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Seeing the World

Life has served up a fantastic opportunity to travel

Salem – Where They Didn’t Burn Witches!

Salem. A place where they all went a bit loopy and burned lots of witches in 1692!

Well that was my knowledge of the place. Combined with a more recent theory that the effects of dodgy rye bread sent the town a bit high and got them throwing a few wild accusations around.

Wandering the red tourist lines helped educate me on a hot June day. First of all, there were no burnings. That tended to be a European and Catholic approach to pesky witches. These guys were Puritan and thought felony, not heresy. So they preferred a bit of hanging instead.

Nineteen hangings that year. One other execution was an old chap who was “pressed to death”. A little probing suggests this was similar to a good stoning. As you do. If I recall yesterday’s learning correctly six of the “witches” were men.

The only house still standing from 1692 is the Witch House. Where none of the accused lived. Just the judge. A Walgreens drive thru pharmacy now stands on the hanging site.

But Salem has a little more history. It was once a great port. We saw the old moorings and wandered around the Customs House where we discovered that taxes on goods brought into the port accounted for 7% of the revenue of the US Government for a time. Huge!

The locals also enjoyed the practice of tarring and feathering customs employees for a time. Not very sporting but supportive of smugglers.

We then headed for Marbelhead. Looked. Weren’t particularly enthused. Headed back to the hotel to see the UK Election results come through. Jet lag still has me. I was asleep by 8.30pm!

Gloucester today.  Maybe whale watching.  Who knows?

Boston – Chilled Out For non-Drivers

Boston – Chilled Out For non-Drivers

Massholes. A name given to residents of Massachusetts. In my case, I think it applies to the numerous drivers in Boston who sound their horn in frustration at you taking more than 0.2 seconds to respond to a traffic light turning green.

It’s been a fun day. A free Hilton Gold breakfast followed by a 15 minute walk with our hefty suitcases to collect the hire car. As we neared the airport structures I spotted a bus with “Car Hire Center” emblazoned across the front. Assertively I barked at Chris to get on quickly.

Some twenty minutes to bus returned to exactly the same spot and we got off. We were already at the car hire centre when I insisted on getting on the damn thing. The bus driver hadn’t updated his next stop in the front! Doh!

A rare queue at the Avis Preferred desk and we ended up with a decent sized Nissan something or other. Bags loaded and off to Boston. I’m not a fan of driving in cities. While Boston itself isn’t that bad, parking there is a shocker.

$42 for all day parking. $12 for an hour. Or $12 for 20 minutes of driving round failing to find a parking space before exiting and paying. Exploiting Massholes!

We eventually pound two hours street parking for another $8 and took a look around. We got sites of some impressive post-colonial low rise buildings somehow delightfully mixing with modern taller buildings as well as churches and a great looking synagogue. Eventually we moved on to the harbour area and handed over another obscene amount to park. A cloudy start to the day had now become glorious sunshine, cooled by a slight breeze.

In the end we moved on. Driven by expiring car park time and a little jet lag. In the evening we met up with an online friend of mine (no, not like that!) and enjoyed a Thai with ice cream (no, not like that!). It’s amazing how a journey through life can make so many new and unexpected acquaintances that can provide such good company. Perhaps conversation around the cultural difference of the good old USA and the Brits was predictable. So alike and yet so different!

It seems we’ve missed everything great in Boston. A side effect of poor planning perhaps. But there might be the chance to go back in two weeks before we fly off.

Boston

Boston

Well we found our hotel.  The magical Hilton Digital Key didn’t work as I couldn’t get online.  And the free wifi demanded a room number for the password.  And I didn’t know the room number because I couldn’t get online.  So we got a key from reception!

Five hours sleep topping up some plane slumber and I’m wide at a time close to my UK waking up schedule.  It’s possible that jet lag may be minimised, although today is a walk around a city day.  These tire me a little so I’m expecting to be zonked out early tonight.

Today’s plan?  Collect car.  That’s 12 minutes walk away.  Find a park and ride.  Transport into Boston.  Walk around some of the touristy places.  See the Boston Legal building (fabulous lawyer comedy).  Perhaps get out to Fenway Park and mock the sport of baseball.  And then out of town to Danvers for two nights as the witch hunt starts.

