Tag: Travel

Where are the words?

If I get a headache, I can take paracetamol

If I have a sore back, I can take ipBrufen.

If I can’t find the words … what is there I can take?

This has nothing to do with writer’s block.  Some might argue it’s just a part of the problem, like staring at a blank piece of paper, or the fact there are too many distractions, not the least of which is the fact your pen has run out of ink.

Yes, that happens.

And, by the way, don’t take the pens out of hotel rooms because they do not have much ink in them, and on one occasion I managed to write seven pages of a story before the ink ran out.

What are they?

Advertising for the hotel.

“Oh, that’s a cute pen, where did you get it?”

“China!”  Because that’s where they are invariably made.

But …

Not having the words, is not the same as having the words but not the right ones.

OK, anything on paper is better than nothing, but the point here, it is better, if possible, to write what is needed rather than just scrap it later and have to rewrite it all again.

Been there and done that.

So safely ensconced in my hotel room, staring out at the magnificent view,  it seems that opposites are not going to attract this time, and there’s going to be a chase scene down the grand staircase, knocking over a couple having their wedding photos taken.

Yes, now I’ve got it.

I can see it as it happens…

 

Weddings and weather

Yes, they probably the most unlikely of pairings, but so much of one depends so much on the other.

So, in the days leading up to the wedding, the weather was kind.

But all of us were glued to our smartphones, forever studying the forthcoming weather, often with bated breath and with a measure of trepidation.

All the forecasts were for terrible weather on the wedding day.

And what was worse, the day before was perfect with blue skies and a temperature that hovered between 27 and 30 degrees Celcius.

Even then the forecast was for overcast conditions and with a 40 percent chance of rain.

Late at night the day before, still no clouds.

We go to sleep.

Yes, you guessed it, next morning we wake and, outside, it’s overcast and drizzling.  Further rain was on the horizon, and I think some time during the morning there was thunder.

But, it stayed away for the tea ceremony in the morning.  Everyone was crossing their fingers the fine weather would hold for the wedding later in the day.

Even so, the prospects were ominous.

And, just to add a touch of drama to the occasion, the wedding ceremony was going to be held outside on the lawns.

When we were driving to the wedding venue, it was raining.

When the ceremony was about to start, the rain died away to a few spots.  It stayed away for the duration of the ceremony.  It was as if someone up there had decided to help out.

In fact, despite the fact it was overcast, the rain came and went when it didn’t matter, end even if it hadn’t it had no effect of the occasion, there was nothing that could possibly take away the happiness of the occasion, or the wide smiles on both the bride and groom.

Not even when we lost power for two hours at the reception.

Searching for locations: Rome, Italy

We visited Rome in August

It was hot.

It was verrrry hot.

We flew into Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport after a rather bumpy flight from London.  Unlike most other airports the plane parked at a satellite terminal and after we disembarked we had to catch a train to the main terminal.

The most notable memory of this airport was my daughter’s discovery of a salami shop.

We had booked a transfer to take us to the hotel the Roma Corso Trieste Mercure in Via Gradisca from the airport.  It was a white air-conditioned van and so far we had avoided the heat.

One of the rooms had a faulty air conditioning an absolute must as the rooms were very hot without it and necessitated a room change which was done quickly and efficiently.

The hotel was in the suburbs and without a car we were dependent on public transport.  According to the reception staff, there was a bus stop nearby, and a longer walk to the tram or light railway.  The bus seemed to be the best option as it would take us to the central terminal near the railway station, where all tour buses also operated from, and particularly the open top buses that went to all the major tourist attractions.

That first day basically was given over to traveling, arriving by plane and settling into the hotel, thus we didn’t get to feel the force of the heat.  That came the next day.

After a walk around the hotel precinct to get our bearings and see what shops and restaurants were available, on returning to the hotel we were faced with the limited choices of room service or to go out for dinner.

