Patamateria

A wee trip to the Isle – April 2017

My cousin Marion has achieved what nobody in my close family has yet managed – to stay married for forty years. AND she got married on April Fool’s Day – so how does that work?

To celebrate this event, I drove from South Wales up north, stopping over at a Travelodge near Lancaster as I generally can’t do the journey in one go any more. Now, I’m covering old ground here, a route I’ve done many, many times, so new new colouring in my my map of Great Britain’s coastline. But each time I drive from Dumfries to the Isle of Whithorn, my heart sings when I follow the Kirkcudbrightshire coast, cross over the River Cree and head south to that little village at the end of the road. I spent happy years here as a child and teenager, so rediscovering it always puts a smile on my face. The harbour we jumped off at full tide; the yearly regatta inching our way along a greasy pole with a pillow to fight an opponent; the Cairn which juts out into the sea where we hid – and more – among the rocks. The local pub halfway down the harbour, the bicycle rides to nearby beaches – and freewheeling down Rosie’s Bray before they built any houses nearby. Memories.

I stayed the night with the long-married couple and the following morning took to the coast road again to pick up relatives arriving by train at Stranraer. This road follows the beautiful Luce Bay which is bordered on the west by the Rhins peninsula and by the Machars on the east, with the Isle at its tip. You could forget about the outside world here, it’s so peaceful with seldom a car passing you on the road.

Back at the Isle the family gathered from other parts of Scotland , England and Wales, together with local friends, and came together in the newly built cafe with its wall of windows looking out over the harbour. A wonderful evening, celebrating a lovely couple and catching up with people not seen for years.

A Big Birthday and the Bucket List

It’s March 2017 and I am seventy. It’s the first birthday where I’ve felt my age – not that I feel old, but I’ve become conscious of age. Many decades ago a good friend got in a panic at turning thirty (I’d passed that a couple of years before) and I was totally confused. What was the problem? Why the panic? Since then I’ve been waiting for the Big Birthday that would impact upon me in the same way that thirty did on her. Well, it’s now happened. I am seventy and it means something.

It means that I am now well into retirement and, I hate to admit it, slowing down a bit here and there. It’s time to sort out that bucket list. I guess a big issue here was the fact that my driving licence expired and I had to apply for a new one – which runs for only three years! No one told me it was time-limited. So all of a sudden, at the age of seventy, I’ve embarked on time-limitations.

At or near the top of the bucket list has to be travel. So what better way to start my seventies but with a travel project: to drive around the entire coastline of Great Britain. As far as it’s possible, of course. Keeping to good B roads and not using tracks or dodgy roads about to crumble off the top of cliffs into the sea. That calls to mind a road across the clifftop at Southerndown on the beautiful South Glamorgan Heritage Coast. It became part of a landslide some years ago and is no more. But they’ve built a new one so you can still reach the beach and rocks. How long will it last? Only the sea knows the answer to that.

My coastal project started on my actual birthday when my daughter and I drove across to West Wales and the stunning coastline of Cardigan Bay. It was a gloriously sunny day, the sea sparkled and in little harbours like Aberaeron, boats bobbed around and tinkled in the breeze or lay lazily on the mud. West Wales has so many inlets so the journey is convoluted and fascinating. At times you are at sea level, at others high above the rocks on a road winding around hills and cliffs. And all around you are birds, large ones wheeling above your head – red kites in particular have made a comeback to Wales – and small ones darting in front of the car and sitting on fences watching humans.

We purposely took the longest route possible – hugging the coast wherever we could and passing through lovely towns like Machynlleth, Dolgellau, Barmouth and Llanaber. The scenery was stunning, the weather perfect – what a day to turn 70!

Crossing over the causeway at Porthmadog where the little train climbs up to Ffestiniog, we continued round the coast to Abersoch on the Lleyn Peninsula. More boats, sheltered harbour, windy one-way road through the village – or is it a town? We managed to park up and find a cafe with views over the harbour, and sat, with blankets over our knees, basking in the late afternoon sunshine. Being March, it wasn’t warm, but it was invigorating. Retracing our steps to Criccieth with its castle ranging out into the sea, we arrived at our hotel, a monster of a stone Victorian building, where we settled in before going for a wander and a curry. An end to a lovely day, and a brilliant way to start my new decade. A great way to start my new project.

