In Pittsburgh...

View from my hotel window, the Pirates stadium, Pittsburgh

First, the flight. It was fine. No turbulence, nothing. Despite the captain saying something about the possible of 'weather' as we crossed the Atlantic, there was zilch, not even a great deal of cloud until, admittedly we were flying at almost 40,000 feet and when I looked down, way down, there was a blanket of white cloud like cotton wool balls tightly sewn together, but it wasn't in the slightest bit bothersome and remained that way until we were on the ground. What did the pilot mean when he said there might be the possibility of 'weather'? There's always weather, whether it's good or bad, there can never NOT be weather. The flight was long but bearable and the only thing that let down those on the flight deck was the hard landing which, it has to be said, wasn't exactly textbook.

40,000 feet from earth...

Having disembarked, immigration was as easy as pie, no huge queues, no connecting flights to miss and after around 35 minutes in a cab, we were checked in at the Residence Inn and safely ensconced in our rooms. It was around 2100hrs and neither myself nor my colleague Pete were interested in anything other than hitting the sack, which we did, in adjoining rooms, although we didn't know it until we discussed it later the following day that we were, in fact, 'neighbours'.

I slept reasonably well considering. I awoke at 0130hrs, but it was bright outside and I thought it was lunchtime. Foolish me! It was very early in the morning, and I'd had around four hours' sleep. I'm always told not to get out of bed and not to start writing. I've tried that before and the end result is I stay up until it's breakfast time, laptop on and writing for England, well, for myself actually, but it's not a good idea. By mid-morning I'm wasted, so on this occasion I did as I was told, lay there and eventually fell asleep, waking around 0630hrs and then waiting for breakfast.

The shower was proficient, it worked. It wasn't the most powerful, but it wasn't the weakest and, like the flight the day before, it did the trick; the only thing that really got my goat (as always) was the shampoo and shower gel being screwed to the wall. Clearly, the Residence Inn doesn't trust its guests, like so many hotels these days.

Mid-flight to Pittsburgh...

The room was huge: a double bed, a flatscreen television, fridge, mini hob, dishwasher, plates, bowls and so forth. I could have saved a fortune and entertained my colleagues in my room. Pete's room was the same; there was also a sofa, a desk, a smaller desk or console table, a table and chairs at which I could have sat after making my meal, there was a sink and a coffee maker and, of course, there was an oven or a grill, or something that had a door meaning I could have made something special if I was that way inclined. In short, I could have lived in the room long-term. 

Out of the window and directly across the road was the Pittsburgh Pirates stadium (the reason why I thought it was lunch time when I woke up).

As I lay in bed, however, prior to having my shower, I could hear somebody playing a jazzy number on a tuba somewhere nearby and then I remembered that it was the day of the Pittsburgh Marathon. The tuba playing was annoying and catchy, which meant that getting back to sleep wasn't going to be easy. I think I snatched around an extra 40 minutes and then I figured I'd hit the showers and head down for breakfast.

The breakfast offering wasn't that good. There were biscuits and gravy (never an option for an Englishman) but there was also scrambled eggs and pork patties (small burgers basically). I lumped two of them on my plate and later had toast with butter (the toaster being set to 'obliterate' meant blackened toast, but what the hell. A bowl of cereal with added seeds and other healthy 'stuff' completed the most important meal of the day. 

Then, a few minor hassles, linked inextricably to a lack of sleep: I left my key card in my room and my glasses in the breakfast room. Ridiculous. An additional key card meant I could get into my room and retrieve my key cards, which I had left on the desk and then the day began. We wandered around the city among the joggers and their supporters and soon found ourselves on Station Square, close to the Sheraton where, in 2019, I discovered that the hotel had taken my laptop and passport out of the safe and forgot to tell me. Click here for more on THAT story!

Our wander took us everywhere, including a brief stop at Tupelo Honey's for, in my case, a pot of English Breakfast tea, and then we headed off again to register for a conference on the other side of town. It was good to walk and there was no tiredness although now, as I write this, I am feeling a little jaded, but I know that if I climbed into bed I would fall asleep and wake up at some ridiculous hour, like 2130 or 2200hrs, feeling hungry and thirsty and having to sit it out throughout the long night ahead until it was morning and I could go downstairs for another fairly sub-standard breakfast. So, I'm not going to bed, not yet at any rate.

For lunch we stopped at the Westin Hotel and had a burger and fries, or at least I did. It was fine, but, by and large, it's what's available everywhere, and I don't fancy going out for more burgers and fries and some God-awful drink. The problem with not drinking is that beverages become boring: the best thing to have is a sparkling mineral water or a coffee, as most no-alcohol beers are rubbish and it's often impossible to endure more than one of them. I spoke to Paul and told him I wasn't bothered about going out; Pete was interested in going somewhere but not for the whole evening. I was thinking about the early start in the morning (we have to be at the conference by 0800hrs). The plan is to go out for a short while, possibly not eating anything or having something light, but who knows. My aim is to get back to the room early and get a good night's sleep so as to be fresh and ready for the early start, which continues all week. 

The flight was so good that I managed to read a lot of Geddy Lee's My Effin' Life, which is an excellent book. Knowing of Geddy's love for baseball and being across the road from the Pittsburgh Pirates' stadium made me wonder whether he'd be over there watching the game, not that I'd find him, but if I could I'd have asked him to sign the book. Perhaps one day.

As I write this, it's 1630hrs and a long way from dinner. I suppose I could set my alarm for an hour and get some shut eye, but it's best not to; they always say stay up until the night time, the bed time, of the country you're in. Fair enough, I'll do that, except that, as I mentioned above, I started to feel a little weary and certainly not in need of another American food experience. The trouble is, if you want anything you have to go out, there's no restaurant in the hotel, so Pete and I are meeting in the lobby at 1830hrs and we'll nip out for 'a brief one'.