My daughter and l go for a long walk up Via Nomentana to find several shops and a restaurant.  We went into the restaurant and sat down.   We waited for 10 minutes and got no service nor did anyone come and ask us if we wanted to order food so instead we left somewhat disappointed and go next door to what seems to be the Italian version of a delicatessen and order sandwiches and beer.   I bought a half dozen cans of Moretti beer two of which I drank on the way home.

It was still very hot even at eight at night and the sandwiches are delicious.  It just might be by that time we were starving and anything would have tasted great.

The next morning we are up and ready to chance the weather and some history.  Breakfast at the hotel is limited but very good.

We were going to use public transport and I’d studied up on the Internet.

Traveling on the bus required pre-purchase of tickets which could be bought in certain shops and locally when exploring the area near the hotel, l found a tobacconist.

Next, we needed to understand how to use the tickets. There was no one on the bus who could help so when l tried to scan the tickets and it failed, l gave up.  We had the same issue each day and in the end, the tickets never got used.

The trip to central Rome by bus took about 15 minutes.  In the morning it was reasonably cool and showed us a little of suburban Rome.  We also saw the trams but we would not be able to use them because our hotel not on a direct route.

That first full day we decided to go and see the Vatican.

Not understanding buses and which one we needed to get to the Vatican, we took a taxi.

Wow.  It was the metaphorical equivalent of driving over the edge of a cliff with a daredevil.  It was quite literally terrifying.

Or maybe we just didn’t know that this was probably the way people drove in Rome.

Shaken but delivered in one piece we found ourselves in the square opposite St Peters Basilica.

The square is impressive, with the statues atop a circular colonnaded walkway.  The church is incredible, and took a few hours to take in and to top off the day we did a tour of the Vatican museum which took the rest of the afternoon.

Then it was back to the delicatessen for more sandwiches and beer, and an interesting discussion with several elderly Italian ladies, of which I did not understand one word.

The second full day we decided to use one of the open top bus tours and eventually decided on the hop on hop off tour simply because the bus was at the central transport terminal for trains and buses and it was getting hotter.

Our first stop was the Colosseum.  There were other monuments nearby, such as the Arch of Constantine, but as the heat factor increased we joined the queue to go into the Colosseum and gladly welcomed the shade once we got inside.

The queue was long and the wait equally so, but it was worth the wait.  It would be more interesting if they could restore part of it to its former glory so we could get a sense of the place as it once was.  But alas that may never happen, but even so, it is still magnificent as a ruin.

Outside in the heat, it was off to the ruins which were a longish walk from the Colosseum, taking Via Sacra, not far from the Arch of Constantine.  This day in the walkway there were a number of illegal vendors, selling knockoff goods such as handbags and watches, and who, at the first sight of the police, packed up their wares in a blanket and ran.

Included in these ruins were The Roman Forum, or just a few columns remaining, the Palatine Hill, Imperial Fori, including the Forum of Augustus, the Forum of Caesar, and more specifically the Forum of Trajan.  It was, unfortunately very hot and dusty in the ruins the day we visited.

We walked all the way to the Foro Romano and the Septimus Severo Arch at the other end of the ruins, past the Temple of Caesar.  I found it very difficult to picture what it was like when the buildings were intact, so I bought a guide to the ruins which showed the buildings as ruins and an overlay of how they would have looked.  The buildings, then, would be as amazing as the Colosseum, and it would have been interesting to have lived back then, though perhaps not as a Christian.

I lost count of the number of bottles of water we bought, but the word ‘frizzante’ was ringing in my ears by the end of the day.  Fortunately, water did not cost a lot to buy.

At the end of the day, we caught the hop on hop off bus at the Colosseum and decided not to get off and see any more monuments but observe them from the bus.  The only one I remember seeing was Circo Massimo.  Perhaps if we’d know it was going to be twice as hot on the bus, yes, there was no air-conditioning; we may have chosen another form of transport to get back to the hotel.

