Wednesday April 27, 2011
Once again, I awake in the morning after way too much free flowing champagne and wall to wall rock stars. Or a really good drea, like where would I find rock stars and free liquor, except in dreams.
A quick primp and I am off for another breakfast of pastry and coffee. How about a walk? Ok I say and off we go, down by the river. The heavy warm air feels good again today, and the thick cloud cover makes the ghosts wandering the streets more visible. The French quarter is difficult to describe. If you like orderly straight modern buildings, keep away. If you like things lumpy, bumpy and smelly it is a fabulous place.We wander around, smelling things, and crossing the street to avoid the foul odors, and wandering into the shops to smell the good ones.
Surprisingly by 10 am, our walk was complete, we had seen the Mighty Mississippi and were in need of libation. A mint Julep was procured and forced upon me, and I was further coerced into more adventures that given on my own I would never do. Never ever would I think of doing any of this on my own. We enjoy the magic of the steamy morning, people enjoying breakfast, as we get another beer. I am sure that Voodoo played its part in my day. As I planned my future before my present took place, I came down with a case of the insane giggles, and sang along with the banjo player to “Bill Bailey” Who knew I knew the words? I certainly didn’t, as I also did not know I knew as much of “Waltzing Matilda” as I did. All done in a Cajun Zydeco rhythm. I had another drink.
Lunch, chicken gumbo and chocolate raspberry mousse, skipping the champagne as I sobered up, ready to type this up and find a place to zip it out to you’ all.
Let the good times roll.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
April 25, 2011
Who would believe that I would still want to be out traveling after all this time? ME. I love every aspect of it all. The packing, the transportation arrangements, all of it.
I awoke shortly after midnight to begin my day. Finished packing, the last minute shoving of items thru the zipper into the suitcase, the hopping around hoping not to forget anything. (So far, one hairbrush). I officially leave the real world and enter the world of Touring. I experienced my first full body scan. Disappointing really. No one ran screaming from security, nor did I get any propositions. I have spoken with folks who cite this scan as a reason to no longer fly, Bahh, nothing to it. My first connecting flight was uneventful, as they all should be. I love my Iphone, watched a movie all by myself. Spent some time in Atlanta, got a piece of chicken, and got my second flight. I had the same seat, and this flight was full of some lively ones, loud talk and laughter. And I line to the restroom, which my seat was conveniently near. Some people should rethink their food choices if they are to be with the public in tight quarters, but that paled in comparison with the lady next to me on the hotel shuttle that had the odor of knockwurst about her. We drove around town, got a quick tour from the driver, dropped off a few at their hotels, and then came to mine. I got some looks regarding my lodging choice, but heck, we all have to stay somewhere.
Hot, really hot, with a hot humid wind blowing, really blowing, and the sun beating down. Coming from a cold climate that is still struggling with the remains of winter, still with snow around, I found this to be a shocking pleasure. No need for a coat, heck, no need for most clothing items, but as it was told to us by our bus driver, public nudity is illegal here. So I got dressed again. That body scan liberated me.
Enjoyed my first afternoon and evening, had a drink, ate some interesting foods, had a cookie. Fell asleep instantly, and awoke wide awake, ready to see what this day, week, Tour brings to me. I am ready.
Who would believe that I would still want to be out traveling after all this time? ME. I love every aspect of it all. The packing, the transportation arrangements, all of it.
I awoke shortly after midnight to begin my day. Finished packing, the last minute shoving of items thru the zipper into the suitcase, the hopping around hoping not to forget anything. (So far, one hairbrush). I officially leave the real world and enter the world of Touring. I experienced my first full body scan. Disappointing really. No one ran screaming from security, nor did I get any propositions. I have spoken with folks who cite this scan as a reason to no longer fly, Bahh, nothing to it. My first connecting flight was uneventful, as they all should be. I love my Iphone, watched a movie all by myself. Spent some time in Atlanta, got a piece of chicken, and got my second flight. I had the same seat, and this flight was full of some lively ones, loud talk and laughter. And I line to the restroom, which my seat was conveniently near. Some people should rethink their food choices if they are to be with the public in tight quarters, but that paled in comparison with the lady next to me on the hotel shuttle that had the odor of knockwurst about her. We drove around town, got a quick tour from the driver, dropped off a few at their hotels, and then came to mine. I got some looks regarding my lodging choice, but heck, we all have to stay somewhere.
Hot, really hot, with a hot humid wind blowing, really blowing, and the sun beating down. Coming from a cold climate that is still struggling with the remains of winter, still with snow around, I found this to be a shocking pleasure. No need for a coat, heck, no need for most clothing items, but as it was told to us by our bus driver, public nudity is illegal here. So I got dressed again. That body scan liberated me.
Enjoyed my first afternoon and evening, had a drink, ate some interesting foods, had a cookie. Fell asleep instantly, and awoke wide awake, ready to see what this day, week, Tour brings to me. I am ready.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Oxford to Bristol
Tuesday Afternoon Sept 21 2010
Woke up with a start, to the sound of buses in the nearby bus station. I forgot where I was, and more important, I forgot I was asleep. I must have passed right out. After a quick wash up, I made my way down the two thousand and twelve stairs to the pub dining area, where I enjoyed a full English breakfast, orange juice and coffee. Yodeling my way back up the stairs, I was able to rest up until I was called down to the pub, to assist my friend up to the room with a suitcase the size of a 1966 Cadillac. I exaggerate, no not really. There are no polite way to repeat the words we said hauling the bag up, up up the stairs. All I can say is, thank goodness we were not in Belgium.
