Seeing the World

Driving abroad has many advantages for the traveller.  Timetable flexibility.  Car hire can often be cheaper than a taxi to and from the airport.  A real opportunity to explore and make ad hoc decisions on what to do.  On our long USA driving trips the car almost becomes a second home, albeit not quite an RV.

But there is a catch.  If you damage the hire car, you pay.  I’m about to find out what random amount Avis charge for a plastic clip on a wing mirror.  The maximum is capped at €1,000.  They did offer me insurance costing €80 for less than four days but I declined.  Partly on the basis I wouldn’t pay €7,300 for an annual policy.

The other reason for rejecting the Avis policy is that I have cover with American Express thanks to my posh £450 charge card.  The disadvantage of this “free” cover is that Avis charge me and I need to provide AMEX with paperwork to enable them to reimburse me.

So between booking holidays I need to find time for that paperwork.

The damage itself was a travesty.  The large metal bin must have leapt out quite sharply to catch my near side wing mirror in such a way.  Then somehow it managed to hide the plastic backing it tore from the car.

In other news, I found the EHIC card!

The Mystery of the Missing EHIC Card

When I get home from Montenegro I need to launch a search for my EHIC card.  I’ve gone through my wallet and my “important cards” packet (the latter holds things like hotel status and airline status proof) and can’t find it.

In the immediate future that isn’t an issue.  Montenegro has reciprocal healthcare provision with the U.K. on an emergency basis only and doesn’t recognise EHIC.  My insurance covers other health issues, except for little things like cancer and related complications.

But the EHIC card is important.  I’d already decided not to wander into Croatia, but had something happened there I’d be covered.  I definitely had the card in Bratislava.  And I definitely need one for a Chile trip that includes time in Italy and Spain.

My concern is that I don’t for the life of me know what I’ve done with it.  Maybe in the spirit of leaving my glasses in Slovenia I’d previously deposited my EHIC card in my large Slovakian apartment.

Perhaps there’s an Eastern European self harming himself and wandering around EU hospitals seeking free treatment in my name.

It’s something I do need to sort.  Even if my main health plan is get myself to the nearest plane home.  There are all sorts of potential happenings that scenario won’t always be possible.

The Bay of Kotor

I’ve only been here a few hours and the extent of exploring has been to find eggs, bacon, bread, butter, milk and corn flakes.  That said, although my location may not boast shops and restaurants within walking distance it’s views are spectacular.

The Adriatic Sea snakes inland to form a bay that is the most beautiful I’ve seen.  Cliffs.  Forest covered mountains.  Crystal clear water that is so still it doesn’t even hint at lapping against the shore.  Turn around and a church sits high up on a hillside overlooking the glory beneath.

I’ve only got two full days here.  While I’d pondered a trip north to Croatia and Dubrovnik the roads are scary as hell.  I’ll visit Kotor itself tomorrow before deciding what to do on Tuesday.  A winding mountain drive has been recommended but despite having a fairly good driving record I’m really not sure Bondesque hairpins are what I want.  Even if the views are as spectacular as promised.

For now, early night.

Montenegro Motor Madness

Most of my c10,000 non-UK driving miles are USA based.  Wide open highways.  Well enforced traffic laws and, on the whole, well behaved motorists out of the cities.

Montenegro is different.  It started well.  A huge queue at the Europcar desk to collect Easyjet booked car hire.  Me at the Avis desk to collect Stringy booked Avios generating car hire.

It rapidly went downhill.

“Mr Dave”, said a man in the sternest Russian sounding (presumably Montenegran accent) I’ve ever encountered.  “Why are you early I’ve not prepared your booking yet?”.  Given that only one flight from anywhere in the world lands at Tivat airport on a Sunday morning you’d have thought that they’d gave guessed which one I was on and tracked it.  Four staff.  One customer.  One plane.

Next came the insurance hard sell.  “Brand new car.  You scratch, you tell police.  You pay €1,000.” – they kept on trying after I politely explained that I have my own cover and had no wish to hand over €80 to duplicate it.  Three times.

Then the brand new car was checked.  I always video around the car just in case there’s a discrepancy later.  I make a point of doing this with the Avis chap watching to ensure the staff don’t try to take advantage.  The brand new car had several nicks all of witch were recorded on the handover form.  It also had over 75,000 kilometres on the clock.  Let’s put it down to a language issue rather than a lie to try and flog me insurance!

And then I’m away.  Out onto the highway and quickly remember to turn my lights on to comply with local traffic laws.  Through the impressive Port Montenegro where the rich park their yachts and then my first WTF moment.

The nice two lane highway, one in each direction, changed.  Mr Montenegran road builder had the brilliant idea of building a coast road with no pavements and no lines down the middle.  No point having any lines as the road was only wide enough for one and a half cars anyway.

The magnificent scenery of forest covered mountains reflecting on this beautiful Adriatic inlet was pretty much lost on me as I focused on keeping my Citroen Crapolamobile on the tarmac, occasionally forced to swerve into the gravel that sometimes divides the road from the cliff side by an errant local driving like a complete knob in the opposite direction.

