Seeing the World

Last full day today and I think we’ll rest.  My love of the great American road trip continues but I am looking forward to the final transatlantic first class flight of my life tomorrow night.  I’ll cap my luxury at business class from now on!

We’ll relax today.  Little driving.  Beach.  Pool.  Sunset.  Perhaps reminisce over the last two weeks.

Chris is a great travel companion.  Intelligent, amusing and tolerant of my quirks we rib each other in a jovial manner but the love I have for my son is unsurpassed.  There are many things he might achieve in life but I hope, above all, he finds longstanding happiness in himself.

As for New England, it’s been great.  The further north and the more remote west we’ve got the more I’ve enjoyed it.  The areas around Bar Harbor, Mount Washington and Old Conway my favourites.  Cape Cod may well get added to that list today, despite being further south and east!

Boston is fine for the city lovers.  But this trip has reaffirmed that I’m happier with nature.  While not quite seeking solitude, the fewer people around the better!

New England in June is exceptionally green.  Presumably preparing for a good Fall browning off!  The time of year worked well for us though.  Quieter roads, emptier hotels and restaurants and easy access to any attractions.

Cost wise it has been epensive when compared to previous trips on the West side of the country.  This maybe more to do with the value of the pound than rampant inflation or regional price variations, but despite empty rooms in most locations our hotel prices seemed relatively high.

Comparitively, I’d still have to say that those trips to California, Nevada, Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming and Montana were better.  Probably because the scenery is more dramatic and noticeably less British.  But I won’t understate New England.  It has its own charm and beauty.  It’s definitely worth the effort.  And if you’re going to line up a series of USA driving trips yourself it might well be the one to do first before heading west in future for the more spectacular.

A special thanks to Kay for the teabags – Chris is enjoying working through them.  And a fun evening with Will and Clare too.  The online world helps build new friendships.

Next up, a return to Anglesey, the possibility of a Wimbledon final.  And then, in four weeks, Chile.

Why I’m Not Taking the Road Signs Literally

It’s been a fun and educational day.  We’ve been in Plymouth.  Where the first American settlers landed.  Notwithstanding that they landed in Cape Cod first, were predated by thirteen years by a community in Jamestown, weren’t called Columbus, weren’t native Indian Americans and weren’t Vikings, all of whom parked up in the USA earlier.

But we loved the place.  In its defence, it is the longest continuous habitation of a single location in the country.  And there’s Plymouth Rock.  A lump of rock that might have been touched by the 102 Pilgrims themselves in 1620.  Before half of them were killed off by the first cold winter and disease.  Then again, the genuine nature of the rock is tenuous.

While I have my tongue in my cheek a little, it is quite a classy place.  There is real history there and although the Mayflower replica is, alas, away for a $12m refit.  A short walking tour impressed.

After a visit to the town’s amusing “British Shop”, where the owner used the phrase “smashing”, we drove off to our final accommodation on Cape Cod.  A stop off at a national park site where Chris taught me all about Horseshoe Crabs, and on we drove.

At this stage, not for the first time, I drove past a sign that clearly stated “DO NOT PASS”.  I giggled to myself, picturing what would have happened if I’d slammed the brakes on and stopped in front of the sign.  Steadfastly refusing to proceed.  Not passing, as clearly instructed.

Theres another common red and white sign too.  “END ROAD WORK” it proclaims.  As if it’s the work of some sort of campaign group objecting to the common and often long stretches of road repairs in New England.  It seems it actually only signifies the end of a section of roadworks rather than a demand to cease all roadworks forthwith.

While I’m probably somebody who can be classed as an experienced overseas driver, I remain nervous on foreign roads.  The fear of not knowing a local rule or missing/misunderstanding an unusual sign is always a concern.

But if twenty drivers in front have gone beyond a “DO NOT PASS” sign I’m happy to take a leap of faith that it’s a no overtaking message.  Rather than a grind to a screeching halt message designed to block traffic indefinitely.

The Fallout of a Town Wanting $20 to Park – Seeing the Ref Get Hit Low

I was quite excited about plans to visit Newport, Rhode Island.  After all, it gets mentioned in The Eagles song The Last Resort.  Well I thought so until Chris played the track this morning confirming I’ve spent three decades thinking of a lyric that doesn’t exist.