So now I can colour in that stretch of the coast on my map of Great Britain. Of course, I’ve covered many other bits during my lifetime, and they will get coloured in too; it’s a case of covering the bits in between. This is going to be fun!

Sept/Oct 2013 – Australia: I’m back!

How many times have I been to Australia? I guess I’d have to look at my passports to answer that one. But this is the second time this year – I left in January and now I’m back in September. By now I don’t feel like a tourist anymore, as there are certain things I’m so familiar with; my knee will prevent me from travelling around too much this time so I’ll be living day-to-day as if already an Australian resident.

The airport shuttlebus offloaded me at Dan Murphy’s booze emporium in Frankston, along with several other people who were whisked away in cars, and one woman who, like me, wasn’t: ‘We’ve been dumped, dear,’ she says to me. Before we could plan a Thelma and Louise road trip our lifts turned up, ‘Ah well, maybe another time,’ was her parting shot as we got into our separate cars.

There is nothing better than a shower, a change of clothes and a bowl of soup when you’ve been travelling – and that’s exactly what I got. Lovely to be back with Ben and India again, and meet Kali, the new addition to the family: long-haired, black and timid and skittery to start. A rescue cat. My first thought – four weeks of wheezing, but it never materialised so I guess I’m over that phase. She’s a beautiful animal, quite captivating. The first cat I’ve taken to since Heidi who died about seven years ago.

I don’t think I explored anything new this trip. Ben was working in Melbourne during most of the four weeks I was there and India was finishing her first year of an online degree and working from home on the computer everyday. She and Lucy flew over to New Zealand for a family celebration in the middle of my stay and Ben and I hung out a little more together – and that included going out and getting me a new laptop and sorting out software packages to help me get my writing going. I now have a brilliant little machine running Linus Mint, and I love it! I would spend most of my days either catching the train or bus to favourite places: Mornington, Melbourne or catching a local bus into Frankston, walking to the beach or researching in the library. On bad-knee days I’d work on my novel at home, with India in another room working on her studies and then sometimes we’d give ourselves a break and go out for lunch. I was definitely not a tourist any more!

One day I caught the train with Ben into Melbourne and after a tasty breakfast at Prahran Market on Chapel Street I took a tram across to Federation Square and went to the Ian Potter Centre, part of the National Gallery of Victoria (my favourite place in Melbourne – but closed that day!) and did a lot of research into early Europeans in Australia. They have a fascinating timeline there, on a glassed-in walkway overlooking an indoor arena where cafes and restaurants spill out onto the concourse and entertainers amuse passersby. I spent a few hours there – and later in the art gallery itself – and found a new direction to take in my novel about a Whitby man who sailed on the Endeavour with Captain Cook and who established links in Australia which had consequences for one (maybe two..) of his descendants. I’ll let you know when the book – Finding Endeavour – is published! I met up with Ben when he finished work and we took the tram to Toorak Rd and spent a couple of hours with friends before catching the train home from South Yarra. Melbourne must be one of the easiest cities in the world to get around – the city centre trams are fantastic and so are the train services around the city and to the suburbs.

On a second trip to Melbourne I spent hours at the Melbourne Museum which is home to the Bunjilaka Aboriginal Cultural Centre. They have just opened a groundbreaking new, permanent exhibition: ‘First Peoples’. This is a true co-operative venture co-curated by the Victorian Koori Community and the Musum, and explores 2,000 generations of Koori history and culture from early beginnings, through European settlement in 1788 and up to the present day. Although the emphasis is on the Koori culture – of Victoria and New South Wales – it also includes all other groups in Australia and the Torres Straits. A really fascinating exhibition seen from the perspective of Australia’s First Peoples, it shows us that their ancient practices could teach us a thing or two about how to conserve our planet today. There is so much in the way of knowledge and skills that has been lost; it’s good that so many present-day First Peoples remember what they learnt from grandparents and are willing to share this with everybody.

