at the Transit Center, telling her how nice it was, when some guy who I thought just wanted change tried to scam me out of $20 (which he didn’t get). But he was perfectly polite about it.

So, yes, you need to have your wits about you. But I felt fine venturing out between LAX and Santa Monica and would readily do it — and similar routes — again. But I’m not sure I’d take public transport in LA late at night or in some parts of the city.

Avgeeks, and a podcast appearance back in Los Angeles

I was back in Los Angeles the following week, this time taking Amtrak to Burbank Airport station. I had to go for a work thing (yes, I do have a day job). It took place at the Sheraton Universal, a slightly dated but borderline-iconic LA hotel with some period flavor that allows it (just) to get away with being a bit past its prime. My daughter was attending another part of the same event, coming in from the Bay Area, and so my wife joined us as well, making it a family jaunt.

The morning after, we headed for LAX — but not to get on a plane, at least not that day, but to go to Dorkfest. I’ve posted about Dorkfest before, but — in brief — it’s a gathering of aviation geeks (“avgeeks”) that takes place every September at LAX. My post about it comes up prominently when you search about the event on Google.

My daughter — although a keen traveler — certainly isn’t an avgeek. It’s debatable whether my wife — an airline pilot — is, but I tend not to think of her as one. People who fly professionally can be all into aviation (although some surprisingly are not), but not necessarily from a “geek” perspective. One of the litmus tests of whether an airline professional is an avgeek — and some are — may be what they do with their spare time. I myself — and I’m not an airline professional — am on the avgeek spectrum, though much less than some people.

There are some serious and very knowledgeable avgeeks at Dorkfest. We met one such person who had purchased no less than 12 revenue-passenger, round-trip tickets for himself on Alaska’s new nonstop service from Seattle to Seoul, all to be completed within a matter of months. He didn’t have any particular connection with South Korea, and booked the flights so that he mostly turns around and heads back immediately after getting there. But he got some great deals — as one sometimes can on new routes — so why not?

I probably wouldn’t have gone to Dorkfest this year, but for the fact that my wife and I had been invited to be guests on a podcast, The Non-Rev Lounge, two of whose hosts were attending and recording there. It’s one of my favorite podcasts, and I’d been listening to it — mostly while running — for almost three years. It’s put on by three people — a flight attendant, gate agent, and ramp worker — who work for a major U.S. airline.

To listen to our appearance, look out for episode 238 wherever you get your podcasts. The episode ran for over an hour, and covered a lot of ground — this blog (which my wife describes as “curiously compelling”), how my wife and I met through aviation, how she got into aviation and then returned to the airlines after a 25-year break while we were raising a family, our non-rev travel strategies and experiences, and more.

Quite soon after our episode went live, the podcast announced a hiatus. One of the presenters — Lara, the flight attendant — was retiring. I hope the podcast does return in one form or another, as they had created something that, in the world of non-rev life and avgeekery, seemed to be developing quite a following. ✈️ 🏃

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The Buenos Aires Half Marathon is one of South America’s largest road races. There are about 25,000 sign-ups. It is run every year in August, making it — like the Run Melbourne event about which I wrote recently — a good pick for northern hemisphere runners wanting to head into cooler winter temperatures at that time of year. It’s a single-distance event. However, the organizers also put on the city’s full marathon later in the year.

I ran the 2025 edition. This was my first-ever race in South America. And with this review, my flyrun blog has now — in its roughly three years of existence — covered races in all six inhabited continents. (There is a half and full marathon in Antarctica, but it costs $22,500 to enter, including private air travel from Chile and tented accommodations at the race location.)

Buenos Aires and the zen of hop-on/hop-off

Buenos Aires has probably the most European appearance and feel of any major city in South America. It is sometimes called the “Paris of South America” due to its architecture, grand boulevards, tree-lined streets, and metropolitan culture. While Spanish is the language, the city is heavily influenced by its history of Italian immigration.

This visit was very short. I got in early on the Friday before the Sunday race, and left the night of race day. So just two nights on the ground. I’d been there once before, albeit a long time ago — my wife and I went there as part of a South America trip in 1994 that was our last adventure together before having children.

Buenos Aires is not an especially walkable city. While individual neighborhoods can be explored on foot, the city as a whole is quite spread out. On the day before the race, I decided to spend a few hours on a hop-on/hop-off bus to take in the highlights — although I stayed on for almost the full route, rather than hopping off and back on.

As adventurous a traveler as I can be (think Afghanistan, Iran, North Korea, etc.), I’ve long had a soft spot for these distinctly unadventurous double-decker hop-on/hop-off tourist buses, which you find in many cities worldwide. And I usually do just stay on, especially if I’ve snagged a good seat. Yes, they only give you a superficial view. And you’re surrounded by tourists. And blah, blah, blah (shorthand for all the other reasons why “sophisticated travelers” might sneer at them).

But they nonetheless provide a good big-picture overview. I’m an aficionado of hotel balconies, as a perch from which to observe life in a city. And one can treat these buses — typically with open-air upper decks — as a sort of mobile balcony for a few hours. Plus, on this day, I felt it prudent to limit my steps in order to conserve energy for the race.

You can, if you like, listen to a recorded commentary using headphones. On this bus, it was interspersed with tango and other Argentinian music. But compared with more organized tourist buses, you are not obliged to listen to some guide droning on with tedious details that go in one ear and out of the other.

For getting around generally in Buenos Aires, Ubers are relatively inexpensive and plentiful. This was one of those cities where there were fierce and, apparently sometimes violent, turf wars between traditional taxis and Ubers, but things seem to have settled into somewhat peaceful coexistence. I didn’t delve deep into public transport on this trip, except that I did take an $11 bus from the airport to the city center. Look for the Manuel Tienda León Shuttle desk immediately when you come out of customs.

Registration and packet pickup, with a bureaucratic medical twist

One quirk of registration for the Buenos Aires Half Marathon is that you need to provide a medical certificate signed by a doctor attesting to your fitness to take part. The only other country I’ve known to do this is France, but it is lightening up and now allows self-certification by answering various questions on a portal — at least it did when I ran the Adidas Paris 10K last year. No such liberalization from the Argentinians, however. You have to upload the doctor-completed certificate along with some form of ID before you can get your race kit. I’d done it a couple of weeks before going to Argentina, although I think you might be able to bring the paperwork with you.

I did the honest thing and had my GP fill out the form. I don’t think he charged me. The race authorities needed a stamp, and I was relieved my doctor still possessed one. But I confess I did wonder whether people can get away with faking the certificate. I wouldn’t do that, being the rule-abiding, professionally licensed person I (generally) am. But the medical certification thing is slightly ridiculous. Most bad outcomes during a race, such as cardiac arrests, occur with people who didn’t know they had an underlying medical condition. And the sort of doctor certification the race requires is hardly likely to uncover such a hitherto unknown condition — it’s not as though you have to have a full cardio work-up. So this really falls in the bureaucratic, busy-work, compliance category.

I paid $104 when registering for the race a bit over three months ahead. Packet pick-up was at a park with an indoor event facility that was neither especially central nor close to the race start. There was quite a large expo, interesting to browse and potentially useful in case you’ve arrived in the country forgetting to pack any of your race essentials.

The race shirt — included in registration — was a good-quality one by Adidas, the main event sponsor. This was one of those races where most participants wear the race shirt on race day. The shirt was green this year — hence the sea of green in the race photos.

The race experience

The race starts in a park close to the Aeroparque, the city’s second airport. The proximity to that airport might lead you to imagine the course is a bit out from the heart of the city. But the Aeroparque — which serves domestic and short-haul international destinations — is very close to the center. Most of the course goes through the same sorts of areas I was admiring the previous day from the tourist bus.

The course is a combination of a loop and out-and-back. It starts and ends in more or less the same place. You do run back on some segments along which you’d previously gone the other way, but there’s enough looping so that it didn’t feel repetitive. I’d rate the course very positively in terms of urban views and variety. It is also pretty flat. There are some gentle ups and downs, but nothing to significantly impact your pace.

I stayed in a neighborhood within walking distance of the start and finish called Palermo. It’s a pleasant residential neighborhood with a good number of restaurants, bars, and small shops. It has a bit of a bohemian vibe contrasting with the slightly more upscale Recoleta neighborhood not too far away. My hotel was the Palo Santo Hotel, a small, quite modern, eco-ish boutique property with character (and a nice outdoor garden). There were a number of other runners staying there, and the hotel made an effort to look after them by offering an early morning breakfast bag you could pick up at the front desk.

The race started on time at 7 a.m. I favor early race starts, and that’s reasonably early for a city that tends to stay up late. Talking of which, a challenge of getting a pre-race pasta dinner in Buenos Aires before an early night is that a lot of restaurants don’t even open until 8 p.m. I was able to find somewhere earlier, but I had the place to myself.

Although Argentinians eat a lot of pasta, it’s also surprisingly hard to find classic varieties such as spaghetti, penne, and the like. Rather, Argentina is the land of ravioli and sorrentino (the latter a larger version of the former). After initially searching for my typical pre-race spaghetti, I ended up going with the ravioli flow and was glad I did.

Although my corral at the race start was quite a long way back, I was running by 7:18 a.m. There can be a bit of a trade-off with race starts where the more quickly they release runners onto the course, the more crowded the first part of the course becomes. Conversely, uncrowded first miles can involve slow starts. I think they got the metering right, as I started sooner than I had expected for a race of this size and it nonetheless didn’t feel overcrowded — in part because the course quickly opened up onto some quite broad streets. I noticed that some of the official race photographs made subsequent parts of the course look rather crowded. I’m not sure whether that was a quirk of the photography, or whether it actually was crowded for other people, but I found the runner density generally okay all along by large-race standards.

There were plenty of water stations. Instead of giving out cups of water, they handed out plastic bottles. Putting aside ecological concerns, the drawback about that is there were then a lot of discarded bottles on the ground. And because most people likely weren’t chugging a whole bottle before chucking them, there was also a lot of water on the ground as runners pulled away from the hydration stations. All of that — the water and the bottles — made for potentially slippery conditions. On the plus side, the water stations were long, so it was easy for runners to slow down to a pace to pick up a bottle without getting crowded. Some stations offered Gatorade in cups as well as bottled water.

There was some fun entertainment along the way, including — this being Buenos Aires — tango performers, and there was some enthusiastic crowd support, too. Running weather was close to perfect, incidentally. Crisp without being too cold, and with clear skies. There was a bit of a wind blowing, but nothing too bad. It’s a risky time of year to have a race, however. There had been rain during the week leading up to it, and I noticed it was raining on the Sunday following. I’d travelled with a disposable poncho just in case, but was happy I didn’t need to use it.

The race end was less well organized than the start. It took a long time after finishing — more than a half hour — before I was able to exit the enclosed area for finishing runners. Everyone was funneled into a long — at times, seemingly endless — fenced-off finishing corral that moved very slowly because of the human gridlock. You only got your medal right at the end, and even then it was difficult to reach the medal-giving crew amidst the throng. I’m sure there could be more efficient ways to distribute medals and post-race sustenance without detaining people for so long and in such crowded conditions. That is my only criticism of what, in general, was a well-organized event.

Stable pace = good race

These days, I’m no longer chasing personal records. I’m not sure I’ll ever be back to that. So my main goal is to run a stable race, even if it is at a moderate pace. I felt I succeeded in that regard. While my average pace was an unremarkable 10 minutes 42 seconds per mile, every single mile was within 17 seconds of that average. And most were within 10 seconds.

That approach informs my advice to other runners who might struggle to match their previous paces: It’s okay not to run as fast as you once did. Don’t give up for that reason. Instead, try to run well.

So I was happy with my race. Relieved, in fact. The day before, still a bit weary from my travels, I wondered whether I had it in me to run 13.1 miles.

A not very English race

According to the organizers, runners from 32 countries were expected to take part in the 2025 event. But unlike many races around the world, this one makes no concessions to people who don’t speak the native language (and, according to my son, a version that can be challenging even to competent mainstream Spanish speakers). From the moment you first check out the race website to the time you actually run the race, nothing is offered in English.

I don’t say that in any critical manner. But to those who generally rely on an “English is spoken everywhere” crutch, this race is a reminder that this is actually not the case. In fact, it is not just the race to which this applies. It is Buenos Aires generally. Compared with Europe and many parts of Asia and Africa, English simply isn’t widely spoken, even at a rudimentary level.

Actually, there was one exception to the no-English norm in the race. Oddly, the race shirt had the words “You’ve Got This” emblazoned on the front in English as a motivational message. Hopefully, wearers were able to understand the message well enough to benefit from the encouragement.

Falklands/Malvinas retrospective — and my Thatcher connection

The paucity of English speakers in Argentina reflects, in part, the fact that Britain made hardly any inroads into South America during its imperial days. The closest it got to Buenos Aires was the Falkland Islands, or, as Argentina calls them, the Islas Malvinas, a rugged archipelago 300 miles off the coast of Patagonia, which is a British “overseas territory.”

Argentina — which has long claimed those islands — invaded them in 1982 (while the country was ruled by a military junta), prompting Britain to send a naval task force to get them back. After 74 days of fighting, Argentine forces surrendered, and the islands have remained under British control ever since. The Falklands War — as it is known in Britain — resulted in 907 deaths, including 649 Argentine military personnel, 255 British, and three islanders. On my bus tour, we passed a memorial to those who had died and another monument attesting to the country’s territorial claim.

The deadliest incident in the short war was the sinking of the Belgrano, an Argentinian warship named after the country’s greatest national hero, that was targeted by a British nuclear submarine that fired two torpedoes, resulting in the deaths of 323 sailors. It was a controversial act, as the Belgrano was outside the exclusion zone the British had declared and was not sailing toward British forces when it was hit. The Belgrano affair has been debated at length in analyses about the ethics of war. Critics of the British compare it to shooting an enemy in the back as they retreat. But defenders of the British counter by saying that the Belgrano’s offensive mission was far from over, a fact apparently later corroborated by the ship’s captain who survived.

Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher — the “Iron Lady” — personally signed off on the sinking of the Belgrano. The ensuing British victory in the Falklands War sealed for a number of years her political fortunes, and she rode to reelection in a landslide the following year. During a brief dalliance with British politics in the eighties, I ran — or in the British vernacular “stood” — for parliament in that election. Yes, American politicians run for office, but British ones stand. I was 26 years old and was a candidate for Thatcher’s party. That was another world entirely from today’s in terms of political issues and alignments. Sadly, the scale of Thatcher’s landslide was not enough to propel me to victory in the South Yorkshire coal mining district into which I had parachuted to carry her colors.

Four years later, I had a very junior role in Thatcher’s office in the subsequent UK election, in which she won her third victory. Although my role was minor, and I think she barely knew who I was or why I was in the room, it placed me in close proximity to her — and her husband Dennis — behind closed doors for some time on most days for a month. And I was struck at how, in private with cabinet colleagues and senior aides, she was very much the same person as she appeared in public. Whatever else one might think about Thatcher, she was authentic.

Flight notes (1): “Airline chicken”

From modern history to chicken. Not long before this trip, my wife texted me a photo of a menu item at somewhere she was getting dinner during a layover. It was a fancier place than she usually frequents on layovers. On the menu was a chicken dish described as “spiced airline breast.” We wondered what that might be, and whether it was a misprint or a joke. But she didn’t order it, so we didn’t get to find out.

Non-revving to Buenos Aires a couple of weeks later, I went through Houston on United. I was listed standby for Business, but got assigned an aisle in Premium Economy, which felt like a solid outcome. Perusing the PE menu before push-back, I noticed that one of the choices was described as “airline chicken.” The phrase “airline chicken” conjures up visions of the not-typically-special dish you get when the meal service comes down the aisle at the back of the plane with the flight attendants chanting “chicken or the pasta?” But with a menu item on a plane described as “airline chicken” (and in a premium cabin, no less) — and keeping in mind the “spiced airline breast” my wife had lately been offered — I felt there had to be more to this. I needed to go with the chicken choice to find out.

Minutes later, while still seated in my comfy Premium Economy spot, I got a text from United. When you travel standby with United and get a seat assignment, you receive an automated text beginning with the words “Good news…” and I had gotten one of those about a half hour before boarding. But this latest text began with the words “Great news.…” Due to a no-show, I was being moved up to Business just before the doors were to close. I was happy, of course, but felt disappointed that the mystery of “airline chicken” would go unsolved. Fortunately, however, it turned out that “airline chicken” was one of those cross-over choices that appears in both the Premium Economy and Business menus. And although I would normally have gone with the fish in Business (even though it can be a bit dry), I felt I had to stick with the chicken plan.

It turns out that “airline chicken” is a chicken breast with the first wing joint (known as the “drumette”) still attached. I believe the name arises from someone thinking the shape of the cut resembles an airplane. I’m not sure it really does. But it was a decent meal. Although it was nothing exceptional, it was a cut above what I would normally expect from chicken served by an airline.

When I placed my order, I remarked to the flight attendant that I was curious what “airline chicken” would turn out to be. It occurred to me afterwards that she might not have known or remembered that my chosen dish was actually referred to on the United printed menu as “airline chicken,” and may have thought I was simply curious about what chicken on an airplane would be like. Which would be an odd curiosity, to say the least, given that chicken is such a staple of airline catering. Oh well.

Flight notes (2): Getting home on Aerolíneas Argentinas

I flew back to the U.S. on the evening of race day. After the race, I had some time to kill between checking out of the hotel and heading to the airport. But I didn’t have the energy to do anything very ambitious. I don’t usually eat much red meat these days, but felt that while in Argentina — the land of steak — I should make an exception. So I went to a packed neighborhood restaurant not far from my hotel, where they managed to squeeze me in. And I was glad I did. The steak — accompanied by some excellent local Malbec — hit the spot for a late, post-race Sunday lunch.

There are surprisingly few flights between the U.S. and Argentina. There are no flights whatsoever from the West Coast. Nor are there any to Brazil, for that matter. It’s odd. And the only city in the U.S. served by Aerolíneas Argentinas — the country’s national airline — is Miami. They share that route with American. I decided that afternoon to go back via Miami. It wasn’t the quickest route back to Southern California, but it would give me a chance to spend several hours with my son, a senior at the University of Miami.

Although my wife’s airline has excellent reciprocal flight benefits with American — including standby Business Class at no extra charge — and as fond as I am of AA (on which I have over two million miles as a revenue passenger), I decided to go with Aerolíneas for the flight to Miami. The chances of getting to the front on American seemed slim, and the back was looking pretty packed. Aerolíneas, by contrast, was showing over 50 empty seats at the back. And I like trying out different airlines.

Argentina — as well as being the land of steaks — can at times be a land of strikes. There was an on-and-off air traffic control strike taking place that week, resulting in delays and cancellations. But my flight wasn’t too badly affected.

If I were the sort of reviewer who goes down an objective check-list of airline amenities, I probably wouldn’t give Aerolíneas an especially high score. The overall experience did seem like a flight from 20 years ago (although that’s not necessarily a bad thing). It’s no Qatar. But I rate flights on a more subjective, holistic basis. My flight — on a distinctly well-worn A330 — was overall very pleasant. I had a row of two to myself on the window in economy and slept most of the way until we were nearing Cuba. The service by a very seasoned cabin crew was down-to-earth and professional, not that I needed much of it on this redeye.

It’s one of the airlines where you don’t standby at the gate, and you can’t go through security until you’ve been accepted on the flight. When I went to check-in about three hours before departure, they weren’t ready to clear me, but did so when I returned about 45 minutes later. That meant I had time to go to the Amex Centurion Lounge. I was a bit surprised there was an Amex lounge in Buenos Aires. This provided me a relatively rare opportunity to use one. It’s usually hard to use Amex lounges when traveling standby as they insist on boarding passes showing a confirmed seat — and many airlines will only give you one when there is virtually no time left for a lounge visit, even if the number of open seats makes it more or less certain you’ll get on.

The Amex Lounge was quite crowded but pretty good. Most reviews suggested it was better than the Priority Pass ones in the Buenos Aires airport, so I decided to hang out there rather than go lounge hopping — even when an hour-long delay gave me some extra time (and resisting the nagging traveler feeling in me that I ought to find out about the others for myself). But as grateful as I was to have a decent lounge, I still find that non-airline lounges miss something of the aviation vibe you get with one that’s operated by an airline. That was all the more so as there were no windows looking out on the runways or ramp as far as I could see (not that I would have seen much at that time of night).

My son and I enjoyed a Cuban breakfast near Coral Gables after I landed in Miami. We then shared a pitcher of Bud Light sitting outside the UM campus bar in hot August noontime temperatures before I took the metro back to MIA to continue my journey home. My day job required my presence, or I might have stayed a bit longer.

Buenos Aires half marathon sum-up

For: Great, generally well-organized, race in a very cool city; fantastic, pretty flat course; Southern Hemisphere winter temperatures in August. Against: Not much, but post-race crowd management could be improved; some risk of poor weather at that time of year. Sum-up: A really fantastic fly-run experience. ✈️ 🏃

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Birds — at least, those into long-haul flying — migrate to warmer temperatures. Runners — at least, those into it as well — migrate the opposite way. My “summer” running calendar this year had me heading from Southern California to the Southern Hemisphere winter twice. The first trip was to Melbourne, Australia. (Not to be confused with the one in Florida.) The second to Buenos Aires. This post is about the first. (I’m writing much of it on the Buenos Aires trip some weeks later — my post on that will follow.)

Melbourne perspectives

People often think of Australia in terms of the great outdoors. But it is actually among the most urbanized countries in the world, in terms of where the population is located as a proportion of the landmass. Or maybe suburbanized, as the larger cities spread far around their centers. Melbourne — with a population of around 5.5 million — is the second-largest city in Australia. It is a great and very agreeable city. But it is often left off the itinerary of visitors to the country who focus on more familiar circuits taking in Sydney, Cairns, and Uluru (a.k.a., Ayer’s Rock), with maybe Brisbane added in too.

I’d been to Melbourne once many years ago on business. And I’ve been to Sydney a couple of times (or three if you include a stay of under eight hours), most recently a couple of years ago for the Hoka Runaway Half. I don’t claim to know either city very well, but there is a view out there preferring Melbourne to Sydney. It’s the same sort of vibe that makes some people prefer Osaka to Tokyo, Munich to Berlin, or Cape Town to Johannesburg. A second-greater-than-the-first outlook.

Melbourne is on the southern tip of Australia. And speaking of Cape Town comparisons, I’d place Melbourne along with that city — and also Vancouver — in a “great city on the edge” category. Those three great cities — all with a British imperial past — are literally on the edges or corners of continents, the last staging posts in their hemispheres before voyagers would head off into oceanic wilderness and Arctic or Antarctic environs. Arguably Buenos Aires also falls in that category (albeit without the British past). I have visited all four of those cities this year, so there is a bit of a theme to my travels, although I didn’t plan that in advance.

Central Melbourne is very walkable. Much of it is in a grid layout, similar to North American cities, but a local hallmark is that the broader streets going longways on the rectangle are paralleled by narrower ones with the same name but the word “Little” appended. For example, Collins Street is paralleled by Little Collins Street, Bourke Street by Little Bourke Street, etc. From my exploration, the Little streets tended to be the more interesting thoroughfares fares than their bigger siblings.

But what I particularly liked about parts of central Melbourne were the narrow alleys and arcades connecting some of the longer parallel streets. The narrow passageways — sometimes called “laneways” — don’t generally accommodate vehicles and are often bustling with life, including cafes, bars, and small shops and restaurants. They go back to Victorian times. The arcades are the ones that are covered.

On the afternoon of my arrival, I researched and walked an itinerary taking in some of the best of the alleys and arcades. And I returned to one of the alleys for my pre-race pasta dinner the next day and to one of the arcades for a post-race beer after running the half marathon.

Melbourne ranks high on lists of the world’s most livable cities. Public transport seems plentiful, including out to the suburbs, and the city is easy on the eye. But there are no globally iconic sights or activities to draw visitors. And that, perhaps, is a reason why it can be overlooked. That and the fact that it’s in the opposite direction from Sydney compared with the most popular Australian destinations. Nonetheless, you can fly there nonstop from the U.S. More on that later.

Run Melbourne review

Run Melbourne is one of two major half marathons that takes place every year in Melbourne. It is held in July, comfortably into the winter season. It involves a half marathon and a 10K as well as a 5.5K (an unusual distance). Run Melbourne is organized by Sole Motive, a local and long-established running retailer. It is sponsored by ASICS, the Japanese sportswear company. It’s quite a large event. The 2025 results showed around 11,200 runners in the half.

The other event, the Nike-sponsored Melbourne Marathon Festival in October, has both a full and a half as well as a 5K and 10K. All other things being equal, I prefer half marathons where the half is the longest event. While the half in half/full combo events tends to attract more runners, it nonetheless seems more “half” when there is also a full taking place at the same time.

Compared with some races, Run Melbourne doesn’t sell out far ahead of the event (at least, not in 2025). But it does sell out, so you don’t want to leave it too late. I registered in early May and paid US$102, which is pretty reasonable by today’s standards (I recently paid about double that for a place in Miami on the day registration opened). Like the last race I ran in Australia — the one in Sydney — Run Melbourne is not swag-heavy. A shirt isn’t included in the race entry. And they don’t heavily promote merch as an upsell. If you do buy one of the ASICS race shirts, be advised they run small (something I’ve noticed with ASICS shirts before).

There isn’t a pre-race expo. Instead, runners are directed to one of Sole Motive’s stores in Melbourne to pick up their bib during the weekdays leading up to the race. If you leave it to the Saturday before the race, there’s a pickup tent in the race finish area.

The race begins at 6:30 a.m. on the Sunday. That’s before dawn in Melbourne at that time of year. The changing light contributes to the variety of the course. And it is a varied course overall, taking in — among other things — major city center streets, a waterfront area, and a botanical park. There are splendid views of the city’s skyline along the way. Running this race is a great way to see the city in a big-picture way — sort of like being on a hop-on-hop-off bus tour, except that you’re just hopping along on your feet all the way. The course is for the most part a big loop with the finish close to where you start. You don’t spend much time running back along segments you’d done in the other direction. It is pretty flat overall, although there are some gentle and fairly short hills — I noticed them more toward the end. The weather was perfect for running — dry and crisp, without being too cold.

The race start was one of the least crowded I’ve known. This may have been because I positioned myself at the back of my wave and was a bit late entering the corral. Course support along the way was about average. But there was quite a lot of encouragement from bands and crowds in the last mile or so. I thought the water stations could have been better organized — they were just a little small for runners to pick up a cup without slowing down too much.

Course inaccuracy?

It’s a fantastic course, without doubt. But I did have some concern as to whether the distance was a bit off. My dual-band GPS watch clocked 12.86 miles, almost a quarter of a mile short of 13.1. While watches can give inaccurate measurements, variances tend to report distances a bit longer than the official lengths (because of inefficiencies in how runners follow the course). Moreover, dual-band GPS generally eliminates problems caused by tall buildings as it doesn’t require continuous line of sight to deliver accurate results. And I did notice some posts online by other runners reporting the same, including one that quoted the race organizers as apparently acknowledging an issue. What’s more, I also found that there had been reports of inaccurate measurements in at least one previous year. I reached out to Sole Motive for comment, but didn’t hear back. So I’m not sure whether or not this was a known actual issue.

Another possibility when runners encounter an incorrect distance is that they ended up inadvertently taking a wrong turn at a certain point in the course. I don’t think that’s what happened with me, although there was a point a few miles in where the precise course seemed a bit vague and I just followed the herd. But it’s hard to see how that could have made a quarter-mile difference even if something was a bit off.

Being a metrics-oriented runner, the distance issue bothered me. But I suppose some might consider it a bonus if it gave them a better time.

My recorded time was 2 hours 16 minutes. If the course was short, that would probably equate to closer to a 2 hour 20 minute time. That would still be my best since heart issues impacted my running in 2024, although it’s at least a minute per mile slower than where I was before.

Travel notes

I was in Melbourne for three nights, getting there early on the Friday morning before the Sunday race and leaving on the Monday morning after it. I stayed in a Hilton property called Next Hotel that’s part of its Curio collection of boutiquey hotels. It’s a modern hotel on Little Collins Street, an agreeable half-hour walk from the station where the airport bus dropped me off. (Other than the bus from and back to the airport, I relied on my feet entirely for getting around in Melbourne.)

I choose the hotel for its location — it was an easy walk to the race start/finish. But it was a good pick in its own right. I paid under $150 night — booking through the ID90 portal for airline staff and their close ones — and the hotel readily gave me an early check-in at around 9:45 a.m. as well as access to their lounge, where they served free breakfasts and a free happy hour in the evening.

I think it might have helped that I recently acquired Gold status in the Hilton Honors program, a perk of my newly acquired Amex Platinum Card (which also catapulted me into an elevated status with Marriott). The breakfast spread was impressive — the sort for which you’d normally expect to pay at least US$30. And the happy hour — which actually lasted two hours — came with oysters and a fairly elaborate charcuterie spread in addition to the full bar. One could, in theory, survive in Melbourne quite well on the Next lounge food alone — although I ate a couple of pasta dinners while carb loading during the two days before the race as well as some sushi.

United and Qantas both fly nonstop to Melbourne from Los Angeles and San Francisco. Qantas also flies there from Dallas and Honolulu. I believe American has flown to Melbourne in the past. There are no nonstop flights from Europe.

Traveling standby, I was able to snag United Polaris Business Class from Los Angeles to Melbourne and had a great flight. The arrival experience at Melbourne was less satisfactory (no fault of United). I’m not sure whether it is often like that, but the immigration process when I landed was a mess with vast crowds of people coming off different international flights trying to funnel into an overcrowded arrival system — bodies pressed against each other like on a crowded subway — and people seeming not to have much of a clue as to whether they were waiting in the right place. I figured a way through the system, but suspect that most took much longer than me. (Hint: Go/do where/what most other people aren’t going/doing. That goes for a number of things in life.)

Before you even fly to Australia, you need to get one of those electronic travel authorizations that, while technically not a visa, amounts to the same thing. You do this on an app on your phone and, in theory, it should only take a couple of minutes. The problem is that you may encounter a problem with the app taking the required photo. It must have taken me about 100 attempts spanning over two days before it finally took mine. At times, I began to think I just wouldn’t be able to go to Melbourne. Sometimes you think it is working, but you then get a message rejecting the photo. But my problem wasn’t over when I finally got it to work. When I then answered a question stating I was a dual national, it wanted to take the photo again for some reason. Eventually I obtained my clearance, but my advice is not to leave this to the last minute.

Others have reported similar experiences in forums like Reddit. The problem seems to exist only on iPhones, not Android devices. But there is no clear pattern as to why some people encounter it and others don’t. I tried all manner of settings, lighting conditions, and backgrounds. When it finally worked, I wasn’t doing anything different from what I had tried numerous times before. Hopefully the app will improve (and, to be fair, I had no problems with my 2023 trip to Sydney).

Surprisingly, after all of this, United didn’t even want to check to see if I had obtained the authorization when I departed the USA. But maybe their system connected with the Australian immigration one to match the clearance to my passport number.

Non-rev notes — Qantas and United

Non-revving is a bit like my day job (law and alternative dispute resolution), as you always learn new things. I didn’t fly in either direction on Qantas, but learned a few things about non-revving on them as I positioned myself to do so. The first is that when you list for a flight determines your place on the standby list within your priority level, not when you check in. I’d never previously known of an airline that does this.

The second is that Qantas premium loads change a lot in the last 24 hours. I believe that’s because they run an auction system trying to encourage revenue passengers to pay for last-minute upgrades. So what might seem like a very promising Business Class non-rev scenario can change quickly and fundamentally. Nonetheless, I did get offered Premium Economy for the outbound. But it was a middle seat — and I rolled the dice hoping for Business on United and won.

I was very impressed with the Qantas app, incidentally. It gives staff travelers a lot of information on which to make informed decisions. It is not quite in the same league as the United app — the best in class worldwide — but it is significantly better than most.

On the way back from Melbourne, it was a bit different. The United and Qantas flights to California were scheduled to go out within an hour or so of each other. I’d planned on taking Qantas in this direction with the hope of getting Business on the A380 but prepared to be happy with whatever I got. However, Qantas was facing a long delay — six hours plus. I was afraid it would cancel. An A380 from Sydney had cancelled the day before. So I took United and ended up in the back of the plane — still a decent flight, with an empty seat next to me. I’d already checked in on Qantas and tried to cancel once I knew I’d be taking United, but the system wouldn’t let me — I think because it was too close to the original scheduled departure time even though it was hours from the actual one.

In the end, the Qantas flight didn’t cancel. So when I was airborne over the Pacific in United Economy and connected to WiFi (free, courtesy of T- Mobile), I started getting tantalizing seat assignments from Qantas once its flight was closer to its heavily delayed boarding. First, it was an aisle in Premium Economy. But then an hour or so later, I had been moved to Business — and, what’s more, to the holy grail for solo non-rev travelers, an upper-deck window. So in that case, the Qantas trend was the opposite of on my outbound — the loads got better. That may have been a function of some revenue passengers finding other flights because of the delay.

My Qantas ZED fare was, like all non-rev tickets, refundable. But I nonetheless don’t like being a no-show on a non-rev ticket, even though I couldn’t avoid it on this occasion. Still, this vignette evidences the truth of the non-rev wisdom that you don’t know what the final outcome is until the plane pushes back. Which, in this case, was after I was in the friendly skies.

The other thing I learned on this trip is that United will refund me the difference if I list for Business standby but end up being seated in Economy. Not all airlines do that. The United policy was always a bit unclear to me, and it may differ depending on which airline you or your loved one works for. Also, the refund process is different from that for unused — as opposed to downgraded — listings. But it does remove part of the stress of standing by for a premium seat. You don’t get a refund if you list for Business and get seated in Premium Economy, however. So if you prefer an aisle or window in the back to a middle in Premium (as do I), you need to get officially downgraded after being “upgraded,” rather than just switch seats once on board — or the system won’t record where you ended up sitting. Maybe they won’t refund, however, if it was a voluntary downgrade. I haven’t tried that out.