The third and last day in Rome we decided to go to the Trevi Fountain, see the pantheon and walk up the Spanish Steps.  We spent most of the morning in the cool of a café watching the tourists at the fountain.  By the time we reached the top of the Spanish Steps, we were finished.

 

Searching for locations: Florence, Italy

For a writer, a place takes on a whole new meaning as we subconsciously look for locations in which parts of our stories will play out.  Of course, at the time, we have no idea what those parts of stories will be, but notes, mentally and physically, are taken for future reference.

And, unlike the usual tourist, we always see it differently.  I know I do.

Apologies now if I have misspelled any street, piazza or any other names.

The first time we arrived in Florence was by train, from Innsbruck in Austria.  We had been booked into the Hotel Brunelleschi, based on the fact it was built over part of a 12th-century monastery, it was conveniently located, and was a luxury hotel.

We took a taxi, not knowing how far it was, and found it tucked away in a street, via Sant’elisabetta, not far from Florence’s cathedral, the Duomo.  The taxi barely fitted through the streets.  First impressions, it was very old, second impression, the room we were given was amazing, with a view over the main street, and wafting up from a food shop below, the aroma of newly baked waffles.  We had to have one.

Words cannot describe how amazing it was to wake up that first morning and look out at the bright sunshine and blue sky.  We were in for a hot day, but that wasn’t going to deter the tourist in us.  Of course, after we had a great breakfast.  I particularly liked the crispy bacon.

The first place on the list to visit was the Piazza del Duomo, where the cathedral is located, and the Porta del Paradiso.  We went into the church, and also did a side trip down into the crypt.  We did not climb to the top of Brunelleschi’s cupola.  We tried the pizza, and hearing that the gelato was very expensive in the main part of the city, ventured further afield and found a gelato vendor that was inexpensive.  As the day was very hot it was a welcome relief.

The Ponte Vecchio, the bridge that crosses the Arno.  We walked to the bridge, taking in the views up and down the river before crossing to the other side, then back towards the Piazza Santa Croce.  On our most recent visit there was a football competition, Calcio Fiorentino, in progress that had taken over the whole Piazza, and during the day there was a parade where all the teams and others dressed in the historic clothing dating back to the 15th century.

The Galleria dell’Accademia was also high on the list of places to visit, and we left the hotel early as we had heard the queues are long to get in.  They were right.  We were at the end of a very, very long queue stretching back to Via delgi Alfani.  We were in the queue for about an hour and a half and it didn’t seem to move very quickly.

Then some people passing by said that we could go to the Museo Di San Marco, and purchase tickets to enter the gallery at a particular time.  We had also read or heard something similar, and, taking a risk we left the queue and went in search.  We found it at the Piazza San Marco, purchased tickets for 13:30 and had time to have lunch before turning up at the entrance for our timeslot, and sure enough, with others who had also purchased tickets, we went in.

Just out of curiosity I went back to the queue to see when the people in front of us were, and they still had an hour before gaining admission.

We saw everything that was recommended, including the famous statue of David, though I had a lot of trouble taking a photo when people kept walking in front.

The Piazza Della Signoria has a large number of statues, including another of David, the Marzocco, the symbol of Florence, Il Perseo, the fountain of Neptune, Poseidon, Perseus with the head of Medusa, and a hall of statues adjacent to the Palazzo Vecchio.

Florence is old, the roads are cobbled and narrow, and there are many trails one can follow and discover something new at the end of every twist and turn.

I have to go back, other than the fact I need a new wallet and belt made from Italian leather.  My wife loves the purses and handbags, also leather, though the scarves have only recently been added to her list of most wanted items.  I want to simply soak up the atmosphere, relax, eat the pasta and drink the endless supply of Moretti’s.

 

Around the table…

You know that you are getting old when sitting at a table where only one person is less than 65.

There were just over a dozen of us, meeting up for my older brother’s 70th birthday.