Well, it was a relaxing and fruitful stay in Australia this time. Not only did I get a lot of research done, but I got into the habit of hopping on the bus to Frankston, wandering around the shops, sitting in bookshops and reading, drinking coffee at the library and chatting to people at the magazine end. I bought wire and beads and made rings for everyone, painted with Lucy and watched TV serials with Ben and India. I’d had a two-week whirlwind trip in Canada and New Zealand, so it was good to chill out for four weeks and just take things easy.

On my last day, Ben and I drove to Sorrento, farther down the Peninsula. The weather was wild and wet – and very windy. There had been storms over the last few days which had blown over quite a few eucalyptus trees – they have a very small, shallow rootball, and the heavy rains had dislodged them. So we set off: it rained, the sun came out, it rained again, the wind tossed the trees around, then there was thunder and lightning, then it dried up again. It was so changeable that I even went online to see if my plane had been cancelled! But we had a lovely day, a good lunch in Rye and posted a package back home for me in Sorrento. We had a coffee on the south side of Sorrento, in a beach cafe on the coast of the Southern Ocean then drove a kilometre or two to the north side and the relatively calmer waters of Port Phillip Bay. Then we returned home, pulled India away from her studies, and drove to the airport where we had a snack before I caught my midnight plane to Abu Dhabi and then another on to Heathrow.

A little digression….

It’s pretty difficult to run for a bus when you’re lame…..

When I planned this trip I did spare a thought for the challenges I might encounter travelling on my own with a knee that was due for surgery. When I had my first knee replacement done in February 2009 my surgeon had intended to hoover out the debris in knee #2 at the same time, but instead had given me an injection so that on returning home, I wouldn’t be doubly demobilised. A further injection a year later, plus the joy of retirement and being able to rest up when I needed to, meant that I could keep going – and could even delay surgery – and travel all I wanted.

However, even I could see that I needed to do something about this knee which sometimes worked perfectly and sometimes buckled under me, caused me horrendous pain, kept me awake some nights and, in short, was no longer reliable. So I finally agreed on elective surgery and was told it would be scheduled for autumn (2013). My original plan was to fly over to Canada for my brother’s wedding on September 7th, then fly home again. But then I thought…. if you’re halfway across the world, why not keep going? To reach Australia and see my son meant flying via New Zealand – oh wait, don’t I have family there? Must stop off and see them…. never been there before….

And so a one-week trip grew to 6 weeks and my ticket was booked:

10 airport visits, involving trundling baggage (not easy as this twists the knee) and mile-long marathons to the farthest gate on outward journeys. It’s always the farthest gate. And on arrival, racing to get near the front at Immigration so I don’t have to stand for half an hour (worst thing for the knee) – and then the battle, including knocks, at the baggage carousel.
7 flights: jostling for seats (I always book an aisle seat but didn’t always get one) stowing bags in overhead lockers while standing on the one good leg. And of course, trying to walk around the cabin and keep the legs exercised when duty-free trolleys conspired to block the way.
5 airport buses or shuttles – and of course the train and coach journeys to and from home/Heathrow airport.

I should add that disabled transport was arranged at Vancouver; when I checked in, I was told to take a lift upstairs where they were located. I saw the buggies, sure enough, but couldn’t locate any people to drive them… so ended up walking the miles.

I guess there’s a little part of me that thinks if I keep travelling, then I’m still fit… How’s that for denial!

