So, in the fairly laid back participatory democracy that is our relationship, we decided a number of years ago that 23 April would be our official anniversary. Why is this? Well, mostly because Captain Organisation (David) once looked up on his credit card statement and found that was the day we went to River, a very nice (and, unfortunately, now defunct) Vietnamese restaurant on the Upper West Side. We'd met some time previously (can't remember the date) at the Y (not just any Y, THE Y, of song). We had dinner after that at Burritoville (where Barbarella was on endless repeat), but, somehow, that didn't count. River did, probably in part b/c I was hauled before the examination board after that (his friends) to see if I measured up. Anyway, as my unnaturally young co-worker pointed out to me last week, he would have been ten when David and I met. Nice.
I think we're going to go for a nice walk tomorrow - take David to Dulwich Park, where he's never been, and then we'll go for Sunday Roast (yum!) in Dulwich Village.
Not a bad way to spend part of the day - especially if it doesn't piss it down with rain. We're having a drought, you see. A bad one. The worst in 100 years. At the moment, there are giant buckets of water pouring out of the sky. Ooh, now it's hailing. Anyway, it has actually been very dry for the past two years, so one shouldn't complain about all the rain over the past week or so (still, this being England and it being an opportunity to moan and bitch, people are taking full advantage!).
My shoulder is getting better. It's moved from triple decker ice cream suck down to just occasionally sucky. I still have trouble sleeping in my favourite position at night (on my front, sort of spreadeagle, like I was just dropped from a very high height) and my gym workout is pretty weenielicious. Still doing physiotherapy as well - will do that until the private insurance runs out! But - today was the first day back on my bike (I can't even begin to expound on how happy that made me), so there may actually be some hope, though I still need to be very careful. Having an MRI on Tuesday to have a good old nose around to see if I actually did any permanent damage (hopefully not!).
I still need to get the pics up from when Mom was here. That really was fun - I can't believe that she left over a week ago, or that she was here for nearly two weeks! Being a visit that involved me, there was very little time to sit around here and navel gaze. Last time she was here (2006!) we did the London touristy stuff, so this time we ventured further afield. Of course, we had to do some oldy-worldy stuff (Hampton Court Palace, for example), but we went down to Brighton for the afternoon, spent a few days in Scotland, as well as a few in Brussels.
David came with us up to Edinburgh. We took the train - first class - which was actually pretty swank, and not bad, save for getting stuck for 3 1/2 hours and finally shunted onto another train. Apparently, the massive weight of the half inch or so of snow that fell (the temperature dropped from about 75 to freezing about the time Mom god here - nice). Anyway, the massive weight of the nearly non-existent snow in the north of England knocked down the power lines onto the train ahead of us (still stuck in place, with people on it, when we passed, hours later). Well, Mom wanted a real British travel experience...
Anyway, we stayed at a really nice B&B in Edinburgh, just at the food of Arthur's Seat, not far from where I lived when I was a student there. I have to admit, I still have a soft spot for Edinburgh and still think I could very happily live there - crappy weather and all... And the weather was awful. Rain and snow and hail and blowing wind. It did improve, towards the end... Didn't stop us from wandering all over the centre of the city, nor going on the (wet and windy!) castle tour. I even, much to my great surprise, got Mom to walk nearly all the way up to the top of Arthur's Seat (old volcanic plug - 823 feet tall), from where you can see the entire city.
We hired a car and drove up into the Highlands on one of the days - about a 200 mile loop. I'd not driven in the UK for 6 years (since the last time she was here), so it was a little awkward shifting with my left hand at first - only tried to open the door once and only killed the engine on a hill once though - not bad. (I also accidentally blurted out the F-word with Mom in the car when I killed the engine - I mean FUDGE!). Oh well.
Our other trip was on the Eurostar to Brussels. Fortunately, there were no train troubles this time, well, not with our train anyway. It being Brussels, the entire transport system was on strike for the entire week, which made getting around town slightly difficult. The weather was also just about as nice as it was in Edinburgh. Fortunately, Mom had a waterproof coat and was a good sport about it. We stayed right in the middle of town, at the Marriott (very swank) and walked and walked and walked. Ooh, I tried horse in Brussels - very yummy - sort of like a cross between bison and kangaroo (buffaloo?). Also tried haggis and black pudding in Scotland - not so yummy. Anyway, yeah, we walked around the centre of Brussels a lot. Went one day down to Waterloo to see the Napoleon monument. We walked several miles in the pouring rain there - Mom was pretty sure the locals were laughing at us.
