Today
Yesterday we set out from Wellington to drive to Napier on the East side of North Island. Plugged in Dolly the sat nav and off we set. After she’d taken a little time, during which Paul drove around hopefully in the wrong direction, to place herself, she began lisping out the turns.
Very good she was, too. In fact she’d have been better if I hadn’t been also reading the map and had a disagreement with her over whether to head straight up the SH2 (my preference) or continue on SH1 (hers).
I overruled her and thereby added about 30km to the journey. More scenic, tho’ which is my excuse to which I’m sticking.
Dolly’s (well, doesn’t everyone have a name for their sat nav person?) particularly useful in cities where it’s easy to become confused. But she’s not very intuitive and we found that she got so muddled on some very tight hairpins near Queenstown that she kept thinking we were heading the wrong way and instructing us to do u-turns.
In My Day
I absolutely love maps and am living proof that women can read them. I probably got this from Mamma who had a huge store of OS maps. She used these to guide us on our country walks. There’s a picture in our family
album of Mamma leaning on a stile, somewhere near Godalming, clutching a map with a faraway look in her eyes.
She used to dive off the lanes along paths that had previously been invisible to us, exclaiming “Ah! That’s the footpath!”. She would then lead us confidently along what to my eyes was just a clear patch of woodland or the very muddy edge of a ploughed field.
I think she frequently got lost and our best chance of reaching our destination was if it was a very well-signposted National Trust site or something similar. Daddy’s nickname for her on these occasions was “The Never-get-there”. I don’t know whether she was very pleased by this, but I also noticed that Daddy opted out of the whole direction finding thing entirely.
In my own forays I tend to stick to the lanes, unless the path is very clear and free of mud. It’s safer and quicker!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Landladies
Today
More on hotels and the like. Perhaps because New Zealand has such a small population or perhaps because there are so many people travelling around, staying a day or two here and there, much of the accommodation is in “lodges”. A lodge isn’t a B&B or a guest house or a hotel or a motel.
They seem to offer a high standard with good, even luxurious rooms. Eating is often of a gourmet standard and generally of a communal nature, with guests all seated around a large table.
At Larnach Castle at Dunedin we dined in the castle dining room with about 20 other guests. Courses were punctuated with tales of the castle.
At the moment we are at the Westwood Lodge at Franz Joseph Glacier. It’s a B&B with bar (honesty style if the owners aren’’t there to take your money), lounge, and snooker table.
In my Day
I remember the first B&B I ever went to alone. I was busy applying (Fruitlessly, a it turned out) for degree courses in art.
I’d been invited to an interview at the Devonshire Art school. I travelled down from London and booked into a B&B not far from the college. I was eighteen.
I knocked on the door of the B&B. A hatchet-faced woman opened the door. I was taken to a spartan room with a lino floor, bed and sink. Bathing and toilets were shared affairs.
The place was peppered with notices about noise, using too much water, electricity and the penalties attached to coming back after 10.00 pm. I ignored all and tried to sleep; my stomach rumbling in protest against my having been too shy to go out and find supper.
In the morning I had to prepare for my interview. I bathed and washed my hair. Had breakfast and checked out. There was a extra item on the bill. Because I’d washed my hair I’d exceeded some cleanliness limit. I paid up and fled, too embarrassed to argue.
Anyway, all that embarrassment didn’t help me as I wasn’t offered a place at the art college.
More on hotels and the like. Perhaps because New Zealand has such a small population or perhaps because there are so many people travelling around, staying a day or two here and there, much of the accommodation is in “lodges”. A lodge isn’t a B&B or a guest house or a hotel or a motel.
They seem to offer a high standard with good, even luxurious rooms. Eating is often of a gourmet standard and generally of a communal nature, with guests all seated around a large table.
At Larnach Castle at Dunedin we dined in the castle dining room with about 20 other guests. Courses were punctuated with tales of the castle.
At the moment we are at the Westwood Lodge at Franz Joseph Glacier. It’s a B&B with bar (honesty style if the owners aren’’t there to take your money), lounge, and snooker table.
In my Day
I remember the first B&B I ever went to alone. I was busy applying (Fruitlessly, a it turned out) for degree courses in art.
