Hooray - worry warting over!!
Grandkids arrived safely back from France yesterday - and daughter's Cairo flight landed safely on Dutch soil this morning.
Eat your firey heart out Eyjafjollajukull!
Although I did read on online news this morning that besides still wafting over parts of Britain and Ireland, there is a new volcanic ash threat to Atlantic flights: i.e., UK-US. So good luck to all those travellers.
It seems this angry Icelandic giant could carry on spewing its guts - without respite - for a couple of years yet.
Meanwhile, youngest daughter has invited me to a small family reunion this afternoon.
Wonder what she's brought me....? Just kidding!
Volcano latest.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
May 8, 2010
Apr 12, 2010
A FISHY TALE!
Harping back to the 'shark nightmares' of a few posts ago, I finally decided that the best way to vanquish these night terrors - and stop getting virtual (but feels like real!) chunks taken out of me now and then - was to confront this particular 'bogey man' head on - and bop him on his virtual nose!!
So with a right old showdown in mind, I put my camera under my pillow, drank my cocoa, went to sleep - and look what I 'caught'!
Laying hidden between fronds of waving seaweed and breathing without tanks *smirk*, I filmed him (er...no.. hang on a second - isn't that a her....?!) all night long, until she eventually swam right out of my sub-conscious for good and all! (I hope....).
Well all right then. The truth of the matter is, I took this photo at the aquarium/zoo, in Rotterdam, with reinforced glass between us. Guess I'll never be a marine biologist!
Except perhaps in dreams...?
Mar 7, 2010
NIGHTMARE BEASTIES!
On holiday at last! Pure bliss - and there was little me - Geri in paradise! Knee deep in a sparkling blue sea and gazing joyfully up and down an empty ribbon of white sanded beach, that stretched for miles to both sides of me.
Dabbling in the gentle waves with both hands, I turned lazily and gazed towards a darker patch of sea just in front of me. This dark area indicated a sudden drop into deep water; and there were darker patches at regular intervals all along the shoreline. One minute you would be shuffling through the gentle swell and the next, swimming high above an underwater tropical world!
The idea of a swim was appealing - but before I could don my snorkel and step forward, the sand shifted violently beneath my feet and my heart was suddenly thudding with horror as the dark patch was swirling upwards out of the water to meet me! What in heaven's name....?! And then the dark patch tore off my leg!
It was a dream...? It had to be! Another one of those blasted shark nightmares! Ughh!....*shudder*.
All it takes is half an hour of National Geographic in the late evening - and there I am in slumberland, gathering up severed limbs!!! You would think I'd have learned by now not to watch late night Oceanic programs.
In childhood, it was snakes. The funny thing about that though, was that I did not need to see or hear about snakes beforehand for them to infiltrate my dreams. All it took was a bout of feverish bronchitis (which was often) and young Geri would be plunged into a pit of slithering, entwining vipers - and it would only take one tiny movement.... and they would strike and strike and strike....aarrgghh!! Woe betide me, but I always thought I could get out of the pit by walking v-e-r-y slowly. But it never worked. I always got thoroughly bitten - and woke up gasping and sweating with fear.
The sub-conscious is very strange, don't you think?
But there were nice dreams too. When I was very young, I remember seeing a picture of the boy God Mercury, with tiny wings on his heels. All he had to do was flap these tiny wings and up he went! It made such an impression on the wee sub-conscious, that it wasn't long before I too was flying through the air - up and away, above towns and countrysides... lovely! The best dreams were when I would run a few steps and suddenly be flying over the heads of my surprised classmates and family....
The funny thing is, I never dreamed about the landings. Up, up and away and the next thing - back in bed.
Haven't dreamed the flying dreams since childhood. But they were nice and I'd like them back again. So, think I'll swap those Nature programs for Aeronautical ones. Trouble is, the only flying documentary I have ever seen on Nat. Geo., is: 'Seconds from Disaster'!!!
Guess in future I'll just have to turn the telly off straight after 'Eastenders'..... (...help!)
Dabbling in the gentle waves with both hands, I turned lazily and gazed towards a darker patch of sea just in front of me. This dark area indicated a sudden drop into deep water; and there were darker patches at regular intervals all along the shoreline. One minute you would be shuffling through the gentle swell and the next, swimming high above an underwater tropical world!
The idea of a swim was appealing - but before I could don my snorkel and step forward, the sand shifted violently beneath my feet and my heart was suddenly thudding with horror as the dark patch was swirling upwards out of the water to meet me! What in heaven's name....?! And then the dark patch tore off my leg!
