Red Dirt and Tombstones

"It says the cemetary is off Hwy 21," I mused.

"This isn't 21,"  she said adamantly.

"I know, I know, we're still on Hwy 10." I said defensively.

 "Got the mobile data on?" she asked.

"No. Can't afford it. Right?" I responded.

 "Yes, using mobile data excessively drives the cell phone bill outta sight," she added.
(We had discussed my over indulgence in using mobile data before.)

"It's information I downloaded at home, thank-you very much," I said with a smile.

We were traveling down a country road in Wilcox county, Alabama which was is little southwest of Montgomery. It was a beautiful day in May, and we had just left our  friends in Mobile after a Mother's Day feast of boiled shrimp, corn, potatoes, and sausage piled high on a table surrounded by good friends. But now we were searching for my great-great-great-grandfather's grave. So, there we were, in one of the poorest counties in Alabama looking for a cemetery on a red dirt road.

It was a rural road, a faded strip of asphalt meandering through forests of tall pines and a few open fields, that we followed. Usually, I can find something interesting almost anywhere.  I mean, I find the desert interesting and the empty sea interesting, but nothing caught my interest there. I was looking for tombstones on a ridge, but I was having trouble finding a ridge. We slowed as I thought I saw something behind a double-wide mobile home. But, it was nothing. No ridge. No cemetery.  My imagination, encouraged by anticipation, was affecting my vision. I found a boogie and blues radio station from Montgomery to help stave off the monotony of our quest.

Claudette braked the car abruptly, and I almost dropped my bottle of water.
"Whadaya see?" I asked.

"There were tombstones back there," she said emphatically as she shifted the car into reverse.

"You're not turning around?" I queried.

"No, it's not far," she said.

I cringed slightly. She is not extremely skilled at guiding an automobile in reverse. After a few yards the car stopped.  "See, I said I saw tombstones," she said excitedly.
  

"You're right, but there's a church and there's not supposed to be a church," I added, bursting her bubble.

"At least I found some tombstones," she said, shifting the car into a forward gear. The tires made that chirping sound as we accelerated.

We continued to search Highway 21 south until we saw a sign indicating Monroe County, then retraced our trail to Oak Hill at the intersection of Highways 21 and 10. Claudette pulled the car up close to the fairly modern brick post office.  I thought a rural postmaster would know where the cemetery was.  But, alas, an absentee postmaster could tell me nothing.  I quickly crossed the highway to the store.  It was the other building at the intersection. It  looked as if it could have been a refugee from the war, and I mean the Confederate War. It had those screened doors advertising Merita Bread and tufts  of cotton stuck in the holes in the screens to keep out the flies. As I entered I noticed the sun streaming through the windows making the dust particles in the air sparkle like diamonds.  The display racks were ancient. The interior was like a movie set out of a period film or maybe "Oh, Brother, Where Art Thou"

As I walked over the uneven heart pine floor I was met by a young woman. She was rather tall and slim and was dressed in tattered jeans, flip-flops, and a 'Bama t-shirt.  A spider tattoo on summer-tanned skin peeked out from under her left shirt sleeve. Rings adorned almost every finger, including thumbs, and she wore bracelets. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face in a ponytail, and hoop earrings hung from her earlobes.  The pixie-like face was a bit over made up, and there were crow's feet at the corners of her big brown eyes.  "What canna do fer ya?" she said in that slow honey dripping voice only cultivated by females below the Mason-Dixon Line.

"I'm looking for this cemetery, the Old Hamburg Cemetery," I said.

"Er...I donno,  we better ask Charlie," she said, turning around and walking toward the rear of the store.

A man in an apron appeared from behind a meat counter. The blood smeared apron covered jeans and a blue chambray shirt. His head was round and reminded me of an eight ball as the sun bounced off it. His eyes twinkled behind wire-rimed bifocals as he smiled and said, "Afternoon."

"This is Charlie.  He's been 'round here a long time," Miss Make-up Queen of Highway 21 said.

"I'm trying to find the old Hamburg Cemetery," I said.

"It's right down da road dare," he said, wiping his hand on his apron and then gesturing to his left.