So – the running for a bus. You can’t really call it running… more like lurching. I had booked on the shuttle from Tullamarine Airport (north-west Melbourne) to Frankston on the Mornington Peninsula (south of Melbourne). I booked the last bus as it gave me a couple of hours at the airport – time to walk the many miles, queue through Immigration, collect baggage from the carousel, pat the sniffer dogs in Customs and get outside the building. And maybe get a coffee. However, before I left the UK I got an email from the Peninsula bus people to say they’d cancelled the last shuttle but would keep me a place on the shuttle before that – which left the airport just half-an-hour after my plane landed. So as I got off the plane I was resigned to getting some sort of transport to the Southern Cross rail station in Melbourne, then getting a train to Frankston from there – a journey of hours compared to the comfort of one shuttlebus (1.5 hours) which would take me to a drop-off point at Dan Murphy’s liquor store in Frankston where I’d be collected by Ben and India.

Imagine my surprise when I got through in about 25 minutes…. hence my lurching for the shuttle – and reaching it! Then we waited and waited for another 40 minutes as the email I’d received had quoted the wrong time. Just as we were about to leave, a crackling message came through for the driver – a woman, just off a plane and with no baggage to collect, was racing through the airport – just five minutes away – could we wait for her? The lovely Aussie driver turned to us and said: ‘Dja hear that, people? We can’t leave her stranded now, can we?’ and switched off the engine.

So how have I survived all this travelling? As I said before, a little bit of denial goes a long way, and that, together with lots of exercise to strengthen the muscles around the knee and judicious use of my prescribed codeine tablets, is enough to make this trip a great one – full of family reunions, new places and fabulous people .

But wait… there’s still Australia to come!

September 2013 – Auckland: City of Sails and Volcanoes

It’s a fascinating place, Auckland. Built right on top of a volcanic field of about 48 or 50 volcanoes, it’s one of the most undulating places I’ve been – apart from Barry. The – now extinct – volcanoes are obvious as you travel around the city, in the form of islands, hills, lagoons and strange little grassy cones in the middle of parkland. On the whole, I think the volcanoes were small and cute – but with exceptions which caused devastation and wiped out some Maori settlements in the past. Out in the bay, the island of Rangitoto spreads its lava arms welcomingly to those who sail by. I think this is the most recent volcano – about 800-1000 years old, a sudden eruption from the ocean bed forming an island which looms blackly as you near it. Even the trees which now grow there are black, unlike their green cousins on the mainland. Nearby is another island, green and undulating and once home to those who had some sort of communicable diseases and had to be kept out of the city. The contrast couldn’t be greater, as this island looks like something out of the Teletubbies.

Across the water from Downtown Auckland is Devonport – where I had the best fish lunch ever, outside Alaska. A small town of quaint, and sometimes pricey, shops and boutiques, it was the ideal place to relax for an afternoon after two days of crazy art gallery and museum visits. It has its own volcanoes, of course, some with houses decorating their sides and another, a headland with cannon and sort of ramparts which is now beautiful parkland and a great place for a walk. After going online and getting the weather forecasts for the four days I’d be in Auckland, I decided to make boat trips on Wednesday 18th Sept – the only day that promised no rain – and so, wrapping up warmly I did a harbour cruise which took us out to the islands and under the bridge of bungee jumpers and all around the marina area and the wharves. Although not wet, it was very cold and windy but I was determined not to go below to the lounge areas with misted up windows, but to stay up on the top deck and face the blasts of wind. After returning to the wharf, I then took another boat across to Devonport for the afternoon – a wonderful day!

On the rainy days in Auckland, what better to do than explore the art galleries – and there were many – and the renowned Auckland Museum. Situated on another volcano, in acres of parkland, it’s a beautiful building and well worth visiting. I made sure I booked in for the cultural displays and was fascinated by the history of the Maori people which was retold through song and dance. This museum really needed two or three days to do it justice, so I concentrated on the Maori section and the geological rooms. There’s a whole area devoted to volcanoes, earthquakes and plate tectonics; the icing on the cake is a room which you enter. Inside, it’s furnished just like a living room, with sofas, a couple of chairs and a large screen on the wall. My knee was acting up, so I welcomed a chance to slob out on a sofa beside a guy in an immaculate dark suit with a briefcase at his feet but before I could get comfortable, the screen started changing. You have to imagine you have a waterfront house or apartment, facing the harbour. The sea began to steam… and then bubble slightly. Then the sofa started shaking and cupboards rattled and the man beside me yelped – and I probably did too. Meantime something was erupting out of the water and suddenly it crashed through the surface causing waves and a tidal surge which raced towards the shore – and the living room! By the time an island had sprung from the depths, amid a crescendo of deafening roars and crashes, we were hanging onto the arms of our sofas and seats as they lurched wildly – and then I guess we were engulfed by water… and that was it. Brilliant. I needed a cuppa after that.