It was a dream...? It had to be! Another one of those blasted shark nightmares! Ughh!....*shudder*.
All it takes is half an hour of National Geographic in the late evening - and there I am in slumberland, gathering up severed limbs!!! You would think I'd have learned by now not to watch late night Oceanic programs.
In childhood, it was snakes. The funny thing about that though, was that I did not need to see or hear about snakes beforehand for them to infiltrate my dreams. All it took was a bout of feverish bronchitis (which was often) and young Geri would be plunged into a pit of slithering, entwining vipers - and it would only take one tiny movement.... and they would strike and strike and strike....aarrgghh!! Woe betide me, but I always thought I could get out of the pit by walking v-e-r-y slowly. But it never worked. I always got thoroughly bitten - and woke up gasping and sweating with fear.
The sub-conscious is very strange, don't you think?
But there were nice dreams too. When I was very young, I remember seeing a picture of the boy God Mercury, with tiny wings on his heels. All he had to do was flap these tiny wings and up he went! It made such an impression on the wee sub-conscious, that it wasn't long before I too was flying through the air - up and away, above towns and countrysides... lovely! The best dreams were when I would run a few steps and suddenly be flying over the heads of my surprised classmates and family....
The funny thing is, I never dreamed about the landings. Up, up and away and the next thing - back in bed.
Haven't dreamed the flying dreams since childhood. But they were nice and I'd like them back again. So, think I'll swap those Nature programs for Aeronautical ones. Trouble is, the only flying documentary I have ever seen on Nat. Geo., is: 'Seconds from Disaster'!!!
Guess in future I'll just have to turn the telly off straight after 'Eastenders'..... (...help!)
Feb 5, 2010
MY SUBWAY (K)NIGHT !
Coming home on the 'Rotterdam-Hague' above ground subway late last night and almost at my station, I was accosted by a well dressed, elderly and seemingly confused gentleman.
"Aha!" Says he, addressing myself and a young woman sitting just behind me.
"Aha, two angels sent to comfort me!"
As I glanced at the young woman - who looked alarmed - and stood up in preparation to leave the train, the elderly gentleman spread his arms wide, blocking my exit from the seat.
"Well," I replied calmly, brushing him firmly aside, "this 'angel' is a bit old."
"No matter!" Answered he, following me eagerly to the door.
The train swayed and I grabbed a pole, while the elderly gentleman attempted to grab my hand on the pole.
"Listen to me," I said, in my best (Dutch) matter-of-fact, calming voice, whilst gazing unblinkingly and firmly into his rheumy old eyes. " Sit yourself down and wait quietly, until you reach your Stop. All right?"
"Oh what a pity," said he, moving off quickly down the carriage to accost another female. He had obviously decided there was no chance with one of his own generation, because his next victim was a pretty teenager, who let out a yelp, at whatever it was he said to her - and shouted at him to "Sodermieter op!!!" (Dutch for F... off!).
By now we had reached my station and as I stepped onto the platform the elderly gentleman was hurrying back up the carriage towards me (!). Too late! I was outside - and a young man stepping off at a door further up, waited for me to walk up beside him, before asking me if 'that old bloke' had been bothering me (?) and that he was just becoming aware of the situation and feeling that he should 'do something' about it, when 'the old perv' had moved away to pester somebody else! I replied that I had felt that the elderly gentleman was more confused, than dangerous - but still you never can tell - and I thanked him for his concern.
As we began descending the steps to street level the train was slowly leaving the station and we caught a glimpse of 'the old perv' peering forlornly after me through the glass door (!)
The young man solicitously slowed his pace to match mine, accompanying me safely down the unlit steps to the pavement, before calling a cheery goodnight and dashing off to catch an approaching tram - and as I continued my journey, I couldn't help but feel a warm glow of appreciation - and an inward chuckle. Chivalry towards elderly ladies with silver hair and stiff old knees (takes me a while to get down steps sometimes) is not dead it seems!
Bless that young man - and bless the old one too. For alas, I fear he may well be the most vulnerable of us all.
P.S.
I always carry my keys in my hand whilst walking down unbusy streets at night. Something I was told as a child: If someone grabs you around the neck from behind, jab the key up over your shoulder into the assailants eye (!) Yuk. Luckily haven't had to try it yet...
"Aha!" Says he, addressing myself and a young woman sitting just behind me.