I’d been invited to an interview at the Devonshire Art school. I travelled down from London and booked into a B&B not far from the college. I was eighteen.
I knocked on the door of the B&B. A hatchet-faced woman opened the door. I was taken to a spartan room with a lino floor, bed and sink. Bathing and toilets were shared affairs.
The place was peppered with notices about noise, using too much water, electricity and the penalties attached to coming back after 10.00 pm. I ignored all and tried to sleep; my stomach rumbling in protest against my having been too shy to go out and find supper.
In the morning I had to prepare for my interview. I bathed and washed my hair. Had breakfast and checked out. There was a extra item on the bill. Because I’d washed my hair I’d exceeded some cleanliness limit. I paid up and fled, too embarrassed to argue.
Anyway, all that embarrassment didn’t help me as I wasn’t offered a place at the art college.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Jeg the Peg
Today
Eventually Paul just had to give in. His gronky knee wasn't even up to the level walk from our hotel to the centre of Christchurch.
So we started looking for walking sticks. After only a little searching we found a hand-made Maori stick which has little parrots with capiz shell eyes carved on it.
"Just the right height," proclaimed Paul and he's been leaning on it ever since.
In My Day
I remember when Daddy took to using a walking stick. The stick itself was quite ordinary but it soon acquired a cult status within the family. Daddy went nowhere without it. Where he went included Canada, Strasbourg, Wiesbaden, Austria, Interlaken, Hamburg, Geneva, etc, etc.
Wherever he went he bought little metal souvenirs which attached to the stick with sharp prongs. Soon his stick was weighed down with these badges of honour. We began to call it Daddy's Alpenstock. When Daddy finally became so disabled that he couldn't go further than the end of the road, the stick reminded him of all his past adventures.
Unfortunately, all that's happened with Paul is that I keep reminding him the I'm now 60 and older than him and I don't need a stick...
Eventually Paul just had to give in. His gronky knee wasn't even up to the level walk from our hotel to the centre of Christchurch.
So we started looking for walking sticks. After only a little searching we found a hand-made Maori stick which has little parrots with capiz shell eyes carved on it.
"Just the right height," proclaimed Paul and he's been leaning on it ever since.
In My Day
I remember when Daddy took to using a walking stick. The stick itself was quite ordinary but it soon acquired a cult status within the family. Daddy went nowhere without it. Where he went included Canada, Strasbourg, Wiesbaden, Austria, Interlaken, Hamburg, Geneva, etc, etc.
Wherever he went he bought little metal souvenirs which attached to the stick with sharp prongs. Soon his stick was weighed down with these badges of honour. We began to call it Daddy's Alpenstock. When Daddy finally became so disabled that he couldn't go further than the end of the road, the stick reminded him of all his past adventures.
Unfortunately, all that's happened with Paul is that I keep reminding him the I'm now 60 and older than him and I don't need a stick...
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Room Service
Today
I’ve started my great “round the world” holiday! Hurrah! Of course it involves staying in a great number of hotels. Over the next 40 days I’ll being staying in about 25 hotels about 7 different countries, if you count the stop over at Heathrow. And that doesn’t take into account 2 cruise ships.
We’re able to afford to stay in some good hotels. Even so, they vary much. We stayed at Raffles in Singapore. Although my friend who produces the “Ultimate Hotel Guide” doesn’t rate it as highly as the Four Seasons, we liked it for its central location and air of grand colonial elegance. Turbanned attendants greeted us by name and nothing was too much trouble. Our bedroom was really a suite with dining/sitting area, large bedroom and huge bathroom which had magnificent ornamental tiles. Birds flew freely in and out of the entrance hall. And by some agreement with dirt-free Singapore, they didn’t drop any poo anywhere on the immaculate tiles.
By contrast, the Shangri-La in Sydney, despite its service and beautiful views over the harbour, feels like a corporate chain. Although they produce a cracking salad.
It’ll be great fun discovering what the rest of the countries we’re visiting have to offer.
In My Day
I’ve lost count of the number of hotels I’ve stayed in. When I worked for Flare I travelled all over Britain. I’ve stayed in everything from the most deadly 2-stars, through Travelodges with their affiliation to Little Chef food, to some weird and grand places.