I have to say, from the outset, that I never expected him to live that long, but, when you take into consideration the longevity of our parents, my father is 97 and my mother 93, it’s no longer a surprise.

As for me, I’m 67 this year, and there are three years between us.

Something else I hadn’t realized, but what possibly seems coincidental is the age difference between our granddaughters, which is also three years. One is 16, another is 13 and the youngest 10.

But…

It was interesting to finally meet a number of the guests as, for many, many years, I’d only heard of them in passing conversation. This is because we very rarely manage to get down from Brisbane to Melbourne to catch up, and almost never when my brother has had one of these rare get-togethers.

Of course, these people had known him for years, and there was a thread to bound them together.

Stamps.

They were all stamp collectors.

I remember a long, long time ago I used to collect stamps, but I did not have the same passion for collecting as my brother did, and if truth be told, I was a little jealous.

And he had a Stanley Gibbons catalog that could put a value to every stamp. That, to me, showed dedication.

I just bought stamps that were big and colorful from obscure countries no one had ever heard of. But, in another sense, it was where I learned a lot about the British Commonwealth. Some of those African member countries were those same obscure places I had stamps for.

Then when I could be no longer be bothered, I just handed the lot to him and said he could do with them what he will.

Naturally, at this gathering, we didn’t talk about stamps.

If fact, after describing myself as the black sheep, well, grey sheep on account of the hair, it seemed we became the center of attention.

To be honest, I expected the lunch to last an hour, but who knew there was so much to talk about, even though I really can’t remember much of it other than it lasted almost three hours. That’s a lot of time talking about nothing.

But I guess when you reach that golden age, time ceases to have any real meaning.

We now have a standing invitation to return, and since time is running out for all of us, it’s probably wise to not take so long to return.

Another crazy idea, borne from plane boredom

How’s this for a crazy plane; snatch a top-level German General and get him to give up the enemy’s secret plans for reigniting their war against the allies in France, heading once and for all towards England.

It was dreamed up by a group of data analysts that were not quite as savvy as those at Bletchley Park, but nevertheless, saw an opportunity.

A top-level General who shunned personal security because he believed it showed weakness.

And, of course, it worked, the General was spirited away by an elite group of commandos and was now languishing in a remote, dark, gloomy vault somewhere in Scotland.

No one anticipated he wouldn’t talk, not even under the most skilled interrogator, or most horrid methods to extract information.

He said nothing.

No, he did say something. Once.

“Bring my wife to me and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Easy.

So, how’s this for another crazy plan.

Go get the General’s wife.

Of course, what starts out a simple idea suddenly becomes a dangerous and complicated operation.

Stay tuned for more

Another day and, yes, another sad flight.

For those who believe that airlines can actually take off on time, we have a departure time 4:25, and boarding time, 3:40

Yep, and pigs really do fly. Not

We are still on the ground at 4:25, and the excuse is the late inbound flight but that’s as tired as I feel about airlines who just cannot give their customers the truth.

There is more likely a plethora of problems with this aircraft, and there isn’t enough duck tape to fix them.

I chose Qantas because of their safety record, but first impressions of the Airbus A330-200 is that it was the last plane built by the Wright Brothers.

Yes, it is that old.

The screens in the seatbacks are 5 x 5 inches in size and activated by a hand unit I haven’t seen since the early eighties.

And that unbelievable statistic is compounded by the fact mine is broken and it takes an engineer a few minutes to realize that it needs duck tape to temporarily fix it.

The truth of the matter is that this relic of the past should be at the Qantas museum in outback Queensland, than flying passengers.

I thought Qantas had a youngish fleet, but apparently not. It seems the lack of pilots on Boeing types has forced them to drag these Airbus relics out of mothballs.

I guess it’s our turn to roll the dice.

We are pushing back 1 hour and 8 minutes late. 15 minutes later we take off.