"Not far?" I asked.

"Oh, no. Jus' a coupla miles.  Atta you pass da Allentown road, you'll be dare.  Day say you can see it from da road."

"Just a couple of miles, after the Allentown road and we'll see it?" I repeated his directions.

"Dat's right.  Day say you can see it from da road," he added.

"'Preciate it!" I said, and returned to Claudette waiting in front of the post office.
"We are good to go," I exclaimed. "We have directions!"

We traveled north on Highway 21 looking for landmarks.  Soon we passed a road marked with a sign saying "Allentown Road".  "Slow down, " I said, "We're getting close!"  We continued moving along at a snail's pace, thirty miles per hour. "Look carefully," I advised the driver.

"There is nothing to see, but trees," she retorted.

"I know we've gone more than a couple of miles," I said with some reservation.

"Yes, and seen nothing," she said with a sigh.

"Looks like this road is joining a major highway. We missed it.  Let's turn around and give it another look," I said.

"Okay," she said with resignation in her voice. Her enthusiasm was waning.

"This gives me a chance to look where you looked before," I said, thinking maybe I'd find it.

"What about that dirt road ahead?" she asked, slowing the Acura.

"Why not. Let's check it out.  There was something about a dirt road in the internet description of the place," I said, thinking maybe things were getting better.

"And there was something about a plywood sign saying Hamburg Cemetery too, but I haven't seen it," Claudette answered, as she maneuvered car onto the red dirt road. (Just like in the Brooks and Dunn song.) She slowed as we crossed over a cattle guard. "Wasn't it supposed to be in a pasture?" she asked.

"I don't remember," I said, as we began a climb up a small ridge. "Could this be the ridge?" I thought.  From the top of the ridge we could see the crooked red dirt road leading into a grove of cottonwoods. A herd of about twenty-five Charolais cattle were fairly close by.
"I think we should turn around and get out of this pasture," I said.

"Maybe we should go a little further," she persisted.

"That big Charolais bull seems to have taken an interest in us," I spoke with a sense of urgency.

"But the cemetery could be close by..." she said in an almost inaudible voice.

"Remember how hard that bull hit the fence at the bullfight in Madrid? We felt the splinters in our faces!" I reminded her.

"Okay, okay! I'll turn around," she relented.

"I know how much you like this car," was her sharp retort.

Soon we were back on the main road and looking for that ridge with the tombstones on it. There were no more dirt roads or angry Charolais bulls. No plywood signs. Our search for the Old Hamburg Cemetery and the final resting place of John Young was an exercise in futility. The disc jockey on the radio played: The Rough Side of the Mountain  by the Reverend F. C. Barnes. Later that day we had better success finding the graves of a  number of Claudette's ancestors in Cullman, AL, so all was not lost.

We overnighted in Anniston, AL, where my father had been an M.P. at Ft. McClellan during WWII, and a city to which my mother had hitchhiked over four hundred miles to be with him.  We missed rush hour traffic in Atlanta, as we continued to our home on the Carolina coast where Sophie the Norwegian Forest cat awaited our return.

Porky's is Still There

We all have our favorite eateries, and I'm no exception. Why are they favorites?  I suppose that the reason an eatery is a favorite really depends on the eater. I like a place overlooking water, and I've seen some nice ones around the world. But my favorite is where the Overseas Highway  touches down on Marathon Key on its was to Key West.  I had camped at Bahai Hondo State Park on Bahai Honda Key at the end of the Seven Mile Bridge in 1996 where the raccoons raided my foodstuffs. Last week we stopped by Porky's for lunch.  It's a bit more civilized now, or rather there are more modern buildings around it. The even have sidewalks and lots of places to pull your car over and fish.  (I fear civilization is ruining the keys.) But it still has that charm of sitting right by the beautiful blue water just a few feet from the highway.