Never mind.  It’s pretty, there are fancy boats, a fudgery and beaches with walks.  As we crossed bridges onto the island the fog rolled in.  Vague thoughts of a helicopter tour ditched.

Then the visitor center.  Free parking for half an hour, $20 for the day.  A quick wander around the visitor centre suggested nothing of great interest.

Out of the car park to find somewhere cheaper.  Over to Goat Island.  Dump.  Through a shopping area. $4 for 30 minutes.  Near the beach.  $20 a day.  A quick visual confirmed that a tidier version of Blackpool with nice sailing boats wasn’t worth the effort.  Screw Newport RI.

As we drove away from town Chris had the idea of sport.  It was 1pm.  There’s a highish standard baseball game forty minutes drive away.  Kick off 1.35pm.  Sat nav programmed, foot down.  As I drive Chris check Twitter.  The game is already underway!  Another plan ditched.

Basketball?  Nope.  Ice hockey?  Nope.  Then a buzz – Rhode Island Reds v Boston City.  Football.  Proper football, none of that forward passing American egg shaped ball stuff where they rarely use their feet to kick the ball.  Afternoon kick off.  Time to drive, lunch and walk around the venue.

Time to assess the playing level.  Effectively USA fourth flight.  After the game we agreed that Stalybridge Celtic v Hyde would be a higher standard.  Time to realise they were playing on an American Football field too!

Pre-match we actually caught some college baseball.  Around an hour which allowed me to get a basic understanding of the rules and, with a nil nil scoreline, reaffirm my view that the game is dull.  Notwithstanding Oldham Athletic drawing 0-0 on ten occasions last season.

Back to the soccer ball.  We paid $5, took our seats amongst a crowd I’d estimate to be well over 120, and observed captains and referee toss a coin off the pitch before the players entered the field of play.

The players lined up and the national anthem played.  We stood respectfully, as we had done at the rodeo in Casper Montana last year.  I pondered how it would feel to sing God Save the Queen before an away game at Scunthorpe or Doncaster.  But not for long.

The game kicked off and started with high energy and pace.  Somewhat against the run of play Boston City took a lead which they doubled with a penalty before half time.  They went on to win 3-1, the winner a diving header.  I’d actually said to Chris “you don’t see many diving headers in football these days” earlier in the day, citing how soft they are.  Not here!

The game drew to a close.  The players left the field.  The fans all sat there chatting.  The English way is to applaud your team if they’ve played well. Or leave fast if they’re Oldham and beat the traffic while mourning another defeat.

Here both sets of fans just sat there.  No applause.  No boos.  No movement.  Bizarre inaction!

The players then returned to the pitch to warm down and both sets received a positive ovation from the crowd.  It just felt different to what I’m used to.

It was, however, a fun afternoon with the highlight being the ball hitting the referee hard in the gonads.  Something you don’t see every week!

The Search For a Decent Cup of Tea

As and when President Trump’s state visit to the UK goes ahead, there is one matter that needs to be raised to the top of the agenda.  Getting the Yanks to provide a decent cuppa.  Queenie needs to get onto this.

If you’re a person who likes green tea, camomile tea, raspberry infused nonsense tea, peppermint blueberry herbal tea or similar, I have the utmost respect for your right to choose.

But let’s be honest.  A proper cup of tea involves proper tea bags (I’ve accepted the demise of loose tea and the redundancy of tea strainers) such as Yorkshire Tea, Lancashire Tea, Twinings, PG Tips, I’ll even grant you Typhoo from Poundland.  Across Europe and the USA other brands seem to call this “black tea”.  It is proper tea.  Not fruity.  Not herbal.  Proper tea.  Pour boiling water over tea bag.  Agitate the bag.  Leave for a couple of minutes.  Add milk.  If you’ve used  pot, add milk to the cup before pouring.

Yesterday, the owners of the hotel we stayed in cooked us a fantastic breakfast.  It was the first time we didn’t choose from a buffet.  The tea or coffee question was answered with tea by both of us.  A little wave of excitement ran through my body as we each received a china tea pot and china cup and saucer.

That excitement dropped a little as a dozen or so tea bags were delivered to our table.  I tried to avoid the accusatory glance but I’m sure the look on my face said “why on earth are you expecting me to dip a tea bag into water.  Everybody knows you need to pour boiling water through the tea bag to make a decent brew”!