It’s rather unsettling but otherwise normal takeoff, so it’s now going to be interesting how much time we can make up. The flight time as originally quoted by the Captain was 3 hours and 39 minutes.

About an hour into the flight the Captain is obviously either trying hard to make up time or more to the point find a level where the headwinds are not as severe, because for the last ten minutes the engines have been given a real work out.

Usually in flight at this time is quiet, but at the moment we can hardly hear ourselves think. Memo to self must get noise-canceling headphones.

In between all the flight level changes, it’s time for dinner service, or more to the point what’s left service.

There is a choice of three items, beef, pork slop with rice, or chicken, a large cold lump of aforementioned meat with salad, very little salad.

The key choice here is the beef in gravy but by the time the trolley reaches row 50 the beef is all gone.

Surprise, surprise.

Ok, so most of the plane agreed with me on what was the best meal, and the 70 odd passengers down the back of the plane are deprived of a first choice and forced basically to eat leftovers.

I get the pork to prove a point, and it is every bit the garbage I expected and definitely not fit for human consumption.

God help the person who created that ‘dish’ but if it was the winning dish on a Masterchef episode, then I guess we got what we deserved.

Another memo to self, remind me to bring my dog next time. It seems Qantas is able to cater to animals better than they can humans.

Having expressed my opinion, I am reminded that to others the pork and rice dish might have been very good and that I should temper my remarks with the proviso the comments are my own opinion and do not represent that of others who may have enjoyed it.

And after dinner, it didn’t matter if we made up time or not. Leaving late, missing the preferred meal, and enduring no onboard entertainment, no, the engineer decided it needed more than duct tape to fix it, there was nothing left short of crashing that make this flight more enjoyable.

On a scale of one to ten, this was a minus six.

Searching for locations: New York, again

After arriving latish from Toronto, and perhaps marginally disappointed that while in Toronto, the ice hockey didn’t go our way, we slept in.

Of course, the arrival was not without its own problems. The room we were allocated was on the 22nd floor and was quite smallish. Not a surprise, but we needed space for three, and with the fold-out bed, it was tight but livable.

Except…

We needed the internet to watch the Maple Leafs ice hockey game. We’d arrive just in time to stream it to the tv.

But…

There was no internet. It was everywhere else in the hotel except our floor.

First, I went to the front desk and they directed me to call tech support.

Second, we called tech support and they told us that the 22nd-floor router had failed and would get someone to look at it.

When?

It turns out it didn’t seem to be a priority. Maybe no one else on the floor had complained

Third, I went downstairs and discussed the lack of progress with the night duty manager, expressing disappointment with the lack of progress.

I also asked if they could not provide the full service that I would like a room rate reduction or a privilege in its place as compensation.

He said he would check it himself.

Fourth, after no further progress, we called the front desk to advise there was still no internet. This time we were asked if we wanted a room on another floor, where the internet is working. We accepted the offer.

The end result, a slightly larger, less cramped room, and the ability to watch the last third of the Maple Leaf’s game. I can’t remember if we won.

We all went to bed reasonably happy.

After all, we didn’t have to get up early to go up or down to breakfast because it was not included in the room rate, a bone of contention considering the cost.

I’ll be booking with them directly next time, at a somewhat cheaper rate, a thing I find after using a travel wholesaler to book it for me.

As always every morning while Rosemary gets ready, I go out for a walk and check out where we are.

It seems we are practically in the heart of theaterland New York. Walk one way or the other you arrive at 7th Avenue or Broadway.

Walk uptown and you reach 42nd Street and Times Square, little more than a 10-minute leisurely stroll. On the way down Broadway, you pass a number of theatres, some recognizable, some not.

Times Square is still a huge collection of giant television screens advertising everything from confectionary to TV shows on the cable networks.

A short walk along 42nd street takes you to the Avenue of the Americas and tucked away, The Rockefeller center and its winter ice rink.

A few more steps take you to 5th Avenue and the shops like Saks of Fifth Avenue, shops you could one day hope to afford to buy something.