As a plan, it’s ill researched.  But I’ve more than a feeling that might well prove to be part of the fun.

BA First Class – Yeah Baby!

BA First Class – Yeah Baby!

The massage was a tad disappointing for me. The chair did most of the work, rather than the fair maiden who rubbed my shoulders a bit. And the chair hurt my back at times and I eventually had to ask for it to be turned off. Yes, I came away refreshed but not quite wowed. Chris on the other hand felt like his year of sleeping on a rag of a mattress at university had been completely rubbed away and he felt fantastic.

Cocktails on the terrace then overlooking, surprisingly enough, numerous British Airways planes.

We wandered over to the dining area where I made the surprise choice to start with soup. My usual outlook on soup is why would I want to eat a drink? Today I’d already been fed a lounge breakfast and cabin lunch. A lounge tea needed scaling back if I was to enjoy an evening meal in my first class suite.

Duck did the job. In fact it was terrifically cooked. Dessert and cheese that followed was pleasant but the duck stood out.

And then that was that. A shorter than expected Concorde Lounge experience was probably a good thing as a series of red wines and champagnes had built on the morning whisky and Baileys. I was quite merry.

The flight itself departed from terminal 5C. A monorail ride away. Worse still I discovered first class doesn’t entitle you to a a Star Trek style teleport to your seat and we had to board a bus to be taken to our 777. Not even an air bridge!

The bus passed an impressively large A380 aircraft. I’d have loved to have flown first class on that! Alas, availability for redeeming my Avios points on the dates I had didn’t spread beyond the older 777. Still on board we got.

My business class flights have been limited to an American Airlines A330 and the upper deck of a BA 747. The latter ideal for communicating with a travel companion. The AA service having a better seat layout for the individual traveller.

First class BA 777 beats both. It should, it costs a lot more. The personal space provided is a little larger. A home for iPad, book, phone etc was bigger and the seat control seems a little smarter. With a 1-2-1 seat layout we were in the middle two. My only criticism is that perhaps a sliding panel separating me from the aisle and thus buying more privacy would have been appropriate. But I was impressed.

A few years ago I’d have argued that premium seating was a waste of money. Maybe funding a family of five had something to do with that tight fisted view. These days anything further than the Canaries and I’m having a posh seat. And while business class is great first class is irrefutably better.

The on board service is a differentiator. The crew used my name. The were proactive in topping up my drink and although they selected my meal time for me it suited me. A relatively short flight (less than seven hours) and I wanted some sleep. Early food is good!

Then there’s the frills. £2,000 buys you a pair of pyjamas to wear on board and take away. Asda and Tesco for a tenner are my usual source of PJs and these outdo them. Agreed it’s not top tailoring but it’s good enough for this product of middle class suburbia.

The vanity kit included a range of toiletries, razor, shaving cream, toothbrush and toothpaste, eye mask, socks, comb and other goodies. I removed the eye mask thinking that would come in handy later after my dinner. Protection for my permanently sore right eye.

The champagne was proactively refilled. A red wine was swilled. This occasional drinker was just a little merry. And then the food arrived.

Amouse bouche. Some Mediterranean meats with an olive. Apparently regular first class flyers were in uproar when it was removed from the menu. It’s back. It’s classy looking. And it’s ok. Yes, just ok.

Next the Camembert starter. With a garlic bread. A little dry perhaps. Beautifully presented. But I should have accepted the offer of water beforehand. It became an effort to finish and that shouldn’t have been the case.

Then a main course selection of seared Aberdeen Angus fillet of beef. Good stuff, albeit not in the same class as the tenderloin served in the Lava restaurant in Iceland’s Blue Lagoon. Alas, this defeated me. Unfinished as the excesses of the day began to take hold. Clearly my weight loss routine has reduced my stomach capacity considerably.

Always room for a Madagascan vanilla ice cream though. Two blocks of rock hard ice! What’s all that about? I was eventually successful in chiselling tiny bits off. The taste was exquisite. The effort a little less subtle.

Finally a cup of tea. Made in the pot. Proper English stuff where you get milk too. None of those strange concoctions I’ve been provided with around Europe. This might have been my last brew for a fortnight. It was excellent.

