Tag: Travel

MY LEGS (AND FEET) ARE IN RUINS

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks2 Comments

Today, we slept in a bit and Sandy, our navigational expert, studied maps and trains and bus schedules so we could find Chepstow Castle and Tintern Abbey.

Here’s the decision of the day: I refuse to visit any other towns built on hills as steep as any you find in San Francisco. Plus, the so-called sidewalk was just wide enough to make you feel as though even if hugging the building on your left, you were sure to get clipped in the back of the head by a truck’s side mirror.

We walked approximately 100 miles, according to the non-existent muscles in my legs.

Chepstow Castle was amazing. Some portions as old as the 11th century, and at one time William Marshall lived there.

Beware spiral staircases. These people obviously had feet the size of a small child’s, because climbing up and down was a bit nerve-wracking, as we wedged our feet sideways to gain a foothold that felt even tolerably solid.

To my dismay, I had no ghostly visions, no invisible hands tried to shove me downstairs, and nothing moved in the shadows. Perhaps they realized I was too fragile to mess with today.

A friendly bus driver teased us as we headed to Tintern Abbey, asking why we wanted to see an old building with no roof. I also had the surreal experience of reading this roadside sign (stolen from the internet, as I was too busy trying to comprehend the warning to snap a photo of my very own.)

So, I guess in the US, we are blissfully unaware of this badger situation in Wales.

Despite missing its roof, the Abbey is gorgeous. The bones are majestic, if a bit forlorn. At one time, the Abbey hummed along with the daily rituals of the religious brethren. The sanctuary was beautiful, and had as a benefactor the owner of the castle at Chepstow.

When I could no longer stand, (seriously) we found our fish & chips meal at Simpson’s and ate on a bench in Chepstow. I thought it would take dynamite to get me moving again, but it only took the promise of the hotel bar.

Sandy is plotting our course for tomorrow, and I believe I will be bedding down WAY before midnight tonight, or I may not make it.

The favorite word of today, was “Ta!” as uttered by our poor bus driver who made the mistake of thinking we knew which side of the street to wait upon his return. You should have seen his face as he passed us by, then stopped and reversed so we could cross to the correct side of the road and climb aboard. I think he may have been pleased to not feel responsible for us anymore. Thus, the “Ta!” as we alighted. I think he “peeled out” too, if a bus can be said to “peel out.”

Getting around is not as difficult as it must be for tourists in the States. Between the trains and buses, it’s really quite simple – if you have a Sandy to direct you and do the research. Just don’t expect her to feed you regularly.

A note to my hubby: Thank you for encouraging me to do this.

And again, much better pictures are available via Sandy. I’ll eventually get them posted upon my return.

PLANES, TRAINS AND WELSH HOOCHIES

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks4 Comments

We have arrived! Hello, Cardiff!

Most of the plane awakened around 5:30 AM in preparation for landing at 6:30. Sandy and I stumbled off and somehow made our way through customs without incident. We then found the Heathrow Express (not to be confused with the Hogwarts Express) and arrived at Paddington Station. There, we began our vacation officially with a delicious traditional pasty. (Beef, potato, onion and swede, a.k.a. turnip, in a yummy, flaky crust.)

Afterward, we wandered over to Plat 9 to board the Swansea train that would take us to Cardiff. At this point, I was operating on 3 hours sleep and Sandy had just a little more. We were foggy, disoriented, and worried about being where we are supposed to be. At the same time, we felt pretty pleased that no major catastrophes had occurred. We had our luggage, our limbs, and a pasty and chips under our belts. For our introduction to Paddington, click here:

Sandy and Ann at the station.

Here we are on the train. You know that statement about being so tired your eyes are crossing? That was really happening if I sat still for more than a minute. So we had to amuse ourselves with more photos.

We DID end up with the best cabby ever and arrived at our hotel to see a lovely room waiting for us. It looks like this. Ignore that it appears to be one large bed. It is, in fact, two beds we are rolling apart lest we kick each other to death as we run after trains in our sleep.

We went to a nice dinner this evening, but noticed something strange. There appeared to be a hooker convention in town. Young women teetering around in high heels on cobblestone streets, yanking at the hems of their “dresses” so as to keep their most private parts covered. Barely. The concierge informed us the young ladies are in fact “Freshers” beginning school at Cardiff University. Apparently the first few weeks are taken up with sowing a few wild oats. Rest assured we will deliver some of these fashion disasters to you tomorrow.

Now, we are going to bed. Say goodnight, Sandy.

Good night all!