Funny moment - I had completely forgotten that La Demence (big gay dance club) was happening that weekend in Brussels, nor did I have any idea where the hotel was where most of the guys were staying. So, of course, when we're walking down this street, I start noticing a very large number of gay men hanging around - most of them dressed to go out (ie., not for the weather). Even Mom noticed - that's how many there were. We walk by this hotel - the Royal Windsor Hotel - and it dawns on me - OMG, only I would manage to walk right by the absolute epicentre of trashy gay-ness with Mom in tow. Nothing says sexy like showing up in sensible and comfortable clothing, along with one's mother. Oh well.
Anyway, I think both of us really enjoyed the time, and it was really difficult to send her off on the train to Heathrow. Need to start work now to ensure that it's not another six years.
Speaking of work - they have agreed that I should take a DBA course, which will end up being a very good CV builder - esp if I can move us onto PostGIS from Oracle! I have this recurring dream of trying to get to some far away, absurd place via public transportation, usually in the snow and usually barefoot. Over the several years I've had this dream, I've decided it has to do with me feeling stuck at work - feeling unprepared to get to whatever far away destination I had in mind. Will have to see if that dream changes (it's different every time, yet always the same).
Right, I'm starting to blather, and it's time to get more junk food. I keep getting distracted by Star Trek, which David has on the televator. I really am like a deer in headlights.
Moo.
Saturday, 21 April 2012
Wednesday, 28 March 2012
Minor Grumbling...
Blah.
So, my shoulder is actually recovering quite quickly - I can very nearly get my arm over my head again (not quite) and I'm doing lots of weenie weights at the gym with cables. I start physiotherapy (hopefully not many session) on Monday, and I'm taking full advantage of David's private medical insurance, as the NHS said it would take weeks or months. I'm going to attempt to run tomorrow morning - hopefully that won't be a disaster. God knows I've read a lot of horror stories about dislocated shoulder on the internet, but thus far (touch wood) mine hasn't been too bad. Still though, my arms seem to have shrunk already down to little Barbie arms - dougasaurus rex, and if I have to do another minute on the indoor stairmaster I think I'm going to cry. Still, it could be worse... I do still sleep with the sling on, propped up slightly, on my back or side, in the extra bedroom - I don't want to have the arm go over my head and fall off or something in the middle of the night - I imagine that being an icky way to wake up - even worse than turning over and ramming one's nose into the wall (yes, I've done that).
Funny, even with trial and tribulation, I look back on my time in Tromso, and, for that matter, Tromso itself, and think - wow, what a cool place.
Life's funny...
Yesterday was my low point, I think - I was really in a terrible, awful mood. Cycling, I've come to realise, is my big stress reliever, and my way of being out and about in the world. I'm actually not that much of a big city person, not really, not truly, I've come to accept. Cycling has allowed me to ignore that fact, and when I'm not doing it, when I'm mashed up against some smelly, awful person on the Tube, that's when I really feel, what am I doing here? Still - it's been about 14 years now in NYC and London, which isn't too bad. I'm not sure either David nor I see ourselves living in London for the rest of our lives - it's just too big and annoying, though I do very much like it. Where would we go? Who knows. I always do this little mental exercise when I go to a new city - could I live here? There have been a few yesses in that list - mostly, it seems, in Germanic countries. I don't want to go back to the USA though - we've gone through too much to get here, I like living in Europe, and I don't ever want to go back to American work culture (2 weeks off??? Awful!). I'm very happy with my six weeks, thank you very much! Anyway though, plenty of time to think - nothing is going to happen in the immediate near future...
So, my shoulder is actually recovering quite quickly - I can very nearly get my arm over my head again (not quite) and I'm doing lots of weenie weights at the gym with cables. I start physiotherapy (hopefully not many session) on Monday, and I'm taking full advantage of David's private medical insurance, as the NHS said it would take weeks or months. I'm going to attempt to run tomorrow morning - hopefully that won't be a disaster. God knows I've read a lot of horror stories about dislocated shoulder on the internet, but thus far (touch wood) mine hasn't been too bad. Still though, my arms seem to have shrunk already down to little Barbie arms - dougasaurus rex, and if I have to do another minute on the indoor stairmaster I think I'm going to cry. Still, it could be worse... I do still sleep with the sling on, propped up slightly, on my back or side, in the extra bedroom - I don't want to have the arm go over my head and fall off or something in the middle of the night - I imagine that being an icky way to wake up - even worse than turning over and ramming one's nose into the wall (yes, I've done that).
Funny, even with trial and tribulation, I look back on my time in Tromso, and, for that matter, Tromso itself, and think - wow, what a cool place.
Life's funny...