"Aha, two angels sent to comfort me!"
As I glanced at the young woman - who looked alarmed - and stood up in preparation to leave the train, the elderly gentleman spread his arms wide, blocking my exit from the seat.
"Well," I replied calmly, brushing him firmly aside, "this 'angel' is a bit old."
"No matter!" Answered he, following me eagerly to the door.
The train swayed and I grabbed a pole, while the elderly gentleman attempted to grab my hand on the pole.
"Listen to me," I said, in my best (Dutch) matter-of-fact, calming voice, whilst gazing unblinkingly and firmly into his rheumy old eyes. " Sit yourself down and wait quietly, until you reach your Stop. All right?"
"Oh what a pity," said he, moving off quickly down the carriage to accost another female. He had obviously decided there was no chance with one of his own generation, because his next victim was a pretty teenager, who let out a yelp, at whatever it was he said to her - and shouted at him to "Sodermieter op!!!" (Dutch for F... off!).
By now we had reached my station and as I stepped onto the platform the elderly gentleman was hurrying back up the carriage towards me (!). Too late! I was outside - and a young man stepping off at a door further up, waited for me to walk up beside him, before asking me if 'that old bloke' had been bothering me (?) and that he was just becoming aware of the situation and feeling that he should 'do something' about it, when 'the old perv' had moved away to pester somebody else! I replied that I had felt that the elderly gentleman was more confused, than dangerous - but still you never can tell - and I thanked him for his concern.
As we began descending the steps to street level the train was slowly leaving the station and we caught a glimpse of 'the old perv' peering forlornly after me through the glass door (!)
The young man solicitously slowed his pace to match mine, accompanying me safely down the unlit steps to the pavement, before calling a cheery goodnight and dashing off to catch an approaching tram - and as I continued my journey, I couldn't help but feel a warm glow of appreciation - and an inward chuckle. Chivalry towards elderly ladies with silver hair and stiff old knees (takes me a while to get down steps sometimes) is not dead it seems!
Bless that young man - and bless the old one too. For alas, I fear he may well be the most vulnerable of us all.
P.S.
I always carry my keys in my hand whilst walking down unbusy streets at night. Something I was told as a child: If someone grabs you around the neck from behind, jab the key up over your shoulder into the assailants eye (!) Yuk. Luckily haven't had to try it yet...
Jul 9, 2009
SCOTTISH DAY OUT
"We climbed a big high mountain on a fair and sunny day and when we got to the top, went down the other side and had tea in a walled garden in Applecross".
And very nice it was too!
Aug 27, 2008
HIGHLAND FLING!
Ah…less than 48 hours to go and the holiday feeling is almost upon me! Suitcase packed; passport and e-ticket in order; house tidy; spare key ready to bring to neighbour (for plant watering); contact details next to phone; etc.. etc..
O.K. and now like Geri’s esteemed ancestors, who pre-enacted their hunting strategies in red ochre on the walls of their caves, I plot my route methodically by scribbling it down in red ink on a bit of paper. Not as you may think, to pre savour the journey - but more as a precaution against getting hopelessly lost en route; if not at Schiphol/Amsterdam airport, then definitely at Gatwick/London, during transit, or Inverness airport car park.
I hate Gatwick. I have been told that it is not a large airport but I just cannot get it ordered in my mind. I'm never sure which terminal I have arrived in, let alone the one I am supposed to fly from. So getting from South to North terminal (or vice-versa) on the tube-train, with only minutes to spare to catch a connecting domestic flight, is a heart stopping nightmare… !
But this time I am cannily prepared and determined to get to my destination in one piece, complete with luggage (do you hear that BA!?).
Travel plus waiting and transfer times = a 10 hour journey from the completely flat (nether) lands of Holland, to a mountaintop in Scotland. OK, so now I have disclosed my holiday destination, hopefully it will not be jinxed – again! (ref': Holiday Curse, 14/07/08)
Plan: Lock front door and trundle suitcase, handbag and self onto tram - train - 1st plane - tube train - second plane – mountain jeep.
Note: Fill handbag with brain food: i.e., chocolate of all varieties, to help with thinking and concentration during journey.
Of course the biggest dragon on this journey for me, is that self-service check-in machine at Amsterdam airport…(gulp…shudder…). I can never work out which buttons to press and it always tells me it can’t find my booking and doesn’t recognise my passport etc.. So knowing the instant panic I shall feel at the sight of the thing, I plan to skip the hyperventilation stage - and immediately clamp myself around the knees of one of those young uniformed attendants and querulously beg her to ‘please, oh please, please, please check me in!’ (It worked last time, heh-heh..).