THERE’S NO WALES WITHOUT A LITTLE PAIN

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks3 Comments

I am writing this at 3:00 AM. I’d like to say to those who told me international flights have more room – even in coach, “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

As we rocket across the “pond” I am reminded of…camping. My ex husband, God rest his soul, loved camping. And I was young enough and dumb enough to go along. (He’s not dead, by the way, but I always wanted to kill him after our camping trips, and it’s 3:00 AM. And I’m loopy.)

Anyway, we’d go camping and I’d lie there trying to sleep, feelinG some stray rock lodged right under my shoulder-blade. I’d toss and turn, praying for dawn when we could get the “duck” out of there.

After what seemed like eons of torture, I would open my eyes and think, SURELY, SURELY, at least 4 hours have passed, but NO. I had slept twenty minutes. 20. Minutes. I’d say to myself, “Gee, only 7 more hours of this hell to go.” And “Maybe a divorce really isn’t that terrible a thing…”

That’s what this is like. My knees are smashed into the seat in front of me. I have slept twice, twisted sideways and contorted into a position I dare Cirque du Soleil to match, and awakened both times to neck pain.

I am pleased with the As Seen On TV travel pillow, though. Without it, I think I would be a very unhappy camper. (Hubby got one out of two right. Pajama Jeans-no. Crazy round donut of a travel pillow-yes.)

I know Wales is going to be a blast. I just hope I can keep my eyes open to enjoy it. Not sure what to do for next 3 hours of flight. I already had 2 glasses of wine and half a Valium. If I DO manage to sleep, I’d like to be able to wake up and be functional. Eventually.

Hopefully, all my tossing and turning hasn’t disturbed Sandy. She’s managed to create a nest in the corner against the window. She looks so peaceful.

I hate her. But I’ll get over it.

At least one of us will be sharp enough to negotiate our way to Paddington station. Sandy promises me a shop there with bacon and cheese pasties. I can overcome my jealousy of her sleep skills – and pretty much wipe away this whole 9 hour torture fest – if there’s bacon and cheese involved.

Not sure when I will be able to post this, as wi-fi availability is undetermined as of yet. I’m sure by the time you are reading this, I will be in a much happier place, both mentally and physically. But at this point, as I complete this post, I know you people are sleeping too, and I hate you all.

Love,
Ann

WALES WARNINGS

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks3 Comments

Exciting news! No, I’m not in Wales yet. I leave Thursday evening, so I am still in frantic prep mode, without any real justification for panic. As my traveling companion pointed out, we are going to a destination that DOES HAVE stores. If we forget something, we simply purchase it.

This is why traveling with Sandy is going to be such a pleasant experience. She can be so REASONABLE and patient. It’s almost like traveling with my hubby, except it’s not at all like that. For instance, when traveling with Sandy, if we get lost or even THINK we MIGHT be getting lost, we will slow down, or stop to regroup. We will do this while maintaining calm breathing and a dignified demeanor so as to not let everyone around us know we are on the verge of hysteria. In fact, the quieter and calmer we get, the more worried we are.

When traveling with hubby, if we think we are lost, our speed tends to increase, as does his tone of voice and the volume of the car stereo. It’s like a bad sound track to a nervous breakdown.

Side note while we’re on the hubby topic: Hubby actually suggested I purchase pajama jeans to wear on the plane. I looked at him in horror, as though he had suggested I wear blackface and a tutu while juggling kittens. Seriously?  I wouldn’t wear such things INSIDE my home, much less risk being seen in them. In public. If I’m in a fiery plane crash and paramedics are deciding who to save, I don’t want them seeing PAJAMA JEANS and deciding, “We’re doing her a favor. Let her go.”

Anyway, I have buried the lead. Exciting news! (She repeats, aware that she is indeed losing her mind.)  Chances are quite good that Sandy and I will be able to post videos to this blog during our travels. We are thinking of doing a Welch word of the day – perhaps with guest instructors. There is also a strong possibility of some ruins making an appearance, a castle or two and some lovely scenery. Oh, and Sandy is well-known amongst a select group for photographing her food while on vacation, so you’ll be seeing a variation on fish & chips, no doubt. And the Cheese Festival has serious potential for entertaining videos. After all, THERE’S CHEESE TOSSING!

So, as I prepare to go radio silent as I finalize my travel details, I leave you with some interesting tidbits I found while researching travel tips for Wales:

If I am requesting 2 of something, such as signaling for 2 pints, or 2 ciders, I need to use my thumb and index finger, rather than making the “V” with the index and middle finger, which is the equivalent of flipping someone off.  Although I CAN do that (make the “V” sign – not flip someone off) if I make sure my palm is facing the bartender I am signaling.