Then confusion. A box of Hotel Chocolat was placed in front of me. A grin on my face. All mine! I opened the lid and discovered half the chocs had gone. A little wave of sadness as I realised that I’m not meant to scoff the whole lot. Followed by a sense of relief as there’s no way I’d have managed to.

Would I pay £2,000 of my own money to fly a single leg of first class again? No, not if there’s a £1,400 business class option, or something much cheaper by starting in Dublin or similar. But in the unlikely event of accruing enough air miles again I’d definitely go for it. There is a premium and personal service. The BA staff in the air and on the ground are excellent. I just wish we’d had a few extra hours in the air to enjoy it even more.

Marvellous. Another one ticked off.

Oh, other than the flower the first class loo is exactly the same as cattle class get. It seems we are all the same.

Jet Stream Delays Flight!

Jet Stream Delays Flight!

Noon flight from Manchester. A simple plan. Leave Halifax at 7.30am. Collect Chris in Oldham at 8.30am. Arrive at Mark’s for 9.30am for a lift to the airport and get through security to be in the lounge for a bacon sandwich and champers by 10am. Fly south at high noon.

What could possibly go wrong?

Well the Oldham traffic for starters; we left on time but the sat nav said the drive to Mark’s was going to be nearly two hours. Stress. Not disaster as I’ve built enough slack in. But pressure nonetheless.

Using my knowledge of the football ground I took a rat run around Boundary Park, slipped past B&Q and Tesco before eventually heading down Manchester Road to the motorway. ETA 9.45am. Back on track, sort of.

Mark supplied his usual efficient and much appreciated Manchester drop off service and we successfully joined the Club Europe queue to drop our bags off. Well, no queue for us. A dozen or so in the riff raff queue stared at us as we overtook.

22kg for Chris, 16 kg for me. 154kg under our allowable limit. Easy bag drop and despite the small security delay we hit the lounge at 10.20am. Then disaster struck!

No, not the 15 minute delay for our flight, but the complete lack of bacon rolls and champagne in the Manchester BA lounge. A vague notion of switching lounge using my Priority Pass was dismissed as I selected strawberry yoghurt, choc au pain, toast and croissant to go with my coffee and orange juice.

As we ate the board showed an even longer delay for our flight. 12.15pm became 12.45pm and finally 12.55pm. Chris knocked back some Tiger lager ahead of his two week prohibition in the USA. I found the chilled Baileys in the absence of champagne. We eventually heeded the call for the flight.

A delay of an hour didn’t really bother me. I’d factored in nearly seven hours for the Concorde Lounge at Heathrow. I’d already thought I might be overdoing it on free champagne there!

Shortly before 1pm we were on the plane. A few minutes later, belted up and ready to fly came an announcement. I don’t recall the exact words but paraphrasing it was something like “ha, we got you out of the lounge and away from the free booze to sit you in a plane that’s going nowhere”. The collective groan through the A319 aircraft told the story.  Something to do with the jet stream blowing planes around a bit.

Those of us at the front of the plane were offered water. Those behind the curtain, who knows? Who cares! I’m posh today! Let them buy Percy Pigs, as the French would say.

Will we make it to London today, let alone Boston? Well we took off at 2.30pm and then spent a fair bit of time circling Heathrow and burning extra fossil fuels before we hit the tarmac. The circling helped. Our meal and first glass of champers was only half eaten when the descent started. An adequate beef ciabatta and rather tasty trifle were rapidly consumed before cabin staff grabbed our plates and removed the glass from the rapidly consumed brut.

A classic London / Thames aerial view opened up as we dropped beneath the cloud. It is a magnificent city. Then a landing.

It might be a rush to get to our 4pm massage on time. Pressure!

Pilgrims, Witches and Tea Parties Await

Pilgrims, Witches and Tea Parties Await

Land drunk.  Sleep.  Hire car.  Drive around New England for two weeks.  Come home.

It’s a brilliant plan.  Not a lot of meat on the bones, but that suits.  Relatively short driving distances too.  A place that I know little about to be honest.

Boston itself has a history of knowing how to upset the Brits.  I mean what could be more insulting to an Englishman than chucking good quality tea in the harbour?  Other than serving it without milk …

Then there’s the witches.  Salem.  Let’s all get high on rye bread and burn each other for witchcraft!  I’ll find out more about that.