Open air top of the bus ride about time today, this time, I was actually awake and saw the sites in a new way.
Went to Alice’sShop, wandered about Christ Church in the gardens, and looked at all the spires, statues and roof tops. Ate real meals and had a lovely lovely day. Beautiful weather, sunny, with passing fluffy clouds, no need for a sweater. One has to realize that one is in Oxford, UK, on the last day of Summer, thinking about wearing a sweater.
Finally passed out, gasping for air, climbing up the ten thousand stairs to the attic room, had sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate bars bought at Tesco’s, and those funny little white pain pills I got at Boots.
Wednesday Morning September 22, 2010
Lovely day, let ‘s get brekkie, shall we? We decide that for all that Oxford has to offer, there might be more of this fair country to see. Packing up, we decide to ride the two miles down the stairs in the 1966 Cadillac someone saw fit to use as a suitcase. Even with the assist of gravity, we had a struggle. Should have studied better in physics. Another lovely English Breakfast, little was I to know that this would be my last sit down meal for a long long time. Made good use of the plumbing, and remembered to spend the next several hours climbing up to get my little tiny suitcase, so easy to manipulate, and found my way to the bus station, which was not very hard, as the exit from the breakfast room brings one to the ticket office of said bus station. Queing up at the correct bay, I panic as my two travel companions were off buying fresh fruit at the farmers market. I contemplated abandoning their luggage and boarding the bus, but the good spirit sitting on my right shoulder told me to not listen to the little demon on my left, and they arrived in time for us to go.
We took off, enjoying the sites out the windows, including one Magic roundabout in Swindon. Hmmmm, Swindon? Why does this ring a bell? Must look it up some day on Wikipedia to see why. (edited to add that Billie Piper of Doctor Who fame hails from Swindon, that must be it)
Now as a New Englander, going round traffic circles is no big deal, we even have a sport of it, trying to get around without having to once yield or hit the breaks, which I am sure horrifies any visitors, but going the wrong way round scares me. Good thing I paid the bus company 7 pounds to drive me to my destination safely.
We also go through the lovely town of Bath, I was contemplating going there, but I saw no bathers at the bus station, and stayed on the bus, onwards to it’s terminus. There must have been something going on there, though, as the trains had power issues. I was correct in my decision to take the bus, never mix water with electricity.
Onwards, to the great city of Bristol. I have since found out that many people go to Bristol as tourists, there are lovely sites to see, including a bridge and a boat, but I was so excited to see another hotel next to a bus station, that I got spasms all over, and just had to check in. But it was again, before two pm, and once again, I gave a total stranger all my luggage, and this time, I decided to be the dodgy looking person sitting in the pub.
Had a pint of cider, all bubbly and sharp, and some pudding, declining on the meal, not feeling hungry at the time, and passed the time away, talking in my funny accent, which as it turned out, is not that odd in Bristol.
After checking in, I did the happy tushie dance in the lift, the lift, the lift, as I went up a measly few stories to my room, an American Style room, with en suite bath. A lift and a bath, how extravagant. I used the plumbing well, soap and water and several rinses, and Oxford was down the drain.
Everyone I knew had a private audience with some famous people, cant recall who, must not be too famous, and I was left alone for a few hours. I watched the telly, way too many American programs, could have stayed home for that, finally got some news and sports, and then decided to go out into the damp and drizzle that was Bristol this Wednesday Evening.
They have a Hippodrome in Bristol, how lovely, haven’t been to a good hippo race in a while. I know what you are saying, some of you, that it is a race every night when I am involved, but that would be mean. Do not be jealous. I took a cab over, and went in. I met someone who informed me that there are no internet sites about famous English Rock Bands that might be appearing in the vicinity that night, and that this person has traveled from the USA, alone to see said might be famous Band. This person has seen said Band a whopping several times, and mentioned several places that I have been to, and on the same very dates, how bizarre. I think this person dismissed me as a LIAR, and possibly a lunatic. Or perhaps this person likes to think that they are the only devotee to go to such lengths. I invited them to meet all the folks I knew that had been to the private audience, but I was refused, told that there were few real fans in there. I hated telling my friends that they were not real. They did not believe me at all. Good thing, we were needed in side.
Turns out there were no Hippo races going on after all, just the same old same old. I was forces to sit up near the front and center, where I behaved myself, trying desperately not to sing along, as the words are becoming more familiar. I also tried not to play air guitar, or air bass or air drums, keyboards or flute, as those parts are getting easier to do, too. I think I even might know what song will be played next.
The Band came out with great big enthusiams all around, at least as seen from my seat. They came alive half way thru the first song, and played boldly amd bouncily for the next few hours. It looked like they were watching us, in the audience, because I caught the Skinny blonde one in the center smiling as he saw mw exchange conspiratorial smiles with Someone from Holland and her linguistically confused friend. At the beginning of the second last song from the first half, we nodded to each other, and the nods went around the venue, and at the appointed point, springs were let loose from our bottoms, and wer were forced out of our seats, in unison, with great cheering. Those who did not have the luck of sitting in a seat with loose springs, faked their way thru the rest of the number, jumping clapping and waving with the rest of us. The Skinny one giggled like s school girl. Giggled, yes giggled. And looked at me and smiled. Uuuhhh. Oh my.