To get around Auckland, I sussed out the buses. A red one took me up and down Queen Street from the ferry building to Karangenape Road, passing the street where my hotel was situated – very handy. The green bus, an inner city link, did a circular route through Ponsonby and Parnell – with their beautiful houses and cafes and quaint shops – and past Auckland Domain where the museum is situated. There were other buses going farther afield, but I ran out of days to explore. My hotel was situated on a steep hill in Wyndham Street, just off Queen Street, so I had excellent transport right on the doorstep – and even caught the airport shuttle just about 50m from my hotel. It was a great place to stay – very cheap, clean and with helpful, friendly staff. I’d stay there again as I don’t think you could beat it for being so central to shops, transport and cafes and restaurants. There was even a coffee house next door where I had breakfast daily – eggs florentine or omelette usually, to set me up for the day ahead. I would be off exploring by 9am and normally returned to the hotel about 5pm – exhausted and very lame. The steepness of the streets in central Auckland was a challenge – but great physio for the knee. I was glad of my supply of Cocodamol! Sometimes I ate out in the evening – I had a very mediocre curry one evening – but mostly I slept, then made myself something in the little kitchen area in the room. Perfect.

A week after I landed in Auckland, I was on my way back to the airport for the flight to Melbourne. From this point on, I would be in the bosom of my family, sleeping in the same bed each night and catching buses and trains around the Mornington Peninsula like an old hand.

September 2013 – New Zealand: land of the long white cloud!

I have these wonderful relatives in New Zealand who don’t mind getting up before dawn, driving to Auckland airport and fetching me into a warm, welcoming family. After Rob went to work and we dropped the girls off at school, Carley and I talked for hours and hours – almost till it was time to pick them up again! The last time I saw them they were living in Kent, UK and came to visit me in Barry with the grandparents from South Africa. It’s a very small world.

I spent three days with them, catching up with news of other family members, hearing tales of school and the trips they’ve had since moving to New Zealand. They live just south of Auckland, in Pukekohe and thereby hangs another tale. When some of my neighbours at home heard I was going away for some weeks, they mentioned that their relatives from New Zealand were visiting and asked if they could sleep in my house in my absence. We do things like that in our neighbourhood. Of course I said yes, as that meant that my housesitter would have a bit of a break too. So before I left for Canada I made up the beds and left warnings about the shower, strange light switches and rubbish collection. And wouldn’t you know it – my house guests, who I never met, came from a little place south of Auckland – Pukekohe! So the next time I go there, I must visit…

The weather wasn’t the best while I was there – just like in Canada, I seemed to find myself rained upon. But we did manage a trip to the beach on the west coast where the sands are black and the sea thunders over the rocks. There had been considerable erosion over the winter and the car park had partly fallen onto the beach with chunks of tarmac sticking like gravestones out of the sand, or overhanging the beach with nothing to support them. We intended to cross the island to the more gentle east coast but never made it – the rain grew heavier and thunderclouds rolled in, so after a snack and a look around some nice little shops, we headed home. The countryside was absolutely beautiful – such a lush landscape, with rolling hills and shrubs and trees everywhere. The roads are winding and curl around the hills and down to the valleys – and everywhere you look, there is vibrant green interspersed with colour. Of course, when I was there, they were just coming out of winter, but I imagine in spring and summer it must be fantastic.

That evening, Saturday, Carley’s brother Matt and his wife Natalie who I had last seen in South Africa about seven years before – and about two years before they moved to NZ – came over for a barbie. Or a brai (is the spelling right?) if you’re talking South African. As it was pouring with rain, we ate inside – but what a great catch-up session! They are so close to Australia it’s a shame we don’t get together more often. Maybe that’ll change in the future.