Being British I smiled my thanks, albeit diagonally, and got on with things.  Chris dived into the tea bag basket.  Various fruits.  Pomegranate.  Green.  Mint.  Camomile.  Light relief when a single bag of black tea was removed.  Decaffinated.  WTF!  And he dropped it into his pot!

With the temperature dropping in my tea pot I’m in a state of panic now.  I’m British.  I’ve been offered tea and I want a proper bloody tea bag don’t you know!

As I flicked through the odd range provided I found some Earl Gray.  Not quite my definition of proper tea.  It tends to taste like somebody’s already used the tea bag three times.  But it was the best I could do.  An adequate morning cuppa when I’d been hoping for so much more.

At least our lovely hosts supplied semi skimmed milk.  One location got the right tea bags, failed on the boiling water and then supplied cream to whiten it with.  That was a rejection from me as I reverted to coffee.

And it will be coffee for the rest of the trip.  The insult of the Boston Tea Party is complete!

Chile is the real worry.  We never got round to colonising them.  Not a hope in hell of a nice cuppa in Easter Island or Santiago!

The Second Best Exotic Marigold Hotel got it.

Deaf as a Post on the Wrong Side of the Road

This year’s USA driving experience has been different.  Chris remains in charge of the directions / navigation while I cling tightly to the steering wheel worrying about inconsiderate locals not realising that I need to swerve across three lanes to exit highways, or how I want to hog two lanes before Google Maps gets around to letting us know where to go.

My big problem is my right ear.  Thanks to Bell’s palsy I’ve been deaf in that ear for a few weeks.  Not immediately a problem, it becomes a nightmare on foreign roads when your navigator is giving you instructions from the right.  The number of times I’ve thrown out an ignorant sounding “what?” As Chris clearly gives directions has led to one or two startling lane changes and late swerves after he repeats his message.

My deafness isn’t fun.  But it is occasionally funny. My stunning ignorance as a waitress commented on my Space Invaders tee shirt – because I’d not heard a word – cracked Chris up as he explained the message I’d missed.  I flashed a belated smile to the waitress that, thanks to the Bell’s palsy, was a strange deformed facial glare, already having missed good timing.  An odd look was returned before she turned away.

Learnings For Our Chile Trip

Although there are still four nights in New England and my final first class flight to come, my thoughts this morning are very much on making a trip to Chile a success.

It’s hard to believe that this is only a month away.  Flights were booked in January.  Hotels slotted into place by April and car hire somewhere in between.

But the last two weeks are a reminder that there’s more to do ahead of our longest ever flight.

Flight times are pretty much nailed down.  Manchester to Milan in Flybe cattle class.  Milan to Madrid in Iberia’s European business class.  Madrid to Santiago, departing at midnight, on an A340-600 that looks rather big.  The thirteen hour flight is a little intimidating, but hopefully sleep will eat away half that time.

Issue one is hand luggage.  My hand luggage to Belfast didn’t fit in the Flybe overhead locker.  I need to downsize my bag for the first leg.  Chris has a classy National Geographic rucksack that is quite rigid in shape too.  I suspect this will have to squeeze under his seat for that first flight.

Next up is a night in Milan.  Shifting two big bags and our hand luggage into the centre of the city.  Train or Uber is the big decision.  And is the hotel I’ve chosen well located?  I need to check I’ve not overdone my budget instincts!  And what to do before we return to the airport the following evening.  Is the San Siro stadium open for a tour?  Where would we leave our bags?  Not sure at the moment!

It becomes easier after that.  Airport lounge.  Flight.  Airport lounge then very long flight.  A taxi to our Santiago hotel seems most sensible.  Then three nights in the city.  Is there are football match?  There’s always a church!  But what else can we do?

The a flight north to Calama.  Car hire.  Chris can take some of the driving strain as we head to the Atacama Desert.  But I’ll have to pay an additional insurance premium.  What to visit in the Atacama?  Do we drive or hop into a local’s truck?  The latter might give a more authentic feel, but will doubtless cost more.

Then back to Santiago to fly to Easter Island.  We need a car on the island but the hotel haven’t replied to emails.  The process doesn’t involve Avis or similar.  They don’t exist of the island.  It’s “we’ll lend you Pedro’s pick up truck”!