In the opposite direction, over Broadway and crossing 8th Avenue is an entrance to Central Park. The approach is not far from what is called the Upper West Side, home to the rich and powerful.

Walk one way in the park, which we did in the afternoon, takes you towards the gift shop and back along a labyrinth of laneways to 5th Avenue. It was a cold, but pleasant, stroll looking for the rich and famous, but, discovering, they were not foolish enough to venture out into the cold.

Before going back to the room, we looked for somewhere to have dinner and ended up in Cassidy’s Irish pub. There was a dining room down the back and we were one of the first to arrive for dinner service.

The first surprise, our waitress was from New Zealand.

The second, the quality of the food.

I had a dish called Steak Lyonnaise which was, in plain words, a form of mince steak in an elongated patty. It was cooked rare as I like my steak and was perfect. It came with a baked potato.

As an entree, we had shrimp, which in our part of the world are prawns, and hot chicken wings, the sauce is hot and served on the side.

The beer wasn’t bad either. Overall given atmosphere, service, and food, it’s a nine out of ten.

It was an excellent way to end the day.

That rather odd world of customer complaints

I was going to write more about the waiting game, where it is the peak hour for shoppers and there’s only two cash registers open, or the bank tellers at lunchtime …

On and on. Nothing will change except for some of us, an increase in grey hair.

Time to move on, and get off my soapbox.

Perhaps we could delve into the online world of customer complaints.

It’s an interesting place, when I want to buy something, or see something that is too good to be true, I hit the computer, dial-up google, and go into investigative mode.

But, here’s the thing,

The only people who go online, by and large, are there to complain. Yes, there are a few positives, like five out of five stars, then the numbers show up for four stars, three stars, etc.

You get the impression that the owner of the product or service had written several 5-star good reports to counterbalance the negativity, which sometimes all belabor the same point.

For a long time when I saw the bad reports and very few good reports I thought the product was no good, but recently, when talking to someone whose product was for sale, and had a few bad reviews, they said if a customer is satisfied, why did they need to file a report. People had expressed their good opinion but had not added a review.

That might well be the case.

As an example, I looked at several river cruises in Europe and their operators. I then went online to check the customer ratings, because these river cruises are very expensive, so you need to know you’re getting value for money.

Nearly all of the reviews were bad and lacked any credible numbers. Those that were on the site were critical of the food the hygiene of the staff, the inability to get more than 1 ‘free’ drink with lunch or dinner, and substitute boats that were terrible.

Food and wine were the heart of this cruise, as well as cabin comfort, and the last thing you need is to be sick for the duration of the cruise.

I have to say I’m put off.

Perhaps I might revise my policy of looking for information on the internet. If the bad customer feedback continues we may never go anywhere ever again

The Shanghai Magnetic train

This is the first highlight of the day, but it takes an hour and ten minutes to get to the station.

Good thing then the trains leave every fifteen minutes.

Also, in a practical sense, the train is also used to take people to and from the Pudong International airport.

We have to wait a few minutes for the incoming train, and everyone is lined up like excited schoolchildren. We’ve been told the best side to sit is the non-passing side which we do.

Also, it is possible to see from one end of the train to the other as there are no doors dividing the carriages.

But…

It seems to be bit old and creaky, making a fair amount of noise as it started cranking up the power, then elevating off the rail, ready to move forward.

Sadly it made as much noise as a normal train, and probably slightly more than the usual bullet train, particularly when it reached the advertised 431 kph.

This didn’t last very long because the 40 or so km trip took about 7 minutes, so by the time it hit 431, it sat there for about a minute before starting to slow down again.

All in all, it was a treat for those fast train enthusiasts to tick off their bucket list, but you wouldn’t go out of your way especially to ride in it unless you wanted a quick trip from Shanghai to the international airport.

Once was enough for me.

It’s time to move onto the Japanese bullet trains.