And the Pilgrim Fathers.  Some religious dudes who hopped over the pond in a boat once.  1485 was it?  My history needs refreshing.

There might be some whitewater rafting after last year’s fun on the Colorado.  Although it’s unbooked as I’m struggling to find a location where the dams will have been opened that day!

And two days on the beach at the end.  If we want to do the beach.

It’s an open book at the moment,  And I’m going to enjoy it!

Checked in, Packed and Ready

Checked in, Packed and Ready

British Airways let you check in 24 hours before departure.  A bit old fashioned, but I now know a little bit more around what to expect with tomorrow’s flights.

Manchester to Heathrow.  Noon flight.  Eight rows of full business class seats.  No option to switch to row one for a quick step on and step off moment, but row five should enable a pretty smooth access and exit without too much waiting around for other people to organise themselves.

Heathrow to Boston.  Evening flight.  Two seats already booked in prime position right at the front of the 777.  A quick check of the cabin planner shows six unselected seats out of the sixteen in first class.  I’m guessing these are unsold as BA allow free selection of first class seats at the time of booking.  Then I’m wondering why I care!

Breakfast will be in the Manchester BA lounge, if we get through security quickly enough.  I’m sure a couple of bags of crisps and a couple of cans of Pepsi Max will accidentally fall into my hand baggage.  Perhaps a shot or two of Gentleman Jack from the DIY bar.

British Aiways, legend has it, paid Heathrow Airport £1m to put a second entrance door into their Concorde Lounge.  A price charged because of the potential lost revenue from concourse shopping of high value customers not having to walk further through the terminal.

The Concorde Lounge will provide us with a three course lunch.  Steak is on the menu.  We’ll need to top up the quick salad meal they’ve served us on the plane.  Then the big decisions begin.  What champagne to choose?  Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle is my current thinking but it might be sporting to taste test against the Duval Leroy.

4pm is massage time.  Perhaps I’ll be feeling Tamrara’s warm and gentle hands work away on my knotted shoulders.  Or will I end up with Big Geoff’s knuckles hammering away at me?

Chris has decided to travel in a blazer to maximise the first class experience.  I’ve not told him yet that if he takes a shower in the lounge then they’ll press his clothes for him!  Perhaps he’ll not bother and just continue the champagne taste test!

There will come a point when we find out which gate our main flight is departing from.  Transatlantic flights tend to use Terminal 5A, 5B and 5C.  The middle 5B option is preferred.  They have another lounge there!  Although that will involve mingling with mere business class riff raff.

Then onto the plane.  Champagne.  Food.  A turn down service for my bed.  My own pair of BA pyjamas.  It’s almost a shame the flying tine is under seven hours!

Has Arab Politics Put My Australia Flights at Risk?

Has Arab Politics Put My Australia Flights at Risk?

Number one on the bucket list.  The Ashes down under.  The Credit Crunch and the decimation of the HBOS share price denied me the opportunity in the past.  Cancer isn’t going to.  Whatever my pain levels or medical needs I am going.

I’ve booked my Qatar business class seats out of Finland.  Half the price of departing from Manchester.  The best business class seat in the sky, some experts say.  Made all the accommodation arrangements.  And then a bolt from the blue this morning.

Qatar is being isolated by its neighbours in an issue that seems to be linked to dodgy tweets, fake news and the supporting of terror groups including Isis.  This Daily Telegraph report is one of many that explain the story.

How this may or may not affect me at the end of the year is unclear.  Will the airline which is effectively state owned be stopped from flying to or from the EU?  Does the stop over in Qatar mean my passport might get stamped with something that other nations object to leading them to refuse me entry on future trips?  How would insurers view an insurance claim if I lose my flights?

The impact might be lower.  But on the return leg I was planning to spend half a day in Doha, the country’s capital.  That might not now be such a good idea.  Who knows?

For now it’s a waiting game.  If the worst comes to the worst there are other airlines and I can write off the money already paid.  As a six year old my trip to Portugal was cancelled due to a revolution.  My grandparents made other plans and we ended up in Spain.

There are always other options.  As FIFA should know, with the 2022 World Cup in Qatar to look forward to.