After this ended, for 20 minutes ( another lie) we were allowed to wander around. I talked to my not real friends, for a bit, then a nice gentleman came up to me and asked if I was an American. I told him, “Yes” He asked if all the rest of the standee’s were Americans, and I had to confess the truth, we were a loosely strung together group of English, Dutch, Canadien, German, Danish, Japanese, and Icelandic people, who meet only at these events, and are not traveling together in some large organized Tour, only the skinny ones up on the stage are that organized. We just show up. Some people plan, some are organized, some are together, but as an entity, we just show up. He told me he was the music critic for the area, and had also been to the Oxford show, and wondered how many of us were either together, or American based on our behaviour, which he found delightful. I did mention one of the imaginary internet sites to go to, for more.
Soon, bells rang, the ice cream vendors left the aisles, and we sat down in those plush seats again. Second half, more of the same. Some people changed clothing, those of us on our side of the stage stayed in the same togs were wore for the first half. Makes things easier. Enthusiasm abounded, who would think at their age? Or mine?
We continued on for another fabulous night, really one of the best this year, not that my opinion counts, I wished it would never ever stop. But it did, sadly. But not without extra vocal and musical flourishes from the stage, and a lot of foot stomping, hand clapping and cheering from the paying side of the orchestra pit.
Back eventually to the hotel, and the food was no longer being served, so I was contented with ale, and a good nights sleep. Well, as contented as anyone who just experienced a Bristol Blast.
Woke up with a start, to the sound of buses in the nearby bus station. I forgot where I was, and more important, I forgot I was asleep. I must have passed right out. After a quick wash up, I made my way down the two thousand and twelve stairs to the pub dining area, where I enjoyed a full English breakfast, orange juice and coffee. Yodeling my way back up the stairs, I was able to rest up until I was called down to the pub, to assist my friend up to the room with a suitcase the size of a 1966 Cadillac. I exaggerate, no not really. There are no polite way to repeat the words we said hauling the bag up, up up the stairs. All I can say is, thank goodness we were not in Belgium.
Open air top of the bus ride about time today, this time, I was actually awake and saw the sites in a new way.
Went to Alice’sShop, wandered about Christ Church in the gardens, and looked at all the spires, statues and roof tops. Ate real meals and had a lovely lovely day. Beautiful weather, sunny, with passing fluffy clouds, no need for a sweater. One has to realize that one is in Oxford, UK, on the last day of Summer, thinking about wearing a sweater.
Finally passed out, gasping for air, climbing up the ten thousand stairs to the attic room, had sandwiches, crisps, and chocolate bars bought at Tesco’s, and those funny little white pain pills I got at Boots.
Wednesday Morning September 22, 2010
Lovely day, let ‘s get brekkie, shall we? We decide that for all that Oxford has to offer, there might be more of this fair country to see. Packing up, we decide to ride the two miles down the stairs in the 1966 Cadillac someone saw fit to use as a suitcase. Even with the assist of gravity, we had a struggle. Should have studied better in physics. Another lovely English Breakfast, little was I to know that this would be my last sit down meal for a long long time. Made good use of the plumbing, and remembered to spend the next several hours climbing up to get my little tiny suitcase, so easy to manipulate, and found my way to the bus station, which was not very hard, as the exit from the breakfast room brings one to the ticket office of said bus station. Queing up at the correct bay, I panic as my two travel companions were off buying fresh fruit at the farmers market. I contemplated abandoning their luggage and boarding the bus, but the good spirit sitting on my right shoulder told me to not listen to the little demon on my left, and they arrived in time for us to go.
We took off, enjoying the sites out the windows, including one Magic roundabout in Swindon. Hmmmm, Swindon? Why does this ring a bell? Must look it up some day on Wikipedia to see why. (edited to add that Billie Piper of Doctor Who fame hails from Swindon, that must be it)
Now as a New Englander, going round traffic circles is no big deal, we even have a sport of it, trying to get around without having to once yield or hit the breaks, which I am sure horrifies any visitors, but going the wrong way round scares me. Good thing I paid the bus company 7 pounds to drive me to my destination safely.
We also go through the lovely town of Bath, I was contemplating going there, but I saw no bathers at the bus station, and stayed on the bus, onwards to it’s terminus. There must have been something going on there, though, as the trains had power issues. I was correct in my decision to take the bus, never mix water with electricity.
Onwards, to the great city of Bristol. I have since found out that many people go to Bristol as tourists, there are lovely sites to see, including a bridge and a boat, but I was so excited to see another hotel next to a bus station, that I got spasms all over, and just had to check in. But it was again, before two pm, and once again, I gave a total stranger all my luggage, and this time, I decided to be the dodgy looking person sitting in the pub.
Had a pint of cider, all bubbly and sharp, and some pudding, declining on the meal, not feeling hungry at the time, and passed the time away, talking in my funny accent, which as it turned out, is not that odd in Bristol.