Yesterday was my low point, I think - I was really in a terrible, awful mood. Cycling, I've come to realise, is my big stress reliever, and my way of being out and about in the world. I'm actually not that much of a big city person, not really, not truly, I've come to accept. Cycling has allowed me to ignore that fact, and when I'm not doing it, when I'm mashed up against some smelly, awful person on the Tube, that's when I really feel, what am I doing here? Still - it's been about 14 years now in NYC and London, which isn't too bad. I'm not sure either David nor I see ourselves living in London for the rest of our lives - it's just too big and annoying, though I do very much like it. Where would we go? Who knows. I always do this little mental exercise when I go to a new city - could I live here? There have been a few yesses in that list - mostly, it seems, in Germanic countries. I don't want to go back to the USA though - we've gone through too much to get here, I like living in Europe, and I don't ever want to go back to American work culture (2 weeks off??? Awful!). I'm very happy with my six weeks, thank you very much! Anyway though, plenty of time to think - nothing is going to happen in the immediate near future...
Thursday, 22 March 2012
Tromso, and Thump-Ow Strikes Again
Yes, those two do go together.
David and I just got back from Tromso yesterday afternoon. Where the hell is Tromso, you ask? (Actually, there should be a little do-dah thing going diagonally across that last o, but I don't know how to do it and I'm too lazy to find out). Anyway, Tromso is right up at the tippy-top of Norway where it curves back towards Russia. It's on a small island surrounded by truly breathtaking mountains - imagine the sort of setting of Vancouver and put the treeline at about 500 feet. I'd wanted to go to Tromso since I was about 10 and read about it in a magazine (Geo, maybe?), and, I have to say, it did not disappoint. The home of such astounding things as the world's northernmost cathedral, university and Burger King (at nearly 70 degrees north - about that of Barrow), Tromso is actually a super-cool, laid-back, outdoorsy and very classy little city - not frontier at all.
We flew up there last Thursday via Oslo, nearly missing our connecting flight. Oslo is another place I want to go, btw. David, Avi and I went up there, and were met, a day later, by a friend of Avi's (also David), who lives in southern Norway, in Stavanger. The flight up to Tromso was rather bumpy, so Avi spent a good deal of time grabbing onto either the seat, David or me for dear life. Suppose the combination of mountains and high winds would make for a bumpy flight. We landed at the micro-dink Tromso airport, collected our bags and went to the rental car counter.
No, sorry, we don't have any record of your rental. Nope, none.
Fortunately, that was solved quickly through another (more expensive) rental car company, but we then spent the next hour on the phone with the rental car company (Alamo - they suck) and the bank trying to remove the charges from my credit card for the non-existent car. They are still there and I'm going to have the bank start an investigation. So, we got the rental car from Sixt. Sixt is one of the more bargain type car rental places, so we ended up with a small Hyundai with a huge sign across it advertising the local name of the rental car company - I'm talking covering the entire side of the car. Now that's high class. It was the first time in 6 years I'd driven a stick shift and the first time in 14 years I'd driven a stick shift with my right hand, so things were a little tricky at the beginning, though, amazingly, I actually didn't kill the engine. The car had studded tires, thankfully, as most of the roads were sheets of ice (that connects to the thump-ow bit).
We spent the first evening there just wandering around the town, and made the first of several trips to the small local supermarket to stock up on food (as we had rented a holiday apartment). Norway is so stupdendously expensive it just boggles the mind - most food items are at least twice what I would normally expect to pay. Apparently, wages are higher as well, but my God, how can these people afford to live?
Our sleep the first night was interrupted by what sounded like a herd of elephants running around on the floor above us. It turned out to be two Aussie women, who had returned from seeing the aurora at 345am. We couldn't quite figure out how they could possibly make so much noise, but every night it was the same routine - and it sounded like they were running back and forth from room to room - constantly.
The next day I drove back to the airport, with Avi, to pick up his friend. They have just installed a new gate system at the airport - to get into any parking lot, including the area in front of the terminal, where you pick people up, you have to put your credit card in. You then have to put the credit card in again when you leave, when it determines how much to charge you. Of course, none of this is written in English (how thoughtless!), so we spent some time at the entrance to the airport, trying to figure out how the hell to get past the gate. Fortunately, Norwegians seem to be patient folks.
We spent that day wandering all over Tromso, which, being quite small, is a very wanderable city. I ran across the bridge (huge views) and up into the hills as well. That night, we all went to dinner down by the waterfront, and spent an astronomical amount of money on a very nice dinner. I ate Rudolph. He was yummy. (My choice was down to Rudolph or Shamu, and I felt a bit guilty about Shamu).