Finally I reached my destination.  A small apartment 20 yards from the sea.  Beautiful place.

Complimentary wine too.  If they supplied a corkscrew life would be perfect!

Repeating a Drive From the Past

Just about every childhood holiday began with the short drive to Manchester’s Ringway Airport.

I made the same drive again in the early hours today, having made the late decision to check into a nearby hotel overnight. Deafness in the right ear assisted as a function downstairs belted out 80s songs beneath my room. I rolled onto my left side, blocking the left ear and complete silence enveloped my world until 4am.

This time the morning drive ended as I parked at the airport. Different to those childhood memories of joining the M56 and commencing an arduous seven hour journey to Devon. “Are we nearly there yet Dad?”

Slow progress through security was made even slower when my neatly packed bag, together with scissors and organic powder, was selected for a strip search. The scissors were okayed and five minutes later so were the sugars pinched from the hotel. Lounge time.

The T1 Aspire Lounge again providing early morning peace, comfort and coffee with bacon sandwich courtesy of American Express, £450 and Priority Card. A visit to the gents was less comfortable as the sole cubicle was taken so I played the disabled card, feeling slightly guilty but need outstripped the guilt. Shut the door, engage the lock and sit down. A minute later the door opened – a Jewish chap stood there shocked and apologetic before retreating. Glad it wasn’t his wife! Some idiot had failed to lock the door effectively!

At this point I realise that I’ve managed to lose my printed boarding pass. Panic! It’s also available online so I’m okay but what if somebody finds it, uses it and blows up the plane? An unlikely scenario avoided when I checked with the lounge dragon (receptionist who guards her territory accordingly) who had somehow got hold of the scrap of A4.

I make my way to the gate to discover a long snaking queue and absolutely no seating. Well played airport! I’ve seen limited seating at a gate before but this is some achievement. As I get to the front half a dozen “speedy boarding” customers appear and queue jump. The Easyjet staff scan them through, cram them into a claustrophobic holding area and shut the door behind them. They’re going nowhere. I smirk as the rest of us are left waiting, but at least with air around our faces!

Eventually I board. The pass says 12F and to hop on at the back of the plane. I politely follow the instructions and ponder the madness on discovering the back row is numbered 28. Three days later I’ve negotiated ridiculously slow passengers blocking the aisle fannying about with their supersize hand luggage. I hurl my bag into the overhead locker, disturb the couple in 12D and 12E and strap myself into 12F. Extra leg room comfort on the thinnest airline seat I’ve ever experienced. Not comfortable at all. My coccyx won’t enjoy this.

The stewardess tells me that if the plane crashes I’m responsible for opening the emergency exit to save 168 lives. You’re kidding right? I can’t even manage to lock a toilet door effectively let alone disengage an airline door and hurl it into the ocean.

Roll on Montenegro. I hope my sat nav works!

A Reduction in Spots and Trots – Problem?

My pill a day Afatinib tablets keep me alive.  For now.  One of the down sides is side effects, the key ones of which are acne and diarrhoea.

I’m a 49 year old man who has a teenage son nagging him to stop messing with his spots.  I’ll limit my discussion of the porcelain problem.

Needless to say, given the choice of spots and trots or death I’ve chosen to defer the grim reaper.  But one day there will be a conversation with my oncologist where she tells me the Afatinib no longer works.

Indeed, very new aches and pains, old man strains or pigmentation change is a cause for concern.  Does it mean the stifled tumours are fighting back?  I have an average life expectancy of 32 months from last December.  What if I’m below average?

And that’s why I’m a little concerned.  “Side effects mean the medication’s working” apparently.  OMG I’ve not had the trots for a week!  The number of spots is significantly down.  The pock marks on the trunk of my body used to resemble the shape of my lungs and spine, now they are laid out in much smaller quantities and quite randomly.  Except for the huge perennial one on my right buttock which is pretty close to the only tumour I can feel currently.  Good, I suppose it’s still fighting that evil sod!

It’s probably nothing.  Yet.  But what should be welcome in normal land becomes worrisome in cancer land.

It was actually great to see a giant lip clad zit in the mirror this morning and then follow it up by sitting down to experience err let’s say looser progress pre-flush!  Maybe the Afatinib is still working after all.

Montenegro tomorrow!

Flybe? Fly Eventually!

Chile is my “big holiday” with Chris this year.  New England will be great, but Chile takes us to a new country for three weeks.

To save £1,500 on business class fares we fly from Milan Malpensa, connecting with the thirteen hour Iberia flight from Madrid to Santiago.  While the saving is impressive it comes with the risk of failing to get to Milan and missing the flight.

I’ve mitigated this.  We fly the day before and enjoy an afternoon in Milan together with a hotel stay.  Similarly, on the return journey I’ve booked an airport hotel for jet lag recovery and a flight the following morning from Milan Malpensa to sunny Manchester.  Flybe came up trumps for the Manchester to Milan return bit.