I like this one best: “Avoid offering money unless the change is handed over on a small tray.  Instead, when you pay, ask the server to ‘have one for yourself’ or ‘get a drink on me.’ They will add the price of a drink but may take the money instead of the drink. Do this with your first order and you will get noticed sooner next time you go to the bar. Further tipping is generally not needed, though it is well received if you make the offer of a drink on your last purchase of the evening.”

I can only assume most bartenders in Wales are pretty plastered by the end of the evening.  Oops, not “plastered,” “pissed.”

Also, (and I had heard this before) tennis shoes (trainers) are not so popular. In fact, the website says you’ll often see “no trainers” listed in the dress code of clubs. Personally, I think they should exclude personal trainers as well. Those people who don’t let you have any fun, or eat or drink anything yummy. 

Oh, and a friend recently in Wales advises to watch for cars when crossing the street.  Apparently, we Americans look the wrong way and tend to get squished on occasion.

Alright. That’s it for me (I think) until we reach Cardiff. Pray to the gods of the navigationally challenged on my behalf, and send up prayers of support for Sandy, the person in charge of me for 9 whole days.

WALES AND WHINE

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks9 Comments

This is going to be a quick post because I am way too busy freaking out on multiple levels to spend a lot of time analyzing my thoughts.  As far as I can tell, my current thoughts sound something like this, “Aaaauuurrghghhhghhhh!!” 

Here’s why:

1.  I have a great job that I love most of the time, but right now I need it to slow down so I can THINK, or take a few moments out of the day to make an appointment to have something done (like a doctor’s appointment, hair, pedi, etc.) before I leave town in 15 days. Leaving my desk for lunch would be awesome, and maybe managing to get away from the computer long enough to pee would be even better. (Sorry, Mom, I mean “Powder my nose.”)  If new requests would just STOP coming in on an hourly basis, I might actually dance with relief.

Due to this overabundance of work, I am getting annoyed with the people who keep presenting me with more. Really really annoyed. So annoyed I’m thinking of printing this sign and hanging it at my desk, or using it as my screen saver:

I can hear the response now. “You don’t LOOK calm. And your left eyelid is twitching. Oh, and I need this tomorrow.”

2.  I get to go on an amazing trip to Wales in 15 DAYS.  That gives me two more weekends to gather what I need and get mentally prepared. 

Ready for the part where I start hyperventilating? I’m freaking about credit cards and something about a chip & pin versus magnetic strips and the potential to get some sort of pre-loaded Master Card, and all this stuff that sounds really complicated to my brain, which automatically shuts itself down like a blown breaker every time financial transactions, exchange rates, or foreign currency in general are mentioned.  I just want to be able to hand a card to someone and have them take my money. This apparently CAN happen, but I also have to notify everyone (the bank) that I am leaving town and will be using it somewhere else, etc.

I’m sure this will end up being no big deal at all, but for some reason it completely FREAKS ME OUT. What if I get there and my card doesn’t work? What if I can’t buy any cheese at the cheese festival?  Should I just take cash? Euros? Shiny beads? Valium?

I got so crazy about it this weekend – with hubby flashing 3 different credit cards at me I never knew we had and telling me to go online and open electronic accounts blah blah blah…login blah blah blah… verify blah blah blah… that at some point I went in my closet and kicked a box.

Confession: I am not the most mature person on the planet. (This is where you politely plaster a surprised look on your face.) 

Luckily for the rest of the planet, when frustrated beyond words I rarely strike out against anyone but myself. (At least physically.) In fact, I’m lucky I am not in a cast now, as I had no idea what was in the box I attacked. Chances are pretty good that it could have been a stash of books).  I DID limp around for a few hours afterward with some tingling in my toes and a tendon that seemed to be a bit annoyed with me. I know all of this is completely over the top and I will have plenty of time to get everything done and it won’t be the end of the world if I don’t.  It’s going to be an amazing adventure. If I don’t have a stroke before we even get to the airport.

Sandy, (beat the rush and start pitying her now for selecting me as her traveling companion) – when I get like this on the trip, we’ll need a cue so you can signal me that I’m losing it.  Just say something like, “OMG! There’s cheese tossing!” and I promise to shut up and take a deep breath. 

After I kick something. (With my adorable new boots I bought last weekend for the trip!!)

Plus, just in case, I am packing this. Use it at your discretion.

WALES WATCHING

Published on by Diary of Ann Franks7 Comments

It’s time to prepare myself. I am actually leaving the country. And amazingly, it’s not because of the impending elections of 2012 and my inability to comprehend how on earth ANY of those people can be for real. I believe our political system has been hijacked by a BRAVO TV series, and the whole thing is just an experiment to see what it takes for us all to pack up and move to Canada.