The following day, Rob went off fishing – after giving me four beautiful large Paua shells – and Carley, Rebecca and Chlie gave me a lift into Auckland to the hotel I’d booked for the remaining four days. I was a bit dismayed to be on the 17th floor with only one floor above me, and couldn’t face going onto the balcony. Not good with heights! But the girls made the most of it, and found my dinky little room, cute with its pod of a shower room (you had to remove the toilet roll before showering as the entire room got sprayed) and its microwave, kettle, fridge and sink. The reviews were varied, with most guests complaining about the lack of space. However, as a single person in a double room it was just right for me. There was even a desk and desk lamp so I could write.

So, after coffee, hot chocolate and cake at the coffee house next door, I said goodbye to the family and, closing my eyes as the lift shot skywards, went back to my room to plan the next few days.

September 2013 – Travelling on….a day out of my life.

I left Calgary on a Wednesday afternoon and, crossing the Rockies for the third time in just over a week, landed at Vancouver Airport again. With hindsight, if I’d planned the trip differently, I’d have had a few days there. I spent a very short time in the city in 2011 when I was over halfway through the overland trip from London to New York, and would love to have gone back to explore more. Another time.

I had about four hours to kill in the airport so walked my usual marathon, had a meal and made notes for yet another novel. If you have to hang out at an airport, then Vancouver is a good choice! My plane left that evening and as we took off over the water, I realised we would not pass over any land until we came in over the water to Auckland Airport. Just 14 hours of Pacific beneath our wings. I thought about Amelia Earhart who hadn’t made it safely across about 70+ years before and felt very grateful to be living in a techie world.

We crossed the International Dateline and lost a day, so for me, this year, there was no Thursday 12th September ( my sister’s birthday), or at least it passed in a flash. We took off on the 11th and landed, 14 hours later, on the 13th. I feel cheated…

September 2013 – My brother’s Wedding

So, the reason for my trip to Canada – my brother’s wedding. Although we’d spoken on the phone, I met the bride for the first time when I arrived in Calgary. My brother picked me up from the airport and we met up with his fiancee at a restaurant and had a bite to eat before going back to their house and examining the photo album my youngest sister and I had put together. By the time we got to bed – 11pm Canadian time, 6am the next day for me – I was beyond tired! The following day we took some supplies out to Camp Chief Hector in Kananaskis country at the foot of the Canadian Rockies where the wedding would take place two days later. A gorgeous venue, wooden cabins dotted in amongst the trees and a large wooden main building – Bowfort Lodge – where the reception would be held. Then I spent the rest of the day back in Calgary, reading on their balcony (and catching up on sleep) while they organised more trips to camp with linen, glassware, alcohol and all the paraphernalia needed for a wedding.

On Friday, we set off again, collecting my niece on the way, this time for three days. The family – both sides – would be staying over on Friday too, in order to help set up, and then it was expected that most of the guests would stay over in cabins on Saturday night, after the wedding. More like Sunday morning as it turned out. We stayed in the cabin used normally as the medical centre – or so it said on the board placed outside – but also known as the Big House. Plenty of room for all the family – the bride’s siblings and families and me and and my niece. After setting up the tables ready for the wedding, we all ate together in Bowfort before returning to the Big House, a couple of km down the road. Just up a slight incline and along a wooded path from Bowfort, was the cabin (the oldest at Camp Chief Hector) where the ceremony would take place the following day. We had seen earlier in the day how it had been given a bit of a facelift! That night when we left Bowfort it was pitch dark, plenty of cloud cover, so no stars, so dark you couldn’t see the person in front of you. We had been told that there was a cougar around, so hurried to where we thought the car was. Apparently cougars attack from behind, so you don’t see them coming, but we all reached our beds unscathed.