OK folks, that’s yours truely done for a while then! No television, computer, cell-phone, ipod. I’m off to look at wild birds, wee beasties and men in kilts; yodel from the mountaintops and try and get some fantastic photos. Probably be misty all the time I am there… no, no, be optimistic Geri. This time you will not forget to take your camera; get into any embarrassing senile situations, cause any international incidents, get lost or break any bones!
T.t.f.n. everyone. Enjoy your own holidays - and be safe xxx !
O.K. and now like Geri’s esteemed ancestors, who pre-enacted their hunting strategies in red ochre on the walls of their caves, I plot my route methodically by scribbling it down in red ink on a bit of paper. Not as you may think, to pre savour the journey - but more as a precaution against getting hopelessly lost en route; if not at Schiphol/Amsterdam airport, then definitely at Gatwick/London, during transit, or Inverness airport car park.
I hate Gatwick. I have been told that it is not a large airport but I just cannot get it ordered in my mind. I'm never sure which terminal I have arrived in, let alone the one I am supposed to fly from. So getting from South to North terminal (or vice-versa) on the tube-train, with only minutes to spare to catch a connecting domestic flight, is a heart stopping nightmare… !
But this time I am cannily prepared and determined to get to my destination in one piece, complete with luggage (do you hear that BA!?).
Travel plus waiting and transfer times = a 10 hour journey from the completely flat (nether) lands of Holland, to a mountaintop in Scotland. OK, so now I have disclosed my holiday destination, hopefully it will not be jinxed – again! (ref': Holiday Curse, 14/07/08)
Plan: Lock front door and trundle suitcase, handbag and self onto tram - train - 1st plane - tube train - second plane – mountain jeep.
Note: Fill handbag with brain food: i.e., chocolate of all varieties, to help with thinking and concentration during journey.
Of course the biggest dragon on this journey for me, is that self-service check-in machine at Amsterdam airport…(gulp…shudder…). I can never work out which buttons to press and it always tells me it can’t find my booking and doesn’t recognise my passport etc.. So knowing the instant panic I shall feel at the sight of the thing, I plan to skip the hyperventilation stage - and immediately clamp myself around the knees of one of those young uniformed attendants and querulously beg her to ‘please, oh please, please, please check me in!’ (It worked last time, heh-heh..).
OK folks, that’s yours truely done for a while then! No television, computer, cell-phone, ipod. I’m off to look at wild birds, wee beasties and men in kilts; yodel from the mountaintops and try and get some fantastic photos. Probably be misty all the time I am there… no, no, be optimistic Geri. This time you will not forget to take your camera; get into any embarrassing senile situations, cause any international incidents, get lost or break any bones!
T.t.f.n. everyone. Enjoy your own holidays - and be safe xxx !
Jun 4, 2008
TICKET TO RIDE
Skulking behind a pillar, in the main hall of Central Station, is not something I normally do - but this was a matter of: ‘Do it now or pay surcharge on train tickets for the rest of your miserable life’. So I had no choice.
The object of my scrutiny mocked me from just a little way off and how I loathed it. That latest in train station technology and bane of my life - the large, ugly, blue and yellow, ticket vending machine! They are always in demand. So if you are not as quick thinking as you used to be, you can forget about learning how to use them. At least not without causing a riot in the queue. I have tried a few times but always chickened out at the hissing and booing stage, which in my case is just after I have located my specs and put them on. Hence the skulking - to try and see how other folk work the bl*ody things!
Unfortunately two nearby security guards were pretending not to watch me, so I faked a look at the wristwatch I’d forgotten to put on and wandered off to buy my ticket at a ticket hatch. The few hatches still open these days are used mainly by tourists - and doddering old wretches like me. Not only that, but the hatch people charge an extra 50cents a ticket (!) although their disapproving sniffs are free.
It might have gone on like that forever, had I not needed to travel out of the city one day via a small, local train station I had not used before. It was a revelation! Two ticket vending machines outside the station door and nobody else in sight... With thudding heart I donned my specs – and took my first long look at the enemy.
Ugh! Has anybody realized how nasty those screens are? This one was a filthy mess of smudged fingerprints and spit and probably teeming with E. coli or worse. The other machine was only slightly better, so I found a stick on the ground to touch it with. Despite visions of the plague and many false starts, I took my time and grew more and more cocky, till at last with a triumphant flourish the deed was done!