No matter which airline you non-rev on out of Australia, don’t expect to be given a pass to standby at the gate itself. You need to be confirmed before you go through security — regardless of what the airline’s normal policies are. If your flight is pretty open, you may — depending on the airline — get a confirmed seat assignment when you present yourself at the check-in desk a couple of hours or more ahead of departure. But don’t count on it. So be prepared for the dash to the gate after revenue check-in closes and no or minimal lounge time.

Run Melbourne Half Marathon conclusion

For: Great course. Against: Questionable course distance accuracy. Sum-up: Tempting choice globally for a July race, and a no-brainer if you live close by. ✈️ 🏃

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Inaugural flights — when an airline first operates a flight on a new route — are a bit of a thing, at least in the U.S. There’s usually some sort of event at the gate, sometimes to the bemusement of passengers who didn’t know there was anything special about the seemingly ordinary flight they’d booked.

I’ve been on three inaugural flights, all relatively recently — but only once intentionally. The intentional one, the most recent, was the type that drew a water cannon salute from fire trucks as the aircraft taxied to the runway. More on that shortly.

The first was in 2021, when my son and I were on our way to Anchorage to run the half marathon there. It was my first race after the pandemic shut-down. And my only one in which bears caused an incident on the course, although only runners faster than us were impacted.

We picked a route for that trip that took us from San Francisco to Anchorage on Alaska Airlines. And we had no idea we’d be on an inaugural flight until we got to the gate at SFO. It surprised me that this route didn’t exist already. Alaska has had a significant presence at SFO ever since it acquired Virgin America in 2016. And although Alaska isn’t based in the state after which it is named (it calls Seattle home), it is by far the dominant carrier there with very deep roots.

There was something of a party atmosphere at the SFO-ANC gate, with an energetic master of ceremonies running quizzes and contests yielding decent prizes. My son — still in high school then — won a pair of tickets for a glacier day cruise by having a driver’s license number that included the flight number.

Three years later, I was making my way back from Atlanta to Santa Barbara. Normally, that would be a two-flight trip. But it just so happened that the day on which I wanted to travel was also the first that Delta was to fly that route — which was also the first-ever scheduled nonstop connecting Santa Barbara, my adopted hometown, with a city on East Coast time. An inaugural route like that only gets a fairly low-key gate event. But there were still balloons and cupcakes. The captain gave out Airbus 220 stickers in person.

The Alaska-Hawaiian acquisition

My third inaugural flight — in May 2025 — was the intentional one. It brought out the airline top brass to the gate, including the CEO, as well as a live band. I’d planned on taking it for months. But I wasn’t sure about whether I would until the day, as I was standby. This one was a big deal if you’re an inaugural flight aficionado: Seattle to Tokyo, Narita. Other airlines have flown that route before. But it was Alaska Airlines’ first-ever intercontinental flight from its Seattle hub. At least, sort of — as I will explain.

Alaska recently acquired Hawaiian Airlines. The acquisition is complete, but the process of merging the two operations is still a work in progress. At the time of writing, Alaska Airlines and Hawaiian were still two separate airlines with the same parent company — Alaska Air Group (which also owns Horizon Air, Alaska’s regional carrier, and McGee Air Services, a ground operations company).

Soon, however, Hawaiian will be merged into Alaska Airlines, with a single FAA operating certificate, but with both the Alaska and Hawaiian names and liveries continuing to co-exist. The merged corporate entity will be Alaska Airlines. And the corporate family tree will look no different from before the acquisition, with the enlarged Alaska Airlines remaining a subsidiary of Alaska Air Group. But Alaska will keep the Hawaiian name alongside its own.

Airline takeovers and mergers are nothing new. But usually, names go away. When United acquired Continental, the latter’s name was relegated to the museums of aviation history. Same when Delta acquired Northwest. And when United and Delta parsed out the various bits of Pan Am. Or when American acquired what remained of TWA. And so forth. But this one is conceptually different. Both airline names will survive.

Under the merger, flights to and from — and between — the islands will continue to be Hawaiian-branded, at least for the most part. Other routes will be flown under Alaska livery. But it will nonetheless be one airline. Not two affiliated airlines with common ownership and some shared resources, but a single, fully integrated operational entity. There isn’t a precedent for that elsewhere in the industry.

Some pundits have mistakenly analogized this to sibling airlines such as British Airways and Iberia, or Air France and KLM, or Lufthansa and Swiss. But those analogies miss the mark because they are examples of affiliated but operationally separate airlines under common ownership. Here, at the risk of laboring the point, there will be one operation, albeit with two customer-facing brands.

Some think the “one airline, two brands” approach risks confusing customers. But making “Alaska” the face of Hawaii wouldn’t have made sense. Adopting “Hawaiian” as the name of the combined airline would have made even less sense. And inventing a completely new name — Pacific Airlines was among the more obvious suggestions — would have meant shutting down two iconic airline brands with deep roots and loyal followings.

There were times when the rumor mill surmised a tripartite merger involving Alaska, Hawaiian, and JetBlue. That might, perhaps, have resulted in a combined airline with a name like — my guess — “Pacific Blue.” But that never happened and doesn’t seem likely at this point with JetBlue pursuing a loose alliance with United after its dalliances with American and Spirit fell apart for one reason or another.

Might some new name for the combined Alaska-Hawaiian operation eventually come about? Maybe if one speculates about possibilities 10 or more years out. But Alaska is investing much in the dual-brand strategy. So I wouldn’t expect it to change in the foreseeable future.

What’s happening now with Alaska and Hawaiian?

Before the acquisition, Alaska had always been an all-narrow-body airline. Its international operations were limited to Canada, Mexico, Central America, and, briefly, the Bahamas. But Hawaiian, although the smaller of the two, flew some longer distances and had a mixed narrow- and wide-body fleet. Its wide-bodies plied some of its more heavily traveled routes between the islands and the U.S. mainland. And it also had — and continues to have — a route network connecting Honolulu with destinations in Asia and Australasia.

Hawaiian’s wide-body fleet long consisted of Airbus 330s. But the airline has taken delivery of the first three of an order of around a dozen Boeing 787 Dreamliners, which Alaska has since extended with options that would bring the total to 17 in the coming years.

Not long after the acquisition, Alaska announced that it would redeploy some of the wide-bodies that came with Hawaiian for long-haul intercontinental operations out of Seattle under Alaska livery. And that is how I came to take this inaugural flight — the route to Tokyo is the first of these.

Earlier, I qualified my reference to this being Alaska’s first intercontinental flight by saying “sort of.” The flight was widely referred to as its first intercontinental one, including on the inaugural swag. But, at this stage of the merger, the flight was actually operated on Hawaiian Airlines metal — and with Hawaiian Airlines crew. Once the merger is complete, and the two hitherto separate airlines are on one FAA operating certificate, the intercontinental flights out of Seattle will be Alaska-branded.

But this inaugural flight was nonetheless a big deal. Even if you do view this route as, for now, more “Hawaiian” than “Alaska,” it still marked the entry of a new airline to the transpacific market out of the mainland U.S.A. And it has been a long time since that has happened.

Where next for Alaska?

Even before the Hawaiian merger, Alaska was already the world’s 13th largest airline if you measure by the number of flights operated every day (as opposed to, for example, passengers carried, miles flown, or revenues earned). On that measure, indeed, Alaska comes out significantly ahead of global carriers like British Airways and Lufthansa. And it will rise to around number 10 after the Hawaiian merger is complete.

But the airline will become larger still. Alaska has stated that it intends to serve a dozen intercontinental destinations out of Seattle by the end of the decade. Seattle is well placed geographically. Flight times from Seattle to Europe and parts of Asia are shorter than from San Francisco and Los Angeles. So the city is well positioned in the top-left corner of the U.S.A. to pick up connecting traffic.

Alaska’s next destination after Tokyo will be Seoul. That route will start in September 2025 (and is already served by Hawaiian out of Honolulu). And then starting in May 2026, Alaska will launch service to Europe. Its first European destination will be Rome.

Rome was an interesting choice. It has long been an under-served market from the U.S. West Coast. But it is also not a destination where Alaska — part of the One World Alliance — will have an existing partner for connecting traffic.

Before Alaska spread its intercontinental wings, Delta was the only U.S. airline operating long-haul international flights out of Seattle. American had planned to move into the market a few years ago in an alliance with Alaska, but most of the planned destinations — including Bangalore, India — never materialized, and the London route that did take off proved short-lived. Delta responded to Alaska’s Rome move by announcing its own Seattle-Rome service, which will launch a few days before Alaska’s. Furthermore, Delta announced a new Seattle-Barcelona service starting around the same time, the first to that city by any U.S. airline out of the West Coast. So Delta is clearly signaling that it doesn’t intend to make intercontinental life easy for Alaska.

It’s anyone’s guess as to what other intercontinental destinations Alaska has planned. The destinations already served by Hawaiian out of Honolulu could be obvious choices. Those include Tokyo Haneda, Osaka, Sydney, and Auckland. London is already served out of Seattle by Delta, British Airways, and Virgin Atlantic, but it’s hard not to imagine it is high on Alaska’s list — especially as British Airways, also a One World carrier, could be a partner. But slots at London Heathrow can be hard to come by. London Gatwick could be a dark-horse contender, notwithstanding its reputation as the city’s B-list airport. I don’t believe any major U.S. airline has ever served Gatwick out of the West Coast.

Madrid could be a contender if Alaska wants to leverage One World synergy with Iberia, BA’s sibling airline. No U.S. airline currently flies to the Spanish capital from the West Coast. Hong Kong is another possibility, again because Alaska would have a One World ally, Cathay Pacific. Taipei is a heavily travelled route from the West Coast, and so that, too, is a possibility.

And maybe there could be some dark horse surprises. Lisbon, anyone? Or, indeed, Barcelona, if Alaska wants to show Delta that it can give as much as it gets. Vietnam? No U.S. airline yet flies there nonstop, but there is a strong Vietnamese diaspora on the West Coast. That’s a long shot, even though I think it would just about be within the range of the 787.

The inaugural flight experience

As a nod to the fact that the Seattle-Tokyo flight was still being operated under Hawaiian livery, the gate festivities started with a Hawaiian music performance. That was followed by speeches from Alaska’s CEO and others and a ribbon cutting. There were also Japanese mochi treats. Onboard, there was some swag awaiting passengers on their seats, including a luggage tag memorializing the flight (pictured at the start of this post).

The Seattle-Tokyo flight is initially being run on an Airbus 330. In a way, it was surprising that Alaska did not deploy one of the newer Hawaiian 787s for this landmark route. The latter are equipped with a more up-to-date Business Class with a 1-2-1 seating configuration, as opposed to 2-2-2 on the A330. I imagine there were operational and/or regulatory reasons why the 787 was not ready for the route.

Personally, I like the A330, because of its 2-4-2 configuration at the back of the plane — those rows of two are great if you are traveling with a friend or loved one (not that I was on this occasion). Business Class on the inaugural flight had been booked out months in advance, largely blocked for press, I believe. So I was happy to get an aisle in the center row in Economy on what was a pretty full flight (I was far from the only non-rev traveler wanting to experience the inaugural flight). The couple next to me hadn’t realized they were boarding a “special” flight. They had just picked it on Kayak.

As the plane taxied from the gate area, there was the water cannon salute from fire trucks that I mentioned earlier — a tradition reserved for landmark flights, but not routinely given out to garden-variety inaugurals. Once airborne, however, it became a regular sort of Hawaiian flight, except for a roaming camera crew that occasionally appeared.

I’d already flown transpacific on Hawaiian to Japan earlier in the year, when I went to Osaka via Honolulu. And I really like the airline. The service I experienced on all the Hawaiian flights I’ve taken this year has been great. I’ve found the food on the international flights to be above average for Economy, both in terms of quality and quantity. It has an Asian emphasis. Wine and beer are free on those flights (as are spirits, at least on the initial drinks service). And not only is the WiFi also free, but it is super-fast Starlink WiFi, which works on the ground as well as in the air. (Starlink isn’t yet available on the 787s, but is coming.)

Up front for the return

I was only in Tokyo for 24 hours. Enough time for a run around the Imperial Palace, of which more shortly. Coming back, on what was then the second Narita-to-Seattle eastbound flight, I was seated in 2D. As noted above, the Hawaiian lie-flat Business Class on the A330 is not the most up-to-date with its 2-2-2 configuration, but I thought it was an excellent flight nonetheless. Very comfortable. Really good food. Lanson champagne — always one of my favorites (reminding me of British Airways in the eighties and nineties, when it was a staple). Highly professional service.

If you are in the center aisle, you don’t experience the drawback of the 2-2-2 layout in terms of aisle access for everyone. And I found it was private enough. Indeed, on the leisure-focused routes Hawaiian flies, many passengers might actually prefer two-abreast seating on the window.

The Honolulu option remains

Notwithstanding the focus now on Alaska’s new long-haul operations out of Seattle, one shouldn’t forget the option of flying between the U.S. and Asia or Australasia on Hawaiian via Honolulu. It’s obviously not the fastest way. And going to, say, Tokyo via Honolulu means taking a bit of a dip to the south. But it can be an agreeable routing if you have some extra time. You split up the flying. You could enjoy a break on the islands. And I like the Honolulu airport, with its breezy walkways and open-air, airside Japanese garden. As I noted in my recent Osaka post, Honolulu — with the blend of its own unique culture and distinct Japanese influence — makes for a good segue from the U.S. mainland to Japan.

What else might be coming?

The existing Hawaiian long-haul product that Alaska is taking over does not include a Premium Economy class in the sense that most major airlines have one these days on wide-bodies — i.e., with seats that are more like domestic First Class as well as upgraded catering. Instead, it has an “Extra Comfort” section, where the seats have more legroom and power outlets (in addition to USB), but are otherwise the same as in regular Economy.

Alaska has indicated plans to introduce a “proper” long-haul Premium Economy cabin. This will debut on the 787, but it might also come later to the A330. Details will follow in the months ahead — probably in 2026 — along with an announcement of other enhancements to the new long-haul product.

No doubt, Alaska will also harmonize the customer experience on the two brands on both domestic and international operations, while still retaining the distinct nature of each. For example, Alaska currently gives free alcohol on domestic flights to passengers seated in the domestic Premium Economy section of its narrow-bodies, while Hawaiian does not distinguish between “Extra Comfort” and regular Economy passengers when it comes to alcohol on any of its flights. Likewise, Hawaiian, as noted, offers free WiFi, while Alaska charges. Things like that will, I suspect, become standardized.

What about the call sign?

One interesting detail for aviation geeks to watch is what call sign pilots will use when communicating with air traffic control once there is just one airline on a single operating certificate. Currently, Alaska uses “Alaska” followed by the flight number, while Hawaiian uses “Hawaiian.” Generally, the call sign reflects the operating certificate on which a flight operates, not the livery on the outside of the aircraft. For example, Horizon regional jets flying under Alaska paint have a “Horizon Air” call sign, as the airline — although wholly owned by Alaska Air Group — flies under a separate operating certificate from Alaska Airlines itself.

So it is not clear that the Hawaiian call sign will continue to exist. But whether pilots flying Hawaiian-branded metal will simply use the “Alaska” call sign or whether the combined airline will come up with something else remains to be seen. Call signs do not have to match the name of an airline — as, for example, with British Airways, whose call sign is “Speedbird.”

A run around the Imperial Palace

I was only on the ground in Tokyo for 24 hours. My running mission was to do a loop around the Imperial Palace. I doubt that the Shoguns or Emperors designed the contours of their palace with runners in mind, but it just so happens that a full circumference on the multipurpose path around it amounts to almost exactly a 5K distance. Perhaps for that reason, the Imperial Palace loop is the most popular running route in central Tokyo.

Not long earlier, I’d done a run around Osaka Castle, which is a somewhat similar experience. I realize that not many people other than me would fly across an ocean to Japan principally in order to do a 5K or 10K run around a palace or castle — especially when it isn’t even part of a recognized running event. But if you are such a kindred soul — or happen to be looking for running opportunities while in Japan for other purposes — I’d say Osaka Castle is actually the better pick than Tokyo’s Imperial Palace. Although I wholeheartedly recommend either, a run around Osaka Castle gives better views of the destination landmark than one around Tokyo’s Imperial Palace. And Osaka Castle also provides more options in terms of paths so as to vary your distance without simply doing multiple loops.

In my write-up about the Osaka run, I described a nearby facility — a sort of running base — where runners can change and use lockers and take showers. There’s a similar place in Tokyo close to the Imperial Palace, which is run by ASICS, the Japanese sportswear company. I used it and would definitely recommend it, although it didn’t have quite the charm of the Osaka equivalent with its own café.

The Imperial Palace loop is not entirely flat, but that adds to its variety. The etiquette is to go anti-clockwise. You can obviously join the path at any point, but there are some ancillary parts to the whole palace area, so it wasn’t initially obvious whether I was on the 5K perimeter path or some other path. But if you look for other runners, you should be able to figure it out. The photograph below shows the vista where I joined the path at a point close to the ASICS facility, and that might help you to assess whether you’re in the right place. This part was a regular sidewalk, but most of it is its own track.

Capsule hotels

On this short trip, I thought I’d try out something I’d been planning on experiencing for a while — one of Tokyo’s “capsule hotels.” These provide sleeping pods that are somewhat capsule-shaped, often stacked on top of one another on two levels.

In the purest form, there is no furniture. You just climb into your pod, which has a mattress, pillow, sheets, etc. The pod does not have a lockable door, but it does have some sort of a shutter or curtain. You definitely can’t stand up. Capsule pods are purely for lying down and, maybe, sitting up. They typically offer electrical and often USB outlets in each capsule as well as a reading light and there’s WiFi. There are also lockers in a common area where you can put stuff you don’t want to take into the pod.

Capsules are for one person only. You could theoretically squeeze in an intimate partner, but that is not how they are sold and the rules don’t allow for that. In most facilities, there are separate pod areas for males and females. In the nature of the capsule experience, you don’t have your own bathroom, but there are shared ones.

Capsule hotels suffer from a reputation as the refuge of drunken office workers who have missed the last train home. And there may be a bit of that, especially with the cheapest ones in the vicinity of railway stations. But there are also others that try to create a more cool environment, even to the point of leveraging the similarities between capsule sleeping in a city and Business Class sleeping on a plane. In fact, I would say — and I happen to be writing this in the luxury of United Polaris on a flight to Australia — that a good capsule hotel is probably a bit more physically comfortable and private than long-haul Business Class. But, of course, it lacks the same exclusivity and you don’t have someone bringing you roasted sea bass and champagne, etc.

I narrowed my selection of capsule hotels to two chains, which present themselves as among the most “upscale” in the realm of such places — Nine Hours and First Cabin. I went with the Nine Hours location in the Akasaka district. It was a surprisingly nice-looking building on a quiet street. First Cabin — the one that leverages airline imagery most expressly — offers a choice of “cabins,” as they call them, and some of the better ones sort of become more like mini rooms rather than actual capsules. But I wanted to experience the purer form of capsule establishment on this occasion.

Overall, I found it a satisfactory experience. Narita airport is quite a way to the center of Tokyo, and by the time I got there — by regular train — it was early evening. I was traveling very light, so I spent several hours exploring, checking out the lay of the land for my run the next morning, and getting dinner.

There’s an area around Tokyo’s rather grand, Victorian railway station — which is itself near to the Imperial Palace — with countless small restaurants and bars, many under elevated railway tracks or arches or in small alleys. They are popular with office workers — suited “salarymen” as people used to refer to them, although the term has become dated. I hung out in a couple, one specializing in yakitori and the other emphasizing sushi.

From there, I went to the capsule hotel to check in. Once installed, I went to sleep. I got up pretty early and took a shower — even though I knew I’d be taking another at the ASICS place after my run — and then left. That is the best approach to capsule hotels — use them as a place to sleep and not much more (although some do offer lounges and even cafeterias).

I paid just $38 for my sleeping quarters, booking through Expedia. The place was clean. And adequately comfortable. I wasn’t bothered by noise from other guests. Hopefully I didn’t snore so that others were bothered by me — the capsules are not fully soundproofed. I’m not sure I’d routinely stay in a capsule hotel for two nights in a row — and there is generally no access between around 10 a.m. and mid-afternoon — but there’s a lot to be said for them when you just need a place for a night and plan to arrive late and leave early.

Capsule hotels are rare in other parts of the world. I’m not aware of any in the U.S.A. But I did spend a night in one close to the Vancouver airport recently when I landed around midnight on my trip to run the half marathon there (although that one cost more than double what I paid in Tokyo).

Coming next: Australia, and the Run Melbourne Half Marathon. ✈️ 🏃

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The BMO Vancouver Marathon takes place every year on the first Sunday of May. “BMO” is short for “Bank of Montreal,” the lead sponsor. I ran the half this year. Here’s a brief report with a few digressions.

Race overview

The BMO Vancouver Marathon consists of two main events: a full marathon and a half. There’s also an 8K (actually an 8.125K, the organizers point out) — about 5 miles — an unusual distance.

The overall event is one of the biggest of its type on the North American West Coast. It’s often a bit tricky to get a firm handle on actual numbers in a race because organizers tend to emphasize the number of registered entrants, whereas the number of actual runners is always significantly lower. And results pages don’t always make it easy to glean actuals. Here, the headline number for the event was 25,000 overall, but the actual numbers appear to be a bit under 10,500 for the half, just under 7,000 for the full, and around 2,000 for the 8K — so a little under 20,000 in total. Still, that makes it a very large event by any standards.

The full marathon starts and ends in the same place as the half, but unusually, goes out an hour and a half later. At least, it did in 2025. Normally, when half and full marathons have staggered starts, the full goes out earlier, as they have longer to run. But, as a half runner, I wasn’t complaining — I like early starts to help avoid rising temperatures.

The BMO Vancouver race is comparable to other major North American West Coast events of its type, notably San Francisco, San Diego Rock-’n’-Roll, and Surf City (all in California). I’ve run all three of those multiple times. And I would say Vancouver is probably the best in its West Coast class. I base that on the course, the logistical ease of taking part, and the overall organization and vibe. More on all of that shortly.

Five things to like about Vancouver

Despite living on the Pacific coast of North America for 32 years, I’d only visited Vancouver once before. That was a trip to celebrate my 60th birthday. Then, my wife and I took the Amtrak sleeper train from Santa Barbara — our hometown — to Seattle and, after a night in that city, a regional train from there to Vancouver. That’s a great way to travel to the Pacific Northwest. The train cuts cleanly through landscapes in ways that roads — which spawn their own constant clutter — seldom do.

On this trip, however, I flew, non-revving from Santa Barbara — but also via Seattle. The flight from Seattle takes under an hour. It’s the sort of short flight where the aircraft doesn’t climb to its normal cruising altitude and there’s no time for service (a pity, as I got First Class on the return segment). But despite the short distance, I was reminded how different a place Vancouver is from any large city on the U.S. West Coast. And, candidly, how much nicer it is, too, with distinctly less urban blight and much more life in the center. Here are five things I like about Vancouver and the country of which it is part:

1. Public transport that works, is squeaky clean, and people want to take.

2. A safe, vibrant city center where people live.

3. Stylish urban architecture at different levels of the real estate market.

4. Cosmopolitan, in terms of it being a modern-day cultural mix of North America, Asia, and the UK.

5. Located in a country that’s run by a technocrat and with a universal healthcare system that seems generally to work.

My Vancouver connection

Although it took me 60 years to get to Vancouver for the first time, I’ve long had an obscure connection. Or maybe not so much obscure as tenuous, as the connection is to Captain George Vancouver, no less, after whom the city is named. He was the British explorer who charted the northwestern Pacific Coast regions of the American continent, including the coasts of what became the Canadian province of British Columbia.

Captain Vancouver, who died in 1798, is buried in the same small graveyard in Petersham, a corner of southwest London, where my father was buried in 1961 and my mother’s ashes were put to rest roughly 60 years later. Their plot is a stone’s throw from Vancouver’s. Vancouver was only 40 when he died, about five years younger than my father was when they became close neighbors.

The cemetery is located in what must be the most bucolic part of London. Petersham — part of the London Borough of Richmond-upon-Thames and abutting the south shore of the river — is the only part of London where cattle still graze. With parkland and conservationist planning preventing much development, parts of Petersham seem little changed from 150+ years ago. Except for the fact that it’s close to the flight path for traffic landing to the west on a five-mile final to Heathrow.

The cemetery is a couple of minutes’ walk from an entrance to Richmond Park, the largest urban park in Europe, which is one of the best places to run anywhere in London. The whole area is overlooked by overseas visitors under the mistaken impression that the best of London is only to be found in the center.

I grew up in Petersham, and when I’m asked where I’d like my own ashes to end up, I haven’t come up with a better idea than there, close to Captain Vancouver. It’s a much more charming cemetery than the rather manicured one not far from us in Santa Barbara. Assuming I die close to home, the transportation of the urn containing my ashes would be my last of several hundred transatlantic flights. It would have to be in Business Class, of course. I wouldn’t want my last flight to be in the overhead bin above row 48.

An outstanding half marathon course

But I digress. The BMO Vancouver event is an urban race with a truly outstanding and varied course. Course-wise, I put it alongside epic races I’ve run in New York City, London, Berlin, Sydney, and Tokyo. But it’s easier to snag a spot. Although it does sell out, I was still able to get a place several months before race day.

That said, I’ve noticed over the past couple of years that top races are selling out all over the world earlier and earlier. Some that used to have places a few months out are now selling out soon after registration opens. There’s always a risk if you register very early that you won’t, in the end, be able to run the race for one reason or another. Few races allow you to defer, and not many allow you to transfer your entries. But if you don’t take that risk, you’re cutting yourself off from some of the world’s best events.

Vancouver is a stunning city in any context — both because of its own urban landscape and the natural ocean and mountain landscapes visible from many parts within it — and this race gives you literally the run of the city. The course starts in Queen Elizabeth Park, to the south of downtown Vancouver, and takes you over Cambie Bridge crossing False Creek into downtown and then through various neighborhoods, including Chinatown, Yaletown, and Stanley Park. Along the way, you get memorable views of the city, the Pacific Ocean, snow-capped mountains, and spring blossoms. The race ends right in the heart of the Central Business District. Adding to the variety is the fact that it’s a point-to-point course throughout. You never run back on a segment you’ve already done in the other direction.

It’s a net downhill course by a fair margin. But most of the downhill is in the first few miles. After that, it’s more or less elevation-neutral overall, but with some gentle ups and downs along the way. I’d rate it as a moderate-to-easy course as half marathons go.

Race logistics

Packet pickup was at the Convention Center, not too far from where the race ends, on the Friday and Saturday before the Sunday event. This was one of the largest race expos I’ve come across since the pandemic. Ever since then, expos just haven’t been what they were in terms of the number of exhibitors and the overall buzz. But Vancouver’s was pure 2019. There were some big names in running present — such as Brooks and Garmin — but also some exhibitors you wouldn’t necessarily expect, such as Turkish Airlines and Yorkshire Tea.

One of the logistical issues when traveling to run point-to-point races is whether to stay positioned close to the start or the finish. It’s a topic about which I can debate — indeed, agonize — at length. On the whole, I’m more of a “start” person. But the Vancouver race makes the decision easier as there really aren’t any hotel choices within walking distance of the start, which is in a largely residential area halfway between downtown and the airport.

However, the good news is that if you stay in the center — close to where the race ends — it’s really quick and easy to take Vancouver’s excellent public transport system on race morning. From downtown to King Edward Station, the stop closest to the race start, takes less than 15 minutes by metro on the Canada Line. And trains were already in full swing in ample time for the 7 a.m. start for the half. There were lots of runners on the train I boarded, but not so many I was concerned about not squeezing in. When you get to the arrival station, just follow the crowds. By the way, look out for free race-morning metro tickets at the expo.

I ended up booking into the Hyatt Regency in downtown for the Saturday night. The location was ideal for the race finish and an easy walk to the expo. Vancouver can be a pricey city, and hotels for race night in the downtown area were averaging in the US$400+’s in the weeks leading up to the race. I managed to snag a late $355 rate at the Hyatt — taxes and fees included — which was more than I normally pay for race hotels but a bit of a bargain in the context. The hotel was fine, but nothing special.

The night before, I got into Vancouver at around midnight and wanted to be up soon after 6 a.m. so as to be on the right clock for the race. I hate paying for hotels for just a few hours, but discovered there was a “capsule hotel” — the type that’s common in Japan, but rare elsewhere — quite near the Vancouver airport where you can get a “sleeping pod” to tide you over for the night. It was a good experience (clean and at least as comfortable as lie-flat Business Class on a plane as well as more private). It’s called Panda Pod. I’ll save the full capsule discussion for another post, as I tried out the “real thing” in Tokyo just over a week later after taking Alaska’s inaugural Narita flight from Seattle. So I’ll merge my Vancouver capsule discussion with my post on that.

Start and finish

The race start was well organized. When I arrived about 45 minutes before the start, there were plenty of open porta-potties. Later, lines developed, but they seemed typical. Unlike at most starts, there was ample water. Unusually for a race of this size, however, there was no bag-check at the start. The only option was a bag check at the expo if you wanted to have anything waiting for you at the end. I rarely use bag checks. But this might be an irritant for some.

The race went out on time. And they moved the waves out pretty quickly. After the usual crowded quarter of a mile or so, the pack thinned out reasonably. Crowd support along the course was great. As usual, it peaked in the final stretch, but it was present throughout.

The race finish area was very crowded. That was a function of it being on a city street. There was limited space for people to fan out. So don’t plan on getting out too quickly if you’ve got a plane to catch.

[The Vancouver race I ran]

I put that subheading in brackets, hoping you won’t read this bit. Because the race I ran wasn’t nearly as pretty as the race itself. These days, I try to emphasize running a stable, controlled race, not necessarily chasing a personal record. Right now, I am just not going to finish in around two hours, as I could a couple of years or so ago, so I’m not going to stress too much about my time. Sadly, though, my race in Vancouver was neither fast nor stable. The reason was that I went down with gastric issues the night before. I’ll spare you the details.

My wife, who joined me in Vancouver that evening after coming off work at her base in Seattle, wondered whether it was a good idea for me to run. And had the organizers — upon learning of my plight — called in the pre-dawn hours and offered to postpone the event by a week, I would have gladly accepted. However, since that call did not come, I ventured out to the race, and I am glad I did. It was far from great, but it could have been worse. I finished in two hours and 26 minutes, putting me at 6,718th place out of 10,401.

These days, I don’t repeat too many races, as there are so many new ones I want to experience. But I felt my Vancouver mission was not quite complete. So I may be back there next year. However, my next half marathon stop is Melbourne (the one in Australia, not Florida). Onward and upward, etc.

Two other Vancouver races

There is another Vancouver half marathon, by the way, and that one is simply called the “Vancouver Half Marathon” — that event doesn’t also have a full. It takes place about six weeks later. It doesn’t take you through downtown, but it looks like a great race and I hope to run it in the future. Also worth noting is the Vancouver Sun Run, a 10K that’s the third-largest timed event of its distance in North America. That race takes place in April and is mostly run in downtown, where it starts and ends. Maybe I’ll run it as well, as I’d like Vancouver to become a more prominent part of my travel rotation.

BMO Vancouver half marathon conclusion

For: Large, world-class event; fantastic course. Against: Very little besides the crowded finish and, maybe, absence of race-day bag check for those who want it. Sum-up: Probably the best North America West Coast large half/full marathon event — and one of the best in the entire continent. ✈️ 🏃

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There was a time around 15 years ago when I became obsessed with climbing Kilimanjaro, Africa’s highest mountain. That climb requires endurance, but no technical skills. As mid-life crises go, it was a more wholesome idea than, perhaps, buying a red sports car, dyeing what was left of my hair, or whatever else I was meant to do to ward off the interest of the Grim Reaper in my fifties. But the project fizzled when I began instead to obsess about running, making that a more enduring and sensible way of addressing the actual root of the issue, which was my mid-life concern that I really ought to get in better shape.

As I near my seventies, part of me has continued to look wistfully toward Mount Kilimanjaro. At this post-mid-stage of life, however, I suspect the closest I’ll get will be to run the Kilimanjaro Half Marathon, which takes place each February or March in Moshi, the town in Tanzania from which most climbs set out.

But when I was recently planning a trip to Cape Town with my wife, I realized I had an opportunity to climb a somewhat more accessible, but still iconic African mountain, one that involves only a day hike and no danger of altitude sickness. Some might compare that to settling on a 5K after giving up on running an ultra-marathon. But an iconic mountain is an iconic mountain. Even though we were on a short, four-night trip — visiting our son doing a study abroad at the University of Cape Town — I was determined to make it on foot to the top of Table Mountain, the rectangular, flat-topped mountain that dominates South Africa’s second-largest city.

Cape Town perspectives (part one, the nice bit)

Cape Town has a population of a little under five million. But you don’t always feel you are in that big a city — at least, not in the areas visitors are most likely to frequent. One of the reasons is the feeling of being close to nature. Cape Town lies at the foot of three mountains: Table Mountain itself, Devil’s Peak, and Lion’s Head. And the city center abuts hiking trails on all three. Cape Town is one of those cities where what is conventionally viewed as the “center” is not really the “middle.”

Lying right at the bottom of Table Mountain is Kirstenbosch National Botanical Garden, with its own close-in hiking that blends into the mountain. Kirstenbosch is one of the world’s great botanical gardens, not only on account of its botany but also its stunning location. It is well worth including in a Cape Town visit even if you have limited interest in botanical science.

To the south of the city is a spectacular peninsula leading to the Cape of Good Hope, an easy day trip. That affords even more hiking, but — if time is short — it’s well worth a drive just for the views.

We stopped along the way to see the penguins ever present at Boulders Beach on the east side. You should try to get to the west side too for some of the most stunning coastal landscapes on the peninsula.