After checking in, I did the happy tushie dance in the lift, the lift, the lift, as I went up a measly few stories to my room, an American Style room, with en suite bath. A lift and a bath, how extravagant. I used the plumbing well, soap and water and several rinses, and Oxford was down the drain.
Everyone I knew had a private audience with some famous people, cant recall who, must not be too famous, and I was left alone for a few hours. I watched the telly, way too many American programs, could have stayed home for that, finally got some news and sports, and then decided to go out into the damp and drizzle that was Bristol this Wednesday Evening.
They have a Hippodrome in Bristol, how lovely, haven’t been to a good hippo race in a while. I know what you are saying, some of you, that it is a race every night when I am involved, but that would be mean. Do not be jealous. I took a cab over, and went in. I met someone who informed me that there are no internet sites about famous English Rock Bands that might be appearing in the vicinity that night, and that this person has traveled from the USA, alone to see said might be famous Band. This person has seen said Band a whopping several times, and mentioned several places that I have been to, and on the same very dates, how bizarre. I think this person dismissed me as a LIAR, and possibly a lunatic. Or perhaps this person likes to think that they are the only devotee to go to such lengths. I invited them to meet all the folks I knew that had been to the private audience, but I was refused, told that there were few real fans in there. I hated telling my friends that they were not real. They did not believe me at all. Good thing, we were needed in side.
Turns out there were no Hippo races going on after all, just the same old same old. I was forces to sit up near the front and center, where I behaved myself, trying desperately not to sing along, as the words are becoming more familiar. I also tried not to play air guitar, or air bass or air drums, keyboards or flute, as those parts are getting easier to do, too. I think I even might know what song will be played next.
The Band came out with great big enthusiams all around, at least as seen from my seat. They came alive half way thru the first song, and played boldly amd bouncily for the next few hours. It looked like they were watching us, in the audience, because I caught the Skinny blonde one in the center smiling as he saw mw exchange conspiratorial smiles with Someone from Holland and her linguistically confused friend. At the beginning of the second last song from the first half, we nodded to each other, and the nods went around the venue, and at the appointed point, springs were let loose from our bottoms, and wer were forced out of our seats, in unison, with great cheering. Those who did not have the luck of sitting in a seat with loose springs, faked their way thru the rest of the number, jumping clapping and waving with the rest of us. The Skinny one giggled like s school girl. Giggled, yes giggled. And looked at me and smiled. Uuuhhh. Oh my.
After this ended, for 20 minutes ( another lie) we were allowed to wander around. I talked to my not real friends, for a bit, then a nice gentleman came up to me and asked if I was an American. I told him, “Yes” He asked if all the rest of the standee’s were Americans, and I had to confess the truth, we were a loosely strung together group of English, Dutch, Canadien, German, Danish, Japanese, and Icelandic people, who meet only at these events, and are not traveling together in some large organized Tour, only the skinny ones up on the stage are that organized. We just show up. Some people plan, some are organized, some are together, but as an entity, we just show up. He told me he was the music critic for the area, and had also been to the Oxford show, and wondered how many of us were either together, or American based on our behaviour, which he found delightful. I did mention one of the imaginary internet sites to go to, for more.
Soon, bells rang, the ice cream vendors left the aisles, and we sat down in those plush seats again. Second half, more of the same. Some people changed clothing, those of us on our side of the stage stayed in the same togs were wore for the first half. Makes things easier. Enthusiasm abounded, who would think at their age? Or mine?
We continued on for another fabulous night, really one of the best this year, not that my opinion counts, I wished it would never ever stop. But it did, sadly. But not without extra vocal and musical flourishes from the stage, and a lot of foot stomping, hand clapping and cheering from the paying side of the orchestra pit.
Back eventually to the hotel, and the food was no longer being served, so I was contented with ale, and a good nights sleep. Well, as contented as anyone who just experienced a Bristol Blast.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Sept 20
Waking up, I confuse time conversion with money conversion, but I do sort it all out, spackle on a face, and go to the show. Somehow, almost everyone I know is congregated in this narrow alley in the center of Oxford England, why? I can not believe all the people I see here, all with bright eyes, big smiles, vigorously waving arms, oh my goodness, this is fun. Catching up, all of us chatting away, with our various funny accents, explaining to the nice people around us the odd way we all have become friends and acquaintances. Concerts. These Concerts. And many of us feel the urgency to get to as many as possible before it is too late.
How do we all explain to friends and family at home that although we might be traveling alone, or as a single, we are never alone, we have friends at every venue, and those odd ones up on the stage, pointing at us, waving, nudging the one next to him/her, and both pointing and waving. Lots of waving.
Oxford. Enthusiastic seated but bouncy audience for the first five songs, then slowly the sleeping giant awoke. Like we had springs under our bottoms, the assorted collection of Brits, Canadiens, Dutch, Scottish, Americans, basically the ones who have popped up at a concert almost anywhere, well, we all gave each other the eye, and we popped up. Right at the key change in IKYOTS, and then the Band made a noted change from playing perfectly, to playing with heart. A subtle difference to the casual, and I mean that in a nice way, fan, but like a shot of adrenaline to those of us in the know. Those of us in the front few rows. Those of us who have gone to not quite too many shows. Those of us who might have been there yesterday, might be there tomorrow, and will be there again, and again,.
