Seeing the World

Well that’s Valletta done. St John’s Cathedral, the Parliament building, the very pleasant Upper Barrakka Gardens. Red telephone boxes. Marks and Spencer. Nice harbour. Pastries.

But most importantly, and actioned within five minutes walk of the bus station, I have a new belt. My only bad decision on this trip was to remove my belt at home on the basis that it might be a pain with airport security. My oversight being that these trousers were bought when I’d lost around half of the seven stone I’ve shifted and had the potential to fall to the floor with overweighted pockets and no belt!

I was slightly disappointed to discover that Maltese buses are no longer like the one I pictured yesterday. Apparently Aviva supplied new buses when the service was privatised a few years ago. They then later bailed out of the contract to run the service at around the same time they dropped the East Coast Line back on the UK taxpayer.

Buses run every 15 minutes from outside my hotel. The 41 and 42 to be precise. They cost €1.50 for two hours from the time of issue. My money saving head had short lived thoughts of rushing around the capital in ten minutes and heading straight back on the same ticket!  There’s also a half hourly airport service, so maybe the car was unnecessary.

I’d been looking forward to the trip, and the opportunity to take in some delightful Maltese scenery on the 8 mile / 50 minute journey. But, to be frank, there is no worthwhile scenery. No worthwhile architecture. Just a sprawl of low rise urbanisation for virtually the whole journey.

That’s not to say Valletta isn’t worth a commitment of your time. I really liked it and the Cathedral is exceptional. The narrow streets have a decent range of shops and cafes and views of the harbour and defences are easily found. It’s a bit classier than Gibraltar but without the monkeys!

Cisk lager?  As gassy Mediterranean beers go it’s a good one!

Meantime, there’s a jacuzzi in this hotel somewhere. Back later!

Well, another day in paradise begins.

To be fair, my half day in Malta hasn’t exactly revealed paradise. More a low rise metropolis surrounded by sea with an excessive number of cars.

I’ll head to Valletta, the capital, today and see some of the sights there. Gozo might not happen as the wind is high this morning and I don’t want to get seasick doing the ferry. We will see. I don’t have to commit to anything! Despite having a hire car, I’ll be taking the bus. Valletta does not look like the kind of place that is remotely good to drive into!

My prescription this month reverts to a single 50mg afitinib tablet each day which started last night. Last month they couldn’t source the single tablet so I ended up with a 20mg and a 30mg one each night. It does create an unease that I might end up without the drug for a short period of time. While the instructions say you should just continue as normal if you miss a day my head thinks such a happening means “dead”!

Mobile phone data from Three “all you can eat” has been impressive. Definitely a good purchase for the traveller, although it doesn’t include Chile in the free package! I have discovered that they block tethering to the iPad which is a great pity. Still, that was never promised!

The plane landed. The masses disembarked and, after a bit of queue hopping, I negotiated passport control and customs with ease.

Time to collect the hire car. The man on the Avis desk was in crisis. Systems down. I eventually got the keys to a decent enough Ford Fiesta and avoided their efforts to charge me €42 for three days excess insurance. I’ve paid £50 for a full year thanks. The car hire only cost £16!

I plugged in my sat nav and headed out onto the open roads. To discover that much of Malta is like the M60 at 8am on a Monday morning. The short drive to my hotel took well over an hour.

What I’ve seen so far isn’t particularly stunning. There’s definitely interest in the old British barracks. And I saw a hilltop fortress of some sort overlooking the national sports stadium.

My location near St Pauls Bay seems nice enough. But it is out of season and Sunday. So there’s not too much open. My first meal of the day was chicken and chips with a can of Bulmers in a local bar. Decent value. Not exactly going native.

My hotel welcome was pretty brusque. Ordered to fill a form in. Told the wifi costs nearly as much as the nightly rate I’ve paid for the room (failure to distinguish between wifi and free wifi in the hotel description a learning point). No smile. The other receptionist later on was a lot more pleasant.