The city itself includes a vibrant, highly developed waterfront area — the “V&A Waterfront” — with fancy shopping malls, restaurants, and bars. (“V&A” is short for “Victoria and Albert,” referring to the nineteenth-century British monarch and her husband.)

All in all, Cape Town can be a very agreeable place to visit. But there is also a more troubling perspective. More about that shortly, but first back to climbing Table Mountain.

Getting to the top (and bottom) of Table Mountain

Table Mountain is 3,563 feet (1,085 meters) tall at its highest point. The easiest way to get to the top is to take the cable car. This departs from Tafelberg Road at an altitude of 991 feet. It takes you to 3,501 feet — so pretty much to the top.

However, you’ll get a much better feel for the mountain — and a more memorable experience — if you hike. You can always take the cable car down if you want to experience the ride. Or, I suppose, you could take it up and then hike down — but that would be less satisfying.

There are various routes, some of which can involve scrambling and navigating ledges that wouldn’t be ideal for those affected by vertigo (e.g., me). But there is one route that involves neither of those and should be doable for anyone who is moderately fit. This takes you up via Platteklip Gorge.

The Platteklip trailhead is on Tafelberg Road, about a quarter of a mile past the cable car station. When you pass the tour buses lined up for the cable car, you’ll be glad you’re avoiding the crowds and lines. Ubers are cheap and plentiful in Cape Town, and offer the best way of getting to the trailhead. The app recognizes “Platteklip Gorge starting point” if you put that in as your destination.

Platteklip Gorge is the most popular of the routes to the top of Table Mountain. Navigating it is straightforward. There are a couple of forks quite early on, but there are signposts and we never had to look at a map for directions. There was a park ranger at the trailhead to answer questions. But it’s hard to see anyone getting lost even without ranger input.

The same, however, may not be true of some of the other routes. Some of those appeal to people looking for a more challenging climb or one with more variety. There are tour companies that provide guides to help you climb Table Mountain, which you may want to consider if going for one of the trickier routes. With Platteklip, however, a guide really isn’t necessary.

The Platteklip trail features a lot of switchbacks and for much of it, you climb large, rocky steps. As climbs go, it is quite steep. Although the distance is only a bit over 2.5 miles, the elevation gain — according to my Apple Watch — was over 2,250 feet. There are pretty good views along the way. As you near the top, you climb within the vertical surrounds of the gorge itself.

The ascent can be done in under two hours. We ended up taking closer to two and a half hours, largely because I was quite careful not to slip. While the rocks on which you step aren’t wobbly, the stumble potential is nonetheless quite high, especially when — as on our hike — it has been raining. My wife and son would have made it to the top faster without me. I did clamber a bit at a few points, but with good balance, most people should be able to do the entire climb without using hands. You are never in danger of falling any distance if you do slip, but I was keen to avoid any type of fall. A cautious approach to fall risk is just part of ageing.

Table Mountain has its own microclimate. Even when the weather in the city seems generally good, parts of the mountain can get caught up in clouds and winds. And conditions can change quite quickly, as we found on our climb. So you want to bring layers to keep you warm and dry.

Every now and then, people do, apparently, get into trouble on Table Mountain. The Platteklip route should be the safest of all, partly because you are not alone. It wasn’t crowded when we ascended — on a Monday morning in April — but there were enough people that summoning help wouldn’t have been hard if necessary (and I believe you’re in cell coverage most of the time).

There have been robberies targeting hikers on the mountain. We didn’t encounter anything threatening, but it’s a point to keep in mind. That said, there’s a risk of crime wherever you go in Cape Town. If your tolerance for crime risk is very low, you probably shouldn’t go to the city in the first place. More on that later.

You reach the top of the trail not too far from where the cable car lands. And as you approach the cable car station — next to which is a restaurant — you’ll find yourself smugly mingling with non-hikers who had ridden up and are taking a leisurely stroll, looking a bit too neat and tidy to be at the top of a mountain amidst the swirling clouds. It doesn’t take much to figure out who has hiked to the top and who has taken the cable car.

We could have trekked further to the highest point. It wouldn’t have been much of a climb at that point — there’s only around 60 feet more elevation gain — but you should apparently allow an hour and a half to get there and back. However, it was cold and we had plans for the remainder of the day. And the cable car station felt like the top. It was top enough.

So after a bit of food and beverage, and a peek through the clouds at what view was available — including glimpses of Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 18 years — we took the cable car down. Fortunately, we only had to wait a half hour for our ride. At peak periods, be prepared for much longer waits if you don’t have a reservation. I think there is also some sort of “fast track” option if you want to buy your way toward the front of the line. Alternatively, there is always the hike back down.

Cape Town perspectives (part two, the troubling bit)

As noted earlier, Cape Town can be a very agreeable place to visit. But the city has its issues. Crime is one. Muggings, robberies, and worse are not uncommon. The murder rate is at the higher end of the scale. You can walk the streets in the areas you’d most likely be staying in or visiting, but you should be wary about doing so after dark except, perhaps, in crowded areas like the waterfront. On many streets, there’s someone — usually an older guy wearing a tattered hi-vis jacket — who “guards” parked cars and expects a tip. We never felt unsafe. You just need to be situationally aware and not make yourself an obvious victim-in-waiting.

Despite the crime, many people from North America and Europe who wouldn’t feel comfortable going to a lot African cities nonetheless gravitate toward Cape Town as it’s somehow more within their comfort zone. It’s ironic. For example, a city like Maputo in Mozambique might seem an edgier destination, but it is, in fact, a lot safer to walk around in.

Another issue, no doubt connected, is that Cape Town is still a racially divided city. Apartheid — the enforced racial segregation system that previously made South Africa a pariah state — ended over 30 years ago. But there are areas — including in the city center — where most people seem to be white. And then there are the “townships” — the areas to which non-whites were once confined — which remain entirely black.

On the same day that we climbed Table Mountain, we drove to Stellenbosch, a prosperous university town in the heart of the Cape’s bucolic wine-growing area, to see a rugby match and have dinner. South African wines are very good, by the way, and can be remarkably well priced. The match was between Stellenbosch and the University of Cape Town (UCT). In contrast to UCT, the Stellenbosch campus is still predominantly white. Many of the students there speak Afrikaans, the Dutch-derived language originally used by white settlers. The town must surely have the highest concentration of blond hair of anywhere in Africa.

Racial separation goes hand in hand with economic inequality. South Africa is the most economically unequal country in the world, according to the World Bank. And nowhere is the inequality greater than in Cape Town and the surrounding province. Chronic corruption only makes things worse. The African National Congress, which has ruled South Africa since the end of apartheid, has not had an unblemished record when it comes to ethical governance.

We visited the township closest to the city center, Langa. Estimates of its population vary greatly, but it’s probably over 100,000. You skirt its edges on the drive into the city from the airport. Most of its inhabitants live in pretty basic shacks. Some of these are made out of shipping containers or whatever materials people can find that would support a corrugated iron roof. Families often share what rudimentary kitchens and bathrooms exist. From peeks inside, they seem to do their best with very little. Most of these dwellings sport a satellite receiver.

A step up are some low-rise apartment buildings. Many families living in the most rudimentary conditions are on waiting lists to move up to these. But the waits are long. There are also pockets of middle-class housing. Some people who grew up in Langa and have had financial success in life prefer to stay close to their roots.

We signed up for a tour for our Langa visit. It makes sense to do so as you get to visit places you wouldn’t otherwise see, and you learn about the township as it is today and was in the apartheid days. The guides generally grew up and still live in the township. Our tour didn’t cover as much physical ground as I would have liked. There was a lot of standing around. And I found the guide a little hard to understand. But you’re supporting the local community by taking a tour, and it probably isn’t a great idea for visitors to South Africa to go wandering around townships on their own.

A few travel tips

Getting around: As mentioned earlier, Ubers are plentiful and inexpensive in Cape Town. But you may want to rent a car for at least some of the time, especially if you want to go down to the Cape of Good Hope or visit Stellenbosch and the wine country. People generally seem to drive well, so it isn’t a particularly scary place to get behind a wheel (although be prepared to drive on the left and — unless you pick a premium car — to be offered a stick shift).

Where to stay: Many visitors stay close to the waterfront. But that’s not necessarily the most interesting place to pick, as you’re in a bit of a bubble in that somewhat developed and curated environment. The Central Business District — CBD — has a good number of hotels. But we chose a new Canopy by Hilton property close to the CBD in an area called Gardens, which has a fair number of shops, bars, restaurants, and is a bit more residential. We were pretty happy with the hotel, which opened early in 2025.

Non-rev tips

We flew standby from San Francisco to Cape Town via London on British Airways. The routing was a last-minute decision taken at the airport. Although I have frequently flown on BA as a revenue passenger, this was my first time non-revving on BA long-haul. Here are some things I learned (for my general primer about non-revving on other airlines, click here):

• Transit passengers avoid the high taxes at LHR: Normally, taxes out of London are very high — by far the highest in the world. But if you transit through Heathrow in under 24 hours, you can avoid the highest taxes. And you may be able to enjoy a quick stopover in the city, as you can leave the airport if time allows. Because of the lower taxes for connecting passengers, it is actually more expensive to non-rev on BA just from London to Cape Town than from San Francisco to Cape Town via London. I imagine you’d find the same with other routings through London. But your connection has to be on the same listing — and that means also on the same airline, as you can’t mix airlines on a single non-rev listing (even with code-share partners). That, in turn, means you can only really do this on BA or Virgin, the only long-haul airlines with hub operations in the UK. If you fly into Heathrow on, say, American and out on BA, you’d have separate listings and be hit with the high taxes even on a short connection.

• Transit non-revs can get early confirmed connections on BA (maybe): BA doesn’t let non-revs check in online. Checking in at the gate at San Francisco, the lead agent gave us boarding passes with seat assignments not only for the flight to London, but also the onward one to Cape Town — even though there was competition on the connection from other staff travelers. That’s potentially a game changer for connections, as you effectively jump the standby queue ahead of people originating their journey in London. But I’m not sure whether that is standard BA practice or whether the agent was doing us a favor. He was super helpful. We were late for check-in, and he could easily have turned us away. But not only did he work fast and furiously on his computer to get us on board — and with great seats — but he even “apologized” that he didn’t have any Business Class seats, despite the fact that we aren’t entitled to upgrades on that airline.

We non-revved back from Cape Town (CPT) to Washington Dulles (IAD) on United. It’s a long 16-hour flight. A couple of non-rev tips about that journey:

• No-inbound premium: Normally non-rev ZED fares into the U.S. are much higher than out of the U.S. because of higher taxes at points of departure. But we paid only $99 for the CPT-IAD flight, the same as it would be in the other direction. I’ve never come across zero inbound premium before.

• Early seat assignments: Cape Town is one of those airports where they don’t allow non-revs to standby at the gate (regardless of airline). You need to have a confirmed seat assignment before going through security. The last time this happened to me was with United in Hong Kong with my son, where we had to wait until revenue passenger check-in closed, leaving barely any time for a lounge visit once through security. This time, although the flight was pretty full, I got the “Good news!” text from United — it always begins with those words — two hours before departure, giving us decent seat assignments, even though it was a pretty full flight and I’d been fearful of us ending up separated in middles. That left time for a reasonably leisurely airside lounge visit. I’m not sure whether that is UA’s standard practice in Cape Town or whether we lucked out.

There are two Priority Pass lounges in the international terminal at Cape Town. Both are called “Bidvest Premier Lounge,” but the one you’ll see first when you enter the airside departure area is quite a lot smaller. So we went to the other about a couple of minutes’ walk to the left. I’d rate it high on the Priority Pass scale — quite spacious, a great buffet spread, decent wine, and friendly staff.

Our long-haul flights on BA and United were fine (all segments were in Economy — although I did score First Class on the transcon from Washington Dulles back to California). My wife sometimes brings goodie bags for the crew. She doesn’t expect anything in return, but it’s nice when it happens. On this trip, we got (proper) champagne, pajamas, cheese/fruit plates, and ice cream. ✈️

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I like to travel with a mission. But I’m not religious, so I could never be a missionary. Instead, I come up with goals of my own. Often it’s to run a half marathon. But here’s one I set myself the other day: Travel from my home airport in Santa Barbara, California, to Osaka, Japan, leaving on a Sunday morning, do a 10K run around Osaka Castle, and be back by Tuesday night. Plus eat good sushi while there and have some time to explore. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that travel in both directions has to be via Honolulu.

In defense of short trips

I am a defender of short trips to interesting places. Some people think there is no point in going somewhere unless you can linger awhile. And I get the case for longer trips, including the immersion factor and the economic benefit of amortizing the fixed cost of getting there over a longer number of days.

But short trips of, say, just three nights at your destination can involve a very focused presence. They force you to make the most of every hour. And when I return home, I’ve much of the feeling of a mental break that I’d expect from a somewhat longer trip. Maybe 80 percent of the fix for a fraction of the time.

In addition, short trips are easier to schedule and — if you have limited vacation time — allow you to spread your wings in different directions. And although they generally work out more per day if you apportion the flight costs, they will always be less expensive in absolute terms than a comparable longer trip simply because you’ve got fewer days’ worth of hotels and other expenses on the ground.

Moreover — to paraphrase the poet Lord Alfred Tennyson — it is better to have visited even a short while than never to have visited at all.

Why I also like micro-trips

But what about micro-trips? Trips so short that even a three-night stay seems leisurely? If you Google “micro trips,” you’ll find discussion of the concept but involving stays of a few days. I don’t consider those to be “micro.” They are simply “short.” A quintessential micro-trip — in my book — involves roughly 24 hours in your destination, sometimes less. Some people call these “extreme trips,” but I think that term is, well, extreme. Could two nights at the destination count as “micro?” Maybe, depending on the distance involved. It’s one of those things that’s hard to define rigidly, but where you know it when you see it.

Micro-trips can, of course, seem cost-prohibitive for the time spent if you don’t benefit from airline staff travel (as I am fortunate to do). But not necessarily. Within Europe, short-haul flights can whisk revenue passengers to contrasting cultures and foreign languages for ultra-low fares. You can even do day trips to another country. Even if you don’t live in Europe, you could do a micro-trip within the continent if, perhaps, you’re headed there on business and can stay an extra day.

Another way of rationalizing the economics of micro-trips is to add them as stopovers in what would otherwise be direct or nonstop journeys to somewhere else. On a trip from California to Cape Town the other day, my wife and I carved out a six-hour trip into the part of London where I grew up. Flying via London was a more interesting way of getting to South Africa than going to Atlanta to pick up a nonstop from there. Airlines like Turkish and Emirates have helped build up their hubs by offering micro-stays with hotels and tours for transiting passengers.

Economic factors aren’t, of course, the only reason most people don’t go out of their way to do micro-trips. Another is that these trips can involve spending more time in airplanes and at airports than at their destination. That’s a good enough reason for most people to not want to do it.

But I belong to a class of people known as an “avgeek” (short for “aviation geek”). I like airports (and airport lounges). I’m actually fairly mild on the avgeek spectrum. But I find airports a bit of a cocoon. They provide instant cover from any request from the outside. “Sorry, I’m about to get on a plane….” They allow you to pick your time zone — choose between departure or arrival time zone, or something in between — and eat and drink accordingly. If you have access to lounges, you can do so for “free” (forgetting for an indulgent moment whatever expenditure qualified you to use the lounge in the first place).

And the best airports feel like a global crossroads. You can be 10-15 hours from just about anywhere, and the mix of fellow travelers reflects that. Frankfurt still has a vintage giant electro-mechanical departure board where thousands of letters spin around with a rapid clackety-clack to spell out the names of cities from all continents, a marvel of engineering. But even the electronic screens that have largely supplanted them provide tantalizing glimpses of destinations.

Some airports score a lot higher than others when it comes to the crossroads factor. London Heathrow — maligned by many — does well in that regard. Somewhere like Dallas Fort Worth — as huge an airport as it is — is a bit, well, “meh.” Somehow a flight departing for Pittsburgh doesn’t have the same interest for me as one headed for Cairo, even if I’m not getting on either.

I generally enjoy flights, too. Even though I’ve taken many hundreds of long-haul intercontinental flights, I still feel a bit of a high — so to speak — from flying around the world. When planning a micro-trip, I pick dates and routes when, even if I’m unlikely to score a standby lie-flat seat, the back of the plane is unlikely to be too bad. Traveling on my own, I find long-haul economy class flights where I’ve got an aisle seat generally tolerable. And those with an empty one next to me — and ideally a row to myself — can be positively pleasant.

Another factor in favor of the micro-trip is that you need to bring very little stuff with you. I’m not just talking about not checking a bag. I never check bags regardless of trip length. I’m talking “personal item” only. It is quite liberating to have a light backpack as your only bag as you cross the world. You need never worry about overhead bin space. And when you leave the destination airport and take the bus or subway into town, you are instantly more absorbed into the city you’re visiting, not one of those identifiable tourists lugging wheeled bags through stations and streets.

Part of the fun of a micro-trip — for me at least — is planning it to get the most travel experience out of the least amount of time. And — in keeping with the zen of the micro-trip — with the least expense commensurate with reasonable comfort. The trip I’m about to describe cost me less than $140 in terms of what I spent on the ground in Japan. But, as narrated below, I slept well, ate well, and fulfilled my mission.

Osaka introduction

Depending on who you ask, Osaka is either Japan’s second or third largest city. With a population of 2.75 million, I think it is really in third place behind Tokyo and Yokohama. But some people lump Yokohama — with its population of 3.7 million — in with Tokyo, which it adjoins. Others, however, rank Osaka by treating it as part of the Keihanshin Metropolitan Area, which also includes the nearby cities of Kyoto and Kobe.

Either way, Osaka is a major port city and commercial center, and Japan’s second international aviation gateway after Tokyo. The 16th-century shogunate Osaka Castle is its main historical landmark. The castle is surrounded by a moat and park with plum, peach, and cherry-blossom trees. And it was there that I was headed on my micro-trip to the city.

Running around Osaka Castle

If you’re a runner visiting Osaka, the castle is, indeed, the place to go. It is surrounded by the biggest outdoor space in the city center with pathways that are great for running. In fact, the park authorities encourage runners by mapping out two suggested routes, the “Short Course” at 2.9 km and the so-called “Long Course” at 3.5 km.

There are some markings on the paths to help you follow these courses, but I soon found it was easy to accidentally stray off-course. So I ended up carving out my own course as I went along, which totaled 6.4 miles — or a little over 10 kilometers. The predefined ones were anyway too short, so I was always going to have to combine and add to them in order to reach my 10K goal.

Creating your own course can also take you closer to the castle itself. It occurred to me that maybe the authorities want the official courses to steer runners away from the crowds of tourists heading into the castle, but I was visiting on a wet Tuesday in March, so there weren’t too many hordes to avoid.

Osaka, like Tokyo, has a somewhat dispersed city center. And the area around Osaka Castle isn’t the most interesting or lively. Nonetheless, staying near the castle made sense to execute my plan. My flight to Osaka landed at 6:45 p.m., and my flight out was at 8:45 p.m. the following evening. My plan was to get up early, walk to the castle to do the run, and then head back to my hotel for a shower before checking out and then exploring more of the city.

Unfortunately, the weather forecast had begun to change as I was traveling to Japan. And when I woke up, it was raining quite heavily. Coincidentally, the last time I ran in Japan — when I did the Tokyo Legacy Half Marathon in 2023 — there was also heavy rain. I’m not necessarily averse to running in rain. It can be quite refreshing. But it was cold as well as wet that gray morning in Osaka, so the prospect of heading out as planned wasn’t that enticing.

Running Base — a literal base for runners

The forecast did indicate that the rains would dissipate soon after 9 a.m., but it was still coming down when that hour came, and radar suggested there was more to follow. So I developed Plan B — which actually turned out to be an interesting running/travel experience.

I’d heard that Japanese running stores sometimes have lockers and showers, and I discovered there was a place right at the far edge of the park surrounding the castle called Running Base (they identify themselves mostly using this English name, with the Japanese one in smaller letters underneath). This actually wasn’t so much of a store — though it did have some gear for sale — as a “base,” as the name indicates. There are not only showers and lockers, but a small café for runners.

So I was able to check out of my hotel at around 9:30 a.m., head over with my stuff to Running Base, and then sit it out in the café until the weather improved. I actually worked on this blog — my overdue report on the Phoenix Rock ’n’ Roll Half Marathon in January — while waiting and drinking hot chocolate. There was only one employee there for most of the time. She spoke a little English and was very welcoming.

If you are visiting Osaka without any running kit, you can rent ASICS shoes at Running Base as well as clothing and accessories. ASICS — headquartered near Osaka in Kobe — is Japan’s largest running company. I would have rented a pair of ASICS shoes to try them out, but they didn’t have my 12.5 U.S. size.

The versatility of Hoka Cliftons

I was traveling light and hadn’t packed dedicated running shoes. Rather, I was planning to run in my Hoka Cliftons, which I’d worn for traveling. The Cliftons aren’t my favorite running shoe — and certainly aren’t the fastest — but are an excellent versatile combo shoe that’s good for traveling and urban walking as well as running. So they are my choice for trips when I don’t want to pack a pair of running shoes and want to run but not race (although I did wear them for the Victoria Falls Half Marathon Relay last year, not wanting to lug my Nike Alphafly’s around during a 10-day trip to Zimbabwe and Namibia).

When I pack separate running shoes, they take up a lot of space, partly on account of the type I favor and partly because of my rather large feet. I envy my wife, who manages to pack seemingly endless pairs of shoes into her carry-on.

Like the somewhat similar Hoka Bondi, the Clifton is named after a beach in Sydney, Australia. It’s unclear why, since these aren’t ideal shoes to take to the beach, nor is Hoka an Australian brand.

I buy Cliftons in an all-black colorway, which adds to their versatility compared with the loud colors of some running shoes. Some airlines — not U.S. ones — include footwear in the dress code for non-rev staff travelers and can deny boarding to those wearing what might loosely be called “sneakers” or “trainers,” but I think a pair of all-black Cliftons can just about squeeze past any critical eye. (Update: All of that said, I do have a concern about how long they last. I bought a pair of Clifton 9’s last year, and the edges of the heels began to fray after a few months of not especially heavy use. They replaced those under warranty, but the same has happened to the replacement pair. Maybe the new Clifton 10’s are better in that regard.)

Getting going on the run

Eventually, the rain started to lighten up, so I got changed and put my stuff in one of the Running Base lockers (since this was a micro-trip, I had just the one “personal item” backpack). I wore my race shirt from the Tokyo Half to give me a bit of local street cred.

It was still raining lightly by the time I finally headed out at around 11:30 a.m., but it stopped before I finished. And as the weather improved and the sun peeked out, the park began to fill a little with more people out on midday strolls as well as a handful of other runners.

Japan is well known for its springtime cherry blossoms. It was too early to see anything close to full bloom, but some buds were beginning to open along the course I ran. A few excited off-season tourists took selfies in front of whatever signs of spring were there.

At times, I ran close to the castle and moats, and at others paralleled the perimeter roads. The park has its undulations. And a hazard of inventing your own course as you go along is that you can unexpectedly encounter stairs, which break your rhythm. I had to scurry down a long flight of steep stone steps at one point.

Returning to Running Base, I took a shower and got myself organized for the rest of the day. Although the rain meant I was running late, I still had several hours left to explore some of the city before merging with the late afternoon commuters and heading to the airport.

I paid just $6.82 for the locker and shower, plus another $2 or so for the towels. The hot chocolates were also $2. Japan, in general, can be relatively inexpensive these days, and Running Base is a fantastic deal (as well as super clean). If I were doing this trip again (as I might), I wouldn’t necessarily even plan to stay close to the castle, knowing that I could use Running Base — not my hotel — as a base for getting launched and cleaned up.

I believe there’s a similar place in Tokyo run by ASICS itself close to the Imperial Palace, another iconic running location. I hope to check that out in another micro-trip.

I wish there were Running Base equivalents in other cities to which I travel, including in the U.S. It’s a great concept for people wanting to do a run in some iconic urban location when they don’t have a place to change and get cleaned up nearby. Imagine, for example, having one close to Santa Monica Pier and the running paths that head south toward Venice Beach. Or close to New York’s Central Park or London’s Hyde Park.

But somehow, I just can’t see such places existing in the U.S. or U.K. There would be too many negatives. Not enough profit. Concern about vagrancy. Liability. And so forth.

APA Hotels: a controversial Japanese budget chain

There’s a genre of hotel in Japan often just referred to as “business hotels,” which focuses on providing an inexpensive, no-frills experience with small rooms but all the essentials. There’s not really a close equivalent in the U.S. In the U.K., the nearest might be something like Premier Inn, but even that isn’t quite the same.

The largest of the Japanese business hotel chains is APA. They have over 300 hotels, including over 20 in Osaka alone. But APA — a privately held company — can be a controversial choice. The reason has to do with the politics of its owner, Toshio Motoya, who is a vocal supporter of revisionist historical views espoused by Japan’s far-right about the country’s role in events leading up to World War Two. APA leaves literature in the rooms promoting these theories (which, fortunately, is all in Japanese).

Some people choose not to stay in APA hotels as they find the politics of its owner too distasteful. But I was feeling exhausted by U.S. politics at the time and didn’t have it in me to make “statement decisions” about where to stay in Osaka. And I was curious to see what the APA experience would be like, especially since the location of one of its properties was ideal and the price seemed rather remarkable.

The APA hotel I chose was the “No. 336 APA Hotel Osaka Temmabashi Ekimae,” located close to the castle. It was really everything I could have hoped for — comfortable enough, reasonably modern, clean, and just $45 for the night. The rooms were, indeed, pretty small. Think “small ship cabin” small. But I don’t mind small hotel rooms when I’m traveling on my own. I sleep in an enormous bedroom at home, so I get my big-room fix there. The APA room might be less ideal for a couple, however. Although the bed itself can fit two, there’s very little space outside of it.

The staff with whom I dealt were friendly and spoke a little English. There was even a Japanese public bath with both indoor and outdoor sections, which guests can use for free. (The rooms, of course, also have their own private bathrooms.) The public spaces at some APA hotels can be a little gaudy from pictures I have seen, contrasting with the simplicity of the rooms, but the lobby was fairly small and understated at this property. Breakfast is available, although I didn’t sample it.

While all APA hotels are priced at the value end of the scale, you shouldn’t expect rates like $45 as a matter of course. In Tokyo, depending on the property and time of year, you might have to pay more like $125 to $150.

At the lower end of the scale, APA can work out comparable to what you’d pay at some of Japan’s “capsule” hotels, those places in which you sleep in small pods without lockable doors and with shared bathrooms. Some capsule hotels are trying to up their game from being sanctuaries for drunken “salarymen” who have missed the last train home. I’d be curious to try one of the nicer ones out someday, but they can be hard to rationalize if you can get a business hotel for about the same or not much more.

In 2007, APA was embroiled in a scandal involving fake earthquake construction data linked to several of its hotels. Hopefully, that is now all behind it.

Would I stay at an APA hotel again? Based on my Osaka experience, I would. But I might also check out some of the rival chains without the political baggage, such as Sotetsu Fresa.

Other Osaka travel notes

Sushi recommendation: On the evening of my arrival, after checking into my hotel, I took the metro to the Nippombashi station and walked around the Dotonbori section of town, which is quite lively at night. Nearby, I had a late dinner at Sakae Sushi, which is located in a quiet street away from the throngs. At 10 p.m., the place was packed, the diners mostly sitting around a large rectangular-shaped bar in the middle of which the busy sushi chefs took orders from slips of paper on which people wrote their choices. There was a menu with photos and numbers, so you just write the number and quantity and place a series of small orders until you’ve had your fill.

My dinner — which was excellent — came to $25.45, including ample food and a couple of surprisingly good Asahi nonalcoholic beers (I was off alcohol for six weeks at the time, due to some interactions with heart meds).

Getting around: Osaka’s subway and train system is excellent and inexpensive. There is really no need to use taxis or Ubers. The system is quite easy to master, but you need to know a few things. One is that there are three different companies operating separate sets of lines — the Osaka Metro, Japan Railways (which has local routes in some cities as well as its long-distance services), and Nankai.

Buying tickets at stations can be a bit confusing, so your best bet is to use something called an ICOCA card, which you can load up with funds and tap as you enter and leave stations across all three transit systems. You can get a physical ICOCA card, but I found it simpler to add one to my phone in the Apple Wallet app. That way, you just tap your phone at the ticket barriers. You can also use the same card in other major Japanese cities.

Just remember that you can’t use your ICOCA card on the premium services between the Osaka airport and city center run by Japan Railways and Nankai (the Haruka Kansai AirPort Express and the Rapi:t [not a typo, that’s what it’s called] AirPort Express, respectively). You can, however, use them on regular trains to and from the airport run by both companies. The latter aren’t all that much slower and can prove equally or more convenient depending on where you are going as well as immersing you more quickly into everyday Osaka life. I used my ICOCA card on the Nankai AirPort Express, one of the regular trains (notwithstanding its “Express” designation), which was efficient, although crowded, in both directions.

Osaka airport: Kansai International Airport — or KIX, to use its three-letter identifier — is the city’s international airport. It is located on an artificial island in the middle of Osaka Bay. It opened in 1994 to relieve overcrowding at Osaka Itami Airport, closer to the city, which now only handles domestic flights.

KIX easily passes one of my threshold tests for how good an airport is, namely easy public transport access to the city it serves. Some of the trains from KIX continue on to Kyoto.

But it fares less well according to another of my criteria, the selection of lounges. Unless you’re traveling as a revenue Business Class passenger, the lounge options are slim. There are, in theory, three Priority Pass airside lounges, but these are really little more than dull waiting rooms, with the lightest of light refreshments (no alcohol or real food). If you are on the Priority Pass deal where you have a limited number of lounge visits without paying extra, you certainly don’t want to blow a visit on one of these. Even if you have unlimited visits, it’s barely worth the effort of visiting, except maybe to fill a water bottle. Neither of the two U.S. airlines that currently fly into Osaka — Hawaiian and United — operate their own lounges at KIX.

On the other hand, the landside part of the airport is better than most. This is on account of a large and bustling food court in Terminal 1. It’s quite easy to miss this, however, as it’s on a level of the airport in between the departures and arrivals ones and, even then, is a bit hidden away as I recall. But there’s a decent spread of options, including sushi. I believe there’s also a Priority Pass landside lounge with food and beer, but I couldn’t find it and ended up in the food court. I didn’t have much time airside before boarding my plane, but did notice one sushi option there as well.

I’ve heard some stories of long lines arriving and departing at KIX, but everything was pretty quick and easy during my visit in March.

Osaka micro-trip sum-up

I did fulfill my mission, not just in terms of the running but also in terms of fitting the entire thing — the travel to and from Japan included — into three days. My flight out of Santa Barbara was at 6:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, and I landed back there shortly before midnight on the Tuesday immediately after. My routing, for avgeek readers, was SBA-LAX-HNL-KIX and back in reverse. And, no, I didn’t feel wasted by the end of it.

I had great flights in both directions on Alaska and Hawaiian (which are in the process of merging operations following Alaska’s acquisition, but with each keeping its separate identity). And I spent some time in the Honolulu airport, which I like with its breezy walkways and open-air, airside Japanese garden. Honolulu makes for a good segue from the USA mainland to Japan. But I’m going to save my takes about that and the aviation portion of this trip for another post, after I take the brand-new Hawaiian — or Alaska-Hawaiian — nonstop from Seattle to Narita, Tokyo (on its inaugural flight, if I get on). ✈️ 🏃

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Running into the New Year

January is low season for distance races, pretty much all over the world. After a flurry of big November races, such as the New York Marathon, the race calendar shuts down for midwinter in many parts of the northern hemisphere. And in the southern half of the planet, mid-summer temperatures make the first month of the year less than ideal. Australian races, for example, tend to take place between May and September.

However, there are exceptions. There are no big January races in Europe. But in Asia, there’s Hong Kong. And in the U.S., some of the warmer states that draw snow birds escaping the cold are also winter magnets for runners. The biggest January event in the U.S. is now clearly the full and half marathon in Miami late in the month. The Phoenix Rock ’n’ Roll event used to be a contender for the top spot, but — while still a solid choice for runners looking for a winter half — is no longer quite what it was.

It has shrunk from being a full and half marathon with expansive courses and a bustling expo to a somewhat less ambitious half-only event (or, more precisely, half plus 5K and 10K). It isn’t just that the full marathon is gone, but numbers who take part in the half are also well down. In 2025, there were around 5,500 finishers. That compares with close to 7,000 in the half alone in 2020 and over 10,000 in 2017.

So, today, the Phoenix Rock ’n’ Roll is no more than a medium-size event. But that won’t bother a lot of people. The intermediate size can provide the energy of a large race, with less of the crowd. And some half runners prefer there not being a full marathon with which to share the limelight.

What’s up with Rock ’n’ Roll?

The scaling back of the Phoenix event reflects what has happened to the overall Rock ’n’ Roll series of which it is part. The series started in 1998 with a San Diego race, which remains its flagship today. I’ve run the San Diego Rock ’n’ Roll half seven times — all between 2012 and 2019 — and always enjoyed it.

The series expanded to include well over 20 events every year, mostly in the U.S. but also overseas. In its heyday, it had a loyal following of runners who would buy its Tour Passes, allowing multiple and even unlimited race entries throughout the year for a flat rate. Somewhere along the line, however, the expansion trend reversed. Races started to be discontinued. And new ones that were announced never actually took place. The pandemic then took its toll, but the contraction was evident before.

The change in Rock ’n’ Roll’s fortunes may have had to do with changes in ownership over the years. The original business was acquired in 2008 by Competitor Group, which ran various other endurance sporting events. It, in turn, was acquired by Ironman Group — another endurance conglomerate — in 2018. Before the Ironman acquisition, there had been a bit of a cloud over the series, following publicity about a blurring of the line between the for-profit and charitable parts of the operation. That, as well as a feeling among some runners that the races were coming a little too corporate, may have taken some of the shine off the brand.