And the rest of the audience followed. First, those in the front who wanted to get up, did, then those behind us did, then everyone was up, the roar and the applause was louder than 1600 or so people could safely produce, one would think, and it got better. And I thought I was tired.
Fabulous Concert. Welcome to the Tour, Marijane. Thank you I said.
And after the last song, the hugging continued. So many people, so glad to see each other.
But in the vernacular, I was knackered. We slowly limped to a Thai shop, I had cashew chicken, and made the hike up the ten thousand steps to my room, passed out, and so it all starts again.
How do we all explain to friends and family at home that although we might be traveling alone, or as a single, we are never alone, we have friends at every venue, and those odd ones up on the stage, pointing at us, waving, nudging the one next to him/her, and both pointing and waving. Lots of waving.
Oxford. Enthusiastic seated but bouncy audience for the first five songs, then slowly the sleeping giant awoke. Like we had springs under our bottoms, the assorted collection of Brits, Canadiens, Dutch, Scottish, Americans, basically the ones who have popped up at a concert almost anywhere, well, we all gave each other the eye, and we popped up. Right at the key change in IKYOTS, and then the Band made a noted change from playing perfectly, to playing with heart. A subtle difference to the casual, and I mean that in a nice way, fan, but like a shot of adrenaline to those of us in the know. Those of us in the front few rows. Those of us who have gone to not quite too many shows. Those of us who might have been there yesterday, might be there tomorrow, and will be there again, and again,.
And the rest of the audience followed. First, those in the front who wanted to get up, did, then those behind us did, then everyone was up, the roar and the applause was louder than 1600 or so people could safely produce, one would think, and it got better. And I thought I was tired.
Fabulous Concert. Welcome to the Tour, Marijane. Thank you I said.
And after the last song, the hugging continued. So many people, so glad to see each other.
But in the vernacular, I was knackered. We slowly limped to a Thai shop, I had cashew chicken, and made the hike up the ten thousand steps to my room, passed out, and so it all starts again.
The Day we Meet Again
The Day we Meet Again
September 19, 2010 Sunday.
I woke up in the morning, in my camp on the southern seacoast of Maine, after a rough night of sleep, having fallen into a hole while gathering firewood, straining my already touchy right knee. Not a fun way to end my glorious day of riding in a convertible with the top down, eating lobtsers and clams, and Not a good start to the rest of my holiday, but as an intrepid traveler, I am not deterred. I pick up a bit, never did the fall cleaning I meant to do, and get into my car, and drive home. I haven’t packed yet, or made some hotel and train reservations, and it was time to get all this done.
Packing, reserving, showering, all done. I actually will have a few dollars, pounds and euros to spend, precious few, but yippee.
I begin my journey with a cab ride to the bus. Now a bus to the airport. Checking in, my bag weighs 10 kilos, plenty left for all those goodies I buy along the way, cant weight to see what it weighs on the trip home.
Waiting to board the plane, a snafu when another plane is late, and has luggage discrepancies, and refuses to share the tow bar. This info came from our pilot. British Airways, about the late plane, Virgin Atlantic. We were thanked for choosing British Air. We take off, hit turbulence white being served supper, I had chicken and rice, difficult with all that ups and downs, and then I had both a pain pill, and a wine, Following up with a massive hot flash. Two hours sleep before the morning sun over Ireland hit me in the eye, and I watched England greet the day from my window.
Monday, 20 September, 2010
Deplaning, Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, so civilized. A tram to immigration, a quick Q&A and they let me in! Baggage, and then through customs, empty. Ah, all the contraband I might have brought, and no one to stop me. Pulling my bag, I could be almost anywhere, the new Terminal 5 is very generic Airport, and with all the people, all the languages and accents, I did not have that “I’m in England” feel. I did have jet lag and post hot flash hangover, though, was it just 8 hours ago I was home? This traveling through time and space is hard, imagine how the stupid people feel, me with my superior intellect, having trouble assimilating, after all I have been in this country for 30 minutes.
My bus to Oxford arrives, just as planned. I might be in England now, I board on the left, and have a seat belt. The hum of the tyres on the tarmac starts to lull me to sleep, precious sleep, but but but, fat English sheep grazing by the side of the road, sheep who Baaaaa with English accents, and I am on the left side of the road, I wake up, with a start, and look out the window. The hum lulls me again, I nod off, then we hit the road works, and slow down, and I look at the fat English cows, grazing in the fields, moooing with English accents. I will not sleep today. We arrive in Oxford, vaguely familiar, as I had been here before.
My hotel, actually a room above a pub is as advertised, right at the bus station. I look for the entry, and remembering I am in England, I go into the pub itself, and ask the bar tender. She politely tells me that check in is at 2, it is only 12, and that I may leave my bags behind the bar, so I hand over all my luggage to a stranger at a pub, next to the bus station, in a foreign country, and off I go.
Not a few hundred paces from my new home, I pass the New Theatre, advertising a concert tonight! What a coincidence, I have a ticket to a concert tonight. I also run into someone who knows me. A bright fellow, really, makes his living being bright, gives me advice about the city, and how to occupy my time until I can use my ticket.