Porky's has no walls, the sea breezes just flow right through. There is the constant squawk of sea birds and the low rumble of the fishing boats moving in and out of the tiny harbor. Sport fishing, crab, and lobster boats are tied up all around. The locals and tourists pull their barstools up to the tiny bar together. Cold beer flows. Old rock and country music can be heard, but I can tell by the small stage, guitar, and microphone that live music sometimes happens.  I am confident that when it rains the roof at Porky's never leaks because there is so much stuff attached to the ceiling. The most common thing are those portraits of George Washington. Apparently it is the custom to write your name and date on a one dollar bill and attach it to the ceiling, not unlike the Indian Valley Campground store near Downieville, California. The restaurant has been at mile marker 47.5 bayside since the 1950's, and such notables as Ernest Hemingway,  Jimmy Hoffa, and Elizabeth Taylor have eaten there.


Porky's is a barbecue joint, but when I'm so close to big water, I have to have seafood. Since we were in the former Conch Republic, conch fritters seemed the logical choice.  To accompany them I chose black beans, rice, and fried plantains.  As you may know, a conch is a sea snail, and according to a friend of mine, they are quite difficult to get out of the shell.  But persistant digging with a fork will pay off and...not all of the meat is edible. According to the menu these were Bahamian Conch Fritters, and sure enough, they were tough and chewy just like the ones I had in Nassau. However, the black beans were well seasoned and the rice was spot on. There is something about fried plantains that says, "Hey, you're below the frostline." I believe that it is a culinary law that any food prepared in Miami and points south must have a Cuban flavor.

We enjoyed the brief respite at Porky's, but we needed to get to Miami by nightfall.  If you are ever on Marathon Key on the road that takes forever to get within ninety miles of Havana, stop by Porky's Bayside BBQ Restaurant.  Don't order the conch fritters, and don't look for a one dollar bill with my name on it.

Aeroplanes and Boats

I have always loved airplanes.  In fact the third word I learned to say was "airplane'.  As a toddler I would sit in my high chair while my mom hung out laundry and at the sound of those round motors point my stubby finger skyward and say, "airpwane".Yesterday, I visited the National Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida. I especially enjoyed this because I once served aboard an  aircraft carrier, USS Intrepid. A favorite time of my work day was when I would steal away from my job and watch airplanes take off and land on our flight deck. In naval aviation speak it was to watch launch and recovery of aircraft. In the Naval Aviation Museum they have representatives of all naval aircraft from the very beginning in the early part of the 20th century to some of the latest aircraft that fly today. As you enter this ultra modern facility you'll see an F-14 Tomcat on a pilon. Aviation buffs and movie fans will remember this is the plane that Maverick and Goose flew in the film, Top Gun.  Inside the museum to the right you will find the information counter where you can get free tickets for the tour of the flight line. These are the aircraft awaiting restoration and aren't inside the museum. We opted to do this first because rain threatened. However, when we looked at our tickets we realized that it was an hour before he tour. (We were still getting acclimated to a different time zone.) So we took this opportunity to get some food at the Cubi Point Cafe. Cubi Point was the Naval Air Station in the Philippine Islands. The aircraft carriers I had served on had always tied up at Cubi. Once when the Bon Homme Richard was there the crew consumed 1,100 cases of San Migeul beer. I think our record still stands. For lunch I had a turkey sandwich with bean soup while Claudette had the Subic Bay sandwich. The food was great and the price was quite reasonable unlike many museums.  The decor was all memorabilia of squadrons that had been stationed at Cubi.

Soon it was time for our tour of the flight line.  The bus was one of those busses that look like a trolley car  and we climbed aboard. The driver/tour guide's name was Mac. He was a retired naval aviator who whose squadron was once assigned to the Intrepid. After chatting a few minutes I found out that Mac was on the "Fighting I" the same time I was. He had flown "Queer Spads".   The A-1 "Skyraider" was a single engine propeller driven airplane commonly referred to as a "Spad".  A "Queer Spad" was the ECM or Electronic Countermeasures version which was a four place plane rather than one. During our forty-five minute tour we saw quite a few airplanes and helicopters. Some were WWII vintage but most were newer. There were two planes from the Navy Blue Angels exhibition team, a F/A-18 Hornet and a C-130 Hercules. The support teams C-130 is fondly referred to as "Fat Albert". Our guide was extremely knowledgable and offered great commentary spiced with occasional humor.