The Bandaged Big Toe

What Could Possibly be Worse Than Terminal Lung Cancer?

The answer is simple.  Terminal lung cancer combined with Bell’s palsy!

At the time of writing it’s June 2017. The story starts on the 24th October 2016.

I’m sat in my private hospital room awaiting back surgery. My anaesthetist comments on my right eye not blinking. It had been a little irritated for a week or two but I’d not paid it much attention. After all, my back hurt like hell, I was being tested for myeloma (a “nicer” form of cancer than I was eventually diagnosed with) and a bit of dust in my eye didn’t seem that important.

Alas, the anaesthetist didn’t act on her observation and I thought nothing more of it. Even after the right side of my lip went wobbly as I tried to drink a cup of tea post-operation.  I mentioned that to my neurosurgeon but there was no follow up.

A couple of weeks later, well into November and after my stage four terminal lung cancer had been diagnosed, I visited my step daughter and her wife Emma. Louise commented that the whole of the right side of my face seemed to have slipped. She was quite shocked. She’d first noticed it at her wedding on 8th October but didn’t think to comment.  Well she was busy!

I made an appointment with my GP (an achievement in itself!) who suggested that while I probably had Bell’s palsy it could be that my lung cancer, which had already run amok through half the bones in my body, could potentially have spread to the brain. She arranged for me to have a same day scan at the local hospital. She also told me I couldn’t drive, but these words didn’t sink in. And I drove to the scan appointment.

This is perhaps the only time I can get critical of the treatment I’ve received from the NHS. I spent an afternoon sat in a ward with three desperately ill and sedated elderly people waiting for my turn to have my ears blasted by the sounds of the MRI. It didn’t happen. A doctor came along to tell me that I’d have to come back the next day (even though my GP had rung through for me to be seen the same day). His final words of “it won’t make any difference to your treatment” were probably just ill-thought but felt rather callous.

The scan did eventually take place and I got the results seconds before being sedated for my lung biopsy a few days later. Inconclusive – but here’s a prescription for some steroids in the assumption it is Bell’s palsy. Two further scans were needed before I got the all clear for brain cancer. Three weeks of being unable to drive. Three weeks of real disillusionment – but at least friends, family and even my ex-wife came through for me.

My latest condition was confirmed as Bell’s palsy. Not only am I riddled with terminal cancer I have a face that, how shall I put it, seems a tad less pleasing than it was. Seven months on I still can’t muster a smile. A diagonal line above the chin is the best I can do. My nostril has changed shape, leading to an inability to sneeze as it feels like if I did the eye would come flying out of the socket. And the eye itself remains irritated because the eyelid won’t close. Nosebleeds are common and the lining of my nostril repeatedly splits and heals.

Six weeks after diagnosis I was told I should be taping down the eyelid at night. Have you ever tried taping down an eyelid when the other eye automatically closes so you can’t tell if you’re about to tape an exposed eyeball or not?  I eventually mastered the art, but it wasn’t easy.

Apprently Bell’s palsy usually goes away on its own after three to four months. I’ve doubled that. I’m above average. The internet does talk about physio to treat it but I can’t see any evidence that it accelerates correction of the condition. Worse, my right ear is now deaf, apparently an inflammation caused by the palsy that happened in April. I suspect that’s a medical guess. They can’t fix it anyway.

Basically I’m stuck with my face contorting condition until it chooses to go away on its own. In the great scheme of things you might think that my Bell’s palsy is a minor thing. After all, I’m dying and that’s more important, right?

But it isn’t quite that simple. I’ve dedicated the rest of my life to travelling. I’ve already visited seven new countries this year and I’ve cashed in the air miles to pay for bucket list first class flights to New England this month.  Chile next month.  The Ashes down under in November.

The cancer damage hasn’t been as much of a travelling impediment as the Bell’s palsy. I have to hold my lips up on the right hand side to talk without a lisp. Not a good look. Not good for confidence. Not good for talking to foreigners when I don’t speak many foreign words! Not good for them understanding me at all!  Not good for ordering food and drink!

My cancer has given me the opportunity to travel. An excuse to blog.  Bell’s palsy has been far more difficult to accept.

 

The Bandaged Big Toe

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