Where will you set out for today?
What bridges will you cross?
What tracks will you follow?
Will you find the right key?
Or the right door?
Or will you just end up going round and round?
Until you find yourself back home.
https://www.english-heritage.org.uk/visit/places/iron-bridge/
Going for a walk is all many of us are allowed to do in lockdown and a change of scenery is always good. The photos are courtesy of my sister in Australia.
Whether you jet set on business or love going on cruises, you can’t have failed to notice there are more hazards to travel lately. Your cruise ship may weigh anchor and keep all the passengers hostage – in quarantine because of Coronavirus, which we now have to call Covid19, though that doesn’t slip as easily off the tongue. If you’re lucky you may get to have your own videoblog as self appointed spokesman to your national television channel and the folk back home. If you’re unlucky you will have a cabin without a balcony, a government that will not evacuate you and test positive for the virus.
Is flying any better? You may not be allowed on the plane if you have a temperature, you may not be allowed off the plane until you can be hermetically sealed and sent off to a quarantine centre; though that could be the start of a pleasant fortnight’s holiday if a nice hotel has been commandeered. World wide plague is not the only hazard for fliers. Storms hurling themselves across the Atlantic to Europe have caused mass cancellation of flights, but that is better than the Ryanair passengers on a flight from Prague, that in hindsight should have been cancelled. Thrice, pilots attempted to land at Bournemouth Airport as passengers screamed and hyperventilated. They abandoned the attempt and with petrol running low were diverted to Brussels from whence they returned to Prague…
Although I hardly ever go anywhere outside this kingdom I can give advice on ocean liners and airliners. Cyberson 2, builder and pyrotechnics expert, has often worked at Southampton, sending up fireworks to farewell passengers on their trip of a lifetime, or often their twentieth or perhaps their last… The first time he worked there, one of the regular workers on the docks described the arrival of an ocean liner ‘The first thing that happens, they bring all the bodies off.’ Whether this is due to the age of the passengers, the vast amount of food provided or terminal boredom, I cannot say, but it sounds like a good way to go. Perhaps if you pay extra you can have a burial at sea. My longest voyage was on ‘The Pride of Bilbao’ from Portsmouth to Bilbao and back again on an off season excursion, where the only hazard was the live entertainment.
Storm Dennis was not the only problem at Heathrow Airport on Sunday as ‘technical issues’ created chaos. Whiteboards, marker pens and extra staff were drafted in to ensure chaos continued. When I worked at Heathrow I won’t pretend I was not occasionally envious of passengers jetting off somewhere exotic, but mostly I was glad I could go home and would always advise DON’T even THINK of flying at Easter or Christmas. One Christmas Eve, working in Singapore Lounge, the evening flight was delayed, putting Christmas on hold in Singapore and Australia for those who celebrated it. I cringed as a young colleague said in a loud voice in front of the passengers ‘That’s ALL I need.’ We would be late finishing, but she only had to get home to Osterley Park and none of us were going to miss Christmas.
Singapore Airlines treated their customers with oriental respect and had letters printed out and delivered to them explaining delays. When we worked in British Airways lounges catering staff were left to soothe disgruntled passengers. The huge lounge in Terminal 1 catered for the many short haul flights, very different from the serene atmosphere of quieter business lounges. There was an endless surge of passengers, the buffet bars constantly replenished, platters of sandwiches devoured instantly. I only worked there a couple of times, but one weekend a story came from our colleagues. There was a strike on; passengers kept coming in, but none went out. Then the British Airways staff abandoned the desk leaving the catering staff to deal with the ever increasing braying mob; in the end they called the police.