Inside the museum the airplanes are displayed according to age, beginning with the early flying boats. Before the advent of the aircraft carriers all Navy planes were flying boats, seaplanes. The WWI life-size dioramas were awesome. There was a design aspect of the carrier based planes that was  to the Museum's advantage.   Carrier planes have folding wings and don't take up as much space. The museum collection is over 150 aircraft but my favorites are those from the so called "Golden Age of Aviation" those years between WWI and WWII. These planes were usually fairly small with one radial engine and one pilot. Biplanes, planes with two wings, are my favorites.  Biplanes such as the 1933 FF-1 which had retractable landing gear and a "greenhouse" canopy.    It was also good to see the planes I had watched take off and land when I should have been working.  The Crusaders, Skyhawks, Willy Fudds, and Skyraiders here were all pristine and clean. There were no exhaust soot, no dirty hand prints, and no duct tape. They were beautiful.  There are also  famous planes as well. The NC4 flying boats that first flew across the Atlantic in 1919.  The F-8 Crusader which was the first Navy fighter to fly twice the speed of sound in level flight. The first Navy fighter to be able to fly straight up was  the F-4 Phantom II.  Other interesting planes were the DC-3 which was the first airplane to land on the South Pole.  There is a Marine helicopter, Marine One, which carried the first American president to resign from the White House. There is also a S3C Viking that a sitting U.S. president landed aboard the aircraft carrier, Abraham Lincoln. Many airplanes hang from the ceiling to better mimic flight and there is a great lighter-than-air exhibit.

I found the aircraft engines, reciprocating and jet, very interesting particularly the cutaway displays. I like to know how things work.  One airplane that isn't mentioned on the website is the Me-262 .  This plane was the first operational jet fighter and the pride of the Luftwaffe. I had seen three of these before but never  a version built with dual controls as a trainer.  There are several representatives of adversary aircraft in the collection even a F-16 with a big red star on the side. The "Fighting Falcon" was used in the Navy's Top Gun school for fighter pilot training as an enemy aircraft. There are a lot of things for kids to do such as climbing into the cockpits of famous fighters, simulators and an IMAX theater. A few sculptures and other artwork are scattered throughout the displays.

It was a great place for a family outing. Normally the Navy's aerobatic team, "The Blue Angels", are practicing at the airstrip behind the museum but no longer, due to budgetary constraints. But there are lots of things for kids do do inside.  There are cockpits to crawl into, simulators to fly and movies to watch.  This kid had a great time.  And... I would visit again.

Art Deco and Cuba Libres

There is a part of Miami Beach that hasn't changed it's appearance since before the 1950's. The architecture here is known as Art Deco.  I had a little familiarity with it having been a big fan of Miami Vice, the television show of the 1980's.  The buildings have unique shapes, many curves and metal integrated into the designs. Supposedly the style comes from Egyptian tombs via Paris. Regardless of its origin the structures are pleasing to the eye particularly in the pastel colors.  The sun was extremely bright as we began our walk sevenish in the morning. There weren't many people out, just the usual joggers, dog walkers and  deliverymen. From our hotel on Washington we walked a few blocks to the beach. The brilliant morning sun was a blinding glare off the sea as I'm sure it was when this was a mangrove swamp. We watched a man towel off his dog.  I think he had bathed him with water from a faucet nearby.  The were some grizzled old men sunning themselves on the benches in the waterfront park.  The pigeons were out in force. With the beach behind us we walked inland and lingered to soak in the ambiance of the area. Many of the buildings appeared quite sculptural to me. On the way back to the hotel we saw the staff at the restaurant Havana 1957 placing silverware on the sidewalk tables in front of the eatery.