One that sticks in my mind is the Tre-ysgawen Hall hotel in Anglesey. I arrived after a long drive. The hotel charged £70 per night with breakfast and evening meal so my hopes weren’t high. I drove up a long drive and arrived at the sort of hotel where it costs £1000 just to open the front door. It appeared that I was the only guest. The chef produced an elaborate menu and was disappointed when I asked for an omelette. My bedroom had“real” furniture in it. I stayed there a few times and nearly always was entirely alone. What was this place? Was it a cover for drugs running? Or money laundering? On one occasion I arrived, after a long day’s training, to find that the bar was closed. “So sorry,” said my friendly waiter, “It doesn’t apply to you – it’s because of the demonstration.” I accepted a mineral water. It was only later, during dinner, as I watched people filing into the adjacent ballroom, that I asked, “What demonstration?” “Well, more of a meeting – like where they talk to dead people”, said my waiter. “You mean that they’re having a seance next door?” I asked incredulously.
But it was true. I spent the night, feeling spooked, expecting to see ectoplasm floating across the lawn or hear mysterious rappings in the night. I later learnt that the owners’ real interest was in psychical research and they regularly held meetings, seminars and seances , and this presumably paid the somewhat meagre returns from being a hotel in the middle of nowhere. (And believe me, Anglesey is the middle of nowhere).
Although I’m no longer at the mercy of admin staff to arrange my accommodation I am at the mercy of the travel company and what the Internet can tell me. Ah, well, all part of life’s rich etc etc....
I’ve started my great “round the world” holiday! Hurrah! Of course it involves staying in a great number of hotels. Over the next 40 days I’ll being staying in about 25 hotels about 7 different countries, if you count the stop over at Heathrow. And that doesn’t take into account 2 cruise ships.
We’re able to afford to stay in some good hotels. Even so, they vary much. We stayed at Raffles in Singapore. Although my friend who produces the “Ultimate Hotel Guide” doesn’t rate it as highly as the Four Seasons, we liked it for its central location and air of grand colonial elegance. Turbanned attendants greeted us by name and nothing was too much trouble. Our bedroom was really a suite with dining/sitting area, large bedroom and huge bathroom which had magnificent ornamental tiles. Birds flew freely in and out of the entrance hall. And by some agreement with dirt-free Singapore, they didn’t drop any poo anywhere on the immaculate tiles.
By contrast, the Shangri-La in Sydney, despite its service and beautiful views over the harbour, feels like a corporate chain. Although they produce a cracking salad.
It’ll be great fun discovering what the rest of the countries we’re visiting have to offer.
In My Day
I’ve lost count of the number of hotels I’ve stayed in. When I worked for Flare I travelled all over Britain. I’ve stayed in everything from the most deadly 2-stars, through Travelodges with their affiliation to Little Chef food, to some weird and grand places.
One that sticks in my mind is the Tre-ysgawen Hall hotel in Anglesey. I arrived after a long drive. The hotel charged £70 per night with breakfast and evening meal so my hopes weren’t high. I drove up a long drive and arrived at the sort of hotel where it costs £1000 just to open the front door. It appeared that I was the only guest. The chef produced an elaborate menu and was disappointed when I asked for an omelette. My bedroom had“real” furniture in it. I stayed there a few times and nearly always was entirely alone. What was this place? Was it a cover for drugs running? Or money laundering? On one occasion I arrived, after a long day’s training, to find that the bar was closed. “So sorry,” said my friendly waiter, “It doesn’t apply to you – it’s because of the demonstration.” I accepted a mineral water. It was only later, during dinner, as I watched people filing into the adjacent ballroom, that I asked, “What demonstration?” “Well, more of a meeting – like where they talk to dead people”, said my waiter. “You mean that they’re having a seance next door?” I asked incredulously.
But it was true. I spent the night, feeling spooked, expecting to see ectoplasm floating across the lawn or hear mysterious rappings in the night. I later learnt that the owners’ real interest was in psychical research and they regularly held meetings, seminars and seances , and this presumably paid the somewhat meagre returns from being a hotel in the middle of nowhere. (And believe me, Anglesey is the middle of nowhere).
Although I’m no longer at the mercy of admin staff to arrange my accommodation I am at the mercy of the travel company and what the Internet can tell me. Ah, well, all part of life’s rich etc etc....
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