I had intended to get in the car and explore this afternoon. Tiredness convinced me to walk around the area near the hotel instead. Quiet. A couple of eateries. Some pretty ugly low rise architecture. But the sun is out and the temperature his 20 degrees Celsius. And there are cars everywhere.

I’m off to the jacuzzi after I upload this. A few minor aches and pains need a little tlc.

I’ve just discovered the tea and coffee making facilities in my room amount to two mugs, a teaspoon and a kettle that won’t fit under the tap. No tea, coffee, sugar or milk. I’m rather glad I pack a few teabags of my own! I’ll wander down to the hotel’s Irish bar later and sample the local culture. Oh!

It’s 3.35am. The phone tells me temperatures are below freezing outside, but I exit the house to find no ice. The drive to the airport takes 35 minutes. Somebody smart at the local council has installed traffic lights that change to green automatically if you approach and there’s no traffic on the road crossing yours. Call me Mr Greenlight!

I’ve prepaid for long stay airport parking and the barrier opens automatically for me. It’s a long walk to the bus that will transfer me to the terminal. As I get there I discover the disabled spaces where I could have parked – right next to the bus stop.

The bus drops me at arrivals. No sign of departures until I get inside! Why do airports always have ongoing building work in the terminal? And I mean always!

The security line is short and efficient. My small scissors are allowed through. I giggle to myself at the sign saying “Connecting Yorkshire to the world” while displaying a map of Europe. Small world if you’re a Yorkshireman!

I spot a Burger King. My stomach isn’t ready to eat yet. The risk of a Ryanair breakfast increases. My desire to use my iPad is demolished by pathetic free wifi from the airport.

As I wander through the terminal I wonder where else people buy overpriced watches and handbags. I don’t get the desire to shop anywhere. Least of all an airport.

I begin to regret my decision not to wear a belt. I’m stuck with these trousers for three days so I’d better get used to holding them up! I’m ready for breakfast now, but £6.50 for a bacon sandwich rapidly suppresses my hunger.

My Ryanair experience begins, The gate is called. The queue. The ID checks. The queue. The stairs. The checks repeated. There’s no doubt that a printed boarding pass is faster than the one on the app! More stairs. The walk to the far corners of the terminal. The wait. The boarding. It’s freezing on board. I’m sat between two friends so my offer to move is gratefully accepted. Then the curse of oversized hand luggage – some idiot has managed to get a huge case in the overhead locker. There’s no way the locker can shut. The rest of us get delayed.

Since the emergency evacuation of passengers from a burning BA flight out of Vegas a year or so ago, I always keep my passport in my pocket once on board the plane. The hassle of getting a new one overseas if the old one burns on board doesn’t appeal. I realise I should apply the same courtesy to my afatinib pills. Which currently reside in the overhead locker.

Once we’re in the air the crew commence their role of flogging overpriced food. I dig out a bag of M&S smokey bacon crisps. To be reminded that crisp packets inflate at altitude! And the cabin temperature increases from freezing to furnace!

I entertain myself with a series of iPad games. My lower back hurts. The sacrum is one of the areas affected by my illness and it isn’t happy at the idea of three hours in this position. The crew continue their sales pitch. I admire and ignore it. They work hard but I’m glad it’s not me. I’m ready to land.

Ryanair, as usual, did what they say they’ll do. Next time I’ll remember to seek out an empty row after taking off. There were loads of spare seats, including those with extra leg room, that I wasn’t aware of at the start of the flight.

I’ve travelled overseas alone on numerous occasions.  But I always have the nagging fear something will go wrong.

Yesterday I sorted out my plastic.  A wallet full of credit cards and debit cards just in case.  Two of them don’t charge a foreign transaction fee.  I like these.  Even though I only spent around £50 when I was in Pottugal last year.  I’m the kind of guy who will focus on saving £1.50 on a small trip like this and then think nothing of hitting the <confirm> button on his £2,000 business class palace when travelling further afield.