The previous afternoon we had eaten dinner there at the suggestion of the hotel operations manager.  In the late afternoon and early evening the Art Deco area of South Beach is alive with energy.  It moves to the rhythm of another country. Memories of Ry Cooder's Buena Vista Social Club and the music thereof drift through my mind. Cooder had ventured to Havanna in 1996 and recorded the music of some of the elderly statesmen of Cuban music. The music of the island of Cuba is everywhere as is the staccato sound of Spanish. But it seems so natural and at home here. The hostess was an attractive young woman with black curls cascading over her bare back.  She directed us to a street side table and our waiter soon joined us.  The young man was quite friendly and a born salesman.  I saw Cuba Libre on the drink menu and had to get reacquainted with something I had found in Brazil many years before. He attempted to upgrade my drink with a more expensive rum but I stuck with the house brand.  Claudette on the other hand was feeling chatty in Spanish and tried a few words before resorting to English.  She discovered the our waiter's name was Juan Carlos.  And that he was not related to the king of Spain by the same name. She had requested a glass of merlot but due to Juan's salesmanship ordered a mojito.  Early in our trip Claudette had wanted to stop by her favorite Cuban restaurant in St. Augustine for ropa vieja but I had reneged. But now she had another opportunity and did not hesitate to order her favorite Cuban dish.  I on the other hand was convinced  by our waiter that the churrasco a la cubana was the dish for me.  Juan Carlos was correct. The flank steak was marinated, grilled, topped with grilled onions and served  with black beans and rice.  It was indeed delicious. Our meal was enjoyable and we enjoyed constant flow of interesting people through our dining area. I do wish the guy on the bike had walked it through.  I would have felt a bit safer. We topped off the meal with flan. It was the creme de la creme of a finish to a great meal. The dining experience will remain one of my most memorable.

Slowly we wandered back to our  hotel.  It was early to bed due to an early start tomorrow.

South of the Frost Line

I spent most of yesterday on a train.  Not a classic steam train or even a commuter train but the Conch  Train. We followed US Highway 1 to it's demise into the southern seas to the island within ninety miles of Havanna, Cuba. The  southern most city in the U. S. of A, Key West, Florida.  After taking the bridge from the mainland which for over one hundred and thirty miles touches down on about  dozen islands US-1 becomes Roosevelt Boulevard in Key West. Fortunately, we found a parking space two blocks off Duval Street.  Duval has been called one of the longest streets in the world because it reaches from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico. My travel companion had a craving for one of the most famous meals in the world as recorded in song by Jimmy Buffett,  "A Cheeseburger in Paradise". Key West has the pay-to-park system now.  Simply insert your credit card or non-plastic currency into a vending machine that spits out a ticket which you place on the dash of your car indicating how much parking time you have purchased. As we walked toward the Margaritaville Cafe,  the Conch Train goes by loaded with aging American tourists and younger Asians.  We wave as the "engineer" expertly guides the train down the narrow streets. Key West  has an ambiance all it's own, more like the islands of the Caribbean than the mainland. We window shop the dozens of shops selling all things tourist  on the way to the restaurant. Our server wears a t-shirt with printed graphic and  white short shorts. Blonde curls tumble over her shoulders and she has the friendly smile of and island girl. We order two of the famous cheeseburgers and a couple of Landshark lagers. (Gotta help boost the size of the Buffett empire!)
Although the song says the the cheeseburger is served with "a cold draft beer" , Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville Cafe does not sell draft beer.  We enjoyed our burgers which filled a need and finished our meal off with a slice of Key lime pie.  I maintain that you can't get decent Key lime pie north of Marathon Key. Back on the street we walked toward Truman Street and the Conch Train station. The store buildings are old along Duval as indeed they are in all of Key West's "old town" and sidewalks are rough.  As we crossed a street we were almost hit by a bicycle built for two. They were natives, I think.  He appeared somewhat aged, shirtless, thin, and wearing flip-flops. His grayshoulder length hair and chest length beard flowed in the sea breeze.  She on the other hand was prim and proper perched on the seat.  She was dressed in a pale print sundress, with wide brim hat, large sunglasses and her light brown hair was in a bun. She had a trim youthful figure and long tapered legs with sandal clad feet that barely reached the bicycle pedals. Her attitude was nonchalant as she touched up her bright red lipstick. We were  on the artsy end of Duval Street known for it's many  galleries. It seems that this part of the street was once populated with bars and various and sundry businesses catering to sailors.  But when he U.S. Navy left Key West in the eighties all those businesses went belly up.   The city in an effort to revitalize sold the buildings for one dollar each to anyone who would restore them.  Many artists bought buildings and created their own galleries.