What were your worst travel experiences? You can tell us about your good journeys, but that might not be so amusing…
The first time we went to the cathedral city of Salisbury, Wiltshire we couldn’t find the cathedral. The spire, at 123m from ground level, is the tallest in Britain, visible for miles around and we couldn’t see it from the main square. After wandering around we finally found the signs. We often go to Salisbury, but it is one of many places where I can easily lose my sense of direction. There are five park and ride sites, all completely free at present, to encourage visitors back to Salisbury after the novichok poisoning. We usually go to the one on our route into Salisbury, but one time, against my better judgement, Cyberspouse suggested we go to the main car park near the supermarket. On arrival I was quick to point out how expensive our visit was going to be. We have a purse in the glove box that my Australian sister-in-law gave us, which is made from a kangaroo’s testical; we can get a lot of coins in it and I always put my silver change in. I poured ten, twenty and fifty pence pieces into the machine, but just before we had clocked up the right amount it stopped working. Money gone and no ticket, but at that moment, as if by magic, a car park attendant appeared at my shoulder. We had put so much money in we had blocked up his machine. He unlocked it and the money poured into our hands – we then put pound coins in and got our ticket. Setting off from that car park I had no idea where we were in relation to the Salisbury I knew.
On our most recent visit we arrived from a different direction and used a different park and ride. The pleasant bus ride brought us to a bus stop in a road where I couldn’t get my bearings. Luckily Cyberspouse has an excellent sense of direction – I did read recently that men have better spatial awareness, so that might explain it. I then worried what would happen if we got on the wrong park and ride bus, the buses all look the same and the park and ride sites probably look similar. Imagine searching for your car, not realising you were at the wrong place and with no hope of getting to the right park and ride because you had caught the last bus of the day.
Read more about Salisbury in last year’s blog.
https://tidalscribe.wordpress.com/2018/09/19/secret-salisbury-september-staycation-part-one
There are more ways of arriving in Southampton than most cities; by ocean liner from abroad, by ferry across Southampton Water, by train, by bus and by car and each arrival presents a completely different view of the city. In my mind I can never put the parts together. The first time we drove there we went into the West Quay shopping centre car park at ground level and somehow walked out onto the seventh floor of the shops.
Big shopping centres always present a challenge to those lacking a sense of direction; how to find the way out to the bus station, which level takes you to the high street, will you ever find your way out of John Lewis and where on earth did you leave your car. In Southampton my best landmark is the towering blue and yellowness of Ikea. The restaurant provides an excellent view of the ships and if you came by ferry it is a short walk away. Of course Ikea itself is famous for leaving customers feeling they will never see their own home again, as they wend their way through endless happy home room lay outs.
Take the ferry to Southampton here…
https://tidalscribe.wordpress.com/2019/02/09/silly-saturday-how-to-cheat-at-travel
Have you got a good sense of direction?
Choose a picture and I’ll write about it next week…
Reginald loved painting
Adored colours
Inspired by what he saw
Never stopped trying to create
Beautiful pictures
Of all the colours in the
World
RED ladies dancing gracefully
ORANGE shades of autumn trees
YELLOW downy hair of his baby son
GREEN turbulent seascapes
BLUE skies with Constable clouds
INDIGO flowers in his garden
VIOLET vivacious surrealist shapes
Robert took photographs
Anytime, anywhere, anything
Integrated technology
New digital camera
Beautiful images
Of the real and unreal
Wonderful colours created by the computer
RED balloons in the sky
ORANGE flowers magnified
YELLOW striped bumblebees
GREEN rolling hills and fields
BLUE racing cars
INDIGO eyes of lovely ladies
VIOLET twilit skies
Reginald regularly exhibited
At shows and displays
In galleries and art rooms, but
No one bought a single scene
Browsing, gazing, frowning, smiling, leaving. If
Only, thought Reginald, I could see the
World and find more colours.