But I digress. The point is, I am flying to Wales in a month, where I will spend approximately 8 days touring every nook and cranny possible. Then, I fully intend to find Excalibur and become the ruler of Great Britain. Just so you know

.

I am only concerned about one thing, or maybe a million. It’s hard to tell. First of all, I am not a good traveler as far as planes go. I don’t fear them falling out of the sky or a crack ripping open and sucking me out into oblivion, or even an engine imploding and basically eating itself, resulting in a noise that makes all the hair on the back of my neck stand up and my stomach drop like a stone as I realize death is the only thing that can occur after a noise like that at 30,000 feet. (Okay, that actually happened to me once, but it turned out there was an alternative to death that involved an emergency landing in Memphis.)

No, none of that worries me at all. What does worry me is sitting for 9 hours in a plane, which probably means at some point I will have to use that tiny airplane bathroom (ick). Also, despite traveling with one of the most intelligent and entertaining people I know, I will either have to sleep or entertain myself for much of that 9 hours.

I don’t like sleeping on planes. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the fear of people watching me as my mouth droops open and I begin snoring like a feral hog. (Very unladylike.) Maybe it’s because I want to be awake if something terrible happens that requires my assistance and quick thinking.  (Let’s face it, the only emergency I could really help with would be the mixing of a superior martini, or opening a bottle of wine without a corkscrew.)

I am  very excited about actually BEING in Wales. I have never been out of the country before – other than a trip to Mexico, which doesn’t count. And I am really extra excited because there’s a small chance I may be able to understand one word out of every ten or so spoken. I have also been assured by my traveling companion that the Welsh are NICE.  Really, really nice.  Plus, the best thing EVER. There is a cheese festival occurring at Cardiff Castle on one of our first few days.

I get very excited about cheese. Unnaturally so.

I am NOT excited about shopping for the trip or packing, and I’m sure I’ll have some other travel concerns pop up over the next few weeks, but for now, I am going to go purchase some Breathe Right strips and practice sleeping attractively.

TRIPPING OVER TRAVEL

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I don’t often travel for business, and I’ll tell you why. I don’t like it. Not the business part, that’s no big deal. The travel part is what I dread. It makes me surly, snappish and borderline manic. I’m not sure why. I’ve only had one near death experience on a plane, so that’s not it. I think it’s the whole moo-cow, being herded into groups and treated like an annoyance that gets to me. Who trains people at check-in counters these days? Don Rickles?

Before I even get to the airport my heart is racing. I’m worrying about time, checking my bag, getting through security, getting re-dressed after security, then finding a place to park my exhausted self at the gate with that mass of humanity. (And I mean MASS.) Then knowing. Just KNOWING it’s going to be a full flight and I am going to be crammed in with A) someone who is suffering from what could either be the flu or Ebola, B) someone who has no concept of personal space, or C) both.

This time I had a congested, sneezy, snorky person on either side of me, as I was obviously being punished by God for something and was allotted a middle seat. After one explosive sneeze, the guy on my left fell asleep, only snoring on occasion. To my right was Mr. Bobble Head. Eight-week old children could hold their heads up longer than this guy could. Out of the corner of my eye I’d see his head fall forward, then ZIP, up it would go for about three seconds then BAM, back down again. Up, down, up, down…Repeat for 1 and a half hours.

And what happened to drink service? Maybe 20 minutes in, I was craning my neck around to see where the drink cart was. Answer: nowhere. No one else seemed alarmed by this. In fact, everyone else appeared to have been drugged or lulled to sleep by the drone of the engines, just like people do with their infants who can’t sleep. I was essentially in a giant Oldsmobile circling the block until everyone went nighty-night, or mom and dad got too dizzy to continue.

I was definitely the only one concerned for the welfare of our flight attendants and their cart of goodies. Shortly before our descent, they teetered by and delivered a Sauvignon blanc that was not worth the wait. I was also offered ice cubes for it. Sad face.

Once we were on the ground again, I glared Mr. Snuffly Bobble Head into the aisle and jumped up so quickly I banged my head on the overhead bin. Payback for my bad attitude, and for coveting a seat in first class.

I shouldn’t complain. I’m on the company’s dime at this conference, get to learn a few things, and enjoy some room service while I plot my return trip.

Oh, and I feel like I’m coming down with something, so I will complete this little circle of life by freaking out some poor person who gets trapped in the seat next to ME on the way home. Sniffle. Cough.