When we first planned to stay in Tuscany for a few days, we wanted to be in a central area. We had thought of staying in Florence and making daily treks, but the tour operator we selected told us it would be better if we stayed closer to Arezzo.
We picked Greve in Chianti, and a place called Antico Pastificio, we booked a standard apartment with two bedrooms, and it was about as authentic Italian you could get. The building we stayed in was the yellow pasta factory, and the apartment named ‘Iris’.
It was only steps away from the main square, shops, restaurants, and at the opposite end, the quaint ringing of church bells at various times during the day.
Gaining access was through a very narrow arch which required some deft driving and then up the road. There were villas and two large apartment blocks.
You can just see the archway at the end of the road. This was the entrance to our room,
along a passage and up the stairs, turning left at the top.
Going straight ahead through the gate to the car park,
and access to the grounds behind the buildings.
This was the view from the lounge/living room. The days were hot, and on several evenings it rained, breaking the heat and making the evenings sitting by the window cool and refreshing.
And the last view is looking towards the town piazza and the church
Poetry is like art, its beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
But, while art can be very subjective, poetry often has a special meaning, to both the writer and then the reader. In turn, for each of us readers, a poem will have a different meaning, some will see what it represents, and others may not.
And, whilst I have not read a lot of poetry over the years, that changed recently when I subscribed to several blogs and discovered this whole new class of literature.
This view was strengthened when I came across a volume of poems by Jenny Andrews, titled Life at the End of the Rainbow.
For me, each poem is an insight into an extraordinary life, where the author sometimes lays bare those raw emotions, which, at times, we will find ourselves drawing parallels.
In a sense, I think we have all been to this mythical place called, The End of the Rainbow, and sometimes need a gentle reminder that it took a lot of ups and downs to get there.
This is, to my mind, a remarkable piece of work.
I, for one, can’t wait to see what the next stage of the journey will be.
The first time we visited Venice, there was not enough time left to visit the glass blowing factories on Murano. We saved this for the next visit, and now more comfortable with taking the vaporetto, boarded at San Marco for the short journey.
The view looking towards the cemetery:
The view looking down what I think was the equivalent to the main street, or where several of the glass blowing factories and display shops were located:
Looking towards a workshop, this one costs us each a Euro to go in and observe a demonstration of glass blowing, and it still surprises me that some people would not pay
The oven where the glass is heated
And the finished product, the retail version of the horse that the glass blower created during the demonstration:
Then we bought some other glassware from the retail storefront, a candle holder
We manage to arrive early at the airport. Rather than wait three hours for our flight we decide to try and get on an earlier departure. This will depend on our ticket type and whether there are seats available, preferably together.
We line up in the service queue, which by its very description means you have a lengthy wait as service is mostly between difficult to impossible depending on the request. We wait twenty minutes. There’s a long queue behind us. Our request is taken care of quickly and efficiently making it almost seamless, certainly painless. I’m sure our request was one of the very few easy ones the staff will get.
Today it seems it is our lucky day. The transfer to an earlier flight is free and there are two seats available together. All we have to do is alert the pickup driver at our destination we are going to be an hour earlier. Done.
Checking in bags is usually the bane of the travelers existence. No matter which airport in whatever country you are departing from the only difference is the length of the queue; from incredibly long with a half hour wait to the head of the line to up to an hour. Our queue is 15 to 20 minutes.
One assumes this is why intending passengers are asked to go to the airport two hours ahead of their fight. There are times of the day where the queues are horrendous, and that not only applies to Heathrow.
And if you are late, just panic.
And if your bags are overweight be prepared to have your credit card hammered. Especially if you’re flying Air France from Venice to Paris.
Now it’s time to relax. There is an hour before we have to be at the gate so just enough time to get coffee and a donut.
And be horrified at what shops charge for simple items like sandwiches. I think $10 is very expensive. But if you’re hungry and forgot to eat before getting to the airport then be prepared to pay more than you usually would for the same fare.
It’s also time to observe our fellow passengers, and there is always one who has a last minute dash for a plane that is just about to leave, passengers with panic stricken looks. We all know what happens if you miss the flight even as you’re downing that last cocktail in the airline lounge while thinking, yes they’ll hold the flight for me!
Apparently not, these days, because airlines want to keep their ‘on time’ record.
Even so there’s still three more calls for the missing passengers and then nothing. If they missed the plane there their problems are just beginning. It’s the same feeling you have when your name is called out before the flight starts loading. Only once have we been called up and given an upgrade, and once in the US to be told we could take another flight because our flight was overbooked. Business class was greatly appreciated and was worth the extra hour we had to wait.