I go to Boots, buy my favorite shampoo, a sandwich and a drink, then hit the double decker topless Tour of Oxford. What a place. I go round a few times, the bus actually stops at the bus station, go figure, which is where my pub is, but it is still soon, so I go round again. Finally I got off, and wander about, making my way to my room, at least I hope I have a room, so far I have only left my bags at a pub. I run into more friends, hugs, kisses, and me with my jetlag, but eventually, I make it to the pub. 5 men at the bar, looking at me. I am too tired to be paranoid, or worry about just what sort of place I booked myself into. I follow the nice lady, and we go up, and up, and still up, they fit a lot of floors into these old buildings, and of course I am on the top floor. I am always at the top, there must be a secret society of quirky hotels that passes my name around, encouraging each other to put me in the attic. The room is surprisingly charming. I get out my assortment of plugs and adaptors, start the charging of my electronics, and set my alarm, and pass out for two hours, blissfully ignoring BBC 1 on the telly.
September 19, 2010 Sunday.
I woke up in the morning, in my camp on the southern seacoast of Maine, after a rough night of sleep, having fallen into a hole while gathering firewood, straining my already touchy right knee. Not a fun way to end my glorious day of riding in a convertible with the top down, eating lobtsers and clams, and Not a good start to the rest of my holiday, but as an intrepid traveler, I am not deterred. I pick up a bit, never did the fall cleaning I meant to do, and get into my car, and drive home. I haven’t packed yet, or made some hotel and train reservations, and it was time to get all this done.
Packing, reserving, showering, all done. I actually will have a few dollars, pounds and euros to spend, precious few, but yippee.
I begin my journey with a cab ride to the bus. Now a bus to the airport. Checking in, my bag weighs 10 kilos, plenty left for all those goodies I buy along the way, cant weight to see what it weighs on the trip home.
Waiting to board the plane, a snafu when another plane is late, and has luggage discrepancies, and refuses to share the tow bar. This info came from our pilot. British Airways, about the late plane, Virgin Atlantic. We were thanked for choosing British Air. We take off, hit turbulence white being served supper, I had chicken and rice, difficult with all that ups and downs, and then I had both a pain pill, and a wine, Following up with a massive hot flash. Two hours sleep before the morning sun over Ireland hit me in the eye, and I watched England greet the day from my window.
Monday, 20 September, 2010
Deplaning, Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, so civilized. A tram to immigration, a quick Q&A and they let me in! Baggage, and then through customs, empty. Ah, all the contraband I might have brought, and no one to stop me. Pulling my bag, I could be almost anywhere, the new Terminal 5 is very generic Airport, and with all the people, all the languages and accents, I did not have that “I’m in England” feel. I did have jet lag and post hot flash hangover, though, was it just 8 hours ago I was home? This traveling through time and space is hard, imagine how the stupid people feel, me with my superior intellect, having trouble assimilating, after all I have been in this country for 30 minutes.
My bus to Oxford arrives, just as planned. I might be in England now, I board on the left, and have a seat belt. The hum of the tyres on the tarmac starts to lull me to sleep, precious sleep, but but but, fat English sheep grazing by the side of the road, sheep who Baaaaa with English accents, and I am on the left side of the road, I wake up, with a start, and look out the window. The hum lulls me again, I nod off, then we hit the road works, and slow down, and I look at the fat English cows, grazing in the fields, moooing with English accents. I will not sleep today. We arrive in Oxford, vaguely familiar, as I had been here before.
My hotel, actually a room above a pub is as advertised, right at the bus station. I look for the entry, and remembering I am in England, I go into the pub itself, and ask the bar tender. She politely tells me that check in is at 2, it is only 12, and that I may leave my bags behind the bar, so I hand over all my luggage to a stranger at a pub, next to the bus station, in a foreign country, and off I go.
Not a few hundred paces from my new home, I pass the New Theatre, advertising a concert tonight! What a coincidence, I have a ticket to a concert tonight. I also run into someone who knows me. A bright fellow, really, makes his living being bright, gives me advice about the city, and how to occupy my time until I can use my ticket.
I go to Boots, buy my favorite shampoo, a sandwich and a drink, then hit the double decker topless Tour of Oxford. What a place. I go round a few times, the bus actually stops at the bus station, go figure, which is where my pub is, but it is still soon, so I go round again. Finally I got off, and wander about, making my way to my room, at least I hope I have a room, so far I have only left my bags at a pub. I run into more friends, hugs, kisses, and me with my jetlag, but eventually, I make it to the pub. 5 men at the bar, looking at me. I am too tired to be paranoid, or worry about just what sort of place I booked myself into. I follow the nice lady, and we go up, and up, and still up, they fit a lot of floors into these old buildings, and of course I am on the top floor. I am always at the top, there must be a secret society of quirky hotels that passes my name around, encouraging each other to put me in the attic. The room is surprisingly charming. I get out my assortment of plugs and adaptors, start the charging of my electronics, and set my alarm, and pass out for two hours, blissfully ignoring BBC 1 on the telly.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
July 9 part 2
July 9, Part Deux
Where am I ? The place is familiar, a marble and carpeted hotel lobby, a shiny desk, and someone trying to check me in, my funny accent competing with theirs, as we both try to speak good English. She did speak it well, I was talking English wicked good, too. No more Canadian for me, and I get to use green money again, no more blue bills, or coins with some queen on them, nice dead men for me.