A 7.05am flight means setting the alarm for 4am.  I don’t usually set an alarm and my middle aged bladder usually has me awake at 4am.  So the fear of having to make a mad dash to the airport really isn’t justified.  But there was one year when my step daughter saved the family holiday after we slept on, although my bladder was younger back then!

I’ve never used Leeds Bradford Airport or their car park before.  I was brought up near Manchester Airport and know it like the back of my hand.  LBA is new to me.  What if I get stuck on a one way loop and get to the gate too late?

And then there’s the medication.  What if I forget the afitinib?  Unlikely as it’s in the folder with my passport.  But what if I lose the folder?

I wouldn’t describe myself as being particularly OCD.  But when it comes to travel I like to cover every eventuality.

My favourite quirky insurance plan is my Al-Italia Gold membership.  I’ve never flown with the airline but got them to status match my now expired BA Silver status last year.  If Ryanair mess up my flight home I can book myself onto an Al Italia flight via somewhere Italian and get home that way.  The fare will be extortionate but at least I’d be able to relax in the lounge!

Sometimes my sense of fallback position needs reminding certain scenarios will never happen!  Dave, you’re going to Malta.  Chill boy!

Meanwhile, progress in lung cancer treatment continues.  This kind of story allows me to travel in hope.

As I sat in my private hospital room awaiting back surgery last October, my anaesthetist commented 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.

A couple of weeks later, after my 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.

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 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 I’ll post about how people came through for me elsewhere on the blog.

So my latest condition was confirmed as Bell’s palsy.  Not only am I riddled with terminal cancer I have a face that resembles a Halloween mask.  Three months on I can sometimes muster a smile, but sometimes the right lips droop leaving me no control.  A toothy grin is impossible.  My nostril has changed shape, leading to an inability to sneeze as it felt 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.

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?

Apprently Bell’s palsy usually goes away on its own after three to four months.  I’m in that time frame now and hoping it goes.  The internet does talk about physio to treat it but I can’t see any evidence that it accelerates correction of the condition.

Basically I’m stuck with it until it chooses to go away.  Hopefully Maltese passport control will still be able to match my photo to the grim reality!

I’m a big fan of business class travel.  Not so much within Europe where you seem to be paying £300 extra for an hour in the lounge and a salad on board, but long haul it has become an absolute must for me.

It all started on a night flight from Phoenix to London.  Ten hours of economy hell.  Well not so much hell, just ongoing irritation.  The air conditioning was wrong.  The cabin crew juggled people around so the empty seat next to me became occupied.  The bloke in front of me had to have his seat reclined as far as possible against my knees.  Somewhere in the cabin a baby made ridiculous screeching noises.  And the cabin crew seemed particularly inattentive.

It was a miserable end to an amazing holiday which had seen a whistle stop tour of Grand Canyon, Vegas, Death Valley, Yosemite, San Francisco, the wonderf Pacific Coast Highway and an hour on Hollywood Blvd.

While planning the next USA adventure I stumbled across an £800 economy fare from Manchester and a £950 business class fare from Dublin.  No brainer for me.  A little bit of persuading for my travelling companions (and a Ryanair return flight from Manchester plus a Dublin hotel) but we went for it.

Check in queue non existent.  Fast track security.  Airport lounge (well there would have been, except some idiot walked past a point of no return and missed it) and then onto the plane.  Ahead of the riff raff.  Hand luggage into an empty overhead locker.  Bottled water and an amenity bag supplied.  A chair that turns into a bed.  Plug socket.  USB socket.  And champagne served instantly by an attentive American Airlines crew member.  Unless you’re under 21!

As a contrast to the previous year’s Phoenix experience this was heaven.  Made even better by earning a shedload of Avios points that had the potential to pay for three uk to Europe return flights each too.

We repeated the Dublin / American Airlines experience in July 2016 en route to Denver.  It was similar and we found the lounge this time (although they’d abolished our right to fast track security).  Then we returned on a a British Airways flight to Heathrow (connecting on to Dublin).  A chance to compare different business class products in the sky!