The next bottle neck is the scanners and sometimes the queue here is very long and moving slowly because the scanners are set to pick up belts and shoes so people are scattered everywhere getting redressed and putting shoes on. Today being a weekday the queue is not so bad.
Loading is painless and reasonably organized except when the passengers in high numbered rows try to board by the front door instead of the rear door and clash mid way in the plane. After they untangle themselves and get to their seats we’re ready to go.
This flight still has the manual safety demonstration which most people ignored but is slightly better than the video demonstration. Let’s hope we don’t go down over water. I’ve charted my path to the emergency exit and l have quite a few people before me. I guess there’s more than one way to be last off the plane.
Sometimes you get to pick who you get to sit next to, especially if you are traveling with your partner which this time I am, but in a three seat arrangement you gave no control over who takes that third seat. We are lucky this time because it will not become a tight squeeze but unfortunately our fellow traveler has a cold and in a confined space for several hours it could turn out to be a problem.
But, in the end, the flight is smooth, the snacks edible. Unfortunately there is no liquor service like the full service rival but that might be a good thing. No air rage on this flight.
Time flies, pardon the pun, and we have arrived. Even though it took forever for the baggage to be delivered we still got home early.
Our airport experiences so far have been all relatively incident free, although from time to time the sight of police or soldiers patrolling with guns can be disconcerting.
We have also experienced the odd problem in London at Heathrow, firstly trying to get help from the designated help staff and then to find the check in desk of an airline apparently no one available knew existed. They were not very good ‘help’ staff.
The fact we couldn’t find the airline counter left us cursing the travel agent. It existed in name, we found it in the phone book and on the internet, but …
The phone rang out – ugh!
The internet site could not be used to check in or manage booking on the same day as the flight! Double ugh!
Until a little footwork found the agents desk and the misunderstanding was sorted out.
By the way, the airline itself was a pleasure to fly on, the staff were very helpful and most of all we arrived just before the airport closed. It was odd to discover that some airports closed, particularly Florence. It was the second time we were the last people out, and having to turn off the lights. And, because I booked the transfer to the hotel myself, he was there waiting for us!
Holiday over, the joys of visiting relatives we hadn’t seen for a long time, and an unusual but wonderful New Year’s Eve and a wedding two days later, only a flight stands between us and getting home. After days, sometimes weeks, it is that moment we all look forward to; sleeping on our own beds, making our own food and getting to the gym to work off those extra kilos put on by delicious hotel food or local fare where calorie counting is not part of the dining experience.
Of course getting to the airport from the hotel can be an experience in itself whether by taxi, perhaps the taxi driver from hell who knows only two speeds fast and stop and is also unfortunately color blind. Or whether you have arranged for a transfer only to discover it’s not coming because the company went out of business or you changed hotels and someone forgot to tell them. Or the travel agent made a mistake or forgot to confirm the booking. Oh yes, it happens.
We have a hire car and will be returning it t the same place. Let’s hope the signage at the airport makes it easy to find the rental place. In London we had a hell of a time trying to find it; good thing we were hours earlier than we should be. In Chicago the car rental depot was miles from the airport.
And just because the sign says ‘rental returns’ for the lane you’re in it doesn’t necessarily follow it’s the right lane. Then as you miss the exit, and get stuck on the one way road system, all of a sudden you have left the airport and you’re heading back to the city. If you’re running late …
But if everything goes to plan we get to the airport with time to spare.
Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine
The many vaporettos that came and went
It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small
Located at the bottom of Lake Taupo, in New Zealand, staying here would make more sense if you were here for the fishing, and, well, the skiing or the hiking, or just a relaxing half hour in the thermal pools.
I saw a sign somewhere that said that Taurangi was New Zealand’s premier fishing spot. I might have got the wrong, but it seems to me they’re right. On the other side of town, heading towards Taupo, there’s a lodge that puts up fly fishermen, and where you can see a number of them in an adjacent river trying their luck.
It’s what I would be doing if I had the patience.
But Taurangi is a rather central place to stay, located at the southernmost point of the lake. From there it is not far from the snowfields of Whakapapa and Turoa. Equally, at different times of the year, those ski fields become walking or hiking tracks, and the opportunity to look into a dormant volcano, Ruapehu.
It is basically surrounded by hills and mountains on three sides and a lake on the other. Most mornings, and certainly everyone is different, there is a remarkable sunrise, particularly from where we were staying on the lake, where it could be cloudy, clear, or just cold and refreshing, with a kaleidoscope of colors from the rising sun.
I don’t think I’ve been there to see two days the same.