As well as Phoenix, the other Rock ’n’ Roll races that still exist in 2025 are Las Vegas, Nashville, San Diego, San Jose, and Washington DC. Of those, only two — San Diego and Nashville — offer the full marathon distance as well as a half. There is also a Madrid event, one in Manila, and a planned new one in Taipei, the details of which were somewhat vague at the time of writing.

The fact that the Rock ’n’ Roll series isn’t quite what it once was is not a reason to avoid its events. Far from it, my experience of Phoenix in 2025 suggests they still know how to put on a decent race.

Volunteering with for-profit events

The charitable/for-profit thing is something I’ve wondered about with a number of races. Having private companies organize races makes sense if it leads to events that might not otherwise exist. But while there is nothing, per se, wrong with for-profit races, all races need volunteers. And large races need a lot of volunteers.

Not everyone wants to volunteer to line someone’s pockets. But the lines can blur when a primarily for-profit race donates a portion of proceeds to charities so as to have a philanthropic veneer. Volunteers might sometimes wonder who mostly benefits from their efforts. I guess runners certainly do, which is why it’s nice to thank the volunteers when you get a chance.

Coming back to Phoenix

I’ve now run the Phoenix Rock ’n’ Roll Half three times, including the 2025 event. The previous time was in January 2020, weeks before the pandemic forced a global shut-down of races. That led to a gap of almost 18 months before I took part in another (if you don’t count a “virtual Boston Half” I did on my own).

Whereas the 2020 Phoenix event preceded one hiatus, the 2025 one marked the end of another — for me, that is. Because this was my first half marathon after a heart issue — detailed elsewhere on this blog — left me incapable of running 13.1 miles for over a year, at first due to what what was for months an unexplained loss of strength and then during the recovery following a procedure once the problem was diagnosed.

A better course than before

The Rock ’n’ Roll Half Marathon has always started and ended in Tempe, a city within the overall Phoenix metropolis fairly close to the airport and east of downtown. Tempe is a college town. And with a bit of a party flavor. It’s home to Arizona State University, a large institution with almost 80,000 enrolled students.

Whereas the course used to start quite close to the campus and then carved out a large loop ending up a mile or so away in a park at the edge of Tempe Lake, it is now more of an out and back starting on Tempe’s main drag close to the lake and finishing nearby where it did before. I say “more” of an out and back, because the second half of the new course does not track the outbound path the whole way. Much of it does, but you also run on new surfaces while headed back in the general direction from which you’d come — including through some desert parkland toward the end.

The promo for the Phoenix Rock ’n’ Roll race has always tended to emphasize photographs of iconic Arizona nature, i.e., cacti and those reddish, rocky hills where the desert meets the city. But with the old loop course, you had to run a long way — around nine miles as I recall — before you saw any of that. Instead, you spent a lot of time running past dull strip malls, car dealerships, and office parks. On the whole, I’d say the new course is better even if it is less ambitious in terms of ground covered. While it still has its share of dull urban landscape, you have eye contact with Arizona-defining landscape for more of the course than before — including in the first few miles, although, as before, the landscape tends to peak toward the end.

Registration, packet pickup, and logistics

While the Rock ’n’ Roll series has had its detractors, one thing in its favor used to be relatively low pricing. That is not always the case now. I registered for the race fairly late, admittedly, but the asking price then was $178. That’s fairly steep, even allowing for inflation.

The good news is that it’s not hard to avoid paying full price. It can be a lot cheaper if you register way ahead. But you may not want to do that just in order to secure a place, as Rock ’n’ Roll races rarely sell out. Typically, they’re still selling places at the expo.

So the best way to keep the cost down without committing way ahead is to look for specials. I was able to snag $50 off with a New Year sale with less than three weeks to go until race day. You can also buy a Tour Pass giving you access to any three races in the series for $316 — 2025 pricing — but all three have to be in the same calendar year, so plan accordingly. And with the much diminished set of choices, the Tour Pass does not offer the utility it once did.

The price always includes a shirt, which tends to be quite nice — both in terms of material and design. I’ve put the one from Phoenix into my current rotation, as opposed to sending it straight to the give-away pile as occurs with some races. Gone, however, are the days when Rock ’n’ Roll runners got a Brooks shirt. That said, few races in the U.S. do offer name-brand shirts these days — at least not included in the registration price.

Like most largish races, Rock ’n’ Roll has always required runners to pick up their bibs and shirts at the expo. Their expos used to be quite large and bustling affairs with big-name vendors such as Garmin displaying their latest and greatest and the likes of Cliff Bars handing out free samples. But support among vendors for these types of expos has diminished. And the Phoenix one was not particularly uplifting or well-supported. Nor was it entirely clear why some of vendors were there — the Phoenix Sperm Bank, for example. Maybe runners give choice sperm.

That said, packet pickup-up was efficient. In fact, all aspects of this race were pretty efficient.

What’s annoying, however, is that Rock ’n’ Roll still insists on having the expo in the Convention Center in downtown Phoenix, roughly 10 miles from where the race starts and finishes. That location is overkill for the low-key reality of the occasion. It would be more convenient with a venue in Tempe, as that’s where visiting runners are likely to be staying.

Race day

The race began at 7:15 a.m. The early start makes sense. While the Phoenix weather in 2025 was pretty perfect for running, there is always the possibility of hotter temperatures at that time of year as the morning progresses. The race started right on time — in keeping with the overall efficiency of the event. A 10K went out with the half marathon (there’s also a 5K but that took place the day before).

Runners were assigned to different corrals, which — as is the case with most races — were not policed. My wave of middle-of-the-pack runners crossed the starting mats around 12 minutes after gun time. The first few minutes on the course were a bit crowded, but spacing opened up after that.

The elevation chart indicates a gentle uphill for the first few miles. In practice, I didn’t really feel it on the ground. In fact, the first nine miles or so of the course felt mostly flat and had no significant hills despite some gentle undulations. However, there’s one moderately serious climb on the inbound as you near mile 10 before you cruise gently downhill to the finish. Fortunately, this is at the start of the part when you’re up close to the desert landscape, so you have some scenic eye candy to distract you from the effort.

Crowd and course support seemed about average, except there was some quite rousing cheering in the last few hundred yards. The name of the Rock ’n’ Roll series reflects the live music along the course that’s its hallmark — but which, in practice, tends to be more evident at some events than others. There was some of it in this race. Course entertainment can provide some fleeting encouragement during a 13.1-mile run, but most people who like to run to music wear headphones (although my headphones failed to work that morning).

The finish festival was quite lively and better than most. It took place in Tempe Beach Park, where the race ends, and many runners appeared to linger for a while.

Overall, I enjoyed the race and recommend it. It had a good, upbeat vibe. I wouldn’t place it in the bucket-list category, but it should be on the shortlist of people looking for major North America half marathons close to the start of the year. (Although that, as noted earlier, is, indeed, quite a short list.)

My own goals for this first race after my hiatus were modest — mostly just to run the entire thing, including the hill. I managed that, and finished in 2 hours 24 minutes — that’s about 20 minutes slower than where I was a couple of years ago, but I was glad just to be back in a race. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that this less-than-stellar time placed me in the top half of my division (just).

Athletic: my favorite non-alcoholic beer, by far

Runners’ bibs included a tear-off voucher for a free beer at the finish festival, but the line was pretty long. I didn’t join it but instead headed over to another tent — with hardly any line — for some free non-alcoholic beer.

I wouldn’t necessarily have bothered but for the fact that the brew was Athletic — by far the best non-alcoholic beer I have ever come across. As much as I enjoy “real” beer (at least certain types), I find Athletic tastes at least as good and often better. It comes in several versions, but my favorite is Run Wild, an IPA. Highly recommended. (Athletic isn’t a zero-alcohol beer. Like many beers that count as “non-alcoholic,” it contains less than half a percent alcohol, so up to 10% of what you’d find in a mainstream regular beer.)

Lodging and transportation

I used Valley Metro — Phoenix’s light rail — to get around. You can get from the airport to the expo at the Convention Center that way — the first leg is on a free airport train that connects with the city’s transit system — and then ride over to Tempe where there’s a stop in the vicinity of a number of hotels convenient for the race. There are ticket machines on the platforms if you don’t want to mess with the app. Unless you need a car for other reasons, there’s really no need to rent one if you’re traveling to Phoenix for this race. Downtown Tempe is very walkable.

I stayed at the Vib hotel. Vib is a Best Western foray into the hip, three-star boutique market. The hotel was fine — it has a cool roof terrace — and was only about a five-minute walk from the area where runners line up for the race. I paid $208 including taxes and fees, which is probably at the better end of the going rate around there for race weekend. But there are a number of other hotels in the area that could also be good picks. The key thing, in my view, is to be close to where the race starts and finishes.

There weren’t many choices in the vicinity for an eve-of-race pasta dinner, but I did find one close to my hotel. This was Caffe Boa, a lively spot where I had a decent spaghetti with meatballs washed down with some Croatian wine — the latter not what I’d necessarily expect in downtown Tempe.

Phoenix airport lounge notes

Phoenix airport has a number of lounges. American is the largest airline at the airport and has three Admirals Clubs. I didn’t get to any of them on this trip, but I’ve visited them before and none are anything special in terms of the hard product (as opposed to the always friendly staff). American has done great things with even relatively small lounges — such as its one at Denver — and the Phoenix ones seem due for a refresh.

The loads on the morning nonstop American flight from my home town — Santa Barbara — to Phoenix weren’t looking good for standby. So I ended up flying on United via Los Angeles. That meant I got to check out the United Club on arrival at Phoenix.

I wouldn’t necessarily even assume United would have a lounge at Phoenix. It isn’t one of their hubs (or even a “focus city,” as far as I’m aware). But it has a decent lounge, which opened in 2022 and is at least as good as American’s. The food seemed better than what I’ve had at the Phoenix Admirals Club locations in the past.

I flew home on American but instead of going to the Admirals Club, I thought I’d check out the new Chase Sapphire Lounge. This was the first time I’d been to a credit card lounge in the United States. By “credit card lounge,” I mean one that is operated/branded by a credit card — and only available to cardholders — as opposed to an airline-operated/branded lounge to which you might have access via an airline-affiliated credit card.

The experience was different, but overall good. When I arrived, I was told there was a wait. There has been a lot of talk recently about airport lounge crowding, but — personally — I’ve rarely encountered waits to get into airline-operated lounges (although have often found crowded conditions once inside). The door staff at the Chase Sapphire Lounge are reluctant to estimate wait times, but I was able to glean that it probably wouldn’t be more than 20 minutes. I had time, so I took the offered buzzer/pager and found some seating nearby. The buzzer went off in under 15 minutes.

What was different from an airline lounge is that when I was admitted, the hostess guided me to where I was meant to sit — sort of like when you arrive in a restaurant. (At least, a restaurant in the United States — in other parts of the world, there is often a seat-yourself culture.) I was shown to a corner seat at the bar, close to windows and with reasonable elbow room — so not a bad spot.

Maybe they don’t assign seating when the lounge is less full. I’d been to the Chase Sapphire Lounge in Hong Kong the previous year and they didn’t do it there. I’m not saying assigned seating is good or bad. But it somehow makes for a different, more curated experience.

The food and bev at the Chase Sapphire Lounge were definitely a cut or two above what you’d find in the Admirals Club or United Lounge. There were two food stations — one with a chef — serving a variety of tasty small plates. Some people were drinking elaborate cocktails. I had some pretty decent French white Burgundy — somewhat nicer than the house wines in the regular airline lounges (acceptable as the latter are).

I believe the Chase Sapphire Lounge at Phoenix is actually operated by the company that owns Priority Pass and also operates lounges in various U.S, airports under the “The Club” name. PP cardholders can also access it, although they have less priority on the waiting list than those with Chase Sapphire cards.

Credit card lounges versus airline ones

Overall, the Chase Sapphire hard product is objectively better than most regular U.S. airline lounges (as opposed to, perhaps, a premium lounge for long-haul business class passengers such as a United Polaris or American Flagship lounge). However, at the same time, part of me prefers the regular airline variety. Being in the Chase Sapphire lounge is a bit like having an urban experience of some sort, which happens to be in an airport. But as an aviation geek, I slightly missed the sense of being under the wings — so to speak — of the airline I was about to board. Airline lounges in subtle ways feel more part of the aviation experience than random lounges that happen to be in airports. Of course, those less enamored of aviation might consider airline-independence an advantage.

A clear benefit of airline-independence is that you can use credit card lounges regardless of which airline you’re flying on. That used also to be the case with airline ones. If you belonged to the Admirals Club, for example, you could use the lounge even if you were flying on United or Delta. But that changed about 15 years ago. The old system lasted surprisingly long, but it already seems like another era in the history of lounges.

Lastly, let’s talk about lounge restrooms

Both the Chase Sapphire and United lounges at Phoenix are relatively new and both are taking a newish approach to the provision of restrooms. Instead of conventional male and female restrooms — with male ones comprising both urinals and stalls — there are unisex (or “all gender”) restrooms that comprise private rooms with a toilet, basin, etc. The direct entrance into these are in public hallways — you don’t first go into some type of vestibule with basins, etc., and only then step into your private room. But the problem is that in both the United and Chase Sapphire lounges, there were only two of them.

The United Club at Phoenix has seating for 122 and the Chase Sapphire lounge can apparently seat 60. Maybe two restrooms is enough for 60 people — barely — but it seems rather few for over 100. This is especially so as many travelers make a point of using lounge restrooms, which can — if you don’t have to wait — provide one of the better options over the course of a journey.

While I was in both Phoenix lounges, people seemed to be waiting to use a restroom almost all the time. And with only two, it makes it more awkward for someone who might, for whatever reason, be taking a little longer than usual. There’s less anonymity than with a long row of stalls, and more likelihood of impatient looks when a lingerer leaves.

Shortages of toilets are not unique to lounges adopting the unisex model. I find many lounges with separate gender bathrooms also provide too few. I realize space is limited when designing lounges. But I often see wasted or unused space, such as work cubicles that hardly anyone uses or alcoves for ancient fax machines. Restrooms might not be the most glamorous part of a lounge. They are nonetheless among the most important, and so should be afforded the space they need.

A good travel hack, where possible, is to skip the regular restrooms and go to a shower room. Showers are not a feature of most lounges — and there were none in Phoenix — but they are not uncommon. And typically, you get a full private bathroom, including not just the shower and basin but also a toilet (and a surface on which to rest your luggage). Sort of like a hotel bathroom. And there’s generally no expectation that you will be especially quick. Plus, the shower rooms are cleaned between uses. So even if you aren’t in need of a shower, using the room can make for a more civilized experience than competing for a spot in a regular restroom.

And, if you have time, you could always actually take a shower while you’re at it. Having a lounge shower isn’t quite the same as having one on an airplane (think First Class on an Emirates A380), but it’s maybe the nearest thing for aviation geeks wanting to stay clean.

Phoenix race sum-up

For: Medium-size race at a time of year when North America pickings are few; decent course; efficient organization. Against: Inconvenient expo; a sense of a race that has been in decline (although only noticeable if you’ve done it before). Sum-up: Worth a trip from within North America if you’re looking for a winter race. ✈️ 🏃

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Most of my race reviews are of events to which I travel by plane. But this one is of a race that required only a short drive. That’s because the Santa Barbara Half Marathon takes place in the city I have called home for over 30 years.

This race is worth traveling to if you don’t live nearby. It’s a well-organized and fun event with a varied, scenic, and moderately challenging course held in a beautiful part of Southern California. The race is growing in popularity, and I believe it’s a better choice than some larger and more famous ones on the West Coast. This isn’t just hometown bias.

About Santa Barbara

Santa Barbara is a coastal city about 90 miles north of Los Angeles. It’s generally considered part of Southern California, but is its own place, not part of the vast urban sprawl to the south. Nestled between the ocean and the Santa Ynez Mountains, it has a temperate climate similar to that of the South of France or Cape Town. It mostly avoids the extremes of temperatures that can affect other parts of the state not too far away.

The city itself has a population of only around 90,000, but it’s part of a larger conurbation that also includes Goleta, just to the north, and Montecito, Summerland and Carpinteria to the south, as well as some unincorporated areas that essentially merge. So the overall population of the Santa Barbara metropolitan area is closer to 250,000 depending on how you define its contours.

Goleta adjoins the campus of the University of California at Santa Barbara. The university — which has racked up an impressive number of Nobel prizes in recent years — is the area’s largest employer. And tourism is its largest industry. The city has also long had a tech/scientific/aerospace presence. The best-known consumer-facing tech company based in the Santa Barbara metropolitan area is Sonos, the audio equipment manufacturer. Deckers — the footwear company whose brands include UGG and Hoka — also has its headquarters there. But, for the most part, there isn’t a large corporate America presence. So a characteristic of Santa Barbara is that a lot of people work either for themselves or for small enterprises — or, increasingly, live in Santa Barbara but work remotely. That contributes to its overall vibe.

Santa Barbara has some uber-wealthy enclaves. But these do not define the city. It has a mixed economic demographic and is a “real” place. Nonetheless, it’s an expensive area. Limited space and tight planning regulations restrict housing development. Consequently, not everyone employed in Santa Barbara can afford to live there. A fair few people commute from Ventura County to the south.

However, once you have worked out housing, Santa Barbara can be a very manageable place to live. By Southern California standards, traffic mostly moves pretty freely. You can find yourself rarely having to drive more than 15 or 20 minutes to get where you need to go. There’s easy access to beaches and mountain hiking trails. Not to mention great running paths at the waterfront and elsewhere, where I put in my weekly miles while enjoying ocean and mountain views. So there’s a lot of recreational opportunities that don’t cost anything.

Some people who live in Santa Barbara become a bit smug about life in and around the city, which can be irritating. But it is a pretty nice place to live if you can make it happen. It is also a great place to visit.

Santa Barbara — with its downtown architecture reflecting its Spanish colonial history — draws visitors from all over the world. Some visit the city as a destination in its own right. Others make it a stop on road trips between Los Angeles and San Francisco. In recent years, cruise ships plying the western United States have also made it a port of call. To the north — across the Gaviota Pass — lies some of California’s finest wine country.

The flow of visitors adds to the cosmopolitan vibe. Although Santa Barbara is a small city, it punches above its weight in its overall presence on a map. For example, its outdoor concert venue — the Bowl — draws artists who would not typically include towns of this size on their tours. It’s a good blend of small town with big city influences. Nonetheless, after living there for a while, one does begin to feel a bit of a country cousin when visiting places like Los Angeles and San Francisco.

Event overview

The Santa Barbara Half Marathon — in its current incarnation (of which more shortly) — has been taking place for four years. The event consists of a Half Marathon, a 5K, and a kids’ fun run. In 2024, there were 3,783 finishers in the Half and 1,481 in the 5K — so 5,264 finishers in total. That’s an impressive number for a race that is still quite new in a smallish city.

In 2024, I only ran the 5K, not the Half. The reason is that after my unexpected heart issues detailed elsewhere on this blog, I was still rebuilding strength. However, I’ve run the Half twice, in 2021 and 2022. The 2022 course was identical to what it was in 2024, and the 2021 one was almost the same. So I feel I can give a review of the overall event. But, first, a bit of history.

A brief history of Santa Barbara half marathons

If you search for reviews of half marathons in Santa Barbara, you may stumble across some pretty bad ones. But any bad reviews you find will almost certainly be from 2017 or earlier. And that was for an entirely different race from the one that takes place now.

Once upon a time, there used to be a great race in Santa Barbara on the Saturday of Veterans Day weekend called the “Santa Barbara Veterans Day Marathon.” Initially, there was a full and a half marathon and the overall event attracted thousands of runners. I ran the half four times between 2012 and 2015. But, it went from great to terrible, with a series of organizational lapses and fiascos that culminated in 2017 with the half — the only remaining distance at that stage — being cancelled on the morning of race day when law enforcement pulled the plug on safety grounds due to a shortage of essential volunteers along the course. Fortunately, I had decided to sit that one out and I believe there were only a few hundred runners signed up. Some apparently banded together and worked out a way to run 13.1 miles together that morning anyway.

After that race finally folded, there was a smaller event — completely separate — which took place in June for a few years simply called the “Santa Barbara Half Marathon” (the same name as today’s race, but not the same race). This was a reinvention of one that preceded the Veterans Day event (before my running days). It was more like a community race, low-key but well-organized and with a nice course mostly along and close to the waterfront. This operated for a few years, but eventually yielded to a completely new and more ambitious race organized by Run Local, a California race organizer that puts on events in various parts of the state — mostly around the San Francisco Bay Area — with an emphasis on involving and supporting local community organizations. Its biggest event is the Oakland Marathon.

This current incarnation of the Santa Barbara Half Marathon debuted in 2021 and takes place early in November, either over the Veterans Day weekend or a week before. I have taken part in three of the four years and can attest to its organizational efficiency. However, efficiency — although important — is something you should be able to take for granted. Poor race organization may be a reason to avoid an event. But good organization is rarely the main reason for choosing it. The real reason to pick this as a destination race is more to do with the course and the overall experience.

The course and race experience

The current version of the Santa Barbara Half Marathon is the first one in the history of races in the city that takes in both the downtown and waterfront areas. That gives it a big advantage over previous versions, which combined some waterfront — not much in some iterations — with less interesting, mostly residential areas.

Today’s race offers a truly magnificent course, both varied and challenging. It begins on State Street, the main downtown drag, fairly close to the pier. It then turns right to parallel the waterfront — with ocean views — before beginning a roughly two-mile climb, the second mile of which is more residential. The climb is a fairly serious one. But the course then turns back and gives runners the same roughly two miles of glorious downhill before rejoining the flat waterside area and continuing past the pier — close to the start line — and further along for another couple of miles before turning around and passing the pier again and then entering the downtown portion.

The last portion is tough, as it includes a second roughly two-mile uphill stretch beginning around mile 10. This isn’t as steep as the first uphill, but it comes at a time when runners are most likely to be getting tired. The good news is that the final mile-and-a-bit is all downhill, passing through the heart of downtown to the finish on State Street, close to where the race started. There’s lots of crowd support during that final mile, in particular.

Although Santa Barbara has great running paths at the waterfront — which share with bikes and pedestrians — all of the race is on roads, either fully closed or partially coned off. This places you a little further from the ocean than if you were out on a run on your own, but the running paths would be too narrow to accommodate the volume of people. That doesn’t bother me. I like closed-road races, as they create more of a sense of an “event.”

My advice to anyone running this race is to keep enough energy in the bank for that second uphill portion. When I ran it in 2022, my first 10 miles had me headed for a sub-two-hour finish — fast by my standards — but I crashed around mile 11, so that I finished in 2 hours 4 minutes. The year before, I ran a more stable race at 2 hours 7 minutes. Personally, I find it more satisfying to run a controlled race in which I finish strong than to struggle at the end — even if the controlled race is a bit slower overall.

The half marathon begins at 7 AM and the 5K — which is what I ran in 2024 — takes off an hour and a half later. Like those in the half, the 5K runners get a full send-off with a rendering of the national anthem. The 5K course starts in the same place and then turns left long the waterfront, where you run against participants in the half coming from the opposite direction. It then turns around — so that you run with half participants for a while — before heading a bit into downtown and joining State Street to finish along with the half. The 5K is pretty flat overall, except for a short, modest uphill in the last mile or so. Runners finishing the 5K get the same medal as those completing the half.

The time of year

Early November is a perfect time for running in Santa Barbara. The rain hasn’t usually begun — even in years where there is a fair amount — and early-morning temperatures are generally a bit crisp. Unlike during parts of the summer when fog gets trapped between the ocean and mountains creating what locals call a “June gloom” effect lasting well into the day, the November skies are usually clear and deep blue with great visibility. It’s also a good time to visit. Most of the tourists have gone, taking pressure off hotel prices.

Before and after the race

As with most races, the price increases the nearer you get to the date. You can get in for less than $100 if you are an early bird, but will pay somewhat more closer to the event. The race website states that the 2024 event sold out. But this isn’t one of those races that sells out way ahead of the day.

Packet pick-up takes place on the Friday and Saturday before the race on the Sunday. But it closes at 2 PM on the Saturday. That’s quite early and might be an issue for people coming in from out of town. Fortunately, however, there’s an extra-cost race-morning pick-up option.

Pick-up took place at a park close to the waterfront, not far from where the race starts, and with easy parking nearby. It was a livelier occasion than the last time I did this race two years earlier, when pick-up took place in a parking lot with little to make you want to stick around once you’d collected your bib and shirt. This year, there was a small expo as well as music and kids’ activities and presentations to get runners informed and motivated. They call it a “festival.” Hoka, the main event sponsor, was present with an outlet booth.

The race organizers put some effort into coming up with shirt designs every year, working with local artists. The current race has always had long-sleeved shirts. Personally, I much prefer short-sleeved ones. But, sleeve preferences aside, I was disappointed by this year’s shirt. The aesthetics were fine. But although the material wasn’t cotton, it had a cotton-like feel to it. It didn’t seem like the sort of shirt I’d want to wear when breaking a sweat on a run. (Full disclosure: I am a heavy sweater.) So it went in the give-away pile.

I always wear race shirts when running. And I like having them included in the base race price (even though I often end up with too many). But if economics don’t allow for the sort of shirt I’d actually want to wear while running, I’d much rather they were an optional extra. I’ve noticed that race organizers outside the U.S. are increasingly de-bundling shirts, and I don’t have a problem with that.

There’s also a sort of expo on race day itself, which runners can check out either before or after the race. This is on a side street close to the start area that leads into a part of town known as the “Funk Zone.” That area — which has in recent years revitalized what used to be a run-down, light-industrial part of town — is known for breweries, wine bars, and restaurants. Race entrants are given a coupon good for a beer at one of three places in the Funk Zone any time over race weekend. I’d rate the liveliness of the start and finish area above average.

Travel and logistics

Santa Barbara is easy to get to. If you are coming by air, it is served by the five largest U.S. airlines or their regional affiliates — Alaska, American, Delta, Southwest, and United. Most flights come in from the western states, but there is nonstop service from as far afield as Atlanta. You can also get there by train on Amtrak (with great ocean views if coming from the south).

Downtown Santa Barbara — where the race starts and finishes — is very walkable if you choose not to have a car. There are plenty of hotel choices within walking distance of the race. If driving, Santa Barbara is about two hours on average from LAX, and about five hours from SFO to the north.

How it compares

I wrote earlier that Santa Barbara, as a city, punches above its weight. The same can be said about the Santa Barbara Half Marathon when it comes to comparing it with large races in other parts of California. The largest oceanfront race in the state is — I believe — Surf City, which is held in February in Huntington Beach in Orange County, south of Los Angeles. That event — which also includes a full marathon — attracts a sizable field. I’ve run the half four times — all between 2015 and 2022 — and it’s not a bad event. The fact is I kept on coming back.

But the Santa Barbara race has a more interesting and varied course with better ocean views. With Surf City, the view can be blocked during portions of the race by endless parked RVs, and parts are a bit monotonous. Plus there aren’t any moderately priced hotels within walking distance of the race start and finish, so it’s not a great event for travel logistics. If choosing between Surf City and Santa Barbara for the 13.1 distance, I’d go for the latter. And I think Santa Barbara also compares well with other much larger California races I’ve run on multiple occasions, such as San Francisco and San Diego Rock-’n’-Roll.

There’s one other Santa Barbara County race worth mentioning and that is the Wine Country Half, which is held in May. This takes places about 45 minutes drive to the north. It’s a largely rural race starting and finishing in Solvang, a small town that plays to a Danish cultural connection. I’ve run that one eight times (although the course has changed over time). It, too, is a great race with a fantastic course. Personally, I slightly prefer the city one in Santa Barbara, but the two complement one another nicely.

Conclusion

Pros: Great and varied course with ocean views and downtown segments; well organized; lively start and finish. Cons: A fair amount of uphill makes it moderately challenging (if you consider that a “con,” and you get to enjoy corresponding downhill); race shirt in 2024 was a bit disappointing. Sum-up: A great mid-sized “destination” Southern California race. ✈️ 🏃

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A major perk of working in the airline industry are the travel benefits. Many airlines — including all in the U.S. — offer unlimited standby travel on their own flights to employees and partners/close family. But one of the unique aspects of this industry is that most airlines offer great deals to people who work for other carriers.

About this blog post

This post is about the ins and outs of staff travel on airlines other than the one for which you or your loved one works. A significant number of subscribers to my blog do work for airlines. But if you aren’t eligible for airline staff travel, you might still find this post interesting — especially if you or someone you know has ever thought of working for an airline.

And if you already qualify for staff travel, this post might help refine your standby skills, as it includes some pointers about navigating the system around the world. Even though I’m an experienced user of staff travel benefits, I find there’s always more to learn. For example, a chance conversation with someone at Newark airport earlier this year led me to discover how to ride on repositioning private jets in Europe using staff travel benefits. More on that later.

This is a long post. I thought of breaking it up into more than one, but decided to put it all together so as to create a one-stop guide. The post is written from the perspective of U.S.-based travelers, but much of the content will be relevant wherever you are.

One quick disclaimer: Pilots and flight attendants working for U.S. airlines have an option not covered by this post. That is to “jump seat.” Jump seating does not necessarily involve literally sitting in a crew jump seat. If there’s room in the cabin, jump seaters are offered a regular seat. Jump seaters don’t pay any fare at all when traveling on other airlines (although they do pay taxes for international flights). But this is generally only available to U.S. crew members who are traveling off-duty on U.S. carriers (and even then it is more restricted on international flights). As far as I’m aware, no overseas airlines accept other-airline flight-deck jump seaters. So this post is about the options other than jump seating.

Why do airlines offer standby seats to people from other carriers?

I’m not aware of any other industry where companies offer benefits to employees of competitors in the way airlines do. Employees of Netflix don’t get discounted subscriptions to Hulu. People who work for Trader Joe’s don’t get special deals at Whole Foods. Tesla employees don’t get staff discounts on Fords.

But, yes, those who work for an airline generally get very inexpensive standby travel on other airlines — including, fairly often, in premium cabins. And this doesn’t just apply to airlines that are part of the same alliance. The reciprocity also exists between airlines that are outright competitors — American and United, for example, or Lufthansa and British Airways.

The reasons for this unusual arrangement run deep in the fabric of the industry. It’s partly to do with the fact that crew members often commute to work. Your Los Angeles-based flight crew, for example, might consist of people who actually live far afield. Airlines depend on commuters for staffing. So access to other airlines helps get people to work. And that benefits everyone — including, indeed, revenue passengers who depend on airline crews to operate their flights.

But that doesn’t explain why airlines offer flight benefits to employees of other carriers who generally don’t commute by air, such as ground and office staff. Nor does it explain why they offer them to family members and loved ones.

So perhaps the wider explanation is that this is a relatively inexpensive way for airlines to give valuable benefits to their own employees in an industry where — historically — salaries have often been low. Sometimes, indeed, shockingly low (though less so than in the past, at least in some segments). An empty seat on an airplane is a wasted asset. But it is also worth a lot. And it costs little to offer it to someone from another airline moments before it will expire — just a tiny amount of added fuel and, perhaps, some catering. By offering empty seats to people from other carriers for a nominal fare, the airline can gain valuable reciprocal benefits for its own employees for little actual cost. That helps with hiring and retention.

Then there is the fact that the bean counters in the airline industry benefit personally as well. In the U.S. and many other countries, flight benefits go to everyone working for an airline, not just the employees who crew the aircraft. If you work for an airline for long enough, the benefits can accrue for life extending into retirement. So who would want to rock the boat?

Airlines could, in theory, offer standby fares to everyone, not just airline employees, in order to try to fill empty seats. Indeed, there was a time in the 1980s when they used to do just that on transatlantic routes to and from the U.K. (although not for fares as low as staff ones). But opening up standby travel to the masses would mess with market prices by discouraging price-sensitive travelers from booking ahead. In addition, standby travel can pose logistical issues when it comes to processing passengers at airports. So it makes sense for airlines to restrict the standby field to staff.

Why would airline employees want to fly on other airlines?

A surprisingly large number of eligible people rarely take advantage of standby staff travel on other airlines. This is especially if they work for an airline with a very extensive route network on “own-metal” (the term that refers to one’s own airline). If your own airline will take you somewhere for free, why pay anything — even a nominal amount — to go on another?

There’s something to be said for that approach, especially if you work for a big airline with a global route network like United, British Airways, or Lufthansa. That said, restricting your travel to own-metal can mean missing out on interesting experiences.

Flying on different airlines is part of the overall travel experience. Taking almost all your flights on the same airline can become dull, no matter how good it is. In addition, sticking to own-metal can limit your range of options even on airlines with extensive international routes. I’ve flown to many places in recent years to which no U.S. airline currently flies — Turkey, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Namibia, Indonesia, Surinam, Ethiopia, Lebanon, Iraq, Egypt, Saudi Arabia. And if your airline is one whose routes are focused mainly on short-haul, narrow-body travel, then sticking to own-metal really limits your horizons.

Not everyone’s idea of fun?

Still, not everyone wants to travel standby at all, let alone on another airline where you have lower priority. Many airlines give employees a limited number of confirmed travel, own-metal passes each year and some people choose to stick with only those. That is a legitimate choice. Standby travel can open up wide horizons, literally, but it can also be stressful.

At its best, you can end up swilling champagne in a lie-flat pod on a plane headed to your intended destination. But you can also end up with a middle seat in coach — perhaps not even headed to quite where you actually wanted to go. Or, indeed, left behind at the gate as the last flight of the day pushes back without you. And traveling standby on other airlines can be especially stressful because of lack of familiarity and lower priority.

I personally relish the adventure of standby travel, and the opportunities it provides for spontaneous and flexible travel all over the world. And I enjoy honing my skills at the game that’s involved. But I get it that it’s not everyone’s idea of fun. And not everyone has the flexibility and other wherewithal to deal with the risks inherent in long-haul standby travel.