I run into someone I actually know, someone I haven’t seen since we were in New Jersey, or was it Pennsylvania? I forget, but since neither of us are from any of these places, or even wherever we are now, who cares. We catch up an what needs catching up, compare notes and strategize our next move.
We decide that I can do all the driving tonight, as I seemingly do not mind driving in the rain all that much. The rain has followed me, turning into a right proper nasty night. Looks cool and grey outside, but it was sloony. Sticky. Drippy. Damp. YUCK, let’s stay in, better yet, lets go out and play.
Sludging thru the damp, and driving out to another lake, surprisingly I did not see any fingers there, although the signs insisted that I was in the Finger Lake Region. I suppose if I actually got to one of these lakes, I just might give it the finger.
Two GPS to get there, as the address and the GPS location were not wuite the same, but having been there before, three years , ago, I was an expert. Greeted by name by someone with a nametag, and wearing a lanyard, it was decided that we two were way too cool for lanyards, and welcomed out of the rain, and under the shed. You would never believe what we saw. A bus full of English tourists showed up, along with a few Americans, and decided that they were NOT going to judge another wet shirt contest. Dang, and I brought my bodaciousness with me. I tucked all that away, and sat and listened to funny accents tell funny stories. Turns out that my tall skinny English friends like girls.
Good to know, might use that information someday.
A few mildly familiar faces around, but none as much as me, or my travel companion. And we , had a fabulous time, even with sticky and filmy guitars. No new surprises, same set list, but being forced to sit in the front row center, by the poor person whose kidney stone stopped them from being there, put on a good show. I sang and danced the night away. Capturing their attention, preventing them from looking at anyone but me. Really, that is why I go, to make an ass of myself night after night. Actually, I sat nicely for the sitting parts, and got higher and higher when asked. Stand out songs? Most of them.
But after the over 40C heat of the night before, I felt a distinct loss of something vital, and noticed the same up on stage. A subtle change, but there. That heat the night before was so bad, the sweat dripping so copiously, it took a bit of the life force away. Some little bit that was not restored with a few hundred mile commute, and a nice shower and nap in nice bed linens, on a good mattress. Not even the wake up scent of the nice soap could restore what was lost in Ottawa.
At least tonight, at the end of the concert, no one up on the stage looked at me and mouthed “it’s over, thank god”. Some one might have done that in Ottawa, but not here, in the Finger Lakes. I might not need to show my finger to anyone after all.
Drippy rain again, brollies up, and a skipping run to find old Sturdy Gertie. She finally was close enough to hear a concert. The Smoke machine was not in overdrive, must not have known the car was so close, they can resume their affair tomorrow, if the bus doesn’t find out.
She got us out of the lot, and back to the hotel in record time, we were first. Plenty of time to get a few drinks, relax, and
watch the other hotel guests.
There was a sea of small decorated female humans paraded about by their mothers. Many in tiaras, and wearing sashes. All with more make up and hair spray than some mutant glam rocker.
Speaking of Rockers. I have a fondness for a few out there, somewhere, and they might hear my voice?
Sleep, I hardly remember getting to my room, and getting any sleep. I have a long day ahead of me, and I Haven’t recovered from Ottawa yet. Hydration.
Where am I ? The place is familiar, a marble and carpeted hotel lobby, a shiny desk, and someone trying to check me in, my funny accent competing with theirs, as we both try to speak good English. She did speak it well, I was talking English wicked good, too. No more Canadian for me, and I get to use green money again, no more blue bills, or coins with some queen on them, nice dead men for me.
I run into someone I actually know, someone I haven’t seen since we were in New Jersey, or was it Pennsylvania? I forget, but since neither of us are from any of these places, or even wherever we are now, who cares. We catch up an what needs catching up, compare notes and strategize our next move.
We decide that I can do all the driving tonight, as I seemingly do not mind driving in the rain all that much. The rain has followed me, turning into a right proper nasty night. Looks cool and grey outside, but it was sloony. Sticky. Drippy. Damp. YUCK, let’s stay in, better yet, lets go out and play.
Sludging thru the damp, and driving out to another lake, surprisingly I did not see any fingers there, although the signs insisted that I was in the Finger Lake Region. I suppose if I actually got to one of these lakes, I just might give it the finger.
Two GPS to get there, as the address and the GPS location were not wuite the same, but having been there before, three years , ago, I was an expert. Greeted by name by someone with a nametag, and wearing a lanyard, it was decided that we two were way too cool for lanyards, and welcomed out of the rain, and under the shed. You would never believe what we saw. A bus full of English tourists showed up, along with a few Americans, and decided that they were NOT going to judge another wet shirt contest. Dang, and I brought my bodaciousness with me. I tucked all that away, and sat and listened to funny accents tell funny stories. Turns out that my tall skinny English friends like girls.
Good to know, might use that information someday.
A few mildly familiar faces around, but none as much as me, or my travel companion. And we , had a fabulous time, even with sticky and filmy guitars. No new surprises, same set list, but being forced to sit in the front row center, by the poor person whose kidney stone stopped them from being there, put on a good show. I sang and danced the night away. Capturing their attention, preventing them from looking at anyone but me. Really, that is why I go, to make an ass of myself night after night. Actually, I sat nicely for the sitting parts, and got higher and higher when asked. Stand out songs? Most of them.
