Meandering

There are few things worse than being trapped. Caught in the net. Held captive by smiling but unsympathetic jailers for seemingly endless hours. But, occasionally, it actually turns out to be worth it. This was one of those times.

The flight was from Saipan to Nagoya—Nagoya airport in itself is a trial—to Detroit city to Orlando. Twenty-three hours learning to empathize with a canned tuna! The airplane’s seats are too narrow, the atmosphere held at 6 percent humidity—drink water, lots of water—at which level of atmospheric wetness medically defined dehydration is a distinct possibility. Thankfully the layovers in the airports were not tortuously lengthy.

Arriving in a city at an airport unknown to me, I asked around. Nobody ever heard of the place that I was headed for, let alone the event I was intending to attend. Finally, I ran into a lady who said that I could call direct, for free, to any hotel posted on the wall for free. I just had to pick up the phone. I chose a hotel at random. I called the La Quinta West. It was a fortuitous move: they had a shuttle and would be glad to pick me up. They did. I registered—room 212. It was a terrific choice. The room was good, free breakfast in the morning, free internet connection—I am writing this column in room 212, and I will be sending it in via the aforesaid Internet connection. And, above all the people were great, especially the desk clerks; they, unlike most of the people at the airport, knew everything.

For the next three days I was at the Convention Center attending various seminars on topics of truly vital interest to me. In a future column I may extrapolate at length on those; there were five of them.

At any rate, the La Quinta West did have one kinda major drawback: there were only two restaurants within walking distance, McDonald’s on the one side and a small bistro call Fish on Fire on the other. The Mcdonald’s opened at 5am, just for the record. Again, there was nothing else within walking distance but the two restaurants—I did not have a car.

I opted for Mac’s early in the morning, i.e., fiveish. The free Continental breakfast was okay, but I’m a growing boy, and I need more! But at night it was Fish on Fire.

Now, one has to be there to really appreciate the ambiance of the F-on-F. That said, I will do my best to do it justice. Fish on Fire is called Fish on Fire for a reason that is too obvious to need explanation. But, knowing as I do the lethargy with which some folks read newspapers, I will give the reason anyway. Grilled seafood is their mainstay! Boy, is it ever. Fish, shrimp, crab, you name it, they had it and at rationally arrived at prices. I ate there every night I was in town.

The first three nights they also had small combos to entertain the guests—I did say it was a bistro after all. The first night it was bluegrass, I mean we’re talking hardcore Southern music. I never liked bluegrass; I do now. The next night the music was what I shall refer to as crossover country. Crossover in the sense that the singer-guitarist did some pop renditions too. The gentleman could sing. Finally last night a lady named Wendy sang. Her partner in crime was a professor at the local college moonlighting as a singer guitarist. Their musical genre was pop. The two of them were sensational. The nightmarish 19 air hours, the unsympathetic, though efficient flight attendants, the incredibly inefficient Nagoya airport, none of it will ever make me forget the wonderful few days I stayed at the La Quinta West and dined at the Fish on Fire. Great time. Keep them in mind if at any time you find yourself headin’ for Orlando.

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