Nonetheless, although much has been written about how flights are generally fuller now than in the past, there are still times of the year when you can travel on flights that are very empty in the back — even if they are full at the front. And by “very empty,” I mean 100+ seats open at the back. I had that very recently flying from Los Angeles to London and last year going from LA to Sydney. Look for low-season opportunities on routes that maintain year-round high capacity. This post will talk about checking loads in a bit.

Introducing ZED fares

Jump seating aside, in order to travel standby on another airline using staff benefits you almost always have to buy something called a “ZED fare.” ZED stands for “Zonal Employee Discount.”

ZED fares came about as a result of a multilateral agreement for airline staff travel entered into in 1994 by Aer Lingus, Air Canada, Austrian Airlines, British Airways, Lufthansa, Malév Hungarian Airlines and SAS that replaced an earlier staff travel system. Today, over 170 airlines participate, including most major long-haul carriers. Employees of participating airlines — as well as certain family members — can fly standby on other participating airlines for very low fares.

All U.S. airlines participate in the ZED system. But in some parts of the world, not all airlines do so. For example, in Europe, ultra-low-cost carriers generally do not. In Asia, Singapore Airlines is a notable holdout.

ZED — not literally “non-rev,” but almost

ZED fares are part of the “non-rev” system. “Non-rev” is short for “non-revenue” and is an umbrella term covering airline staff travel in general. However, unlike travel on one’s own airline, which is often — and, in the U.S., always — free (other than international taxes), ZED travelers do contribute a little bit of revenue.

ZED fares can be used for both domestic and international travel. The fares are flat rate based on distance. There are nine different distance bands. So the amount you pay depends on the distance you fly. But that is with two important qualifications.

The first is that there are actually three ZED prices for each mileage band — ZED Low, Medium, and High. There is also something called “ZED Zero,” where the fares are, indeed, zero dollars, but this is quite rare and it usually exists only between airlines that, while separate, are very closely wedded. The other qualification is that taxes and fees are added on top of ZED fares.

All ZED fares are standby. There is no such thing as a “positive space” — i.e., confirmed seat — ZED fare. (In other words, there’s no ZED equivalent of the deep-discount confirmed travel that some airlines offer to their own employees.) However, as discussed later, what “standing by” actually entails — and how far ahead of departure you are confirmed if you get on — can vary from airline to airline and, indeed, flight to flight.

Most often, ZED fares are only good for Economy/Coach Class travel. But there are also ZED Business fares — again with Low, Medium, and High bands — that get you into U.S. domestic First Class or long-haul Business Class (or, failing that, Premium Economy). However, as discussed later, you can’t count on qualifying for Business on a given airline just because you do for Economy.

What do ZED fares cost?

Unlike regular air fares, ZED fares are not seasonal or load-related. You pay the same regardless of the time of year or how full the flights are. And they are not set by individual airlines, except to the extent that each carrier can choose whether to charge in the Low, Medium or High bands. So, for example, a ZED Low between, say, Los Angeles and London will be the same whichever airline offering that fare on that route you choose.

ZED Low Economy fares range from $15 for flights of up to 450 miles to $99 for ones between 7,101 and 9,999 miles. This information was current as of fall 2024. ZED fares tend not to increase very often.

However, those are the fares excluding taxes and fees. The fees charged by the booking platforms are modest (a few dollars), but the taxes can add up. For example, the $15 ZED fare for a short flight will likely be around $26 in terms of the bottom line for flights within the U.S.

What you pay for tax depends mainly on the origin, not the destination. As an example, a San Francisco to London flight in ZED Low Economy, which falls in the 5,000-6,100-mileage band, prices out at $69 for the fare itself, but the total you pay is about $97 — so almost $30 more with tax. Still a fantastic deal, nonetheless. Business on that route is $214 without taxes and $244 with.

But taxes for international flights into the U.S. are generally a fair bit more than for those outbound. The highest taxes are those for flights out of London Heathrow. That $97 fare, including taxes, for San Francisco-London becomes $299 when the route is flown in the other direction — three times as much. And London to San Francisco in Business is $444, more than twice as much.

However, Frankfurt to San Francisco (a route in the same mileage band) is $222 in Economy, and $367 in Business — still more than the eastbound flights out of the U.S., but not by as much. So the bottom-line cost for a flight segment can vary quite lot by point of origin. The least expensive gateway city in terms of taxes when flying to the U.S. from Europe that I have found is Copenhagen. Flying from Copenhagen to San Francisco is $142 including taxes, which is less than half the cost from London.

I mentioned the point of departure generally determines the taxes. However, there are exceptions. ZED fares from the U.S. to Mexico are higher than those to Europe, even though the distance is much less. For example, San Francisco to Mexico City with Economy ZED Low is $104 including fees, more than the fare to London. In that example, the ZED fare itself is just $39 and the taxes and fees make up the rest.

Non-revs who travel internationally on own-metal for “free” still have to pay the taxes, incidentally. So on those transatlantic Economy examples, own-metal travelers are only $69 better off than ZED fare riders — although the own-metal travelers have other important benefits, such as priority on the standby list and better access to premium cabins.

Although I have not carried out a formal survey, I would say — based on my experience — that most airlines offer ZED Low fares to most others. But ZED Medium is not unusual. Sometimes, you might find an airline offering you ZED Low in Economy, but ZED Medium in Business. However, ZED High is quite rare.

Who exactly qualifies?

You can only use ZED fares if you work for a participating airline, are a spouse, parent, or dependent of someone who does, or are a retiree. And ZED benefits only kick in after the employee has been there for six months. Some airlines have liberal rules giving employees more flexibility in who they can share their travel benefits with when flying on own-metal. But don’t count on such policies carrying over into the ZED world. In other words, not everyone who might get own-metal travel benefits from a friend, partner, or family member will also get ZED benefits.

Pass agreements

Not everyone who qualifies for ZED fares in general will necessarily be able to use them on any given airline in the system. This is because each airline has a separate two-way agreement with every other participating airline with which it wants to work. These are often referred to as “pass agreements.” The term “pass travel” is often used to refer to non-rev travel generally. And some people refer loosely to ZED fares as “passes.”

Some airlines have better pass agreements than others. These agreements dictate not only whether you will be able to fly standby on a specific participating airline, but also whether you will pay ZED Low, Medium, or High. And they determine whether you will be eligible for First/Business Class. The agreements are generally reciprocal. So someone from Airline A traveling on Airline B typically gets similar benefits to an Airline B person on Airline A. But Airline A and B staff might get different benefits from one another when traveling on Airline C, depending on what agreements their airlines have with C.

Some ZED agreements provide for different rules for the actual employee and their spouse compared with, say, parents. For example, the employee and spouse might pay ZED Low, while a parent may pay ZED Medium. Or the employee and spouse might be eligible for Business, while the parent isn’t. All of this comes down to the individual pass agreements between airlines.

ZED fares and airline alliances

Bilateral ZED agreements are separate from wider global airline alliances — i.e., Oneworld, Star Alliance, and Sky Team. Although airline alliances can lead to enhanced ZED benefits among member airlines, this is not always the case. For example, you may find you don’t get Business Class on all the members of your airline’s alliance, while you do get it on some airlines that belong to other alliances.

However, there are other ways in which an alliance can lead to enhanced ZED benefits. One is if all members of the alliance commit to offering ZED Low to one another (at least in Economy).

Another is that you may get “boarding priority” over ZED travelers from airlines that are not part of the same alliance. It is important to understand that the term “boarding priority” in non-rev-speak means something different from “priority boarding” in the revenue travel world. It does not refer to what boarding group you’re in when passengers get on the plane. Rather, it refers to your rank on the standby list. If there are two ZED passengers standing by and only one available seat, then the person with higher boarding priority gets on. Staff travelers on own-metal always get boarding priority over all ZED travelers. And standby revenue passengers — typically ones trying to change their confirmed flight — always get priority over all non-revs. Alliance priority aside, boarding priority among ZED travelers is generally a function of check-in time.

Where can you go?

Generally, if you have ZED privileges on an airline, you can go anywhere that airline flies worldwide on its scheduled services. Occasionally, however, you’ll run into “embargoes,” where an airline cuts off specific flights for non-rev travelers even if it has empty seats. That generally only occurs when there is unusual pressure on part of the airline’s system, typically caused by issues out of its control such as airport-imposed limits on passenger volume.

Another time when you might not get on a flight even if there are empty seats is if it is weight-restricted. That can, potentially, occur on any flight for various operational reasons. But there are departure airports where it is more likely to occur, such as those with shorter runways and/or higher elevation.

The four ZED steps

There are four steps to using a ZED fare:

•       Ticketing

•       Listing

•       Checking in

•       Standing by

However, two of those — ticketing and listing — usually merge. And the other two — checking in and standing by — occasionally do. Next, I’ll walk you through all the steps, starting with ticketing.

Step 1: ZED fare ticketing

To use a ZED fare, you need a ticket. Unlike regular airfares, you do not buy these on the website or app of the airline on which you want to travel or on a public travel portal such as Expedia or Kayak. Rather, there are two specialized travel platforms that sell ZED tickets.

One of these platforms is called ID90. This name is a bit confusing. The reason is that ZED fares replaced an earlier staff travel fare type also called “ID90.” “ID” in the world of staff travel stands for “Industry Discount” and ID90 fares got you 90 percent off some notional full fare. Some old timers still talk about “ID90’s” when actually referring to ZEDs. But the ID90 platform where you buy ZED tickets on certain airlines is something different. And the tickets it sells are ZEDs, not the ID90’s of yesteryear.

The other platform for buying ZED tickets is MyID Travel, which is a subsidiary of Lufthansa. Far more airlines use MyID than ID90.

Both platforms have their pros and cons in terms of their user interface. And both have their occasional glitches and bugs. But you don’t get to choose which platform to use. Airlines either sell ZED fares through one or the other, not both. So you ticket on the platform used by the airline on which you want to travel. And if you non-rev on a bunch of airlines, you’ll likely end up using both.

Both platforms can be accessed only by those eligible to use them. Typically, you access them through your airline’s online travel platform for own-metal staff travel. But you may be able to access them directly with the log-on credentials you use with your airline. Some airlines also use these two platforms for managing their own-metal staff travel, but larger carriers tend to have their own portals for that.

Buying a ZED ticket is quite straightforward. In fact, it’s simpler and quicker than buying a regular revenue air ticket as you don’t have to shop for the best fare or deal with seat selection and other options or upsells.

Although you put in the date on which you want to travel, the ZED ticket is not restricted to that date. However, a ZED ticket issued for travel on one airline cannot be used for travel on another even if the date and route are the same.

All ZED tickets are refundable if you don’t use them. It doesn’t matter why you didn’t use it — i.e., whether you didn’t get on the flight, changed your mind, no-showed, or whatever. You can simply request a full refund of an unused ticket at any time within a year of its issuance. The refund system is pretty reliable in my experience.

It is fairly routine in the ZED world to ticket more flights than you will actually take, because it can make sense to ticket your back-ups when time may be short and as a precaution against the system being down at the last minute. However, neither of the two booking platforms is a model of clarity in terms of making it easy to spot unused tickets out of the list of ones you’ve bought in a ticketing frenzy. So you need to keep careful track of what you need to get refunded as the systems aren’t going to remind you.

ZED tickets generally have ticket numbers, just like regular tickets. In some cases, the tickets are issued by the airline you work for using their ticket number prefix. In most cases, however, they are issued by the airline on which you’ll be traveling. This also dictates which airline charges your credit card. ID90 and MyID themselves never charge your card for ZED tickets. Rather, the airline issuing the ticket does so.

If you want to take a multi-segment trip on the same airline — e.g., New York to Cairo via Frankfurt — you can do so on a single ZED booking. However, it can be more flexible to make separate bookings and this also makes refunds simpler if you don’t get on the connecting flight you were aiming for. It doesn’t impact the price to any material degree.

That said, one reason to do a single ZED booking is that it may enable you to check in for the connecting flight at the initial point of departure. That can have its advantages with airlines where online check-in is not an option. It might smooth your transfer and — if it means getting checked in sooner — help your position on the standby list if you are competing against other ZED travelers. Occasionally, you might even get a seat assignment on the connecting flight when checking in at your point of origin. That happened to me and my wife recently traveling on British Airways from San Francisco to Cape Town via London — which was really helpful as the connecting flight was pretty full. And, by the way, if you ticket a connecting route through London on a UK airline and transit within 24 hours, you avoid Heathrow’s brutal taxes.

Step 2: Listing

Although buying a ZED ticket entails specifying the airline well as the date and flight number for your intended travel, the issuance of the ticket does not necessarily mean you are in the airline’s system as someone who wishes to travel on that flight. For that to happen, you also have to “list” for the flight.

With most airlines, listing is done automatically when you buy the ticket. So ticketing and listing are part of the same transaction — just as ticketing and reserving are when you buy a normal revenue ticket.

However, some airlines require you to list separately after you have purchased the ticket. If you don’t do so, you won’t show up in the airline’s system (at least, not in the part that matters) — even though you specified the flight on which you want to travel when you bought the ticket.

Some prominent airlines that require you to list separately are American, ANA, British Airways (depending on whether they issued the ticket), Emirates, and Qatar. Sometimes you do so on the same platform on which you bought the ticket, but most airlines requiring separate listing have their own listing portals. At least one — ANA — requires you to call the customer service number, which is how it was generally done pre-Internet.

Automatic listing is definitely preferable. It’s not just that it’s quicker. It’s also more reliable. With separate listing, problems occasionally occur when for some reason the airline on which you want to fly has a problem recognizing a ZED ticket number issued by your airline.

Some airlines have rules, at least in theory, that you need to list a certain period in advance of the flight — say, 24 or 48 hours. That is not typical, however. Usually you can list until very close to departure. Even if there is a published rule to that effect, don’t assume it is enforced. If you do run into this with last-minute travel plans, there can be a workaround. If you are prevented from listing for a same-day flight, try listing for a flight a day later. That will get you into the airline’s system, and the check-in or gate agent may then be able to roll you forward by a day.

As to how you find out about the listing procedures for a particular airline, most airlines provide staff with details of all their pass agreements with other carriers on their own staff travel site or app. You can also look up procedures on what appears to be an official public ZED information site — www.flyzed.info. And MyID also has a section that summarizes available pass agreements for your airline when you log onto that platform.

Step 3: Checking in

Merely listing for the flight generally won’t get you on the actual standby list. You are in the airline’s system at that point, but you are not all the way where you need to go. To be fully on standby, you need to check in.

With many airlines, you can check in online using the same websites and apps as revenue passengers and at the same time — usually 24 hours in advance. Sometimes, however, non-rev passengers have to check in at the airport.

Outside the U.S., some airlines have special staff travel check-in desks at their main hubs. Examples I have encountered include British Airways in London, Turkish in Istanbul, Emirates in Dubai, Qatar in Doha, and Ethiopian in Addis Ababa. Typically, though, you use the regular check-in. Even if there is a staff travel desk, you may be directed to the regular check-in for flights to the U.S.A. on account of enhanced security measures.

Emirates even has a staff travel lounge near to its staff travel desk in Dubai. But don’t expect a fancy lounge with refreshments.

Step 4: Standing by

Some airlines will confirm you on a flight and give you a seat assignment at check-in. That is more common when you check in at the airport than it is when you check in online. But Lufthansa is notable for accepting you on a flight when you check-in online up to 30 hours ahead if the flight is sufficiently wide open. You can even change your seat assignment at the same time. Austrian — a Lufthansa affiliate — apparently does the same. You may come across others, but it’s unusual. (That said, with non-rev travel nothing is actually confirmed until the doors close. Not long after first posting this, I had a Lufthansa Business Class early seat assignment yanked when they were trying to accommodate passengers from a cancelled flight.)

Generally, you will not be confirmed until close to or during boarding, regardless of how many seats are open. That is more or less always the case with U.S. carriers. When that happens, you will usually get something called a “gate pass,” which looks like a boarding pass except it doesn’t give you the right to board — only to go through security to the gate in order to standby. You’ll get the gate pass either on the app — if the airline supports it — or at airport check-in. And, by the way, TSA Pre-Check works with gate passes in U.S. airports if your Known Traveler Number is in the system. All of that should be quite familiar if you’re used to own-metal standby travel.

However, some non-US airlines don’t give out gate passes and make you standby in the check-in area — both in U.S. airports and overseas — until more or less when the flight closes for revenue check-in. If you’re accepted on the flight, there can then be something of a rush to get through security to the gate. Likewise, there are some airports around the world that don’t allow gate passes even if an airline in general favors them. Hong Kong, for example.

Standing by at the gate is preferable to doing so in the check-in area. Not only does it avoid the last-minute hustle through security, but the facilities airside are generally far better than those landside. In particular, you can — if you are eligible and have time before you need to be standing by at the gate — hang out in a lounge.

Non-rev passengers rarely get lounge access on account of their class of planned travel (although I have come across exceptions). But non-revs can generally use lounges for which they qualify independently. Delta is the only U.S. airline that won’t allow non-revs into its lounges even if they have a valid lounge membership.

Getting a confirmed seat assignment the moment you show up at the airport and get to the check-in counter — as opposed to when revenue check-in closes — can be less stressful than being sent to the gate and made to wait. But late seat assignment can have its advantages. You may get a better seat at the last-minute — especially if revenue passengers receive upgrades shortly before boarding. Although you can always try to change your seat at the gate just before boarding, that doesn’t always work (especially overseas). On the other hand, if a flight is pretty full, locking into a decent seat assignment upon arrival at airport check-in can make sense when it is an option (which, again, it generally is not when traveling on U.S. airlines among others).

If you are standing by at the gate, you will either be paged to come to the podium for a seat assignment when you clear the standby list or — depending on the airline — your seat assignment will show automatically on the app and you may also get a text. Sometimes you find out multiple ways. Again, that should all be quite familiar if you’re used to own-metal standby travel.

Generally, it is not necessary to announce yourself to the gate agents before you are called. At least, not in the U.S. Indeed, one of the main non-rev protocol rules is not to bug the gate agents unnecessarily, especially if they appear to be busy attending to other things. But if you are somewhere in the world where you are unfamiliar with local procedures, it may be helpful to introduce yourself — just to make sure they know you are standing by. The same applies if you have arrived at the gate quite late when they might already have called standbys.

In the U.S., the screens at the departure gates of U.S. airlines generally display the standby list, with the first three letters of each passenger’s last name. But don’t expect to find those in other countries or at overseas carriers’ gates at U.S. airports.

Usually, ZED non-revs are offered the best open seat in the class of service for which they are ticketed. That includes seats for which revenue passengers would pay extra. But that is not always the case. On Emirates, for example, both ground crew and flight attendants are not allowed to assign non-revs open seats that command a premium with revenue travelers, such as exit rows or bulkheads, at least not if there are any other open seats.

If you are offered a bad seat, it can be worth gently inquiring whether there are other options. A gate agent might somehow assume seats closer to the front are preferable and, therefore, assign a middle there, when there may be an aisle or window open further back. Likewise, an automatically generated seat assignment might prioritize aisles and windows over middles, but not factor in empty adjacent seats. Occasionally, the initially assigned seat seems completely random — for example, a middle when there are open aisles and windows further forward.

If you don’t get on a flight, the airline’s system — or the gate agent — might automatically roll you over to the next one so that you don’t have to manually re-list. That is the norm with U.S. carriers. But don’t count on it with all airlines. You may have to start over.

A pitfall: Entry rules for transit destinations

Most readers, hopefully, will know to check the entry requirements for their intended destination — visas, etc. But it’s easy to overlook a quirk of standby travel when it comes to places where you might change plane while trying to get to your final destination. If you are a revenue passenger with a confirmed seat traveling from Country A to Country C, but changing plane in Country B, you usually need not worry about the entry requirements for Country B. Generally — although there are exceptions — you do not need a visa to transit through Country B without leaving the airport even if you would need one to enter that country.

But if you are non-revving on that same itinerary, and you do not have a confirmed seat from Country B to C, then you will likely not be able to board a flight from Country A to B in order to try to connect to C unless you meet the entry requirements for B. This is because the airline has no means of knowing whether you’ll end up stuck in B for any length of time. And airlines can be fined for allowing passengers to board a flight to a country without the paperwork to actually enter it.

So check out the entry requirements for any country through which you may want to transit regardless of whether you are planning on passing through its immigration. In many ways, non-rev passengers have a great deal more flexibility than their revenue counterparts. But this is an exception where there is an additional regulatory burden on non-revs.

Another pitfall: Dress codes can be stricter on non-U.S. carriers

Dress codes for non-revving on U.S. carriers have gotten pretty relaxed. Indeed, when non-revs are assigned seats automatically with an app, they typically don’t have any interaction with gate agents that could potentially lead to heightened sartorial scrutiny.

But when you non-rev on non-U.S. carriers — especially on flights departing from their home airports — you may encounter more old-fashioned approaches to staff travel dress codes. Middle Eastern airlines can be especially strict. I heard of a non-rev who was denied boarding by Qatar because he was wearing sneakers. I’m not sure what sort of sneakers they were. And I wouldn’t caution against all sneakers even on pickier airlines. I’ve worn all-black Hokas and Ons on all sorts of carriers. But you may want to keep dress codes in mind when in mind when traveling around the world on ZED fares, especially if you are standing by for a premium cabin. Try to dress the part.

Checking loads

One of the biggest challenges of non-revving on other airlines is knowing the loads. When you fly on own-metal, you can usually check exact loads on your own airline’s system. That luxury does not apply to traveling on other airlines. Fortunately, there are some ways of getting the information.

Both ID90 and MyID give you very rough guidelines about the available numbers of seats when you list. But you shouldn’t rely on these. For example, the MyID stats are based on information about the number of revenue seats the airline can sell in a single booking for each fare class and it comes up with green, yellow, or red bars — it used to be “smiley faces” — for each flight based on that. But that number of seats doesn’t necessarily correspond to the total that are available. There may be many more. Conversely, without wishing to get too technical, the number of seats shown in different fare classes does not total the number of seats even for a single booking because the same seat may be sold in more than one fare class (a “fare class” is not the same as a “class of service,” as each class of service may have a number of fare classes).

If all of that sounds a bit confusing (and it is), then the bottom line is that you should regard load information on the ticketing platforms with caution. I find the MyID “red” and “green” indicators can be a rough guide, but “yellow” can mean a wide range of things. And there seem to be some airlines that always show “yellow” regardless of load. Furthermore, even if you know the number of unsold seats, that information is incomplete without knowing the number of standbys already listed — which these platforms will never tell you.

The best way of checking loads is an app called Staff Traveler. This uses a crowd-sourced system in which airline employees share information by providing load information — including numbers of standbys — in response to requests by other users. It works on a points system. You earn a point for each load request you answer, and you pay a point for each load request you submit that gets answered. You can also buy points.

Staff Traveler is an excellent app. But its main limitation is that it is much easier to get responses for some airlines than others. You can generally get pretty speedy load reports for U.S. airlines (except that Delta loads are usually only available within a day or two of departure). However, load reports for airlines in other parts of the world can be a bit hit or miss in terms of when or even whether you get a response. Even within the same region, it can differ a lot. For example, I find load reports on Lufthansa usually come quite quickly. Those on Air France and British Airways tends to be less forthcoming.

As an illustration of why Staff Traveler is far more reliable than relying on what you can glean about your standby chances on MyID or ID90, take a look first at the following MyID screenshot showing the loads on an American Airlines flight from Los Angeles to Sydney departing on the following day when the booking would be for ZED Economy:

This shows a yellow bar at the top left, suggesting the standby chances are, at best, moderate. And then there are numbers showing four to seven seats in various fare classes. So if you relied on that, you might think your standby chances were a bit iffy.

But now look at the screenshot for a Staff Traveler load report received at about the same time for that same flight (which I triple checked for accuracy):

So here you see that there were, in fact, no less than 70 open seats in Economy, even though MyID was showing “yellow” and giving what was essentially useless information regarding numbers of seats open for a single reservation in different fare classes. So relying on MyID for loads makes no sense. In the example above, the information was actually worse than useless. It was, in the overall context, misleading with its “yellow” bar.

Generally, the information on Staff Traveler is accurate. But it is, of course, only as good as the input from the person who responds to your request and, occasionally, a load report seems suspect or is plainly wrong or incomplete. Fortunately, the app automatically reopens your request without charging you another point if you submit an inaccurate load report.

Sometimes, even if the load reports are technically inaccurate, they are good enough. For example, quite a few people who submit reports mix up classes of travel so that, for example, Business is reported as First, and Premium Economy as Business. Likewise, quite often, responders leave a class of service blank, when they presumably mean to say there are no seats in that class. But one can usually figure out what the numbers are with those sorts of slightly imperfect reports.

The imperfections in Staff Traveler have nothing to do with the app itself, which is pretty glitch-free, but are a function of the crowd sourcing on which it relies. The app is nonetheless by far the best tool there is to assess your standby chances and is an indispensable tool for serious ZED planning. When you initially sign up, there is some light screening to ensure you are someone with staff travel benefits. The app is not available to the wider world.

If you are flying on a U.S. airline, you can also check the seating charts. That is not a very reliable method of assessing loads, as not all revenue passengers have assigned seating prior to check-in or even until boarding. And, of course, the seating chart does not tell you about standby loads. Nonetheless, seating charts can be a useful very rough-and-ready advance planning tool when you are low on Staff Traveler points and want guidance as to where to focus. If a chart shows hardly any unassigned seats, for example, that is a good sign that standby chances probably aren’t great. Keep in mind that airlines based outside the U.S. don’t generally allow you to view the seating chart until you purchase a revenue ticket.

Once you do check in as a non-rev, you may get some load information from the airline’s app and be able to view the standby list, but the quantity of data varies. The best airline app by far in terms of load data is United’s. Once you’re checked in, the United app tells you more or less everything a gate agent could until the very final portion of boarding — even the number of potential misconnects that might open up seats. However, the most detailed information there is a bit buried and easy to miss if you don’t know where to look (hint: go back to the “check-in” section, not the “flight status” section, even if you are already checked in).

Listing for premium cabins on ZED fares

The holy grail of non-rev travel is to sit in a premium cabin. As noted earlier, whether you have a shot at this depends on your airline. Some have pass agreements that allow you to list for ZED Business on a wide range of other airlines. But others do not.

What ZED Business gets you depends on the configuration of the aircraft. The simplest way of stating it is that ZED Business gets you into the highest class of service on any aircraft where there is space available — regardless of what that class is actually called — except on equipment where there is a First Class that sits higher than Business (a diminishing category).

There is no ZED fare that entitles you to space-available “First” on a flight where “First” is a higher class than “Business.” But if you are on a two-class flight with “Economy” and “First” — such as many U.S. domestic flights — then ZED Business is a ticket for First. (Where there is both “First” and “Business” on a given flight, First is always better than Business. But “Business” on a long-haul flight is generally better than “First” on a U.S. domestic one. The term “First” rarely, if ever, features on short-haul flights outside the U.S. these days.)

There is no ZED fare that specifically allows you to list for Premium Economy. However, if you list for Business but there isn’t space available, you’ll get seated in Premium Economy if a seat is available there. So for ZED purposes, Business and Premium Economy cost the same. Maybe, one day, the ZED “powers that be” will come up with a Premium Economy fare.

Getting into Premium cabins on ZED fares

Being entitled to list for Business is one thing. Actually getting to sit in the pointy end of the plane is another. These days, U.S. domestic premium cabins typically go out full even when there are open seats at the back. The reason is that free upgrades are given to frequent fliers with status. ZED non-revs are behind those revenue passengers when it comes to premium cabin access. You may occasionally find a domestic flight with more open First Class seats than upgrade-eligible revenue passengers, but it is increasingly rare. What’s more, as a ZED traveler, you’ll be behind staff travelers on their own-metal.

The story with long-haul international Business Class is different. Because these tickets cost a lot of money, airlines are reluctant to give them away as upgrades. They want their elite frequent flyers to pay for them. That, indeed, is what typically catapults someone into the highest levels of elitedom. The result is that ZED staff travelers are — perhaps counterintuitively — more likely to get a fancy lie-flat Business Class pod on a 10-hour international flight than they are to get a much less fancy First Class recliner on a two-hour U.S. domestic one.

The problem, however, is that even when there are, say, a dozen open Business Class seats on a long-haul flight, there are very often that many or more own-metal non-revs (who, as a reminder, will always be ahead of ZEDs on the standby list). That is especially when traveling on U.S. carriers. Sometimes when a flight looks wide open in Business a day or so ahead of departure, swarms of own-metal non-revs then appear on the list as the hours count down. In fact, the more wide open a flight is in Business, the more tempting it is to the swarm.

I have nonetheless got lie-flat while traveling on ZED Business on U.S. airlines, but I find my success rate lately has been significantly better on non-U.S. ones. The reason is that U.S. staff travelers seem to use their own-metal benefits more avidly, and in a more impromptu manner, than those from other countries. And not all airlines in the world are as generous in their travel benefits to their own staff as U.S. ones. If that reality drives you to try out different airlines, that can add to the overall ZED experience.

Keep in mind that your competition for Business in the hours leading up to departure isn’t just from other non-revs. Some airlines try to sell — or even auction off — last-minute, cut-price upgrades to revenue passengers booked in lower cabins. This is especially common among more leisure-focused airlines, although Qantas — a more traditional carrier — does this, too. And this can completely change what initially looks like a promising upgrade landscape in the 24 hours leading up to departure.

What if you pay for ZED Business, but get seated in the back?

As mentioned earlier, you pay extra for ZED Business. Personally, I find paying around $150 extra for long-haul Business Class to be well worth it. But what if you pay the money, but only end up being offered a seat at the back of the plane because there is no room at the front? Do you get you get a refund for the premium? The answer is maybe, but don’t count on it.

The default is that if you accept a seat in Economy when traveling on a ZED Business ticket, you do not get a refund. However, there are some airlines that will credit you the difference. This is more cumbersome than getting a refund on an unused ticket. It generally involves emailing the airline. And, to be clear, this option is usually not available. To find out what the deal is on a given airline, you need to review your own airline’s pass agreement with the other one, which should be available on its staff travel portal.

Absent partial refunds, you can’t get a refund. So your best option is only to list for ZED Business when there is a reasonable possibility you will get the premium product. That generally means never listing for ZED Business on U.S. domestic flights. The chances of getting a seat in the front are just too slim.

Another option is to buy two tickets and list on each, one Economy and the other Business. You can check in on one, but then cancel and switch to the other as departure nears depending on load information. And you can get a refund on the one you don’t use. (You are not meant to be checked in on more than one booking for the same flight at the same time, even though the systems might allow it. Don’t do that. But listing twice for the same flight is fine.)

However, the two-track approach doesn’t always work if you go down to the wire. Often, you won’t know whether you are going to sit in Business until very shortly before the doors close. Even if you have reliable load information, seats sometimes open up at the very last minute when revenue passengers who are checked in do not show. Or when other non-revs with higher priority fail to appear.

At that point, it may just not be practical to cancel yourself on one booking and then check in on another. It’s not just the time crunch. It’s also the fact that you may find that within 30 minutes before the door closes, it is no longer possible to cancel and then check in again without the help of a gate agent. And you will not be popular with gate agents if your personal stress dealing with this quandary becomes their problem during a very busy portion of ground operations. Also, you may go even further down the standby list if you cancel and then check back in.

So there are times when I just suck it up. If I’ve rolled the dice and lost, I console myself with the times when I’ve rolled and won. If I amortize the ZED Business rate over all my flights, it still looks pretty good. And Premium Economy can be a decent consolation prize if I’ve paid for Business. (Although I’ve turned down “upgrades” to Premium Economy when the seat at the back was better in terms of empty ones around me. Check out this post about “strategic downgrading.”)

Another option, of course, is to simply not board the flight in any class when you don’t make it to the front and then try for Business on another. But that depends on what other options you have and how much of a hurry you are in to get to your destination. Not to mention how comfortable a flight you’re likely to have in the back. Most often, I’m okay being at the back if I’ve played the game and lost.

Nonstandard upgrade benefits

There are airlines that offer staff travel benefits to people from another airline with which they have some alliance that include enhanced upgrade benefits. This can involve something priced similar to a ZED Economy fare — although, depending on distance, sometimes a little bit higher — which entitles you to space-available upgrades without paying extra to be listed for the higher class of service. That can remove the stress of which class to list for — the price is the same whichever you go for (except for flights out of the U.K. where taxes are higher when listed for Business regardless of the class in which you end up being seated). But that is the exception, not the rule.

Discretionary upgrades?

Personally, I never ask for an upgrade to which I’m not entitled according to the pass agreement on which I’m traveling. Maybe there was a time when things were different. But these days, computer systems restrict the discretion given to gate agents. So one reason not to ask for a discretionary upgrade is that you are very unlikely to get it. But another is that you are effectively asking the gate agent to do something that could get them in trouble and even jeopardize their employment. For the same reasons, I would never ask the cabin crew, either.

In fact, even asking could, potentially, lead to a report being made that might jeopardize your flight benefits. I heard of an incident not long ago when a gate agent apparently reported a non-rev who simply asked to be moved to an exit row in Economy. I think that gate agent was out of line unless there was more to the story. But the moral is that you never know who you are dealing with and you don’t want to do anything that might be misconstrued as inappropriate.

Occasionally, however, you may be offered a discretionary upgrade as a non-rev without having asked. I recall one occasion several years ago when I was settling into my transatlantic Economy seat on a U.S. carrier — on which at the time we did not have Business Class privileges — and a flight attendant whispered to me not to get too comfortable as she would move me to the front once the doors closed. The closing of doors is when jurisdiction over seating switches from gate agents to flight attendants. I hadn’t had any communication with her before, so this welcome news came out of the blue. And I recall another time when a gate agent on a domestic flight entered the cabin after I was seated in order to move me to the front when I had only listed for the back. Recently, my wife and I were on a short-haul flight within Europe where we were listed for Economy but given Business for no apparent reason — there were open seats at the back. But these experiences are rare. They are great when they occur, but don’t ever count on them.