So, the wedding itself: a bit of a rainy day, but nothing could spoil the magic: the piper, the kilts, the white, black, grey and shell pink of the dresses, the gorgeous venue, the white, black, silver tables with pink flowers at the reception – it was all just beautiful. The old cabin where the ceremony took place looked amazing: beautiful polished wood floors and panelling, a huge stone fireplace, tall candles, flowers – and a piper to lead the bride and her party through the trees to the cabin. The bride’s youngest sister was matron-of-honour, her children were ring-bearer and flower girl, my niece was bridesmaid and I was best man. Yes, really, speech and all.

What makes a good wedding? Well, if you’d asked the guests they would have said: the lovely couple, the beautiful ceremony, the piper, the wonderful venue, the food, more food, the beautifully set tables and fairy lights and sparkling glassware, the ambience, the humour (speeches, people, incidents…), the music, more food, lots to drink, fun people and lots and lots of dancing….for hours on end. Well, this was the best wedding I’d been to for many, many years. And judging from comments I heard all evening and the next day, lots of people felt the same.

The dancing came to an end at about 1am, with most people still up on the dance floor. Slowly we made our way to our cabins and the newly married couple to a yurt which had been decorated by the bride’s friends: mosquito netting draped above the bed which was placed in the centre of the space, tea lights (the battery sort, not flame – you never know with yurts) and rose petals. As we got out of our cars at the Big House, we ignored the fact there was a cougar on the loose, and stood and gazed at the stars. A cloudless night, a sky that was truly peppered with stars, a fantastic view of the milkiness of the Milky Way and at least three shooting stars. A wonderful end to a beautiful day.

Breathless in Calgary

I arrived in Calgary after a series of journeys:

Day 1: got a lift from Eve (thank you!) from home to the railway station in Barry, caught the train to Cardiff, got a National Express coach to Heathrow, walked (limped) all over the place, trailing my suitcase, looking for the Hoppa bus to my hotel (the usual spot at the bus station was being dug up, I think) and finally found the right number and arrived at my hotel. I was joined soon after by Victoria and in exchange for her mail that I’d brought from home, she gave me the 120 volt hair straighteners I’d gifted her after my trip 2 years ago. Just so I could look somewhat presentable at my brother’s wedding.

Day 2: said goodbye to Victoria and from my Terminal 5-bound Hoppa I saw her shoot off in her Mini. I checked in and got rid of my suitcase right away and then walked as far and as frequently as I could in the departure area – I get bit paranoid about long journeys and not being able to exercise. Finally on the plane to Vancouver, in the aisle seat I’d booked, I walked around and around the cabin, along with about 50% of the other occupants. Rather nice, really, we struck up lots of little conversations and piled up against the exit doors to take photos as the Captain obligingly flew a little lower over Greenland to give us views of coast, mountains, glaciers – breathtaking! We were up above the clouds again as we flew west towards Vancouver, following a route way north of Hudson Bay and then, in a cloudless sky, over a tip of Saskatchewan and the Badlands of Alberta, a barren looking land spattered with lakes and apparently home to just cattle and cowboys, according to a Man Who Knew. We crossed the Rockies somewhere near Jasper: interesting to see that from the air they are just massive rocks, piling into each other, whereas when you are travelling through the area along a road, you are dwarfed by these peaks. Arriving in Vancouver, with a connecting flight to Calgary in a couple of hours, I spent the time walking miles along massive concourses. So far, so good.

So it was with a bit of a shock that I left the little (comparatively) WestJet plane in Calgary and, again, walking along miles of carpeted floor to collect baggage and meet up with my brother, I found myself gasping for breath, weak at the knees and a total wreck.

It’s not until I see Dave, hug him, collect my suitcase and make my way out of the airport to his car that he mentions we are about 3,500 feet above sea level. So, not quite as high as Shimla or Yellowstone (where I also gasped like a fish) but still enough to labour my breathing and jellify my legs.

I always thought the Rockies rose steeply from the sea and and descended the same distance onto the Alberta Plain – but not so. Calgary sits on a high plateau, a top-of-the-world scenario similar to the lands north of the Himalayas.