However, Taurangi, on most days we’ve visited, is even more desolate than Taupo, both on the main street and the central mall. The same couldn’t be said for the precinct where New World, the local supermarket, a Z petrol station can be found. There it is somewhat more lively. The fact there’s a few more shops and a restaurant might help traffic flow.
There is also a mini golf course, and in the middle of winter, it is a bleak place to be, especially in the threatening rain, and the wind. It had also seen better days and in parts, in need of a spruce up, but it’s winter, and there are no crowds, so I guess it will wait till the Spring.
In the mall, there’s the expected bank, newsagent, gift shop and post office combined, and a number of other gift shops/galleries. But the best place is the café which I’ve never seen empty and has an extended range of pies pastries and cakes, along with the fast food staples of chips and chicken. Oh, and you can also get a decent cup of coffee there.
There are two other coffee shops but we found this one the first time we came, we were given a warm welcome and assistance, and have never thought to go anywhere else, despite two known change of owners.
But despite all these reasons why someone might want to stay there, we don’t.
We have a timeshare, and there’s a timeshare in Pukaki called Oreti Village. That’s where we stay.
On an early morning walk, I discovered the Brooklyn Diner, a small restaurant tucked away in a street not far from Columbus Circle, perhaps a piece of history from the American past.
After all, if you’re going to take in the sights, sounds, and food of a country what better way to do it than visiting what was once a tradition.
This one was called the Brooklyn Diner. It had a combination of booths and counter sit down, though the latter was not a very big space, so we opted for a booth.
The object of going to a Diner is the fact they serve traditional American food, which when you get past the hot dogs and hamburgers and fries, takes the form of turkey and chicken pot pies among a variety of other choices.
Still looking for a perfectly cooked turkey, something I’ve never been able to do myself, I opted for the Teadition Turkey Lunch, which the menu invitingly said was cooked especially at the diner and was succulent. I couldn’t wait.
We also ordered a hamburger, yes, yet another, and a chicken pot pie, on the basis the last one I had in Toronto was absolutely delicious (and cooked the same way since the mid-1930s)
While waiting we got to look at a slice of history belonging to another great American tradition, Baseball, a painting on the wall of the Brooklyn Dodgers at Ebbets field, long since gone from their home.
The Turnkey lunch looked like this
which didn’t seem to be much, and had this odd pasta slice on the plate, but the turkey was amazing and lived up to the menu description.
The Chicken Pot Pie looked like this
And looked a lot larger in reality than the photo shows.
But, sadly while it was not bad, it was a little dry, and could possibly do with using the more succulent thigh part of the chicken.
All of this was washed down by Long Island Ice Teas and Brooklyn Lager.
AS for the Diner experience, it’s definitely a 10 out of 10 for me.
The course of plane travel can run like clockwork, or rapidly come apart at the seems.
Every time you go to the airport, it can become an adventure. Checking in, battling the airline’s kiosk, printing and attaching bag labels, going to bag drop, remembering that every airline does it differently.
Hong Kong airport is huge and there are endless boarding gates. Being dropped off in the zone that belongs to the airline you’re flying is simple. The next step is to find the aisle letter where your flight is checking in and then do the automated boarding pass and baggage label.
If it’s international travel which it is today, there’s the added stress of negotiating immigration and the duty-free stores. We followed the rules, got there early, had the usual problems at the kiosk requiring the assistance of two Cathay Pacific staff, and finally made it to the initial departure concourse.
Next, there’s the temptation of overpriced airport food if you’re hungry which we are not. But we have a McCafe coffee to satisfy a caffeine fix before the flight.
The shops are all expensive at the initial departure concourse, so we decide to see if there are other shops near our departure gate. To get to our particular departure gate we descend to the train and get off at the 40-80 station. It’s a short journey, and once back up on the concourse level we find a collection of more affordable shops where we buy every man and his dog a selection of sweets.
From there it’s a couple of travellators, which sounds rediculously short, but are, in reality, very, very long, to our gate and we get there ten minutes before boarding is supposed to commence. Today we are traveling on an Airbus A350-900, a relatively new plane so you would think there couldn’t be anything wrong with it. We had the same plane coming to Hong Kong and was, literally, plain sailing.
We find a seat in the gate lounge and wait along with everyone else. I’m still surprised at the number of able-bodied people who take the disabled seats for the sake of being closer to the start of the line and worse was a woman who not only took up one of the seats but also another for her cabin baggage which was extensive.
Boarding starts late, and routinely for the first and business, and disabled passengers. The rest now start to line up in the economy line. Some people haven’t moved, perhaps they know something we don’t.