Occasionally, you may get a discretionary upgrade if you are listed for Economy, but the plane is full at the back with some open seats at the front. This has never actually happened to me. This is, in part, because, as mentioned earlier, flights these days tend to fill up in the front. And even when this situation does occur, an airline might give last-minute complementary upgrades to revenue passengers rather than upgrading non-revs. Moreover, although the culture among U.S. airlines tends to be to try hard to get everyone on board, you may find airlines in other parts of the world that would leave a non-rev behind if the only empty seats are in a cabin higher than that for which they are ticketed.

Some non-revs bring small gifts for the gate agents or crew when traveling on other airlines. And, anecdotally, I have heard of that sometimes leading to upgrades (or failing that, to other treats such as bottles of champagne to take away). But you need to be careful. I think that is more appropriate if you yourself are a pilot or flight attendant. Since I am neither, I myself don’t do that.

But gifts can be nice when they are not self-serving. My wife recently gave a gate agent from another airline a Starbucks gift card after he had been unable to get us on a flight from Denver to Tampa. He had tried so hard and she wanted to thank him.

Conclusion and final advice

In conclusion, ZED travel is an amazing benefit. Yes, you pay something. But it allows for very inexpensive, flexible, and spontaneous travel to virtually anywhere in the world. And when you can get into the front of the plane, the monetary value of the benefit is even greater.

Much of my advice to ZED travelers is the same I’d give any non-rev — for example, ideally start with the earliest flight of the day, be flexible and have back-up plans, enjoy the ride, be nice to everyone, and so forth. But in terms of ZED-specific advice, I’d add these points:

(1) Check your company’s pass agreements. Ideally, go through them one by one. You’ll never know what the benefits are unless you look. I’ve only found out about some recent Business Class additions to our benefits by actually re-reading some pass agreements. And I only recently found out we have benefits on a major European private jet operator on its repositioning flights. And that was when I was told about them by someone from another airline — so I hadn’t actually followed my own advice. As a result, my wife and I recently had a memorable experience on a private jet between Nice and Amsterdam. The flight attendant brought out the champagne and the pilots couldn’t have been more welcoming. They were happy to welcome non-revs, because it meant they could participate in the system — which isn’t usually the case with private aviation. It was the ultimate non-rev flight experience.

(2) If trying for Business Class, try to focus on non-U.S. carriers in particular (assuming your airline’s pass agreements allow it). You’ll generally face less standby competition.

(3) Pay attention to dress codes as you ZED around the world. ✈️

Comments, suggestions? Please email: flyrun@substack.com

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A slowdown in my running combined with a fall at home one morning eventually led me to go to the doctor. The result is not what I expected.

The fall in my cardio performance

My running was never better than in parts of 2022-2023 in terms of times, evenness of splits, and how it felt overall. But my performance took a big hit in 2024. My times dropped by at least a minute per mile, sometimes closer to two. For a while, I found it hard to run even a couple of miles without hitting a wall. This after 12 years when I was running at least six half marathons a year.

Initially, I put it down to recovering from a quad or IT band injury that dogged me around the start of 2024. And then to dealing with a third bout of Covid. I wondered whether I had long Covid. But the symptoms were not really typical of post-injury recovery. And, looking back, this all began before I had that further encounter with Covid.

I tried taking iron supplements to see whether that might make a difference. And I also wondered whether — after my 67th birthday in February — the realities of age were simply catching up with me.

So it’s not like I wasn’t thinking about the issue. But somehow it never occurred to me that the dip in my cardio exercise strength could be the result of cardiovascular disease.

Realizing something was up, I scaled back on my running. But as the year progressed, I stubbornly pressed on and I seemed to recover to some extent. I was able to run 10Ks, such as the one in Paris in May, albeit still over a minute per mile slower than before. I did the relay in the Victoria Falls Half Marathon — i.e., half of a Half — with my family in July, again at a slow pace. But all my plans to run an actual half marathon were postponed. The last time I ran 13.1 miles was in Tokyo in October 2023.

Looking back, the slowdown started back in September of 2023. I struggled a bit during the second half of the Copenhagen Half Marathon that month, putting that down at the time to hot temperatures. Tokyo — although better — was still behind my recent average.

A sudden fall

One morning in August 2024, there was a strange incident. Soon after getting out of bed, I sort of passed out and collapsed to my knees. I still can’t quite reconstruct exactly what happened. I was then momentarily aware, vaguely thinking I needed to pick something up, before my face slammed down on the hardwood floor, chipping a tooth and cutting my lip. I felt fine immediately after, other than being shaken.

A preliminary diagnosis

After the fall, I remained in denial. A few Google searches led to reassuring suggestions that this sort of thing can sometimes happen and need not be a cause for concern. As for the ongoing cardio slow-down, I felt I could still barrel through that. Mind over body.

However, about two weeks later, at the urging of my wife and some close friends (one of whom is a physician), I reported the fall as well as the drop in my cardio strength to my primary care doctor. Doing so may have averted something very bad.

Upon hearing about the symptoms, my doctor immediately ordered an EKG in his office as well as blood work. After looking at the EKG results, he asked his nurse to repeat the test. And then came his assessment: “It looks like you have had a heart attack.” He thought it must have been a silent heart attack, the type you don’t even know is happening. And this likely occurred some months before the fall. The latter could be connected, however.

The news came as something of a shock. When I contacted my doctor, I was expecting he might advise taking some sort of supplement due to a deficiency of some or other mineral. I didn’t consider myself particularly at risk for heart disease.

I follow a reasonably healthy diet. My cholesterol had been pretty good in recent years. I had never needed meds to keep it down. It was a bit elevated during bloodwork at my last annual check-up — which surprised me as I didn’t think my diet had changed — but not by an alarming amount. I hadn’t smoked for well over 40 years (even though I smoked quite heavily for several years during my foolish youth). My weight has been where it should be for over 10 years. And I had also been getting lots of exercise for over a decade. My blood pressure had been under control, albeit with meds. Neither of my parents died from heart issues. My maternal grandfather died of a sudden heart attack, but that was in his eighties. My work can be stressful, but I have lately been changing its focus to make it less so.

So I did not see myself as a likely candidate for heart issues in my sixties. And, on paper, I wasn’t.

The discovery of the culprit

My doctor referred me to a cardiologist. I was instructed to stop running until they figured out what was going on.

A heart echo test — ultrasound — and stress test proved inconclusive. So the cardiologist ordered an angiogram. This is a procedure where they insert a catheter into an artery in your wrist or groin — right wrist in my case — which they then send through your body to check out the arteries leading into the heart. They pump a dye into the arteries and a moving, live X-ray shows where the dye-infused blood is able to flow and where it is partially or fully blocked. It’s an out-patient procedure carried out under sedation and with painkillers (including, at least in my case, Fentanyl, no less).

I had the angiogram exactly two weeks after my primary care doctor first diagnosed a heart issue. Like many, I was a bit nervous going into it, but can report the procedure was not painful or — once it was underway — even stressful or uncomfortable. What it would have felt like without the drugs is another matter.

Despite my sedation, I was aware of what was taking place and after about a half hour, the cardiologist told me she had found the culprit — one of the three main arteries leading into my heart, the one of the right, was 95 percent blocked.

My body was attempting to cope with this by trying to send some blood to the heart using narrow side arteries known as “collaterals.” Apparently, that does not always happen, but the fact I had been running with the blocked artery may have caused my body to try to figure out a way of coping. However — as with traffic leaving a highway to use side streets during slowdowns — this wasn’t helping much.

The fix

When a cardiologist finds a blockage during an angiogram, standard operating procedure is to fix the problem then and there with a related procedure known as angioplasty. This means using a balloon to stretch open the blocked artery and then inserting a short wire mesh tube, called a stent, to keep it open. The stent is left in place permanently to allow blood to flow more freely. So that is what took place. Less than an hour after entering the procedure room, I was wheeled out, the stent — my new life-long companion — embedded in place. The whole angiogram/angioplasty thing is a remarkable high-tech medical procedure.

In the debriefing, the cardiologist advised that this blockage, left untreated, could have resulted in a sudden and potentially catastrophic heart attack. Running with the blockage could have made that all the more likely. She was uncertain whether I had already had a silent heart attack. But the good news is she did not see damage from any that may have occurred. So it seems I dodged a bullet.

The take-aways

My main take-away and advice is that if you experience a sustained, marked decline in your running performance or — if you aren’t a runner — in your ability to do cardio exercise in general, get it checked out. Same goes if you simply find it harder to do what you were able to do previously.

If you leave it too long, you risk life-changing — and potentially life-ending — consequences. Knowing what I know now, I should have gone to a doctor earlier. I was uninformed and, perhaps, in denial.

Another take-away is that my experience vindicates focusing on exercise metrics. Yes, there were times when the issue would have been apparent even without an Apple Watch or similar device recording my running stats. I didn’t need a watch to tell me when I was hitting the wall in under two miles. But the metrics nonetheless provided feedback about the extent of the problem and its sustained, ongoing nature even when I convinced myself I was recovering.

In short, my watch gave me data suggesting something was wrong. The problem is I didn’t properly act on the information.

However, a further take-away is that there’s a limit to how much you can rely on the device you wear on your wrist. Apple itself warns its watch is not able to tell you if you are having a heart attack. And I’m not sure the built-in EKG function would pick up the detail doctors see on professional grade equipment — and, even if it did, a layperson wouldn’t know what to look for. To my untrained eyes, the EKG results on my Apple Watch did not reveal anything untoward when the doctors saw a problem on their equipment.

Someone asked whether I had been “overdoing” the running such that this may have caused my heart issue. Actually, I really don’t run all that much compared with many people. My typical weekly total in normal times is somewhere in the 15-20 miles bracket. That’s obviously a lot more than a couch potato. But I am much more recreational than hard core. A dilettante compared with many.

That aside, the suggestion that running too much damages the heart is misguided (unless, perhaps, you’re talking about extreme amounts). Recreational running is good for the heart. Running does not cause arteries to block. The reason some runners go into cardiac arrest is that they exert the heart when it is already compromised for other reasons, of which they are often unaware.

What now?

I’m writing this less than a week after the procedure. I’m feeling great, but there’s a recovery and rehab program. For now, I generally have to take it easy and not let my heart rate go above 100 beats per minute while the stent settles in and my body adjusts.

However, the good news is that the cardiologist says there is no reason I shouldn’t run half marathons again and be back where I was before all this started. No doubt when I do resume running, I will need to start slowly in terms of distances and pace, just like after any hiatus. That’s not just a heart thing. But, in theory, the renewed full flow of blood to my heart should mean I’ll eventually be back to where I was.

I regard the peak of my recent running to have been in the period between fall 2022 and spring 2023. I did the Munich half marathon in under 2 hours and 1 minute. Not a PR, but close. Berlin was a bit slower at just over 2 hours 4 minutes. But that was in some ways the best race I have ever run, with negative splits on a flat course. (For non-runners, that meant I ran the second half faster than the first.) Istanbul soon after was a bit faster and also well run.

Will I ever get back to that? We’ll see. Part of me wonders whether maybe there was more to my slow-down than the heart. Maybe it was the heart and long Covid or whatever. And maybe age is also a factor. That’s why I titled this post “Part One.”

And although the arteries going into my heart are now all good, there are other important arteries in the body. Not least those connecting the brain. Could it be that one of those has also got blocked? From now on, I’m on statin meds to help prevent blockages in any artery.

Once you are diagnosed with arterial or coronary issues, your statistical life expectancy — as my cardiologist candidly acknowledged — can take a bit of a dip. But there are plenty of success stories where people go on to lead healthy and full lives.

I don’t expect to run a half marathon in the remainder of 2024. But January 2025? Maybe. And in the meantime, there are a bunch of aviation and travel blog posts I have in mind before resuming race reviews. ❤️

Recent posts

Victoria Falls — where the Zambezi, Africa’s fourth longest river, cascades down into a rocky gorge — is one of the largest waterfalls in the world. There are a number of ways of measuring waterfall size, but Victoria Falls is right up there. If you measure size-by-width-times-height, it is the largest. On all measures, it is bigger than Niagara. Twice as high, in fact.

The Falls straddle two countries, Zimbabwe and Zambia. The city of Victoria Falls — with a population of around 38,000 — is on the Zimbabwe side and abuts the Falls. The nearest city on the Zambian side is Livingstone, a few miles away.

The city of Victoria Falls hosts one of southern Africa’s largest running events. The Victoria Falls Marathon is held in early July with a Full, a Half, a Relay, and a 7 KM Fun Run. Keep in mind that Zimbabwe is in the Southern Hemisphere. So this is a winter race. But winter temperatures in Victoria Falls tend to be warm.

I travelled to Victoria Falls with my wife, daughter, and son to run the Relay. It was part of a 12-day whirlwind trip to southern Africa that also took in day trips into Botswana and Zambia and six nights in Namibia.

The Victoria Falls Marathon event

The Victoria Falls Marathon has been run since 2006. This year was the first time the Relay event took place. The Relay involves each participant running half of the Half. So we were two teams of two — the parents, and the kids (aged 29 and 20, respectively), each of us slated to run a little over 6.5 miles. (Although, as narrated in a bit, that is not quite how it worked out.)

This is not one of those small “destination races” where the bulk of runners come from far away. Roughly 7,000 runners take place across all the distances. And a large majority are either local or regional. But there are a significant number of participants from other continents. And the organizers have an excellent travel program for visitors from further afield. More on that later.

If you are thinking of taking part, don’t leave it too long before committing. All the distances sell out weeks ahead of race day. Hotels can be tight, too.

This is one of two events the organizers put on. The other is the Kilimanjaro Marathon, which takes place in February in Moshi, Tanzania, at the foot of Africa’s highest mountain, also with Full, Half, and Fun distances.

Victoria Falls orientation

The city of Victoria Falls is located inside the Victoria Falls National Park. It is unusual to have a city inside a park of this sort. One consequence is that wildlife can wander into the city. During the daytime, that shouldn’t be too much of an issue. You’re not talking about marauding lions in the streets. Maybe the odd warthog or a sighting of an elephant. Not to mention cheeky baboons.

But after dark, you need to be more careful. Elephants, in particular, can pose a risk at close quarters if you happen to stumble across one. There have been three incidents in the past year or so when tourists have been killed by elephants in the region, though none were in Victoria Falls itself.

Possible encounters with wildlife aside, the city seems very safe. We had no difficulty walking around and encountered friendliness wherever we went. There are a lot of hawkers to whom you’ll constantly find yourself saying “no thank you” or — disingenuously — “maybe later,” but none that were unduly aggressive.

Some of the hawkers and drivers have interesting names — we encountered ones who introduced themselves as Never, Honest, Talent, and KGB. And we met someone else called Admire. We amused ourselves constructing sentences using all of these names. (“There was never honest talent in the KGB or anything to admire,” and so forth.)

Many visitors stay in lodges close to, but outside, the city. However, as detailed later, we chose to stay in the city itself. There are some benefits to doing so. One is that you can walk to and from the race start. Another is that you can walk to the Falls themselves — or even walk across the border into Zambia to view them from the other side. And you get to enjoy the vibe of the city itself.

The Falls are not really visible when you are in the city, but you can hear the roar and catch sight of clouds of spray. Once you enter the ticketed area (and, yes, you do need a ticket to get a good look at the Victoria Falls), it’s a short walk through a small area of rain forest to the first of the viewing points and you can then walk from one point to the next.

It’s worth also looking at the Falls from the Zambian side. To get to Zambia, you cross the Victoria Falls Bridge, which runs 420 feet over a gorge leading away from the falling water. The international border is on that bridge. However, the Zambian border post is a short distance away on the far side. So you could cross the bridge into Zambia and then turn back without actually going through immigration and getting a stamp in your passport. But to access the Falls on the Zambian side, you do need to go through immigration and you are then more or less right at the entrance to the viewing areas. Fortunately, immigration and visa procedures are simple — more on that later.

The bridge is one of the few places where you can get a look at the Falls without paying. It’s not the closest or best view, but it’s decent. However, having come all the way to Victoria Falls, it would be a pity to make it your only view. Nonetheless, the bridge is definitely worth a visit even if you aren’t planning on actually entering Zambia. It is a Victoria Falls sight in its own right. Made out of steel, it was built in 1905 during colonial times. The manufacturing took place in Britain and they shipped all the pieces. The bridge is used by pedestrians and vehicles and there is also a train track for freight. It was part of a scheme — never brought to full fruition — to have a railway going all the way from Cairo to the Cape. As noted shortly, the bridge features in the race course.

The Falls perspective from the Zambian side is different. You are generally closer to the water. On either side, be prepared to get a little wet at certain points. Some visitors prepare for this by donning ponchos and other elaborate rainwear. But this really isn’t necessary, unless, perhaps, you are unusually sensitive to water or visit on a day with strong winds. You’re not going to get drenched under normal conditions and the spray is actually quite refreshing on a hot day.

The Victoria Falls race experience

Packet pickup is on the day before the race at a hotel in the center of town. We happened to be staying at that hotel. And if you make your travel arrangements through the race organizers, you can pick up your packet at the front desk of any of the hotels in the travel program. There was quite a line for pickup outside when we left the hotel that morning on our way to walk to Zambia. There was no expo or anything like that as far as I’m aware, but we didn’t get inside the pickup area.

The packet consisted of the bib, the race shirt — a purple one for Relay participants — and a lightweight matching buff.

The race starts at a school close to the center of the city. There are shuttle buses from the participating hotels. The start was in walking distance of our hotel, but we still took the shuttle as it was dark and we wanted to avoid a wildlife encounter.

The Half and Full Marathons share the same course for much of the way before the longer one branches out. This takes you toward the Falls, over the Victoria Falls Bridge and back, and then along a road close to the Zambezi River before turning back into town. The bridge crossing is the highlight. It is the only part of the course where you see the Falls. If you’re thinking of doing the Fun Run, keep in mind this does not go over the bridge, so you wouldn’t see the Falls at all.

The Full Marathon was scheduled to start at 6:30 AM and the Half — as well as the Relay — at 7 AM. The idea is to have Full runners clearing the bridge before those from the Half get there so as to reduce overcrowding. It was still dark when we got to the start at around 6:15 AM, although the sun had risen by the time the Half — and the Relay — began.

Relay runners are given a baton with their race kit. As noted above, the plan had been for the four of us to run in two teams of two. But my son had an unfortunate encounter with a plate of highly spicy peri peri chicken at lunch in Livingstone, across the border in Zambia, the previous day. It was described as “medium spicy,” but it was a lot more than that. I know because I had the same. It may have been the most spicy dish I have ever eaten — and I like spice. My son went down overnight with gastric issues, likely the result of that lunch. He did bravely make it to the race start, but returned to the hotel on foot in a hurry soon after. The men’s bathrooms at the start area were in no state to be used by the time we got there. Others with gastric issues had, unfortunately, made unconventional use of the floor and other surfaces. And this wasn’t the type of condition where a single visit would likely have sufficed anyway. (Generally, Victoria Falls is a clean place. I wouldn’t judge it by those race bathrooms.)

So my daughter was left as a team of one. She stuck by her plan to run only the second half of the Half with my wife. So she carried the baton on the bus from the start to the Relay switchover point, attracting odd looks and well-meaning suggestions from runners concerned that the first-half relay runner was meant to be carrying it at that point.

Talking of the baton, a pre-race email indicated it included the timing chip, and advised people they shouldn’t, therefore, lose it. But I don’t think it did. The chips appeared firmly embedded in the Relay bibs and there seemed no way to open up the baton.

The Half — including the first stage of the Relay — started a few minutes late, but I didn’t mind as there was a lot of energy and it was a fun environment. Once we did get going, I was a bit confused as to where the actual start line was. Normally, I’d expect to cross a slightly raised mat containing the timing gizmos that interact with the chip in your bib. But, here, there was no such mat as we went under a starting arch nor in the first few hundred feet. So at some point, I just started the timer and GPS on my watch. I guess they must use a tracking system that isn’t embedded in a mat. And it was probably where the arch was. I recall something similar in Munich about 18 months earlier.

There were no starting waves or corrals. My times had lately been somewhat below my average of recent years, so I placed myself somewhere in the second half of the pack as runners lined up. That was a mistake — or, at least, it would have been had I been aiming for a particular time (which I wasn’t). The reason is that my part of the line-up moved very slowly from the start. And the crowd was so dense it was hard to get ahead. So in the first half mile, I was barely able to sustain a pace of 15 minutes per mile — more like a fast walk than a slow jog. I think I may have got unlucky as I was stuck behind a group of about 200 runners who seemed to be trying to stick together, many of them singing and dancing as they slowly moved forward. It was actually quite atmospheric and I tried to just enjoy the experience. Once I managed to get around them, I was able to pick up my pace.

But not for long. Runners get to the bridge after about two miles and the pace slows considerably once you are on it. It’s partly because the bridge is narrower than the roads leading to and from it and there are runners going in both directions. And partly because many runners stop to admire the view or take photos.

So if you are obsessing on every minute of your time, this could be frustrating. However, the better way to approach it is — again — to enjoy the moment and go with the flow. If you’ve come from afar, this is probably the only time in your life you’ll be taking part in a race with Victoria Falls in sight. Make the most of it.

The course continues on the Zambian side for a short stretch beyond the bridge, almost up to to the border post where there’s a turnaround. After crossing back into Zimbabwe, it then parallels the Zambezi for a while. But you don’t get much of a view of the river because of the bush. This is the segment where you are apparently most likely to encounter wildlife. The organizers advise there are armed rangers at various points. However, I didn’t notice any rangers while running or see any wildlife.

There were hydration stations with water given out in plastic bags. However, I was carrying my own. The course has got some hills, but nothing too bad. Keep in mind that Victoria Falls is at an elevation of 2,900 feet. So if you are used to running closer to sea level, you may notice the altitude. A few days of acclimatization should help.

My wife and daughter were waiting for me when I got to the Relay handover point. As noted earlier, they’d been bussed there from the start. The temperatures were beginning to warm up by then. I’d begun to regret forgetting to put on sunscreen.

After passing my baton to my wife, I took a bus back to the start. But not right away, as my daughter mistakenly handed me her baton nestled in a jacket she wanted to shed as temperatures rose. So I waited a half hour or so before daughter and wife — who kept an equal pace with one another — came back past the handover point after an out-and-back segment.

I wanted my daughter to have the baton, not just because carrying one validates the Relay experience but also because not having it could have complicated medal collection at the end. The way it worked for Relay participants is that runners finishing the second half picked up two medals each upon surrendering their baton — the second one to give to their teammate. (Not that my daughter at that point had a fully operational teammate, but she was still given two.)

The bus took me back to the start/finish area. I could have waited to meet wife/daughter, but decided to walk back to the hotel. We were somewhat pressed for time as we had a flight to catch to Namibia — more on that in a bit — and I wanted to check on my son’s wellbeing (we didn’t have cell service, so I hadn’t heard from him since he hurried back from the start line).

About David Livingstone, someone you’ll hear about

You can’t spend much time in the Victoria Falls area without hearing the name “Livingstone.” Indeed, as noted earlier, Livingstone is the name of the city on the Zambian side of the Falls. David Livingstone (1813-1873) — the man who brought his name to this part of Africa — was a Scottish explorer who in 1855 was the first recorded European to reach the Falls.

Unlike many from Europe who ventured deep into Africa in the 19th century, Livingstone has not been posthumously “de-platformed.” His name is not being papered over. Statues to him are left standing. This reflects the fact that Livingstone was not a colonialist in the power- or land-grabbing sense, but a missionary. His main motivation was to end the Portuguese and Arab slave trade that blighted parts of Africa, including what is now Zimbabwe.

While some might say the explorations of missionaries like Livingstone helped open up Africa for colonialism, he was not himself a colonizer or a conqueror. He died in what is now Zambia from malaria and internal bleeding due to dysentery. And his body was brought back to the U.K. for burial in London’s Westminster Abbey, the place where Kings and Queens are crowned. (And where, for about four years of my teenage life, I was meant to show up for daily morning service while attending a private school abutting its cloisters, but from which services I tended, after a while, to find myself absent upon realizing there was no effective system in place for monitoring attendance.)

The Victoria Falls were named by Livingstone after Britain’s reigning Queen at the time. There is an African name, “Mosi-oa-Tunya,” meaning “The Smoke That Thunders” (referring to the clouds of spray rising above the roaring cascades that are visible even when the Falls themselves are not). But it is not clear that the name “Victoria Falls” is going to be taken off the signage any time soon.

About Ian Smith, someone you might not hear about

There is another white person who became famous — or, rather, infamous — on account of what is now Zimbabwe, but you won’t find any statues of him. That person was Ian Smith. While I was growing up in the U.K. in the 1960s and 1970s, Smith was the subject of constant stories on the television news — black-and-white TV before we got our first color set. He was the leader of a white settler movement that declared unilateral independence from Britain in 1965 when the latter was preparing to hand over Rhodesia — the colony that comprised what is now Zimbabwe — to black majority rule.

What followed was a long and often ugly and violent process, during which Smith’s Rhodesia became a pariah state aligned with what was then apartheid South Africa. Eventually, under Britain’s Margaret Thatcher, Zimbabwean independence was finally achieved in 1980 in a belated peaceful transfer of power. Smith continued to have a role in Zimbabwean politics for a while as the official Leader of the Opposition.

Sadly, the regime that followed — under Robert Mugabe, one of the leaders of the independence movement — was no poster child for enlightened post-colonial democracy. Mugabe, who became increasingly dictatorial, brutal, and corrupt, wrecking his country’s economy in the process, finally lost power in 2017, about two years before his death.

Victoria Falls travel notes

Getting there: If you’re coming from Europe or North America, one of the best ways of getting to Victoria Falls is to take the direct flight from Frankfurt operated by Discover Airlines, a leisure-focused subsidiary of Lufthansa. The flight — operated on an A330 wide-body with three classes of service — makes a brief stop in Windhoek, Namibia. It is the only direct flight from Europe. I’ll be writing more about Discover — and another alternative German airline, Condor — in a separate post. But, for now, I recommend Discover as an easy means of getting to Victoria Falls. They fly to some destinations in the U.S., so you could go all the way from one of their U.S. gateways with just one seamless connection.

The other long-haul carriers flying direct to Victoria Falls are Qatar and Ethiopian. You can also get there on regional flights from Johannesburg or Nairobi among other places. Harare, the Zimbabwean capital, tends not to be on the tourist trail and is harder to reach from overseas than Victoria Falls.

Our Victoria Falls itinerary: Most people flying in from afar to run one of the Victoria Falls Marathon events are going to want to explore the area and, maybe, make it part of a bigger travel experience. We were in Victoria Falls for four nights. We spent our first full day there exploring the Falls from the Zimbabwe side as well as the city itself.

Later that day, we took a sunset river cruise on the Zambezi, which I’d highly recommend. There’s a good chance of seeing some wildlife as you meander along the river — we saw hippos, elephants, and crocodiles — and it’s an inexpensive and relaxing way to pass some time enjoying a sundowner or two. There was a river cruise laid on for international race participants on the evening of race day. That sounded like a fun option, but we flew out of the country hours after the race so couldn’t make it.

We spent the second full day going into neighboring Botswana to visit Chobe National Park, where you can see all sorts of wildlife. If you have more time, you might want to consider spending a night in Chobe, but it’s an easy day trip. The next day, we walked to Zambia to see the Falls from that side and then took a taxi to Livingstone.

Immigration rules are easy for most nationalities, especially compared with some other parts of Africa (thinking of you, Ghana). We obtained reasonably priced visas on arrival at Zimbabwe. If you’re planning on going into Zambia and/or Botswana, you can get a visa that allows re-entries and, moreover, doubles up as your Zambian visa with minimum border bureaucracy. Many nationalities — U.S. included — do not need a visa for Botswana.

Making Victoria Falls arrangements: The race organizers have a travel program for international participants. It is handled by a firm called Wild Frontiers, which is affiliated with the race itself (not to be confused with Wild Horizons, which is the largest travel operator in Victoria Falls). This program does not include your travel in and out, but it can cover just about everything you want on the ground.

We initially thought of making our own arrangements, but decided to go with the program and I’m glad we did. For a start, they have block bookings for a lot of the hotels and it’s a busy time of the travel year even without the race. So although you could make your own arrangements, you’d find your accommodation choices curtailed. The person with whom I dealt at Wild Frontiers was very helpful and highly responsive. I booked our Botswana day trip through the program ahead of our arrival as I wanted to have that in place. But you really don’t need a guide to explore Victoria Falls itself on either the Zimbabwe or Zambian sides. And things like river cruises are easy to arrange on the spot. So there is no need to over-arrange your time on the ground.

Where to stay and eat: We stayed at the Cresta Sprayview Hotel, close to the center of town. Cresta is a regional hotel chain in that part of Africa. The Sprayview is far from fancy, but it has a certain charm. The rooms — somewhat motel-like — are nothing special, but they are laid out in pleasant grounds covering eight acres and there’s a decent size pool with outdoor and covered eating areas. The food was fine. The hotel does have its rougher edges (such as a general lack of hot water in our room over the whole stay), but this is made up for by friendly staff and a convenient location. And unlike some of the hotels in the Victoria Falls area, the Sprayview is used by locals for events, so you aren’t in too much of a tourist bubble. I would definitely stay there again.

There’s one very fancy hotel even closer to the Falls, the Victoria Falls Hotel. Built in 1904, this is quite the grand establishment with a lot of old-world charm. If you don’t stay there, you might want to consider having drinks or dinner on their stylish terrace, which has a view of the Victoria Falls Bridge in the distance. Our dinner was excellent. Kudos to one of their doormen who, when we couldn’t readily get a taxi after dinner and were leaving to walk back to our hotel, insisted on accompanying us all the way — a little over a mile — to ensure we got there safely.

Another place I’d recommend for lunch or dinner is the Lookout Café, which also has a view of the Victoria Falls Bridge and of a gorge leading away from the Falls. We went there a couple of times and enjoyed decent food and great service. Try to get there outside of peak dining times to increase your chance of getting a table with the best views.

These suggestions — like all of my travel notes in this blog — are simply based on my experiences. I don’t attempt to provide complete travel guides and I’m sure there are other good places to stay and eat.

The multiple lounges of Victoria Falls Airport: There are no less than three Priority Pass lounges at Victoria Falls Airport. Compare that with none at present at LAX, the nearest major international airport to where I live. It tends to be a bit hit or miss where you find PP lounges, and they are not always where you’d expect.

As we were lining up to go through security at the Victoria Falls Airport when leaving the country, a security official overheard us discussing our lounge options. We must have been talking a little loud in our debate as to which of the three to go to. He inquired whether we were going to a lounge, and upon hearing that we were, he escorted us to the front of the security line. He then stuck with us, guiding us to one particular lounge, which he recommended as the best, and introducing us to the front desk. At first, I thought the airport was simply giving undue deference to lounge users, treating them like VIPs and not quite getting the reality of Priority Pass in the aviation pecking order. But it then occurred to me that there is competition among the Priority Pass lounges at Victoria Falls — all independent operations — as they get paid by PP for each guest who enters. And I suspect airport staff are incentivized to steer prospective lounge visitors in certain directions.

The lounges at Victoria Falls are quite small, but we ended up trying out a couple and found them decent. They seem to share the same kitchen. We ordered toasted cheese sandwiches in the two we visited and received identical plates. There was also a fourth lounge, not on the PP roster, but — based on a quick peek inside — it was no better than the others.

Namibia add-on

If you want to make Victoria Falls part of a larger trip, you could consider exploring other parts of Zimbabwe, or going further into Zambia or Botswana. South Africa is another option. But we chose to combine Victoria Falls with Namibia. It’s an easy combination if you’re taking Discover Airlines since, as noted above, the flight from Frankfurt to Victoria Falls stops in Windhoek — the Namibian capital — and you can break your journey in either direction. We stopped over on the return.

We were in Namibia for six nights. We arranged for a guide/driver who took us around the country in a Land Cruiser. It was an ambitious itinerary, covering a lot of ground in this large, lightly populated country. Namibia is second only to Mongolia as the least densely populated country in the world. It was, incidentally, also Germany’s geographically largest colony, and distinct Teutonic connections remain. Hence the Discover Airlines connection.

Self-drive is more feasible in Namibia than in many parts of Africa, and is a popular option especially for visitors with more time. But with the amount of ground we were covering in a short period of time, we were glad to have the driver — and the spacious Land Cruiser was the perfect vehicle. We spent one night in Windhoek, then drove to Etosha National Park in the north for a couple of nights, then southwest to the Skeleton Coast — taking a backroad past Brandenburg, the country’s highest mountain — to Henties Bay and then the city of Swakopmund.

After a night in Swakopmund, we headed further south to Walvis Bay and then to the desert and Namib-Naukluft National Park for the last two nights, crossing the Tropic of Capricorn. Climbing a massive desert dune at dawn was quite memorable.

We made our Namibia arrangements through Chameleon Holidays & Travel, who I highly recommend. Be advised that an itinerary like this is quite demanding in terms of hours spent on the road every day.

Victoria Falls Marathon event sum-up

The Victoria Falls Marathon is one of the most accessible major running events in Africa. By “accessible,” I mean relatively easy to get to and to arrange. Travel in Africa can be challenging, but this event makes running in one of the most iconic places on the continent a viable option even if you don’t have a lot of time or the inclination to travel much upon stepping off your long-haul flight. While you may want to make it part of a larger trip, you could do this race and have a great travel experience if you have only three or four nights in Africa. Definitely one to add to your bucket list if, like me, you love the intersection of running and travel. ✈️ 🏃

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On my recent trip to run the Adidas 10K Paris, I flew transatlantically in both directions on interesting French airlines, La Compagnie for the outbound and French Bee for the return. They had little in common besides being French and using Orly, the smaller of Paris’ two airports. La Compagnie is an all-Business-Class airline flying narrow-bodies, while French Bee is a low-cost carrier flying wide-bodies.