You learn something new every day.

Leaving NY…London…Home!

And it’s a wonder I got here at all. The lovely little redbrick hostel I stayed in in New York was on West 31st St, just on the corner of 5th Avenue. So when I trundled my bag and belongings across the street to the hotel which was the pickup point for the airport shuttle, I couldn’t help but notice the crowds lining 5th Ave, three, four, five deep on the pavement. And the noise, music, roaring from that direction. How on earth is the shuttle going to get through? was my main thought. I shared my thought inside the hotel with the concierge (who had sold me the ticket for this 45-minute trip) and she unsmilingly said it was a gay pride parade and yes, the shuttle was unable to cut across. We may have to walk to Broadway and get picked up there. She’d let us know.

I was a little uneasy at this point, as a text from Linda when she left New York had mentioned that the shuttle had taken a LOT longer than 45 minutes to get to JFK. An Italian woman, waiting with her parents, was also getting nervy and worrying about missing their flight. The concierge was less than helpful, and half an hour after we should have been picked up she finally ‘shared’ with us that we had to wait till the shuttle driver phoned back – and when he did, it was to say he was on the other side of 5th Avenue and couldn’t get across to us. Surprise. Could we carry our bags over to him? Not likely! The crowds were thick on either side and the procession wasn’t going to stop for a group of stragglers bound for JFK. So we insisted that the concierge find us a taxi – and pay for it. She was extremely offhand, walked off, didn’t keep us in the loop until I complained to the hotel manager. So finally, 45 minutes after we should have left, the Italian family and I walked with the unsmiling concierge to 8th Avenue before finding a taxi, which then took 1.5 hours to get to JFK. But a heroic Americo/Bangladeshi driver with a few sneaky shortcuts up his sleeve! I hope the Italians made it… I did, with less than an hour to spare.

And so here I am, back in the UK, spending a few days with Victoria and just chilling! We did a lot of slouching around – well, I did, and she kept me company. Starting with the airport terminal, where we sat for a couple of hours just drinking coffee and catching up before getting the Tube into London.
So what did we do? Well, we wandered the streets near her flat in South Kensington, found an Italian restaurant somewhere near King’s Road on the first evening. The next day she went to work, giving me a chance to sleep all day and get over jet lag and the exhaustion which has been creeping up on me lately. Then we had a couple of days together, visited Harrods, explored the area around Brompton Oratory, full of little parks and mews and strangely eccentric people who we stopped and talked to about all manner of things, and who maybe told us more than they ought to have about people in their circle of friends. We learnt a little about some of the houses changing hands in the area, how much for, and who was in jail etc. Interesting. Discovered a few more restaurants, including Salieri’s which has the best after-theatre omelettes, took a look at the newly tarted-up Savoy just across the road from Salieri’s, but didn’t go in. And of course, went to the theatre: The Merchants of Bollywood! Which was riotous, full of colour and energy and a lot of fun. One evening, we also had a lovely curry – how I’ve missed British curries! Best in the world outside India; nowhere else compares. And of course, the bookshop. Can’t remember the name of it, but it’s near Victoria’s flat/Old Brompton Road and I can’t go in without buying something.

On my last day, we took off with all my luggage on the bus to Victoria, where I caught the Megabus to Cardiff. Just a few hours later and I was back in Barry, home again after four months in Australia, Europe, Russia, Siberia, Mongolia, China, Alaska, Canada and the USA. I wander down to Pebble Beach, with a folding chair that I have bought to replace the one I got in North America and which I gave away at Sleepy Hollow, and I gaze across the water at Somerset and watch the boats and ships, and the planes coming in to land at Rhoose. I’ve seen some stunning places, met many interesting and amazing people, tasted some great food (and some revolting), travelled on a variety of quirky trains, buses and ships, and been bitten mercilessly by foreign insects. Now it’s time to catch up with friends, open my mail, wash every bit of clothing I’ve lived in for all these months, and enjoy being back in one of the most beautiful spots in the UK.

How fortunate am I!