Paint the perfect picture, try a new
Approach
Investigate
New colours
Try to find THE END OF THE RAINBOW
Photos are the way, said Robert
Acquire a computer, find a new
Interest, begged his wife,
Never leave us, but Reginald
Took his leave
RED desserts he crossed
ORANGE robed monks he met
YELLOW sunrises beckoned him
GREEN turbulent seas carried him towards the horizon
BLUE southern skies warmed him
INDIGO light on the mountain top dazzled him
VIOLET flower that bloomed once in a lifetime, pierced his heart, but still he
Roamed on and on
Around the world
Into the wilderness
Never giving up hope of finding
Better colours
On the other side of the sky
Wondering if the end of the arc lay there
RED tinted clouds
ORANGE sun
YELLOW rays
GREEN waters
BLUE raindrops
IDIGO mist
VIOLET shimmer
Pausing, praying
Reginald asked for
Insight
Saw his
Maker, who said
Remain still
Avert your eyes, do not go
Into the colours, But
Nearer he went
Brighter and brighter
Onwards in
Wonder
Gazing at the shimmering spot where the
Rainbow burned into the
Earth, darkness fell on his soul and he saw a
Yawning chasm where all was GREY
God spoke to
Reginald. I showed you all the colours of the
Earth, but still you asked for more. Go
Yonder and see no more.
There’s a hold up on the motorway,
After junction 59.
Rain is heavy, sky is grey,
Traffic stopped in line.
Must mean we are on holiday.
Day two and still it rains,
But we have an agenda,
Uncle Ted to steam train,
Then visit Aunty Glenda.
She’s in the Royal Infirmary.
Day three on sunshine beach,
Lots of places to go.
No holiday is complete,
Without a secluded cove,
Scenery and strangers to meet.
Bridges over rivers and bays,
Lighthouses, harbours and piers,
Rolling fields and bales of hay,
High crumbling cliffs to fear.
Where shall we go next day?
Houses of National Trust,
Cathedrals with towers to climb,
Great statues of rust,
Museums and art sublime.
Then home at last we must.
I look out of the window, wondering what it would be like to live an ordinary life. As the coach leaves the town I catch tantalising glimpses of other people’s lives, hanging out the washing, hoisting up the sheets to flap like sails. A young woman pushes her baby buggy purposefully, several Sainsbury’s bags hanging from the handle. Presumably she has a home to go to and an identity, she is a mother. I’ve always felt as if I exist on the outskirts of real life, I can’t imagine myself doing the things other people take for granted; actually knowing what job I want to do, getting married or making a positive decision not to get married, having a baby.
I pop another chewy fruit in my mouth as we speed up on the motorway, definitely the last one, I’ve nearly eaten the whole bag and I’m beginning to feel sick. I only chose them to avoid chocolate. Cows are meandering across the motorway bridge, followed by a young man who does not realise how lucky he is to know what he is; a farmer bound to the fields and twice daily milking. Would my life have been different if I had been born to the rural life? I feel in my bones that is where I belong, in tune with the seasons, in harmony with the earth.
The coach is slowing down, we could be anywhere, motorway service areas all look the same. Not much chance of any exciting or meaningful experiences happening here. My imagination starts working, my other life where all sorts of events can take place. At the counter, in front of me in the queue, will be a rugged looking man with sensitive eyes. I will instantly know that he is troubled. The motorway restaurant being crowded he motions me to sit at his table. He will intuitively know that I am a woman who will understand him. Because of his work, unspecified, there have been no serious relationships, although he has a deep physical and spiritual need for a kindred spirit – me.
The coach brakes to a halt, I blink back to mundane reality and wonder if I am unique in running a parallel universe for myself. I follow the other passengers slowly off the coach, I must be the youngest on board, 22 years old last week. I step off trying to look interesting; an intriguing background, I am on a journey of some import…
I sit alone at a table reading the paper. What am I doing here? I enjoyed my week’s stay with Great Uncle Stan and Great Aunt Ellie and fell in love with the Cornish countryside. But they hadn’t seen me since I was six and indulged me as if I was twelve; it will be a relief to get to my next destination. I’m living nowhere in particular, seeing as much of the country as possible on a strict budget. Christine’s family will put me up for a few days, she is my only friend left from infant school days; we will have deep discussions about our futures, but talking won’t make a future for me.
Isn’t it terrible.
I look up, startled, to see an old lady easing herself into the chair opposite, her tray shakily descending towards the table.
Isn’t it terrible the prices in here, you don’t even get the milk in a jug. I’m exhausted, been to visit the grandchildren. I expect you’ve been gallivanting around the countryside, make the most of it while you’re young, you don’t want to settle down too soon.
No chance of that I think, but I just smile.
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 