I thought both were excellent in their very different ways. I’ll talk first about La Compagnie, and will start with a bit of history.

A brief history of all-premium transatlantic service, and a look at what may be next

Airlines offering all-premium-class service across the Atlantic have come and gone over the years. They have always involved narrow-body aircraft.

The most successful and iconic all-premium transatlantic service was the supersonic Concorde. It, literally, was in a class of its own. It did not even have a branded “class” of service. It was just “Concorde.”

Concorde was operated almost exclusively by British Airways and Air France, and almost entirely between London and Paris, on the one side of the Atlantic, and various cities on the U.S. East Coast, mostly New York and Washington DC, on the other. British Airways briefly operated an extended route in partnership with Braniff — a now-defunct Texas-based U.S. carrier — that added Dallas Fort Worth to the London-Washington crossing with one airline’s name painted on one side of the plane, and the other’s on the other, but that was at subsonic speeds. BA crewed the flight deck for the segment into Dallas, but Braniff flight attendants worked the cabin.

Among the ways in which Concorde was unique was how people referred to it (and still do). With Concorde, the name of the aircraft transcended the name of the airline operating it. People just talked about “flying Concorde” in a way they don’t when talking about flying other iconic equipment such as the Boeing 747 or Airbus 380.

I flew twice on Concorde. Both times on British Airways. It was a remarkable experience. The steep climb, the views of the curvature of the earth as it flew at altitudes of up to 60,000 feet, the thrill of flying faster than the speed of sound while drinking expensive champagne. At JFK, there was a special lounge for Concorde passengers, from which you directly boarded the aircraft.

In terms of the “hard product” inside the cabin — i.e., the seats — Concorde was not much different from International Premium Economy across the Atlantic today. Perhaps less spacious. But it didn’t matter. With an average transatlantic crossing time of 3.5 hours, there was barely time for a siesta after lunch. None of the flights were red-eyes. Moreover, Concorde existed in an era when no one expected to lie flat on an airplane. Concorde began as a luxury experience before the original concept of subsonic “Business Class” was conceived in the 1980s and even longer before lie-flat seats found their way into any type of commercial aircraft as Business Class evolved.

The aircraft did not survive for long after the Paris crash in July 2000. Then, an Air France Concorde on its take-off roll struck debris left by a departing Continental DC-10, rupturing its fuel tank and resulting in a fiery, fatal crash soon after it become airborne.

British Airways replaced it with a single-aisle, all-Business-Class, lie-flat subsonic service between London and New York using an Airbus 318. Unlike Concorde, this used London’s small City Airport, close to the financial center, as opposed to Heathrow. The idea was to attract the banking crowd that used to fill up its supersonic predecessor. The short runway at that airport limited takeoff weight so the westbound flight — which adopted Concorde’s BA 1 flight number — had to make a refueling stop in Ireland before proceeding across the Atlantic. To offset the inconvenience, passengers cleared U.S. customs and immigration there before re-boarding the aircraft, so they arrived in JFK as domestic passengers. That service was paused during the pandemic and never brought back.

Supersonic transatlantic travel is slated to return soon with both United and American among the launch customers for Boom, the supersonic start-up that looks as though it may actually take off in the next few years. Like Concorde, Boom’s Overture aircraft is expected to have an-all-premium-class configuration. It remains to be seen whether airlines operating it will provide a lie-flat cabin or whether — with speed being the emphasis — they will configure their aircraft to hold more passengers with seats more similar to domestic First Class. It’s possible there could be two classes of premium service, although — for reasons discussed shortly — a two-class service would disturb the zen of all-premium transatlantic travel.

There have been some other efforts at developing all-Business Class airlines — some involving start-ups and some by established carriers. But only one has stood the test of time, La Compagnie.

La Compagnie background

La Compagnie — a privately held French company — began operations in 2014 with a Boeing 757 configured with seats that were not quite lie-flat, but offered a near-horizontal recline. It has operated continuously ever since, except for a hiatus during the pandemic. Other than Concorde, no other all-premium transatlantic service has lasted as long. And no other exists today.

Although the airline has tried a number of routes — including one out of London Luton — its core route is between Paris Orly and Newark, but it also has seasonal service connecting Nice and Milan with Newark. Shortly before the pandemic, it replaced its two 757s with A321 Neos, configured with fully lie-flat seats.

A stand-alone airline

The main limitation of La Compagnie is, of course, its route network. It’s a tempting option if you live in the cities it serves. But La Compagnie does not have any interline agreements with other carriers. So if you live somewhere in the USA other than New York, you have to separately arrange to travel to Newark. Coming from California, I was happy to do that as an avgeek. Whether “normal” passengers will be so ready is another matter.

But the New York market is large. If La Compagnie can fill its planes — as it appears to be doing — then its lack of geographical reach deeper into the United States may not matter.

La Compagnie has its own loyalty program. But another aspect of the stand-alone factor is that it does not participate in any frequent flier program along with other airlines.

An oddly egalitarian experience?

La Compagnie operates out of Terminal B at Newark, not my favorite. But its revenue passengers have access to the British Airways lounge, so terminal time should be agreeable enough.

With just one class, there is no “priority” among the passengers in any of the ground operations, such as check-in, boarding, and luggage handling. It makes for an oddly egalitarian experience. While everyone who gets to fly on La Compagnie is necessarily privileged, there is no class divide among the passengers. (And that’s what I had in mind earlier when I referred to two classes of premium service disturbing the zen of this sort of flight.)

With Concorde, the single-class setup and the 100-passenger payload made for something of a “club-like” atmosphere once on board. And there is a bit of that on La Compagnie, which carries 76 passengers. The combination of everyone being in the same very comfortable class, and the relatively small number of people, makes for a calm and quite serene flight experience without the underlying stress and competitiveness that can exist on a crowded, multi-class wide-body.

La Compagnie 2-2 seating

Boarding, I was struck by how the interior of the La Compagnie aircraft seemed super clean and fresh. The seating configuration is 2-2. I was lucky to have the only open seat on the plane next to me. But if you are on the window and the seat next to you is occupied, getting to the aisle would involve climbing over your neighbor. It should be possible to do so if that person is lying flat and asleep, but it is awkward and not ideal.

With state-of-the-art Business Class on conventional airlines, travelers these days can expect every seat to have direct aisle access. That means a 1-2-1 configuration on a wide-body or 1-1 on a narrow-body. Right now, some top-class airlines still operate aircraft with older configurations, such as 2-2-2 (or even 2-3-2). But these are generally slowly being updated. So a question is whether, in time, La Compagnie’s 2-2  configuration will seem dated.

One solution might be to update the configuration. But if that meant reducing the number of seats, it could result in the airline becoming less price-competitive than it is now.

The seating configuration is less of an issue if you are traveling with someone. In fact, if you are with a companion, you may prefer 2-2 over 1-2-1. Those very private modern Business Class window seats keep couples apart.

And given that La Compagnie is, perhaps, appealing more to affluent leisure travelers than to the corporate business travel market, the seating might actually seem ideal. I suspect most of the passengers on my flight were people traveling as a couple or small family group. One couple had two retrievers with them.

The La Compagnie eastbound inflight experience

La Compagnie eastbound flights generally depart Newark in the early evening. The airline provides a lighter dinner than you might expect on a transatlantic Business Class flight and serves all the courses in one go. And, moreover, there is no pre-dinner drinks service (other than a glass of champagne offered while still on the ground). The idea behind this service arrangement is that passengers can get some sleep. The crossing from Newark to Paris is not that long, just 7 hours and 40 minutes, so it is an understandable goal.

However, I’m not convinced the strategy quite works. The reason is that — at least on my flight — it took so long to serve the streamlined dinner that some people did not get any service at all until two hours after take-off. And that slightly defeats the objective of wrapping up the service early on.

The way the meal service goes is that flight attendants working in teams of two begin with their carts at three points in the cabin. I was lucky, as I was near to the start of the mid-section service, and so got served about an hour into the flight (which is still quite a long time). But it was an hour later before people at the back of the front section were given anything to eat or drink. Maybe this was not typical, but there was no turbulence or other obvious reason to explain the timing.

The flight attendants appeared highly professional and hard working. So I am not suggesting there was anything deficient on their part that led to the wait. Rather, I suspect it is more of a systemic issue. It might work better if they did a preliminary drinks service with some sort of appetizer or, at least, nuts or something.

The dinner on the eastbound flights generally consists of soup, a salad, cheese, and some dessert. I had a salad with seared sesame tuna, but there was also a grilled chicken option. La Compagnie calls it a “light dinner,” but I thought the quantity was fine. And the quality was excellent. As you would expect on a French premium airline, there was a good selection of wine and champagne. Oddly, the Scotch selection involved a choice between and Johnny Walker Red and Black Label miniatures. I’m not sure who, given the choice, would go with the Red.

Although the eastbound light dinner idea is to give people a chance to get some sleep on the overnights, there is then a full hot breakfast service before landing. I had a tasty spinach and tomato frittata. If it were up to me, I might make more of the dinner, and less of the breakfast.

However, I understand the service on the westbound daytime flights involves a larger, four-course lunch with the courses — or at least some of them — served separately. So that direction might be better for people who want to fully savor airborne French gastronomy.

Longish-haul?

Fitting in all the service premium-class passengers might expect on a long-haul flight that is not all that long can be a challenge. Personally, I prefer long-haul flights to Europe from the West Coast, rather than the East, if I am seated in the front of the plane. It gives more time to relax, sleep, and, indeed, eat. My wife knows a pilot who used to fly a private B777 for a Saudi prince who would sometimes tell the flight crew before take-off to circle for a couple of hours after entering Saudi airspace so as to allow more time for rest before landing. The ultimate luxury.

Who is La Compagnie for?

La Compagnie aims to offer an exclusive Business Class experience at a price that compares favorably with traditional airlines. Prices can vary considerably depending on the time of year, how far ahead you book, the restrictions on the fare, and even the selection of lounge at Orly. But if you find it does price out significantly below the traditional airlines that fly between New York and the cities it serves, it is a good Business Class choice, especially if you are traveling as a couple and not put off by the 2-2 seating.

However, a potential drawback with all small airlines is that while the experience can be great when everything works, there is less logistical backup and ground support if mechanical, weather, or crew issues lead to delays or cancellation. That is not to say large airlines always handle such issues well. But if you are booked between Newark and Paris and your flight cancels, you are likely to have many more options on, say, United than on La Compagnie with its fleet of just two aircraft.

Overall, although, La Compagnie delivers exactly what it promises. It is a different sort of travel experience and a very civilized one. I highly recommend it. WiFi is free, by the way — something that really should not be unusual these days, but nonetheless is.

French Bee — the other end of the airline spectrum

Returning from Paris, my plan had been to take the westbound La Compagnie service to Newark. I was traveling standby using interline staff travel benefits, and the loads for the Monday morning flight suggested I would very likely get on. But that weekend, air traffic controllers at Orly went on strike. And both the Saturday and Sunday La Compagnie flights cancelled. Predictably, passengers from those flights took the remaining seats on the Monday flight, so I was out of luck, although I rolled the standby dice in case of a no-show.

My backup was the only other airline flying transatlantically out of Orly, French Bee, which had open seats on a flight to Los Angeles — and the consolation prize was that I’d get home to California in one jump, without the domestic transcon connection if I’d got on La Compagnie to Newark.

French Bee is one of relatively few ultra-low-cost airlines plying transatlantic routes. As with short-haul equivalents, the business model is to offer rock-bottom fares that exclude just about everything other than a seat on the plane with a personal item and, in this case, inflight entertainment, and then to charge for all frills and extras either on an à la carte basis or in higher bundled fares. For example, meals are not included on the cheapest fares. (If you are on a fare with a meal included, you’ll find a coupon in a small amenity kit on your seat and you hand that to a flight attendant when the cart comes down the aisle.)

French Bee started operations in 2014 as a sister airline to Air Caraïbes, a long-haul leisure airline based in the French Caribbean. It was originally called “French Blue” but — under regulatory pressure following complaints from Jet Blue — changed its name to French Bee when it started service between France and the U.S. in 2018. Today, the airline has about six Airbus wide-bodies, so it is bigger than La Compagnie, but still a small airline overall. Its U.S. destinations are Los Angeles, Newark, Miami, and San Francisco. It also connects Los Angeles and San Francisco with Tahiti. The airline has a partnership with Alaska Airlines, allowing for seamless booking and connections on the latter’s U.S. route network.

Unlike many ultra-low-cost carriers, French Bee offers legroom similar to what you’d get in a traditional airline, about 31 inches in regular Economy. But the catch is that the seats are narrower. The airline squeezes in one extra seat in each row of its A350 aircraft compared with what you’d typically find. So the configuration is 3-4-3, compared with 3-3-3 on almost all other airlines operating that equipment.

I was initially seated on the aisle on a full row of three. I actually noticed the narrow seat width less than I’d been expecting. And if you are traveling with friends or family and occupying an entire row together, it wouldn’t be a big deal. In fact, if you are family of four, you might actually prefer having four seats together rather than one person having to sit separately. But it wouldn’t be ideal if you were on your own and ended up in a middle seat. That said, I found the seats, reduced width aside, were quite comfortable by Economy standards.

I was lucky, as a flight attendant moved me to an empty row of three right at the back of the aircraft. So I had a great flight. Despite the ultra-low-cost environment, I thought the service compared with what I’d expect on a full-service airline in Economy. And the food was decent.

French Bee also has a Premium Economy cabin, which looks pretty nice. It could cost you a fair bit less than an equivalent product on a traditional airline. Plus with Premium Economy on French Bee, you have the satisfaction of being in the top class of service on the airplane, as opposed to merely being “middle class” as on full-service airlines.

To Bee or Not to Bee?

I may not have had the most typical French Bee experience with the row to myself. Given a choice between a packed flight on French Bee and one on a full-service airline, I could see the case for the latter.

However, the draw of French Bee is the pricing. Like La Compagnie — albeit with a very different product — French Bee delivers what it promises. It can be a good pick for people on a tight budget who aren’t bothered about frills, especially if you are traveling as a group of three or four and can fill up a row by yourselves so the narrower seat width matters less. It is also a tempting pick if you are looking for Premium Economy without breaking the bank. As with all ultra-low-cost carriers, you get the best deal if you are able to resist the upsells. But you are also relying on a pretty lean operation that may not be as geared up as its full-service competitors to handle circumstances involving delays and cancellations.

La Compagnie and French Bee non-rev notes

Lastly, a few notes for staff travelers from other airlines. I travel on my wife’s benefits and her airline has great reciprocal staff travel agreements with other carriers, including both La Compagnie and French Bee. But keep in mind that some airlines don’t do staff travel agreements involving Business Class or ones with ultra-low-cost carriers — so these two interesting French airlines may not be on everyone’s list of available options.

Both airlines use the MyID ticketing/listing platform for staff travel, and listing is automatic with ticketing. Neither, however, allows online check-in. And La Compagnie’s protocol is for non-rev travelers to standby at the check-in counter until one hour before the flight departs. They don’t give gate passes. With French Bee, I was accepted onto the flight when I went to check in three hours ahead of the flight as there were over 40 open seats. I’m not sure whether they do give gate passes when loads are tighter.

I was able to check French Bee loads on Staff Traveler, the crowd-sourced information sharing app. The user name providing the loads was actually “French Bee,” which made me wonder whether someone who works in their staff travel office was providing them.

La Compagnie loads sometimes come through on Staff Traveler, but don’t count on it. However, you can get an idea of loads by seeing how many seats, if any, the airline is able to sell on its website on a single booking — the maximum on any booking is nine. Getting a refund for an unused staff travel ticket on La Compagnie is a bit more complicated than usual, as you have to email the airline. But I found they processed my refund for the return in a couple of weeks with no need for follow-up.

Conclusion

Sticking with one airline, or alliance, can make sense if you are trying to maximize loyalty benefits. But it can also get dull. Air travel should be an adventure, and La Compagnie and French Bee provide a different experience between the U.S. and France. ✈️

The Adidas 10K Paris is the largest race of its distance in France and among the biggest in all of Europe. In case you’re not clear, a “10K” race is 10 kilometers, or about 6.2 miles. Unlike some races of that distance, the 10K Paris is a standalone event, not an adjunct to a half or full marathon. It is held every year in May or June. In 2024, over 29,500 runners took part. I was one.

Parisian adventure

I’ve been to around 100 countries, but going to Paris was a bit more of a travel adventure than you might assume. I’d spent very little time there. In fact, before this trip, I’d certainly spent more nights in North Korea than in Paris. Even after the trip, it’s a close call. And my last time in Paris was about 30 years ago with my wife, not long after we married.

Maybe all that is because — growing up in London and living there during my younger adult years — Paris never seemed far enough away to satisfy my wanderlust. And then, living in California, it seemed too obvious a place, as it’s where cautious Americans gravitate as an overseas comfort zone. But I short-changed myself. And, on this trip, I was glad to get back to Paris at last.

More on the travel side of the trip in a bit, but first I’ll talk about the race itself.

An epic course

If you like city-center races that close off major thoroughfares to take you past globally iconic sights, then the Adidas 10K Paris is hard to beat. The more-or-less loop course — while always focused on the center of Paris — can vary from year to year. That’s not because it’s one of those races where they never manage to get it right. Rather, I understand the aim is to bring variety.

Last year, the course started and ended close to the Eiffel Tower. In 2024, it was at the Arc de Triomphe. The course still took you close to the Eiffel Tower, but on the other side of the River Seine, as well as past other sights such as the Louvre. Every mile of the race was a feast for traveling eyes. I would rate this 10K event among the very best in the world for those who relish the combination of running and travel.

Registration

The race website can be viewed in English, so learning about the event and signing up is easy even if you don’t speak French. I registered about 10 weeks ahead, paying 49 Euros, about $54 U.S. That’s a great deal for an event like this, especially since it includes a high-quality Adidas race shirt. (My second in a month — three weeks earlier, I’d taken part in the Adidas-sponsored Wings for Life World Run in New York.)

When I registered, the 2024 course had not been announced. And it was not obvious it would be different from the 2023 one. The new course was only unveiled about a month or so ahead of race day. And actual start times were not announced until about a week before. Keep all of that in mind when making travel arrangements, especially if you want to stay within an easy walk of the race start and finish. Based on my experience, booking a hotel early may not anyway be optimum, especially if it is not cancellable. I found last-minute rates to be lower than those some weeks ahead.

Not surprisingly, the race itself does sell out as the event draws near. If you’re thinking of taking part, I’d suggest signing up sooner rather than later. I’ve noticed that some large races in Europe have started selling out much earlier than a year or two ago — sometimes six months or more in advance. I was slightly surprised to be able to secure my spot when I did.

Medical clearance: useful safeguard or bureaucratic busywork?

One thing that’s unique about major French races — at least, I’ve never come across it elsewhere — is that you need a medical clearance to take part. Until recently, this required getting a doctor to sign off on a certificate of fitness. That would have been a tedious step, all the more so as they expect the doctor to have a stamp. I don’t know whether doctors in the U.S.A. typically do have stamps these days. Or whether my doctor would have sent me a bill for doing it. I wonder how many people — in the U.S.A. or elsewhere — would be tempted to try faking a certificate to avoid the trouble and potential expense of getting one.

But the good news is that for this year’s 10K Paris, there was an alternative method allowing you to legitimately self-certify by watching some videos and answering questions in order to download a certificate with a QR code indicating you are good to go. Having downloaded the certificate, you can then upload it to the race website, or you can bring it to packet pick-up. But you can’t just blow this off. Without the certificate — or the doctor-signed/stamped clearance, which is still an option — you won’t be able to obtain your bib.

I don’t want to make light of the need to be aware of medical factors that might make running a bad idea. Every year, there are harrowing stories from one place or another of runners collapsing and dying at a race. It’s rare, but it happens. And there are additional untold numbers who require medical assistance on the course or at the finish. However, I can’t help thinking the French certification system is a bureaucratic waste of time. While there are no available statistics, I doubt the percentage of runners who collapse in French races is less than elsewhere on account of this safeguard.

The main cause of serious illness or death in distance races is cardiac arrest. But this tends to happen to people — often, in fact, younger athletes — who did not even know they had a heart condition. And given that the French certification system does not require getting a full heart work-up that might detect hitherto unknown risks, I am not sure what it achieves. It seems like medical busy work. Furthermore, the self-certification alternative — while a welcome option to lighten the compliance burden — makes it even less likely that lives will be saved.

Anyway, go with the flow. Leave the complaining to me. Do the self-certification thing.

Packet pickup

Packet pickup took place during the two days before the race in Avenue Foch, one of the radial streets leading off the Arc de Triomphe, close to where the race started and more or less where it finished. It was outdoors and fairly low key. There were tables for the various race functions — including checking the medical certificates of those who had not uploaded them — but no expo where the race organizers, sponsors, or other vendors offered or displayed merchandise. There was literally no opportunity to purchase anything, which I did not mind a bit.

The race start

A race with almost 30,000 runners is always going to take a long time to finish starting. But the organizers of the 10K Paris meter the start especially slowly. The advantage is that the course is never too crowded. The drawback is that slower runners have to wait a long time before they get going — and are more likely to encounter rising temperatures before they finish. So whereas the first wave of runners went out at 8 AM, the last didn’t start until 10:22. In fact the very last — those pushing baby strollers — took off at 10:45.

The organizers advise runners when they need to show up for their wave, so there is actually no need to hang around waiting if you don’t mind arriving once the event is already underway. You could get there just in time. In the U.S., by contrast, people generally show up for large races at the base start time, as the organizers push people out quicker.

My start time was at 9:52 and I was advised to enter my corral by 9:37 (they go in for quite precise times). I actually arrived in the start vicinity about an hour earlier. By that time, the fastest runners who took off at 8 AM would already be finishing. As I drew close, I could see runners with estimated finish times of 47 minutes passing the Arc de Triomphe as they began their race. Some didn’t look as fast as one would expect for a 47-minute finish. But estimated finish times can be aspirational. I’ve been there and done that.

There wasn’t really any type of race-start infrastructure outside the corrals. But, before entering mine, I found a very Parisian café where I enjoyed an espresso while watching inbound runners passing the 9KM mark as they neared the end of their loop.

The porta-potties were all in the corrals themselves, in contrast to races in the U.S. where they tend to be outside. They had the same stand-up, outdoor quad-urinals I first saw in Copenhagen the previous year, something that would be a bit shocking in the U.S. with its more conservative attitude to public urination. There was no wait for those. But people had to wait in moderately long lines if biology or bodily needs called for an enclosed porta-potty.

Access to the starting corrals was monitored and people who tried to get into an earlier one were politely turned away. I had no wish to try to do so, as I knew I wasn’t going to run a fast race and didn’t want to be caught up in a pace I wouldn’t be able to sustain.

Although the race is divided into 10 starting waves, each is actually then split into cordoned-off sub-waves to further meter the flow. So where you actually start in your overall wave depends on where you position yourself in the corral. I didn’t start running until 10:07, some 15 minutes after my wave start.

As runners waited to start, they were serenaded with motivational announcements and energy-enhancing music. The announcements were all in French, incomprehensible to me, but I felt I could infer enough of the gist from the tone and rhythm. The tireless announcer managed to display the same level of enthusiasm with my wave as I imagine he had shown two hours earlier.

The course experience

After an extended gentle downhill stretch at the outset, the course became mostly flat with a couple of down-and-up underpasses. But that changed around the 8 KM mark, as it turned away from the river to take runners up a quite steep climb for a half kilometer or so. The finish involved another gentle descent. Along the way was evidence of preparation for the upcoming Paris Olympics.

Paris being what it is, a good amount of the course was on cobbled streets. But fortunately, most of those were sufficiently trodden and flattened over the years so that stability wasn’t much of a problem. More pronounced cobbles are not ideal for running.

Crowd support was really magnificent. About as good as it gets. And especially in the final kilometer. It was the type where observers were cheering the entire field, not just their loved ones.

The temperature while I was running was in the low-to-mid-sixties. Fortunately, the sun didn’t begin to break through the overcast until I was almost finished. I did appreciate the spots along the course where they sprayed water on runners. Those who did not want to get wet could veer to the left, but I gladly removed my hat and ran through the spray. I find fleeting cold showers an excellent energy booster while running.

There were a couple of hydration stations along the way. I think there was a nutrition station of some sort, but I somehow missed it.

I would estimate most runners wore this year’s official race shirt, which — as noted earlier — was included with registration. That’s unusual. I find people typically save their new race shirt for another day. But the sea of similar shirts does contribute to collective energy.

The finish

Overall, this is a fast race compared with many, in terms of the median speeds. My aim was only to run at a moderate pace with fairly even splits. I managed that, except for a slow-down on the hill. I finished in one hour and seven minutes. I liked the wooden medal runners received at the end.

The finish area was crowded as many runners lingered. It made for a festive atmosphere, but without formal festivities. There was a free beer tent, but it drew a very long line. I choose to head back to my hotel and wait for later to have a beer.

33 miles on foot and three different hotels

I was in Paris for three nights. Other than taking a bus from and back to the airport, I moved around the city entirely on foot. I was traveling light and so could do so even with my luggage. Walking is an easy way to get around Paris if you are reasonably fit, as you don’t have to master public transport. But the key benefit is that you see the city. During my short visit, I covered about 33 miles on foot — including the 6.2-mile race — with about 70,000 steps, passing and sometimes lingering in all sorts of landmark spots.

I stayed in a different neighborhood each night. I wanted to be fairly close to the start and finish on race morning, but didn’t want to stay in that area for all three nights as it was expensive.

I can’t recall another time I’d visited a city for a few nights and spent each night in a different place. It’s the sort of thing a fugitive would do. But I might do it again. If you can be bothered with checking in and out, you get absorbed in more neighborhoods than if anchored in just one place.

The art of late check-out

For the night before the race — the middle one in my visit — I stayed at the Holiday Inn Elysée. This is not a typical Holiday Inn by any means, as it forms part of a typical Parisian side street. The hotel was fine, but nothing special for the almost 300 Euros it cost. The reason I chose a Holiday Inn is that — with the relatively late race start — I wanted a late check-out on race day. That’s something I get with my IHG Platinum status, the best perk — lounges aside — on my Chase United Club card.

These days, it is increasingly hard to get late check-outs unless you have some leverage making it an entitlement. Even then, there can be an issue as to how late “late” can be. I’ve sometimes scored very late check-out with IHG. My record is 10 PM at the Intercontinental in Amman about two years ago. It’s hard to do much better than that before a late check-out turns into an additional night. And I’ve quite often managed 4 PM, a solid performance in the game. This time, they seemed to resist going beyond 2 PM. I suspect I could have got another hour or so, but didn’t need it.

The most basic rule of the late check-out game is not to pay. Otherwise, it would be cheating. My late check-out strategy is generally to ask for it in increments unless my goal is modest. For example, if 4 PM is your target, start with something lesser. It’s easier to get smaller additions than it is to reach for everything in one go. That goes for various things in life.

And it’s helpful to request the increments from different front desk persons who may not be aware of any pre-existing expectation. That’s one reason why larger hotels can provide more fertile ground for incremental late check-out. There’s less risk of having to repeatedly ask the same person. Occasionally, though, a bold move is called for in terms of the initial ask or the first incremental extension. One has to read the room.

Another factor in favor of larger hotels for this purpose is that they usually keep their housekeeping staff until later in the day. That can make them more accommodating than smaller ones with no one to clean rooms much beyond the early afternoon.

But, on the other hand, larger hotels also try to monetize late check-out. “Status” certainly gives you a head-start in the game. But an increasing problem with late checkout — and early check-in — is that corporate computer systems may restrict what staff in the hotel can do without charging you.

It’s the same with airlines. I remember the days when you could politely ask for an upgrade at airport check-in — with no real basis — and sometimes get it. I recall once doing so when traveling from London Gatwick to Toronto on a new Canadian airline I’d never flown before and being told: “Okay, but you will have to wear a tie.” I scrambled to find one and in those days was able to buy one before returning to the counter, suitably attired, to claim my upgraded boarding pass. That would never happen today — neither the easily obtained conditional offer of an upgrade at check-in nor the ready land-side availability of a tie for purchase.

The sometimes overlooked single room

For my other two nights in Paris, I chose small independent hotels — one on the right bank of the Seine and the other on the left — paying around $130 for what were perfectly pleasant, if compact, accommodations. One was Hotel Le Général on the right bank at the intersection of the Marais district and the 11th arrondissement. The other was Hotel Des Mines near to the Luxembourg Gardens on the left bank and an easy walk to the Saint-Germain neighborhood. Neither was remarkable, but I would readily stay in either again if looking for a decent, inexpensive place to stay in Paris.

When traveling on my own in Europe, I make a point of selecting “1 guest” when searching for hotel rooms, overriding the booking platforms’ default “2 guests.” This opens up single rooms, quite common there — but rare in the U.S., where the override is generally unproductive.

Single rooms are, of course, small by definition, although the ones on this trip could just about have accommodated an intimate couple who don’t get on each other’s nerves too much. But I don’t mind the size. We have an enormous master bedroom at home, so I don’t need big-room fixes as a travel perk. And in my cosy single quarters, I can imagine how luxurious the room would be if I were on one of those Gulf airlines that offer private cabins to their First Class passengers.

Another reason to consider single rooms in Europe is that they can get you into quite fancy places for much less than a regular room (not that this was the case on my Paris trip). Although big chains tend to disfavor single rooms, there are exceptions in older properties, such as the Vier Jahreszeiten Kempinski in Munich. If you have ever read or viewed A Gentleman in Moscow, you can appreciate what one can do with a compromised space in a grand hotel.

The flights: a study in contrasts

My transatlantic flights to and from Paris were interesting. Both French. Both using Orly, the city’s secondary airport. But, nonetheless, a study in contrasts. For the outbound, I flew from Los Angeles to Newark to pick up La Compagnie, an all-Business-Class boutique narrow-body airline with lie-flat seats. For the return, I was on French Bee, a low-cost, wide-body carrier, direct into LAX. Each was excellent in its own very different way. I’ll soon have a post discussing both of them.

Sum-up

The Adidas 10K Paris is a fantastic race where you can expect an iconic course and masses of collective energy and crowd support. I also found it to be well organized. But register early to get a spot. ✈️ 🏃

Click here for other recent running, travel, and aviation posts!

Next race: Victoria Falls Half Marathon, Zimbabwe.

The traditional race formula is that you have a fixed distance, and the person who runs it the fastest wins. But imagine an event where instead of racing toward a finish line, you race to stay ahead of someone — or something — trying to catch you from behind. The faster you run, the longer you stay in the race and the more miles you cover. Last person to get caught wins. That is the formula used in the Wings for Life World Run.

Brought to you by Red Bull

The Wings for Life World Run is an event organized by a charitable foundation whose goal is to find a cure for spinal cord injuries and paraplegia. It takes place every year on the first Sunday in May. The force behind it is Red Bull, the privately held Austrian company that dominates the global energy drink market and is also the owner of Formula One and soccer teams in the U.S. and Europe. Red Bull is the third most valuable brand in the soft drinks market after Coca Cola and Pepsi.

All costs of the Wings for Life World Run are underwritten by Red Bull, so 100 percent of money raised through races entries, donations, and sponsorship goes to the charity. The slogan of the race is “running for those who can’t.” It’s quite an effective phrase, despite — or, maybe, because of — its focus on a negative.

A race run all over the place

Wings for Life claims to be the largest running event in the world. The organizers say that this year, around 265,817 people took part. However, that appears to be the number who signed up — which, I guess, is a form of participation in what is a fundraising event. But the official 2024 results show that a little under 174,000 actually ran on the day. Still, that is easily enough to make this the biggest running event in the world.

That said, not all participants congregate in one place. You can take part literally anywhere on the planet with an Internet connection.

But this is not a completely virtual race, where everyone runs on their own, as people did during the pandemic when mass gatherings weren’t possible and race organizers wanted to offer what they could. There are a number of “Flagship” events where thousands of runners take to the streets together and are pursued by a real-life “catcher car.” The car starts 30 minutes after the runners at a speed of around 8.5 miles per hour and slowly gets a bit faster at a predetermined rate. Once it catches up with you, you’re done. This year, there were seven of these Flagship events, all in Europe. The one in Vienna alone had almost 12,000 runners taking part, and Munich almost as many.

If you aren’t able to take part in a Flagship event, then you run with a phone app. It’s a cleverly designed system, where the app tracks your speed using GPS and has a “virtual” catcher car following and eventually catching up with you the way a real car would at a Flagship race. So you need to run with your phone and headphones. While running with the app, you hear a variety of motivational content, including warnings from the “driver” of the virtual catcher car as it draws closer.

You can do an app run on your own anywhere in the world. However, running with the app need not be a solo activity. This is because there are hundreds of group app runs organized throughout the world where people take part together. These can range from very small groups with, perhaps, no more than a dozen people, to ones with several hundred. In some local app events — and I believe all the Flagship ones — people in wheelchairs also take part.

You can register for the group location of your choice through the app. The courses are typically either short loops or out-and-backs of a couple of miles or so — and so you repeat the course until the virtual car catches up. You can sign up for a group run on the same app you use to run the race. And you can do so at any time before the race and switch at will from one location to another or between solo and group runs. While most of the Flagship events sell out, I doubt there is — at least as a practical matter — any real capacity limit on the group app runs.

The other key point about the Wings for Life World Run is that wherever and however you run — whether it be on your own, in a group app run, or at a Flagship event — you start at the same time. And that is 1 P.M. Central European Time. This can pose some interesting challenges. For example, if you want to run the race in my home state of California, it means a 4 A.M. start local time. But as inconvenient as the simultaneous start time might be in some time zones, the benefit is that it helps foster a sense of being part of a big event.

Picking my race location

I hadn’t heard of the Wings for Life run until this year when my son, a college student, told me about it. He is working part time for Red Bull as part of a South Florida team whose focus is on-the-ground marketing, including at events and college campuses. He was working on race day, but encouraged me to take part.