Once we’ve done the funny rock men, we fly south to drive the lakes.  The same payment for Chris to be insured again.  But I need to plan the route between our already booked hotels.

My sat nav won’t work in Chile.  My overseas data allowance doesn’t work in Chile.  I’ll need to print out a route for each stage and download them to my phone as well.  That way I think my phone can tell us, politely, where to go, without charging a fortune for data.

Then the flights home.  Same route in reverse.  Six hours between flights in Madrid.  Possibly a trip to the Bernabau?  Not sure!  Maybe lots of coffee in the lounge instead.

Twelve flights in three and a half weeks.  Wow!

Relief as my Side Effects Resume

Killington to Manchester Village has been today’s drive.  Relatively short.  As I lay in bed this morning I pondered a 138 mile round trip to the Ben and Jerrys factory.  I didn’t fancy it, despite Chris licking his lips at the thought.  We eventually decided to drive up Mount Equinox.  A trip subsequently cancelled when we opened the curtains to see weather that typical of Manchester, UK.  It was hurling it down!

Breakfast, where the bargain hotel let us down terribly with the limited choice destroyed by stale toasting bread.  We returned to our room and I paid a visit.  On the way I looked in the mirror and felt semi-elated to see the return of my spots.  A similar elation as I sat down and stared at the door.  My standard afatinib side effects had returned.

Elated, because I realised that the pelvic pain on the right side of my back had diminished.  For the second time I’ve gone through a process of side effects disappearing, pain returning, pain fading a little, side effects returning.

I can only assume the pain is a tumour growing and the reducing pain is that tumour receding as the medina works.  It’s a guess.  The pain and the side effects are real enough.  The cause, well what else could it be?

We found a Walmart and topped up breakfast with a beef and cheese sandwich.  We found a Dunkin Donuts and spent silly money on a coffee in a cardboard cup.  We parked up and Chris stole the donut shop’s wifi for a bit.  Living the American Dream!

Are Covered Bridges Exciting?

Meeting up with friends the other evening a few seconds were allocated to a tourist leaflet with a heading “The covered bridges of New Hampshire”.

I get zoos, river trips, cable car rides, walks and trails, waterfalls, whale spotting and the like.  But bridges with a roof on?  Bizarre!

Oddly enough the next day we saw one.  A bridge crossing a river with walls and a roof.  It was a scene like something from The Three Billy Goats Gruff.  Stream tumbling downhill.  Green meadows around.  And this bridge.

The owner had turned it into a shop.  As we sped past we didn’t quite see what was being sold there.  But it was quite clearly some sort of one man market stall.

We exchanged perplexed looks.  Why a roof?  Why a shop?  Why exist at all!  Now in Vermont we’ve seen another of these things.  Neither of them have been particularly pleasing on the eye.  Number two doesn’t appear to have opted for the mini mart approach and simply gets you across the river it spans.  No obvious signs of trolls or the like.

A quick google (other search engines are available) revealed tours of multiple covered bridges.  People ticking them off lists like I’m ticking off countries on a map.

Plane spotting and train spotting were always baffling hobbies that I never got into.  Covered bridge crossing will probably go the same way.  Then again, I always swore I’d never go on Facebook …

Vermont, Quechee Gorge and a £16.75 Hotel

I’m feeling smug tonight.  The drive into Vermont was great.  The drive through Vermont has been beautiful.  It’s a three way tie for first place with Maine and New Hampshire.  Massachusetts is very much bottom of the list.

We stopped off at Quechee Gorge.  While pleasant in its own skin as a beauty spot it’s lovely without being outstanding.  A short walk.  More use for the walking stick coming back up the hill.  Chris excited by the free wifi in the car park!

After an enjoyable stop we headed onto our hotel for the night.  I couldn’t remember what I’d booked.  Just the address.  As we arrived something relatively impressive opened up in front of us.  A two floor ski lodge with a large welcome area, pool and hot tub and a very large bedroom.

Breakfast included too.  Fruit and hot drinks in reception.  Balcony too.

I commented to Chris that I didn’t recall the price and I was worried I’d paid a fortune in a moment of madness.  As soon as we had wifi sorted I checked the confirmation email.  Amazingly this was a “free room” I’d booked using the hotels.com loyalty scheme.  Taxes totalled £16.75.

Rather chuffed with a bargain.  Especially after the expense of the first three nights on this trip!

Next Stop Vermont