At the corner of Truman and Duval is one of the four Conch Train stations.  We bought our tickets and were soon aboard.  Since there were passengers already aboard we got very poor seats. We had the last seat in a car.  The absolute worse seat on the train.  They should discount this ticket.  Not only does it face the rear, it is designed for pygmies from equatorial Africa. The train driver/tour guide was a woman with the voice of a sideshow barker. Her feeble attempts humor were disastrous.
At the next station near the sea we got off and went into the Overseas Railroad Museum. It had a lot of information and memorabilia of what was known as "Flagler's Folly". But it was a folly no more when Henry Flagler finished the rail road in 1912.  The 128 mile railroad connected mainland Florida to Key West. In about twenty minutes another Conch Train arrived. This was not our first ride on this kind of train. They are fairly common in tourist areas.  We have ridden them in St.

Augustine  and Carcassonne, France. This driver/tour guide is great, a constant flow of good information from his mouth.  Our train weaves through the narrow as he extolls the virtues of this island at the bottom of thee country. We pass Truman's "Little White House", Ernest Hemingway's house, the southern most house in the U.S.A. and dozens more famous landmarks. One intriguing landmark is the southern most point marker. There must a hundred people there waiting in line to have their picture taken with this cylindrical chunk of concrete. We did not.  There is a Cuban part of the city. Many Cuban immigrated to Key West to work in the cigar industry and their influence is still there. Probably the biggest mark they left are the chickens. Like the Hawaiian Islands, there a free range chickens all over Key West.  It seems that when the Cubans came to the city they brought with  them the sport of cockfighting.  They brought their fighting chickens with them.  When they found that cockfighting was illegal the released all their chickens.  Therefore, they are now are free range chickens.  But these are not ordinary free range chickens they are chickens protected by law. In Florida all wild birds are protected by law.  Since the chickens are no longer considered domesticated they are therefore wild and protected. We passed Mel Fisher's Museum and the Wreckers Museum and other tourist attractions which I found mildly interesting.  And then we were in new town, the part of the city reclaimed from the sea, as the Train traveled on along bougainvillea shrouded lanes.  We passed the old high school building with it's Tiger mascot out front.  The tiger is over twelve feet long and built by the students in the metal shop from an old automobile. If you look closely you'll see that the tail is an exhaust pipe and the white fangs in his mouth are  spark plugs.  The new high school has the conch as it's mascot. I think it would be quite a contest for the "Fighting Conchs" to play the "Fighting Rainbows" in football. (There's a Hawaiian high school with the Rainbow as it's mascot.) Throughout the Florida Keys the conch shell is prominently displayed and locals refer to themselves as conchs. There was once even a Conch Republic.  It seems that in 1982 the U.S. Border Patrol set up a check station controlling all traffic to and from the Florida Keys. The residents of the Keys responded saying that if they were going to be treated like a foreign country they would oblige by succeeding from the union.  The Conch Republic surrendered after a few minutes of independence and then asked for foreign aid.

After the train ride ended we had great barbecue at Daddy Bones  across the street from our hotel. The place has that smokey odor that is only found in barbecue joints. The decor is bight and colorful  with a sofa made of the tail fins of a a 1959 Cadillac. Our food was great and served by a cute tattooed girl with an obvious surgically enhanced bosom.

Thursday morning after a breakfast by the pool at our hotel we met a friend of Claudette's for coffee at Starbucks on Duval Street. The place was packed. No seats could be found.  We walked back up the street and found a bench at St. Paul's Episcopal Church. While the two old friends reminisced and caught up on what was current in their lives I checked out the church which in 1831 was the first non-Catholic church on the island.  The impressive concrete building has beautiful stained glass windows.  What I found most interesting was that many of the windows pivoted open for ventilation.  Although this architectural detail caught my attention it paled in comparison to the beautiful music emanating from the sanctuary.  I followed my ears to find two people on the bench in front of the keyboard of a grand piano.  Four hands were tickling those ivories. I chatted briefly with the man and woman responsible for the beautiful music. They said that concerts were regularly scheduled at the church during the noon hour.  Some classical music and a few pops with a few bits on the pipe organ too. But, alas, I would not be around to hear their performances. Highway US-1 would take us north and by noon we would be sitting by the Gulf of Mexico eating conch fritters with rice and black beans at Porky's Barbecue on Marathon Key. The fritters weren't anything to write home about but the beans, rice and plantains were tops. The only city in the continental United State that is frost free was far behind now.