We eventually join the line and go through initial formalities while waiting. And waiting. As the minute’s tick by nothing is happening other than what appears to be growing consternation by the gate staff. The tipping point for immediate concern is when the previously boarded passengers begin to come back through the boarding gate.
One of those who had been on board came our way and said there was a problem with the plane. They were told it was due to technical difficulties the official non-scary description for your plane Is broken. Because of consternation among the queued economy passengers, there was an official announcement that advised of the technical difficulties, and boarding would be delayed.
We all sit back down, but this time there were a number of disabled and elderly people who needed seats, and our able-bodied lady and her baggage didn’t move. Shame on her. We are lucky that where we were in the waiting line it was adjacent to nearby seats putting us closer to the head of the line when it reformed.
Now we were able to watch the other passengers jockeying for position to race to be first in the economy class boarding queue the second time around. I think they realize they have the same seat if they are at the front of the line or the back. Because we were all asked to sit down, those at the front of the queue would now find themselves at the end if they’d decided to sit and wait.
After a delay of about an hour and a half, we are finally boarding. The worst aspect of this delay is losing our slot in the departures and I’m guessing this was going to have an effect on our actual takeoff time. It appears to be the case. Boarding does not take very long and shortly after the doors are closed we’re pushing back from the gate.
From there, it becomes a chess game when we get a slot. We are in a queue of planes waiting their turn, and before the main runway planes are separated into two queues, and we are in the second. Since we are the only one, I suspect we’re in the delayed take-off queue, and sit watching four or so other planes take off before we finally get on the runway.
All around us, planes seem to be going by and taking off while we wait, and wait, and wait…
On the plane, we discover one of the toilets is out of action so perhaps that was the technical difficulty. It’s not full so one toilet down will have little effect.
Leaving in the early afternoon will get us into Brisbane late at night. It was meant to be around 11 pm, but with the delays, and possibly making up time in flight, it will now be after midnight when we arrive. Fortunately, we have a 24-hour airport.
The flight from HongKong to Brisbane is without event. Lunch after takeoff, then a few hours later, an hour or so before landing, we have dinner. Both of us are not hungry.
We land after midnight, tired but glad to be home. I guess it could have been worse.
I wanted to write a bit about how my day was going, and then I got angry. It was a slow fuse because most of what I was angry about I’d been reading this morning.
And, yes, it’s about COVID 19, it’s about political leaders, those in power and those in opposition.
Listening to our opposition leader, briefly before I turned him off to watch a rerun of McHale’s Navy, it annoyed me that he had no answers to offer, only criticism.
Unfortunately, he’s not alone in the world.
Political leaders tended to blame everyone else for a pandemic that they universally were not prepared for, was totally unexpected, and looking like it’s going to be a huge disaster, not just here but everywhere.
The point is, we’ve had movies that have shown us exactly what happens, and I cannot imagine that anyone would say, well, that’s just in someone’s imagination. Not it’s not. Yes, it’s very, very real, and someone, no everyone, better sit up and take notice.
We live in a sophisticated world, where the bugs, viruses, sicknesses and getting smarter, and more resistant to the drugs we have. Everyone knows it was inevitable, but who the hell is doing something about it?
The incompetence of the people who are supposedly in charge beggars belief.
Oh, God, I’m back on my soapbox.
Forgive me.
I’ll shut up about it now.
I’m trying to imagine what it’s like in the cold, because it’s the height of summer here. IT’s not helping my imagination, so let’s try…
It’s cold today, about 14 degrees Celsius, when it’s usually 27 degrees Celsius. The sun is letting us down, and I suppose I should be grateful that we are not suffering from an ice age.
To be honest, I was seriously considering lighting the log fire. Instead, we have reverse cycle air-conditioning, which is probably, in the long run, cheaper.
Have you seen how much it costs to buy wood?
But…
That could have made it difficult to write.
Not to come up with inspiration, but literally write, because my office is colder than a chiller room. My beer in storage out here is colder than it is in the fridge. Well, that sounded better in my head than on paper, but you get what I mean.
So, instead of writing, I sat down and binge-watched Sweet Magnolias, a light-hearted series from Netflix, and is of the same vein as Chesapeake Shores, etc, and more the sort of program I’d expect from Hallmark.
It was good. It hooked me.
Three sets of lives intertwined in a largish town in middle America perhaps. I heard Charleston mentioned so perhaps it was in South Carolina.
The good thing about it? Not one mention of COVID 19.
Just good old-fashioned heartache, and trials and tribulations of trying to live your life, bumping up against the obstacles life throws up at you.
The town was called Serenity, so there’s a pun in there somewhere.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 