(Note: Written on 6/17, this is the first in a series about my annual visit to two guys I first met thanks to the Internet)
I sit in one of the largest, busiest airports in the world, located in a metro area relatively unaffected by the economic downturn that has ravaged so many other cities and countries. Big oil has held a presence here for decades, but more recently several major technology companies — Cisco, Microsoft, McAfee, etc. — have located large campuses here.
Despite all of that, I may not be able to post this before boarding my plane because there is no free wi-fi in the Dallas Fort-Worth International Airport. Is it a right to have Internet access? No. But, one would think that with all the tech-savvy people in this area the airport could get a competitive rate on implementation and management of an airport-wide wi-fi system. Other airports with far less volume (literally and figuratively) have done it.
Is that the problem? The sheer number of people who move through here each day? I wish I could find someone with the answer.
I suspect it is the same as it is in most cases — somebody can make a buck, so somebody is going to make a buck. T-mobile’s internet access points pop up as available no matter where I go in the building. They’ll gladly allow you to access the Internet — for a fee.
Sure, I could join the ranks of those who pay for wireless internet access. There are a few travellers sitting in this Samsung Mobile Travel Lounge happily browsing the web, checking work e-mail, and the like.
Stripped bare, my comments could be made to look like those of one looking for a handout. I normally don’t expect something for nothing, but with all the time to kill in this new era of arriving an hour or two before departure, this basic thing seems like a small request.
I would argue that this would benefit folks across the socio-economic spectrum, but I suppose that’s ridiculous when I’m sitting next to a Starbuck’s in a lovely air-conditioned space, iPod pumping music to my ears while I wait to fly to Canada. For fun. The most difficult task I have between here and my destination thousands of miles away is finding the cheapest place to eat in Denver’s airport.
But I bet it will have free wi-fi.
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I didn’t have time to test the free wi-fi hypothesis in Denver. I got off the plane at about 11:00 a.m. and had to eat before catching my next flight at 11:38.
Now I sit aboard the final stretch to Canada, the snow-capped Rocky Mountains out the window to the left, flat plains to the right.
“So, will we know when we cross the border?” I ask the flight attendant as the can of bloody Mary mix chuffs open and she hands it to the man across the narrow aisle.
She leans down next to me and points out the window, “You mean you don’t think you’ll see the big line down there?”
A few minutes later she hands me a Declaration Card. On it I divulge whether or not I am bringing to Canada any firearms, excessive amounts of alcohol or tobacco, meat, dairy products, etc., and whether or not I am not a farmer headed toward a farm. I felt rather boring when I checked “No” on all of the above. A friendly passenger informed me that I must give this to a Customs officer shortly after debarking.
So far it’s been a pleasant, uneventful welcome to the United States’ northern neighbor.
(Next in the series: Fireside Chat)