By late afternoon we were in the Art Deco area of Miami and eating Cuban food and reminiscing about our time south of the frost line.

Wings and Legs

All of us who take those silver wings to those far off lands we dream of share one thing in common. That is being in a small confined space in what seems like forever. With airplanes there is airspeed and ground speed.  I believe that according to my experiences there is air time and ground time.  And since speed is a function of time there should be some relationship between the two.  I am positive that air time travels much slower.

Most of us don't suffer much discomfort on short flights of four hours or less.  But when you're in that metallic object hurtling across the sky for an extended period of time, fatigue tends to increase at a compound rate.  And if the fatigue is to  well-seasoned body, so much the worse.  However, there are some things a savvy well seasoned traveler should consider.  Sleep tends to make the time pass faster.  Getting ready to sleep while flying can be quite a ritual in its self. Once on a trip from Atlanta to Tokyo  I witnessed such a ritual of the Japanese lady across the aisle from me.   The steps in preparation were as follows:

1. Select the proper music through the headphones.
2. Replace shoes with comfortable soft slippers.
3. Request and receive pillow and blanket from the attendant.
4. Strategically place pillow for maximum comfort.
5. Put on inflated collar pillow.
6. Recline seat to the maximum.
7. Put on sleeping mask and adjust without damage to coiffure.
8. Cover with blanket.
9. Fall asleep.

By the time this ritual is completed the aircraft has reached cruising altitude.  I don't follow this ritual. There's something about the little pink slippers I don't like. I actually start my preparation before I buy my ticket.  One thing for sure is that the airlines pack as many paying passengers aboard a plane as they can. Comfort while traveling is important to me but not enough to pay for first class seating.  Yes, it's tourist or economy class for me. The manufacturer of the  aircraft and model has a lot to do with seating comfort. The airline determines the seating arrangements when buying the planes so they affect seating comfort as well.  In my experience I seem to find the Airbus planes more comfortable than Boeings.

In seating it is surprising how much difference  a fraction of an inch in seat width can make in passenger comfort.  For example the seats on an Airbus economy class are one inch wider  than an economy class seat on a  comprable Boeing plane on the same airline. But seat size isn't the only variation, the location of the seat on the airplane determines legroom. The first row of seats after the partition between first class ant economy has more legroom and is not encumbered by reclining seats in front. There is no seat to stow your personal carry-on bag but that's a small price to pay for more legroom.  The seats just aft of the side emergency exits have more legroom. But the seats behind these have less than standard legroom.  Unfortunately for the smart traveler  many of the airlines have realized the benefits of these seats and now charge a premium for them. Be aware that some of the most comfortable seats are sometimes on the regional and budget airlines.

There are a number of websites that show the seating arrangements of various airplanes and some indicate the best seats. There are traveler reviews on some of the sites to help you decide what is best for you.

• SeatGuru
• SeatExpert
• American Airlines
• Delta Airlines
• SkyTrax

There are a number of other things that can make your flight more enjoyable as well. When flying be aware that if the plane is not fully loaded you may find an empty seat that is better than your assigned seat. Ask the attendant if it's okay to move. It is amazing how much more comfortable it is flying next to an empty seat.  Elbow room is a precious commodity. Avoid those seats near the galley.  It's unbelievable how noisy attendants can be in flight. One thing that seems to help me battle fatigue when traveling is to leave my seat and walk the length of the cabin about every two hours. Airlines vary a lot in the services as well.  Most domestic flights have only bare bones  amenities while foreign carriers offer more. For example, Air France meals come with wine and SwissAire provides chocolates.

To be the most comfortable on long flights you must pick the right airline. And selecting the right seat can make all the difference.