The only jarring note was that after all the adrenalin and perspiration, no ticket inspector came aboard the train (either way) to clip my self-made ticket…. But hey, what the heck - there's another technology notch on my broomstick and I can finally spurn those blue and yellow abominations for what they really are – mindless crud!
The object of my scrutiny mocked me from just a little way off and how I loathed it. That latest in train station technology and bane of my life - the large, ugly, blue and yellow, ticket vending machine! They are always in demand. So if you are not as quick thinking as you used to be, you can forget about learning how to use them. At least not without causing a riot in the queue. I have tried a few times but always chickened out at the hissing and booing stage, which in my case is just after I have located my specs and put them on. Hence the skulking - to try and see how other folk work the bl*ody things!
Unfortunately two nearby security guards were pretending not to watch me, so I faked a look at the wristwatch I’d forgotten to put on and wandered off to buy my ticket at a ticket hatch. The few hatches still open these days are used mainly by tourists - and doddering old wretches like me. Not only that, but the hatch people charge an extra 50cents a ticket (!) although their disapproving sniffs are free.
It might have gone on like that forever, had I not needed to travel out of the city one day via a small, local train station I had not used before. It was a revelation! Two ticket vending machines outside the station door and nobody else in sight... With thudding heart I donned my specs – and took my first long look at the enemy.
Ugh! Has anybody realized how nasty those screens are? This one was a filthy mess of smudged fingerprints and spit and probably teeming with E. coli or worse. The other machine was only slightly better, so I found a stick on the ground to touch it with. Despite visions of the plague and many false starts, I took my time and grew more and more cocky, till at last with a triumphant flourish the deed was done!
The only jarring note was that after all the adrenalin and perspiration, no ticket inspector came aboard the train (either way) to clip my self-made ticket…. But hey, what the heck - there's another technology notch on my broomstick and I can finally spurn those blue and yellow abominations for what they really are – mindless crud!
Jun 1, 2008
OLD BRAINS vs. NEW TECHNOLOGIES
According to a news article I tripped over recently whilst lost on the web, it would appear that as our brain cells decrease and technologies advance, a gap is evolving where nary the twain shall meet!
‘Technology baffles old and poor’ is the title of a BBC news online article, dated May 16, 2005 - but still true of today I fear.
According to this report, older people are: ‘…especially irritated with devices and technologies that are fiddly to use - a problem shared with disabled people’.
The article then goes on to tell us that: ‘Third generation mobile technology, 3G, came off the worst in a report into people’s understanding and take-up of technologies’.
So in other words, today’s technologies are guaranteed to morph you into a doddering, bankrupt, blithering wreck - the minute you pick up your pension book…!
Still, I have to admit that speaking subjectively, there is a large grain of truth in this article. But what can be done about it?
Apparently ‘exercising the brain’ is all the rage at the moment but what does that mean? Chanting through the twelve times table, or reciting pi (pronounced pie) (without custard) to infinite places, or even just practicing remembering where we keep putting our keys, is all good stuff – but how long will it take until the old Intelligence Quotient reboots itself?
Might it work faster if we stand on our heads whilst reciting? Perhaps even jiggle a bit, to help unstick the old hippocampus from its calcified surroundings?
Note: Try this at your own risk - but remove dentures first.
Naturally once the old brain is exercised, it will have to be tested. Personally, I can think of no I.Q. testing ground more excellent than that ‘Institute of the Confusing’ – the international airport! For example, I still don’t know how to work one of those ‘check in’ machines without clamping myself onto some startled, uniformed slip of a girl and begging her to please, oh please, check me in! Well I ask you, when is there ever time to learn how to use those things?! With hoards of the ‘desperate-to-get-aboard’ panting down your neck and distracting your mind, you might very well end up checking yourself aboard a 'last minute' adventure flight, to an erupting volcano!
Meanwhile, if you would like to read the BBC news article mentioned above, I can not transport you to it with one of those nice pale-blue-links, because I don’t know how to create one - but if you type: ‘bbc news technology baffles old and poor’ (without quotation marks) into your web browser – bingo! Don’t actually shout ‘bingo’, just type….
Right, I’ll be off then. A good strong mug of tea without milk and sugar, is tickling me fancy - and not a new technology in sight! Except for the kettle – but that’s been banged against the tap so often, it’s lost the will to fight...
Bye for now. Give those technology gremlins hell!
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