If I was travelling alone I’d have preferred American Airlines seat and service.  But their seats face away from each other slightly.  This makes chatting with your neighbour awkward.  The BA seat was slightly inferior.  Half the passengers have to step over another passenger’s legs to pay a visit.  No USB socket.  A US only plug at floor level that needed an adaptor.  The food was nice, but not as nice as AA had served up.

I had, however, done my research.  Our 747 had an upstairs business class cabin.  I booked exit seats that avoided the need for somebody to clamber over a stranger.  The ease of talking with your travelling companion was better.  And with only a handful of seats in the cabin it felt like we were flying on our own private jet.

Now those flights are the extent of my posh flying experience.  But I’m hooked.  My instinct to find cheapest cattle class fares is now to find a bargain business class fare.  I’d rather pay £2,000 to get to Australia and back in business than suffer in economy.  So much so my Australia flights involve getting myself to Helsinki (in economy) to pick up a Qatar flight costing £2k when flying from Manchester without Helsinki would be double.  I later found a cheaper Malaysian fare from London, but they tend to get shot down or you end up washed up on a Madagascan beach a year after boarding, so I remained happy with my fare!

The Chile idea snowballed rapidly too from out of the box thinking to a firm booking.  Similar prices to Oz.  £2,100 each to get from Manchester to Santiago.  And I was willing to pay it.  A moment of inspiration cut that fare to £1,300 each.  But involves getting to Milan first!  All booked.  c£1,500 saved.  Only to discover a few days later that Brussels as a starting point could have increased the savings by a further £200.  Gutted!

So I’m prepared to route myself Manchester to Milan on Flybe.  A night in that fine city.  Then Iberia fly us from Milan to Madrid and into Santiago.  Business class in a foreign language might be fun!  Compared to economy, I’m paying an extra £25 an hour to sleep on my flat bed surrounded by foreigners.  I’m lucky enough to be able to afford it*.  And I think it’s worth every penny once you’ve worked out where to start your flight from!

* I might regret my affordability comment if medical science continues its progress in extending lung cancer life expectancy.  The redundancy money could run out!

I’ve felt the intense pain of this cancer eating away at my bones.  At the time I thought it was nothing more than a slipped disc.  A combination of spinal surgery and my daily afitinib tablet have left me a lot more comfortable and, for now, a lot more mobile.

But it’s fairly well known that the afitinib will, one day, stop working.  The cancer will fight back.  Knowing this makes me hyper-sensitive to the aches and pains of life.  Many of these are a reminder that I’m 49 and have spent much of my adult life being overweight.  Some of them are a result of damage already done by this illness – my hips hurt after walking.  Getting in and out of a chair can be a slow process.

There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t have at least a fleeting moment when I wonder if the drug is no longer effective.  Is that a new pain?  Has that dull ache I sometimes get worsened?  Why did it take me longer to stand up?

After Wednesday’s positive news from the oncologist that such a moment may lead to the new treatment osimertinib being prescribed perhaps I should worry less.  It’s a follow up treatment that should extend life a little further for those testing positive for a particular mutation.  I’ve just realised while typing this that means another biopsy to look forward too in future!  While trials are short term in nature 2% of those taking osimertinib have shown to have no tumours at all a year after treatment started.  So I can travel in hope that I join the 2%.  Or that it buys me time for the next wonder drug to come along.

My main fear is missing the Ashes down under.  The credit crunch decimated my shareholdings in 2008 denying me the opportunity to go.  It would be a massive disappointment not to make it this time.  I don’t underestimate the importance of booking a trip ten months ahead in keeping me mentally focused on getting one over on cancer.

I’ve had a few weeks to come to the conclusion that I don’t fear death though.  It’s inevitability has always been there and while the timing appears to be closer than is fair it’s the same result.  I’m pretty sure it is easier to say that when your kids are grown up.  My tearful moments have come on the realisation that I may miss out on being a grandparent, weddings (one down, two to go) and a graduation.  If the kids were younger I think I’d be tortured and really struggling.  It’s great to see them all as fully functioning adults. Making their own decisions.  Leading their own lives.  Making me proud.