If Flybe fail to offer a service I’ve calculated that there’s enough time to book last second replacements travelling to Milan from Manchester via Düsseldorf, Paris, London, Barcelona or Ibiza.  A nuisance.  But my buffer will ensure that we don’t miss the outbound flight.  And an avios  booking at the last minute could come in handy in a crisis.

Flybe threw a modest spanner in the works yesterday.  Their outbound flight is now an hour earlier.  I’m fine with this.  There’ll be more bacon sandwiches available in the lounge pre-flight.

The return flight has moved to four hours later in the day from mid-morning to mid-afternoon.  This is, frankly, a nuisance.  It means we have 24 hours in Milan Malpensa suffering severe jet lag after 14 hours in the air, six hours wandering around Madrid and a couple more hours flying to Milan.  Plan B needed, ideally.

At least EU rules entitle me to a full refund if I scrap my Flybe thinking.

Plan B could involve landing from Chile and simply hopping on a plane home the same day.  No direct flights from Malpensa.  Head to one of Milan’s other two airports and there is an option.  But there’s the risk of our flight from Chile/Madrid being late.

Plan B could be spend the jet lagged hotel night in Malpensa and get the alternative flight the following morning.  But these all need connections too.  So saving that four hours at the start would get lost in another international terminal when, frankly, I’m not anticipating a great deal of alertness from either of us.

So the current plan is be bored witless and stick with Flybe’s annoying new schedule.  Yes, there’ll be the comfort of an airport lounge and free wifi but I suspect we’ll be pretty sick of airports by then.

I used to use Flybe for work trips to Belfast in the dim and distant past.  They loved cancelling my early flight and cramming us all onto the undersold mid-morning plane.  I’m not feeling the love a decade or so later!

A National Treasure

After deciding to set off around the world in 2017 I also made a pledge to myself to see more of Britain before I’m unable to.

Stonehenge, Whitby, London Zoo and Swindon Town football ground among the places visited.  Not that Swindon was really on the list!  Northern Ireland and the Giants Causeway booked.  The summit of Snowdon to be slotted in somewhere.

Today I did the Settle to Carlisle railway.  And despite the lack of steam train and the remarkably mediocre standard Northern Rail carriages it was wonderful.

Yes, the view of the Ribbleshead Viaduct (above) from the train is a tad disappointing.  That’s a majesty reserved for those on the ground below.  But the route itself is English beauty.  Mile after mile of sensational scenery.  Mountains.  Forests.  Sheep.  Rivers.  Oldy world railway stations beautifully maintained by volunteers.  72 miles.  95 minutes.  Repeated for the return trip.

Arrival at Settle was intriguing.  “Disabled badge holders can park free in a designated disabled space”.  As those spaces were taken I wondered if I had to pay £2 for parking in a normal space.  The ticket price for an off peak return fare was over £20 but discounted with my disability railcard.  Better still, after deciding not to pay online I spotted a Day Ranger fare for £15 in the ticket office.  This got discounted to £9.90 and the parking was confirmed as free.  Hell, I’m already over £12 up!

The train departed on time, but the only on board recognition of the special nature of the line was the cardboard cup they served coffee in.  I saved myself another £2 and didn’t bother.

The journey itself was just a normal train trip, except for an announcement for the Ribbleshead Viaduct.  But the sight of Victorian railway stations in the backdrop of natural beauty and dry stone walls is stunning from start to finish.

And then Carlisle.  Arrival was tempered with a “what now?” thought.  No plan.  No objective.  No idea.  I’ve seen Oldham win in the City’s football stadium and I once visited the Halifax branch there for an hour.  But I’d given no thought to today.

As it turned out there’s a Cathedral.  If in doubt there’s always a church!  A bit disappointing outside but some glorious stained glass inside.  That’s ten minutes.  A walk through the market.  Another five minutes.  A pint in Wetherspoons!  And that’s Carlisle.

As you’d expect the return trip was much the same.  You really can’t knock it.

It’s just a shame that Northern Rail can’t offer a special train type to operate this service.  It doesn’t have to be steam.  But this line is different.  It deserves something that’s just a little bit different to a normal commuter train.

Regardless, it’s a trip everybody should do.

A Mystery Day

Today is one of those rare occasions where I wake up wanting to do something but don’t really have any idea what.

The weather forecast is light cloud, no sun or rain.  Jobs I need to do that include collect my prescription and re-check my Montenegro bag.  But they can be done tomorrow.  I’d like to be home to get bored by Mourinho’s Man Utd on telly tonight.

A random drive in the Huddersfield direction (as that’s where the prescription is) is an option.  Perhaps the Settle to Carlisle railway which has been on my list for a long time.  Maybe even the wild boar farm which sells its stock as a breakfast, although that’s probably best reserved for a morning with Chris.

What I do know is that Jeremy Kyle, Daily Politics and reruns of Heartbeat don’t appeal.

The Montenegron Weather Forecast