I toyed briefly with the idea of doing a Flagship run in Europe. But most were already sold out and, besides, I was doing a 10K in Paris later in the month. So I decided to go with a group app run in the U.S.

The nearest group app run to me was in Santa Monica, one of the tonier parts of Los Angeles about 100 miles south of where I live. There, the course ran from Red Bull’s U.S. corporate headquarters to the pier and back. But that location didn’t seem ideal. I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of a 4 A.M. start. It wasn’t the issue of getting up early, something I’m fine with, but running through the city in the dark. Also, when I looked into it about a month before the event, there weren’t much more than 100 people signed up for that location. Besides, I’m running a big 10K in Santa Monica later this year.

So I thought I’d venture further afield. Specifically, to the east to allow for a daylight run. I ended up picking New York City. I chose it in part because it seemed to be the largest event I could find. And New York is not a random place for me. It was my landing point on my first ever visit to North America in the early eighties. I flew in from London on a TWA Boeing 747 and was astonished that the captain made jokes over the public address system, something that would never — at least back then — happen on European carriers. I later lived in Manhattan on and off in the late eighties and early nineties. And I got married there in 1992 (with the reception in the Rainbow Room at the top of Rockefeller Center). My wife grew up in New York, although that’s not where we met.

This was to be my second New York City race. In 2018, I ran the New York Half Marathon, with its spectacular course starting in Brooklyn and ending in Central Park. I rate that as among my top-10 races in terms of the course, my performance, and the overall experience.

When I signed up for the New York City Wings for Life event, around 400 others had already done so. That number later climbed as race day approached. However, as detailed later, the actual number of runners on the day was much fewer.

Registration and cost

You can sign up to run Wings for Life on the app or on their website. The cost to do an app run — either solo or at a group event — is just $28. Every bit of that goes to the charitable foundation. That is quite a bargain, since you also get a code to order an Adidas Wings for Life race shirt at no extra cost. A performance shirt of this quality could easily cost $28 on its own. I’m not sure how it works in other countries, but in the U.S. you ordered from Adidas direct with free FedEx shipping. You couldn’t pick up the shirt at the race itself.

There’s also a way to fundraise through the app, by getting people to sponsor you for every mile you complete (with caps if they are afraid you might run too far).

Once registered, you can use the app for training runs with the virtual catcher car in pursuit. I’m not sure there’s much purpose in using it multiple times, but I found it helpful to try it out to make sure I’d be familiar with how it works on race day. With training runs — unlike the race-day run — you control the start time by pressing a button and can also choose how long before the virtual catcher car will start moving.

The New York course

I non-revved to New York on Alaska Airlines the day before the race. I arrived in time to check out the start location and the course. And with time for an arrival visit to the Alaska Lounge at JFK — the only one of that airline’s very nice lounges I had yet to visit.

The New York Wings for Life course is along part of the Hudson River Park, a narrow park that stretches along much of the west side of Manhattan from lower to midtown. It’s the closest bit of land the passengers sitting on the left-hand side of Captain Sully’s plane would have seen if they looked out their window after his celebrated landing on the Hudson River. The park is quite varied and passes by numerous piers. Runners share a multi-use track with bikes and walkers. It’s really an ideal location for a Manhattan run.

The course begins at Pier 84 — more or less abeam West 43rd Street, if you are familiar with Manhattan — and heads to Pier 62 about 1.2 miles to the south where runners turn around.

Aviation throwback: the Manhattan VFR corridor

Walking the course the day before the race, and looking at the Hudson River and the helicopter traffic along it, I recalled the days in the early 1990’s when I flew our Cessna 172 in a loop around Manhattan. We kept the plane for a while at the Westchester County Airport, just south of the Connecticut border. And in those days, you could fly down from there along the Hudson River, then past the Statue of Liberty, before looping northward up the East River back toward Westchester via the Long Island Sound.

It was largely uncontrolled airspace at the altitude we flew. There was a Visual Flight Rules (VFR) corridor, a narrow airway limited by a ceiling of 1,100 feet, except you did have to check in with Kennedy Tower at one point on the East River. While my wife is the professional pilot in our family, and I was only a licensed amateur, I did fly the Manhattan circle as the only pilot on board at least once. It’s not something I could quite imagine myself doing today. But back in those days, I could not have imagined myself running half marathons. So life takes its twists and turns.

I’m not sure how possible it is to fly the Manhattan circle these days. A combination of 9-11 and a midair between a helicopter and a fixed wing aircraft in 2009 — as well as some near misses — resulted in this airspace now being much more tightly controlled and restricted than in the days when one could just fly the route on a whim.

The race day experience

I got to Pier 84 on race morning at around 6:30 A.M., a half hour before the start. Normally, I don’t run in the race shirts for a particular event. But I made an exception here, since I figured that with a small event sharing a track with other people, the Wings for Life shirt would enhance a spirit of community. Most other participants also wore theirs.

There weren’t many people there when I arrived, but there was a table set up where you collected a bib with your name and race number. There were also cans of Red Bull on offer and a large keg of water. While at a global level, the race is professionally arranged, the local group runs are generally the work of volunteers who make them happen. I think some in New York were Red Bull employees.

With a race like this with no timing chip and everything coming from the app, the bib is of little practical purpose, but it somehow reinforces the feeling of being in a race. This was the first race bib I have come across where you peel off a backing so that it just sticks onto the shirt. It’s a great idea and much better than the usual safety-pin system. I imagine it would be a bit more complicated to design if the back of the bib also had to house a timing chip. But it shouldn’t be impossible, so I would like to think “sticky” is the future of bibs.

Runners picking up their bibs were also asked to sign a paper waiver in addition to the electronic one they agreed to when registering. No doubt that was necessary — including to protect the local organizers — but it required a lot of filling out tedious details and led to a long line developing as more runners appeared. I started to wonder whether the line would clear before the race started, and I’m not sure it really did. But there was nothing to stop runners from abandoning the paperwork and taking off.

There was an inflatable arch to mark the start line. But there was no real ceremony at the start, other than via the app. There were no local announcements of any type. Rather, everyone was tuned into the audio on the app, which had a motivational build-up in the 15 minutes or so leading to start time. And when the app announced the race was started, everyone just began to run. You didn’t have to press “start” — if the app is launched, it starts tracking you at the precise moment the worldwide race begins. If you don’t run right away, you lose time to build up distance from the catcher.

There was a hydration station at the turnaround point, and at least one course marshal on the way at a fork where there could be some confusion as to which path to take. There were also race photographers. However, photographs weren’t offered for sale, and I couldn’t find any from the New York event on the Wings for Life website after the race.

The official results showed that the number of runners who took part in the New York event was just 142. So most people who signed up did not show up. Maybe that’s what happens when a race is quite inexpensive and you then get sent the free shirt ahead of time. Perhaps people aren’t as vested as they would be if they paid over $100 and then had be there for the shirt. Or maybe there are some people who are just happy to donate to the cause but never fully intended to run.

Another possibility is to do with the final course differing from what was originally shown on the app. When I registered, the course was shown as starting around Pier 57 and headed northward. The new location was announced in an email sent to registered New York runners in the week before the race, but without any acknowledgement there had been a change. Although the app itself showed the new location by race day, I wondered whether some runners might not have got the memo and shown up at the wrong pier. I did not realize it had changed until the day before the race when I went to check out the course. Had I not done my eve-of-race reconnaissance, I might have gone to the wrong place.

I did notice that the turnout rate at the Santa Monica event was higher. Although there were fewer runners than in New York, the proportion of no-shows was much less. Maybe that’s because it draws runners who work in the Red Bull U.S. headquarters where that course starts.

But while the New York event was smaller than I had expected, it had an upbeat and friendly vibe. I was happy to be there.

The inverted dynamic

The race organizers emphasize that Wings for Life is all about distance, not speed, per se. They say on the website: “Your result is not how quickly you run, but the distance you cover.” But while that is technically true, how quickly you run does dictate how much distance you cover. So although the result is expressed differently, this is still, ultimately, a race about speed.

However, the “catcher car” system means that the overall dynamic of a race is inverted. In a conventional race, the fastest runners are on the course for the least amount of time. Speedy runners will be smugly taking showers while others are still huffing and puffing toward the finish line. With this run, the opposite is the case. The faster you run, the longer you run — because you’re keeping a greater distance from the catcher car. And with the way the physics and numbers work out, the outcome is not linear but more exponential — if one runner is 10 percent faster than another, he or she will actually run a distance somewhat more than 10 percent longer. I found my head spinning a bit when trying to compute the mathematics of it all. But the app does have a tool that predicts how long the car will take to catch you if you run at various paces.

The fastest global runner in 2024 — a 30-year-old in Japan — covered over 43 miles. To do that, he must have run at a pace of around five minutes per mile according to the calculator tool on the app. The fastest runner at a Flagship event was a 25-year-old in Vienna who covered about 42 miles.

At the roughly 9:30 pace I was managing in half marathons last year, I would have covered a bit over 10 miles. But I went into the race with low expectations about how long I would stay ahead of the catcher car. My times overall are well down compared with a year ago, for reasons that may have something to do with two bouts of Covid and a two-month running hiatus due to an injury. Hopefully not also to do with age, but you never know. So I managed just under 6.4 miles before the catcher caught up with me after I had been running for about one hour and 12 minutes. So almost a quarter marathon. Still, that placed me 376 out of 965 in my Division worldwide (male 65-69). And second in my Division in New York City (although, in the interests of full transparency, there were only two of us!).

Comparing my time with that of the fastest runner illustrates the exponential mathematics of this race: the fastest runner — the guy in Japan — ran a little over twice as fast as me, but, by being able to stay ahead of the catcher car for much longer, was able to cover over six times as much ground. In a conventional race, by contrast, my metric — time to the finish line — would be half as good that of someone twice as fast as me.

So although this race tries to stress inclusiveness for all abilities, one could argue that the emphasized metrics accentuate the gap between the truly fast and the mere recreational weekend warriors.

The finish is where you’re caught

When you get caught, your race is over. There is obviously nothing to stop you running back to where you started if you want — but it’s not going to change your result. I was pretty close to the start line when I was caught, and I then walked there to see whether anything was happening. But there was really no finish line action there, because the finish is different for every runner. And if you finish well away from the start location, you could just call it a day and head home from wherever you are.

I imagine that is the case with the Flagship events, too. I suppose that’s one downside of this race format — no finish line festivity if everyone just peels away at the point of being caught. But I’m not one to linger much at finish lines, so it didn’t bother me.

Consistent with the absence of a conventional finish line, there were no medals. At least, I don’t think there were, unless I somehow missed them. I did later notice some photographs on the race website of runners somewhere in the world who did get medals, but that may have been a local thing.

Runners at the New York event were invited to congregate after the race at an Italian restaurant with a brunch menu. But with an uncertain day of traveling standby back to California, I headed off to the airport after showering at my hotel. However, with time for a stop at one of United’s impressive revamped Newark lounges.

Conclusion

However or wherever you run it, the Wings for Life World Run is a unique race for a great cause. And it is also priced very affordably compared with conventional races — plus every penny you pay goes to the charity. While the group app runs are generally quite small events, you still get to be part of something much bigger. Having got a flavor of the event, I am tempted to do one of the Flagship races in Europe next year. ✈️ 🏃

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Flying in Business Class is expensive. But if you want a premium travel experience, it costs a lot less on a train.

Trains in many countries have long offered sleeping cars — often called “sleepers” — where travelers get to enjoy beds in cozy compartments. Sometimes just one bed, sometimes two or more. Ocasionally with a private bathroom. I suppose that is the train equivalent of a First Class Suite on an Emirates A380. Minus the Dom Perignon and caviar.

I’m a big fan of sleepers. I’ve traveled in them in Europe, India, and elsewhere. Once I traveled from Moscow to Beijing by sleeper train with my then nine-year-old daughter. And later from Santa Barbara to New York with my then 12-year-old son.

Some people consider sleeping cars on trains to be roughing it. However, I always remind myself what it would cost if one was traveling like this on a plane.

But much less common are airline-style, lie-flat sleeping pods. In other words, a train equivalent of modern airline long-haul Business Class. The best you can normally hope for on a train if you aren’t in a sleeping car is a decent recliner — something a bit like domestic First Class or international Premium Economy on a plane.

But recently, I came pretty close to enjoying the full Business Class seating experience on a train. It happened in Indonesia.

Making it to Indonesia

My son — a college sophomore — and I made a short trip to Indonesia over his spring break. It was meant to be a visit to a former Dutch colony immediately after running a half marathon in Holland — just like we had gone to Mozambique, a former Portuguese colony, a year earlier right after running one in Lisbon. But, as narrated in another post, the standby travel gods prevented us from making it to Holland and we ended up doing a last-minute 10K in Dubai instead. Although missing Holland stripped the trip of its geo-historical symmetry, we pressed on to Indonesia regardless.

The day after the race, we flew on Emirates from Dubai to Jakarta (not lying flat). And the plan was to take a series of three trains across the island of Java, the most populous of the Indonesian islands and the home to the country’s capital.

Train 1: The Jakarta airport train

The first train was only from the airport to the city center. But the Rail Link, as it is known, is worth mentioning, as it is an excellent local train that provides a good introduction to the country’s really outstanding rail system.

The Rail Link takes you through the outskirts of this huge metropolis skirting a variety of neighborhoods, including some shanty town areas visitors would otherwise rarely get to see, before taking you into the city center.

Jakarta arrival

We were in Jakarta for two nights. We stayed at the Mandarin Oriental, a short walk from where we exited the Rail Link, and a long way in spirit from some of the nearby neighborhoods we had just seen from the train. I wouldn’t normally have stayed in such a fancy hotel on a trip like this (I’m generally more of a three-star guy these days). But Jakarta is one of the least expensive major cities in the world. The Mandarin cost us only $140 a night, not much more than some places a lot less nice.

I recall staying at the original Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong many years ago, before it spread its geographical wings. In some ways, it — and the Peninsula in Kowloon across the Hong Kong Bay — were the trailblazers of today’s genre of luxury hotels in East and South East Asia. Candidly, the Jakarta property was not quite on a par in detail with other Mandarin Orientals at which I have stayed, the Hong Kong one, as best as I can remember it, and those in London, Munich, and San Francisco. But it was good enough by far. And the outstanding staff more than made up for any cutbacks from the original formula.

We checked in on the eve of Ramadan. Indonesia is not a dry country. But it is a mostly Moslem nation. And we were informed that an order had gone out that all hotel bars were to close that night and the following one. Fortunately, right across the road was the Skye Bar at the top of a 56-floor tower, which for some reason was not subject to the Ramadan order — and it, with its outdoor terrace, proved quite the happening place. The Mandarin even gave us buy-one-get-one-free coupons.

Walking in Jakarta

Most visitors to Indonesia don’t linger in Jakarta. But the city of over 11 million people is well worth a day or two. Forget about formal sight seeing. The “sights” on any guided tour really are not all that interesting. It’s more a matter of wandering the city to get feel for it and viewing life on the streets rather than spending time behind the doors of monuments or museums.

On the plane from Dubai, I worked out a rough walking itinerary — which included a number of “sights” as waypoints rather than destinations — and we ended up covering around 12 miles on foot in the sweltering heat the day after we arrived.

Jakarta is not a classically walker-friendly city, to put it mildly. In fact, walking in the city is a bit of an adventure when it comes to dodging traffic. But the hair-raising moments are rewarded by a constant stream of interesting urban detail.

At one point, a bunch of kids — I wondered if they were a local street gang — dove into fierce traffic to stop it to allow us to cross as we were stuck on a center divider with buses and trucks barreling down on each side. I was fully expecting the kids who stopped the traffic to demand money. That is the way of the world. But they didn’t. I might have given them something anyway, but it all happened too quickly.

This is typical of Jakarta — there is virtually no hustling. Just about no one tries to separate tourists from their money in any sort of agressive or sketchy manner. Perhaps one of the reasons is there isn’t much of a tourist industry in the city. If your business model is to rip off tourists, you probably wouldn’t have enough of a market to make it worthwhile. This makes Jakarta a curiously chill city to visit, amidst the moderate chaos on the street.

I wouldn’t say central Jakarta is awash with agreeable places to stop for lunch once you get away from where most hotels are located. But a notable exception is the very atmospheric and stylish Café Batavia toward the north in the old Dutch colonial portion of the city — which is also by far the most pedestrian-friendly part of town. Though styled as a “café,” the Batavia is really more of a restaurant. It’s well worth a visit if you want to imagine yourself in the Jakarta of many years ago. We enjoyed some nasi goreng, the traditional Indonesian fried rice dish. Like the Skye Bar, the Batavia didn’t seem to be on the distribution list of the authorities’ Ramadan memo. So we washed down our lunch with some locally brewed Bintang beer.

Jakarta’s existentialist issues

Jakarta faces some existentialist issues. As a consequence of excessive groundwater extraction, rapid urbanization, and rising sea levels due to climate change, 40 percent of the city is currently below sea level. Parts are sinking at up to 10 inches a year and/or are prone to chronic flooding. Building new infrastructure is a challenge.

The government’s response is to plan on building a new capital city — to be named Nunsantara — around 800 miles away on the far less populated island of Borneo. That’s all very well for the political classes, but it is unclear what will happen to the rest of Jakarta’s population. Or what effect it would have on the cohesion of the nation for its capital to be located so far from the traditional major population centers.

Indonesia is the not the only country to have recently come up with the idea of moving capitals. Myanmar began the process some years go. Egypt has ambitious plans to do the same. Somehow, I doubt any of these plans will end well. Sort of like plans to colonize Mars as an alternative to fixing the problems of planet Earth. That said, Brasilia provides an example of a “new” capital city that worked, although that wasn’t really a matter of giving up on the old one, Rio. However, Brasilia was a long time in the making — the idea of a capital city in the country’s interior was first proposed in 1789. On that timeline, Nunsantara wouldn’t be ready until around 2190.

A low-profile giant

The future of the capital is not the only aspect of Indonesia that seems uncertain. Another is the country’s future as a global power. Indonesia has the world’s fourth largest population, behind India, China, and the United States. And it is by far the largest Moslem nation. But in some ways, it keeps a remarkably low profile in world affairs. It is sometimes referred to as a “sleeping giant.” It is also not especially well connected. There are no direct flights from the United States, for example, and fewer than you might expect from Europe.

Whether Indonesia will become more of an active global force in years ahead — and if so how and whether this could involve pivoting to become a more hard-core Islamic state — remains to be seen.

Buying train tickets in Jakarta

One of the stops on our 12-mile urban hike was Jakarta’s main railway station, Gambir Station. Our plan was to travel the following day to Yogyakarta, a regional capital in the south-central part of Java. And we wanted to buy tickets and make reservations.

There are ways to buy tickets for Indonesian trains online. Seat61 — a website that is an excellent resource for planning train travel throughout the world — provides some pointers. But it is not necessarily straightforward. And when traveling by train in Indonesia, you still need a boarding pass, which can only be obtained at the station within three days of departure. So we decided just to go to the station a day in advance to do the ticketing and reservations, and get the boarding pass, all in one go. It proved surprisingly easy. (But bring your passport when booking tickets at the station. They will ask to see it. Don’t ask me why they need it.)

Indonesian trains offer various classes of travel, but the fastest only have various forms of “Eksekutif” class, which — as you might imagine from the “Executive”-sounding term — is a premium class. Other trains also offer “Bisnis” and “Ekonomi” class. I’m sure all of those are fine, but you would be mistaken if you imagined that “Bisnis” on an Indonesian train is the closest they offer to what “Business” is on an airline. If you want their finest, you need to focus on Eksekutif.

Eksekutif itself comes in various levels, starting with ordinary two-abreast reclining seats, which looked decent but nothing special. The very helpful ticketing agent spoke a little English and I showed her the picture from Seat61 of the type of Eksekutif lie-flat pod I was hoping to book. The site explained these had been introduced in 2018 and offered one-abreast pod-style seating on each side of the aisle.

Unfortunately, the agent said this was not being offered. It was unclear whether it was no longer offered on any type of train systemwide, which would surprise me given this was, apparently, a fairly new product. But she indicated it was not available on any train between Jakarta and Yogyakarta the following day. She told me there was a newer version, “Eksekutif Lux,” and seemed to indicate it had replaced what I was looking for — at least on this route. However, this only offered a 1-2 configuration with a bit less of a pod-like experience. So it seemed a bit of a downgrade.

The agent also offered the option of private, one-bed Exexcutif sleeper rooms on an earlier train. Maybe that was the top-end replacement for the pod I was hoping for. But we didn’t want to sequester ourselves in separate rooms on a day train. We wanted an airline Business Class equivalent, not Emirates First Class.

So we went with two “Eksekutif Lux” seats. And we were out of the station — tickets and boarding passes in hand — in no time. I wouldn’t say the tickets were especially cheap. They were around $72 each. That would be a very good deal in Europe or North America for a roughly 300-mile journey. But in Indonesia, it’s more than you might expect.

Train 2: Jakarta to Yogyakarta

Our train to Yogyakarta left at 8:50 AM. We arrived at the station with plenty of time to spare, so were able to spend 20 minutes or so in the “Luxury Lounge” to which our tickets gave us access. It was a pleasant spot with light refreshments and comfortable seats.

We then moved to the platform about 10 minutes before the scheduled departure. After the train pulled in, we figured out which was the Lux carriage, as it was the only one with an elegantly gowned train attendant there to greet passengers.

The seats turned out to be somewhat pod-like. They actually offered more privacy than some airlines’ Business Class. They reclined pretty far back with an extended leg-rest, but not to fully lie-flat. And that was fine. Other than a short post-lunch siesta, I didn’t want to sleep — preferring instead to look outside the window as we traversed the island of Java.

Trains provide a much cleaner way to see a country than cars or buses. Roads require their own unsightly infrastructure and tend to spawn a cluttered sprawl. Trains, by contrast, cut a crisp line through the towns and countryside through which they pass, leaving their surroundings largely undisturbed.

The fast train from Jakarta to Yogyakarta takes about six hours. The route starts on the north side of the island of Java, before cutting inland southeast toward Yogyakarta where the topography becomes more varied.

An iconic sight when traveling by train in Indonesia — and it began on the train from the airport — are the lines of scooters at crossings. Far more people in Indonesia use scooters than cars to get around.

The train attendant brought lunch — chicken and rice — to our seats. We could choose when to have it. The food was fine, and there was more of it than you would usually get on an Economy Class flight. I believe there was a diner car elsewhere on the train for non-Lux passengers wanting to buy lunch.

There was no alcohol. I don’t think that was just a Ramadan thing. But there’s no rule as far as I could tell that you can’t bring your own, and we brought some cans of Bintang we’d picked up on arrival at the Jakarta airport. (By the way, don’t believe stories on the Internet that you can’t buy alcohol on arrival at Jakarta airport. You can, both duty free before passing through customs and, if you missed that, in the arrivals hall and — for beer only — at kiosks just outside. At least, as of March 2024.)

I would certainly advise some discretion when drinking your own alcohol on the train out of courtesy to others, especially during Ramadan. But there was hardly anyone in our carriage and the crew did not bat an eyelid when they saw me putting empty cans in the trash. Besides, the mere fact we were served lunch indicates that non-Moslems are not expected to observe Ramadan fasting on the train.

The train was super clean. I found this applied to all three trains we took in Indonesia. That included the spotless bathrooms.

Yogyakarta sojourn

Coincidentally, my brother was staying in Yogyakarta. And we joined him for two nights at a place called D’Omah Hotel And Village Resort, a charming hotel just outside the city with rooms and villas scattered among lush gardens. Some have their own private pools or jacuzzis. The hotel is at the edge of a village. In fact, a village road runs through part of the hotel property, so it is not one of those places where you feel cut off from local life. The hotel is owned by an Australian who happens to be the Honorary Consul in Yogyakarta for both Mexico and Portugal.

The day after we arrived, we hired a driver to take us to Borobudur and Prambanan temples. Borobudur, dating back to AD 778, is the largest Buddhist temple in the world. Prambanan, going back to around AD 850, is the largest Hindu one in Java.

Train 3: Yogyakarta to Surabaya

Our third train took us back toward the north side of the island and further over to the east as we headed from Yogyakarta to the city of Surabaya.

The ticketing at Yogyakarta was a bit different from how it was at Jakarta. As we were looking for the ticketing window, an agent whose actual job was to check the tickets and boarding passes of people trying to get to their train took us under her wing and made reservations for us on her phone. We then had to go and get cash from an ATM, take the cash to a convenience store just outside the station with a booking code the agent gave us. At the convenience store, we lined up behind people buying snacks, etc., and, when we got to the front, we handed over our money and were then given a print-out with a ticket number. We took that back to the agent who guided us to a machine where we entered the number, whereupon the machine printed out our tickets and boarding passes. So it all worked out, though I suspect there must also be an option of just going to a ticket counter and paying with a credit card as we had in Jakarta.

This time, the choice of seats was different. The Lux pods were not available, but instead we were offered something called Panoramic. As the name suggests, this class — the best available on this route and I imagine a further subset of Eksekutif — offers huge windows and skylights. The two-abreast seating was comfortable, but only offered standard recline.

The windows were great for taking in the passing countryside. But the scenery was generally flatter than what we saw from the previous train, which isn’t what I was expecting. If you could only do one of the routes by train, I would go with Jakarta to Yogyakarta.

As on the Lux train, our Panoramic tickets also included lunch brought to our seats. The train attendants on this route had less fancy uniforms, but were equally helpful and friendly.

Surabaya’s aviation past

Surabaya is the second largest city on Java. Aside from Jakarta, it is the only one with international flights.

In the early days of international aviation, Surabaya featured more prominently on route maps than it does now. It used to be a stop on the flying boat services operated by Imperial Airways — a forefather of British Airways — and Qantas connecting the UK with Australia. And Amelia Earhart landed there in 1937 as part of her attempted circumnavigation of the world, less than a week before her plane vanished in the Pacific.

Our visit to Surabaya was brief, but we stayed for a night in an old-world hotel, the Majaphit, which evoked Surabaya’s past. The hotel was founded by a scion of the Sarkies family, an Iranian family that developed a hospitality empire in South East Asia at the end of the 19th century: they opened the Eastern & Oriental Hotel in 1880 in Penang, Malaysia, the Raffles Hotel in 1887 in Singapore, and the Strand in Rangoon in 1901. I have stayed in all three of those. Raffles became by far the most famous. The Majaphit, originally named the Oranje, was opened in 1910. But unlike Raffles, which has been “upgraded” to modern-day luxury, the Majaphit remains somewhat more intact — in other words, not as modernized as you might expect, but all the more charming as a result and quite well priced.

We left the country from Surabaya, non-revving on Cathay Pacific to Hong Kong, where we stopped for 36 hours before continuing our circumnavigation of the globe back to the United States. ✈️

The Skechers Performance Run in Dubai was held on March 10, 2024. The event consists of four distances — 16K (not a very standard distance, but it’s about 10 miles), 10K, 5K, and 3K. I found myself unexpectedly in Dubai that weekend and chose to run the 10K.

An unplanned event

This wasn’t a race I was meant to run. I was meant be taking part in a large half marathon in The Hague in Holland with my son that day. The plan had been for the two of us to fly from Miami — where he’s a college sophomore — to Amsterdam on KLM, getting us in more than 24 hours before the start of that race.

But, as with all my travels these days, we were flying standby using staff travel benefits. And loads on KLM are unusually hard to check. To cut a long story short, we didn’t get on the flight. There were seven standbys and only four — all KLM employees — made it on.

So there we were airside at the Miami airport, wondering what to do. All the other flights to Europe that day were looking full, and we were by no means the only standbys trying to get there. There wasn’t time to get to another gateway city further up the East Coast. So it began to seem unlikely we could get to Holland in time for the race. We retreated to the Turkish Airlines lounge to contemplate options. That lounge is part of the Priority Pass network and, although it can be crowded at times, is a nice spot — especially if you like Turkish food.

Standby travel calls for flexibility. That goes along with the amazing freedom it provides. Our plan for this trip had always been to head from Holland to Indonesia, a former Dutch colony, to spend a few days exploring the island of Java before returning to the United States. So we figured out a Plan B and started to look at flight options headed toward Indonesia, but cutting out Europe and missing the race.

The loads on Qatar and Turkish Airlines looked unpromising. But it turned out Emirates had a flight going out to Dubai in a few hours with 83 empty seats. So we listed ourselves standby on that, confident we would get on.

Injury time

Maybe the race in The Hague was not meant to be (for me). I was recovering from an injury that made me pause running at the start of the year for a month, causing me to miss the Miami Half in January for the second year in a row (the time before, I was sick). And although I was running again more than a month before the race in Holland, I was not where I’d normally want to be in terms of fitness and strength for a half marathon. But I really wanted to do the race and so stubbornly pressed on with my plans. Maybe not getting on that KLM flight was the running gods’ way of telling me I wasn’t ready to do a half marathon.

Plan C: A last-minute idea

Our Plan B involved not lingering in Dubai after the 14-hour flight from Miami. Maybe we’d spend a few hours lounge-hopping while in transit, but we didn’t plan to leave the airport. We’d already spent some time in Dubai two or three years earlier and I had also been there with my daughter more than 10 years ago enjoying some R&R after a trip to Iran. Not to mention having once been there on my own in the 1980s — flying from London on the upper deck of a Pan Am 747 — when the city was unrecognizable from what it is today.

But as we were about to board our Emirates flight in Miami, it occurred to me that maybe there might be some sort of a running event that weekend in Dubai. After all, we had our running stuff with us. If not The Hague, why not somewhere else?

Thus began Plan C. I began to research the possibilities and learned about the Skechers Endurance event taking place that Sunday morning — 12 hours after we landed in Dubai. There was just time to register, and I signed up using the inflight WiFi. So Plan C was to spend a night in Dubai, run the race in the morning, and then try to head to Jakarta on the next available flight.

Although our original plan had been to run a half marathon in Holland, I went with the 10K — not the 10-mile — distance in Dubai. We’d be running after a much longer journey, and would likely only have had a few hours sleep, at most, in the hotel.

Arriving in Dubai on the Saturday night, we forewent the usual pre-race pasta dinner for a classic Middle Eastern mixed grill with hummus and rice.

The race-day experience

The races began at 7 AM the next morning. With jet lag, we were awake before the 4:45 AM alarm I’d set. The start line for all the distances is at a school a few miles from the city center. I wasn’t sure how easy it would be to get there by taxi, so we left the hotel with plenty of time to spare. But getting there proved a breeze.

The window for packet pickup was just 30 minutes from 6:15 until 6:45 AM. We arrived early, but the desks were already open. Everyone picks up their bib on race morning. I was pleased to see that despite our last-minute registration, our names appeared on the printed list of bib numbers.

This is not a large event. The organizers sent out an email later in the day saying that over 500 people took part over the four distances, which felt about right. Nonetheless, I was impressed by how full-service it all was. The race had many of the hallmarks of something much larger — a big-name sponsor, fully closed roads, ample volunteers, timing chips on the bibs, decent race shirts (included in registration), nice medals, plenty of water stations along the course, and course photographers (with free downloads). All this for around $50 for the 5K and 10K. I think the 10-miler was a bit more.

The porta-potties were quite nice. Mine had a potted plant on the counter. And there was bottled water and some snacks in the start area while runners milled around.

The 10-milers went out promptly at 7 AM with the 10K starting minutes later. The 10K out-and-back course is a T-shape for the most part. The 10-milers follow much the same route, but run one portion twice.

The course is flat except for some very slight inclines and declines and one short uphill onto a bridge. It goes through an area known as Meydan, which is a large low-rise urban development project — including a horse-racing course — that has apparently been underway for a good many years but feels far from finished. I wouldn’t say the urban landscape was especially interesting, but it was all new to me, had a fair amount of greenery, and was perfectly pleasant. At one point, the course passes close to a mosque. And at another, there were views of the city-center high rises in the distance.

The weather in Dubai can be quite mild in March. But by the time I finished the race, the temperature was almost 70 degrees. The day before, there had been some significant rain, and the air still felt moist.

I’ve observed over the years that smaller races tend to have larger proportions of fast runners. I’d say that applied here, but the race does attract runners of all levels. For myself, I had few ambitions on this occasion, other than, ideally, to finish at a pace of 10-something minutes per mile, slower than I’d normally aim for in a 10K, which I managed to do.

There were snacks, water, and juice boxes at the end of the race. And after getting their medal, runners were then able to hand over their bibs in return for a shirt. I wondered whether the reason they wanted the bibs back — an unusual request — is because the timing chips are reusable.

Final thoughts

Overall, this was a very well organized event with a good vibe and a lot of positive energy. I was glad I switched to Plan C after Holland fell through.

Although I didn’t realize it at the time, this event is one of a series of similar Skechers Performance Runs in Dubai during the city’s running season. (Don’t even think of running in Dubai during the summer. It’s hard enough to walk.) I believe they all follow this same course. So if you’re visiting Dubai in a month other than March, you may want to check out the dates. The organizers also put on some other races, including a couple in the Dubai harbor and waterfront area, which might have more interesting courses.

Most of my reviews on this blog are of bucket-list races. But this one provided a reminder of how smaller ones can have a lot to offer. No one is likely to plan a trip to Dubai especially in order to run this race. But my experience illustrates why if you are visiting or passing through a distant city anyway, it can be a fun idea to check out the local race calendar. Smaller races tend to be low stress and can be a great part of your overall travel experience.

Lastly, although this weekend was meant to be my first half marathon since Tokyo almost five months earlier, I was actually glad I ended up running the shorter distance. A 10K is great workout, but is also a lot more doable than a half marathon if you’re coming back from an injury or just not really ready for the longer distance. The Dubai race, together with the challenging 10K I ran in Ethiopia a month after Tokyo, reminds me to pay more attention to this distance when planning my fly-run calendar. ✈️ 🏃