But after the over 40C heat of the night before, I felt a distinct loss of something vital, and noticed the same up on stage. A subtle change, but there. That heat the night before was so bad, the sweat dripping so copiously, it took a bit of the life force away. Some little bit that was not restored with a few hundred mile commute, and a nice shower and nap in nice bed linens, on a good mattress. Not even the wake up scent of the nice soap could restore what was lost in Ottawa.
At least tonight, at the end of the concert, no one up on the stage looked at me and mouthed “it’s over, thank god”. Some one might have done that in Ottawa, but not here, in the Finger Lakes. I might not need to show my finger to anyone after all.
Drippy rain again, brollies up, and a skipping run to find old Sturdy Gertie. She finally was close enough to hear a concert. The Smoke machine was not in overdrive, must not have known the car was so close, they can resume their affair tomorrow, if the bus doesn’t find out.
She got us out of the lot, and back to the hotel in record time, we were first. Plenty of time to get a few drinks, relax, and
watch the other hotel guests.
There was a sea of small decorated female humans paraded about by their mothers. Many in tiaras, and wearing sashes. All with more make up and hair spray than some mutant glam rocker.
Speaking of Rockers. I have a fondness for a few out there, somewhere, and they might hear my voice?
Sleep, I hardly remember getting to my room, and getting any sleep. I have a long day ahead of me, and I Haven’t recovered from Ottawa yet. Hydration.
july 9, part one
July 9
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
According to my calendar, it is a Friday, according to my itinerary, it is Leave Canada Day. My fabulous Canadian vacation is coming to an end. Hot Canada, warmer than my weekend in Florida a few months ago. Who knew? Who cares? Fun is fun, no matter what the weather. And I was the only one to do the Entire Canadian Tour. Well, except those who got paid to be there, I am still a volunteer. My week as an INTERNATIONAL Rock chick is almost over. I become a plain American in a few hours.
And as the winner of the wet t shirt contest, I can safely say I am glad I knew few of the 80,000 people there, but unfortunately, the few I know seem to follow me around, they pop up on stages all over the world.
I pack up an entire hotel room into a few bags, and stuff them into my car. My clothing from the past night was still damp, and I wrapped them in plastic to prevent the few remaining clean items in my bag from picking up the scent of Canadian Rain, and Bluesfest. Half a bottle of Febreze so far, to keep the car sweet smelling, but still, cooking under a hot sun brings out all kinds of upholstery odors, and I prefer my car to smell of lavender instead of cooking dashboard and foam rubber. And I did not want to add cooked luggage to the mix.
I easily leave Ottawa, a fun little Capitol, and plan to return some day, at least I will if “They” will. Having had a fabulous time, I regretted leaving, but a decent night’s sleep and I was ready to go forward.
MY GPS was set, I consulted a map, and off I went. I soon realize that my true vacation is to drive around Lake Ontario, on purpose. And I continue to leave microscopic bits of rubber on the lovely Canadian Road system. And dribble food and drink over myself as I drive. Love trying to decipher what exactly some of these stains are, when I return home, as in my car, neatness does not count, and ruins some of the fun.
So, so far today, we learn that my car and luggage smell, and I have spills over me, and crumbs in my car. And some want never to travel with me, and some do, I know this.
Onwards, we go, and as I close on towards Border Control, I am asked for toll money again. Either Canadian or American. As I gave 3.50 American to enter Canada, I decided to leave with 2.50 Canadian, and went over the narrow 2 lane bridge, and was welcomed to New York State, USA. WOW, no lines at the crossing, I should cross here more often, whoops spoke too fast, once again my little blue car with the Mass Plates is engulfed in a sea of Ontario plates. It is true, they do ring a bell in Canada, and everyone leaves for the US, I heard it.
I read the list of forbidden items and begin to fret. I might have a concealed weapon, but I hid it so well, I haven’t found it in three years. I then read about the foodstuffs, and fruit, and quickly ate the last of my fresh fruit, before my car got searched. I then remembered other organically gown substances, and panicked, and decided that they could consult my attorney, but then again, she made me Come to Canada in the first place, and foisted all this on me, it was all her fault, really officer, I had no idea.
I was asked two questions about the Boston Red Sox, and waved on after thirty seconds. I was so looking forward to the strip search, He must have heard about Bluesfest, a bus full of tourists came thru several hours ago, still talking about me.
I continue to drive south, then West again, around and around Lake Ontario, without really seeing it.
I run into the nastiest rain I have seen since June 2008 in Indiana.
The sky got progressively darker. I kept trying to remove my sunglasses, but they were not on my face. My GPS thought it was night, and displayed a starry sky, and then the heavens broke loose. The rain was hitting the car like bullets, and making fist sized splashes on the windshield, the defroster was having difficulty keeping clear. I had my lights, and flashers on, and , driving 20 MPH( yeah, no more k/ph) I followed the truckers 10 miles to the other side of the storm. I should have pulled over, but there was no room, the road was jammed with all the smart travelers who had sense to stop in a storm. Me, I kept going, I was on a mission. I had to prove that I am the most insane person out there, and will stop at nothing to get to the next destination. Like I haven’t seen it all before. But one day, it might be different, and I want to be there when it happens.
I finally make it to my Hotel, a Good one. Damp. Strung out on diet coke and pretzels.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)