Saturday, I ran in the morning on the ice-covered and hilly streets, and then we rented snowshoes and took the gondola up to the top of the mountain across the fjord. From there, we snowshoed off towards a nearby peak. It was pretty cold (maybe 20 or so) and very windy, and on the way down from the top we ended up in a whiteout. I've never been in a whiteout before - it's actually rather scary, as you totally and completely lose your sense of direction. Thankfully, we had a GPS, so we didn't die in the Arctic wilderness or anything silly like that - but it did illustrate how people can get in trouble very rapidly in such situations.
That night we drove about 100 miles inland (or, rather, I drove) - all of it on snow and ice-covered roads, and a good deal of it in blowing snow. The roads in that part of Norway are just barely wide enough for two cars. They seem to huge the water at the base of hugely steep mountains, and they are very windy (for example here and here). The Norwegians, used to driving on them, drive at a pretty good clip. Very scary in the winter, at night, in heavy snow (on top of packed ice). All I can say is thank God for studded tires! Our little Hyundai was a virtual snow-tank! Anyway, we drove way the hell and gone to the absolute and total middle of nowhere, just across the border into Finland, where it was clear and much drier. We had our first aurora sighting back inside Norway, when Avi looked out the window and wondered about this wispy cloud, which, in fact, turned out to be the Northern Lights. We stopped by the side of the road - cameras out, tripods up, and watched the river of white-green light flowing across the top of the valley until it faded away. We didn't actually go very far into Finland - less than a mile, b/c we didn't feel like dealing with the border station. I parked the car in an open area along the road and we sat around and waited, engine on, heat on, eating sandwiches. Amusingly, David and I bought these mats to lay on to look at aurora, but it was just too damn cold for that. So now we have some nice mats that we lugged back and forth to Norway.
The place we stopped, being exposed, had huge amounts of wind blowing across it, as well as whipped up snow, so the actual experience of standing outside and watching was a little on the nippy side (that and it was about 19F). The aurora was white-green again - nearly white to the naked eye, but green to the camera, and, being so far north, it covered most of the sky. We stood out there, in the elements, for quite a long time, just watching the slow waves of light wandering across the sky - the occasional arrow straight stabs of light, the fluttering curtains. I'd seen the aurora before, in Minnesota, but there was just something about standing out there, surrounded by miles and miles of nothing (and a car only about every 15 minutes) that was pretty damn amazing. Eventually, the lights faded away, and we pointed the car back towards Norway.
Someone, I'm not sure who, got the idea of trying the radio. We had three music choices. In Finland we had the Finnish language sort of oompa loompa music station, and back across the border in Norway we had either opera or Norwegian country. There is something very odd about driving across darkened, snow-covered Arctic landscape listening to country music sung in bork-bork.
Sunday, we slept in (as we got back around 130am) and then just did stuff in town again. I went for a long run up in the hills (surrounded by cross country skiers). Avi made a curry that night.
Monday, David, Avi and I set off for the Arctic Ocean. I told David that he could no longer say we'd not had a beach trip this year. Of course, we sat, huddled up, eating our sandwiches on a snow covered spit of land, just past some fisher's cottages, with snow covered mountains in the background. It might not have been beach weather, but it was, most definitely, a beach. From there, we drove out to, literally, the end of the road, where there was a cute little town, reached by a very narrow bridge. We were slightly delayed on the way back by a very large moving truck blocking the the entire highway. Apparently, it did not occur to them to put chains on before trying to drive up the steep, ice-covered driveway, so everyone had to sit around and wait for what seemed like an inordinate number of men to run around and finally fit oversized chains to the truck to get it out of the road. We sat for maybe 15 minutes - not sure, during which time no one honked. Not once.
And then, the thump ow bit. That evening, it being a beautiful, cold evening, I decided to run up the hill again. The sunset lasts for several hours at that latitude and the light is just amazing. They do, by the way, sell running shoes with spikes (I'm going to buy some, for future winters), but I just had normal shoes (but a lot of experience running on ice). Anyway, all was fine until I was on my way back down the hill. I turned a corner just as I hit a patch of glaze ice and my feet just went out from under me. I went flat over on my left side, right onto my shoulder. I did manage to pick myself up out of the road, but became aware of a growing amount of pain from my shoulder, and that I couldn't move my arm properly. That was the shoulder I broke, so, of course, that was my first fear, but it didn't feel broken. I sat down on the snowbank, then tried to walk. I couldn't walk, because of the pain. I did call David though, as I was starting to panic and didn't know what to do. I tried to explain where I was, but, having no idea the name of the street, I succeeded mostly in blubbering on the phone. To my immense relief, a slightly older couple walked by and asked if I was OK. No, I don't think I am. The guy said he would go get his car and drive me to the hospital. I waited a little while, during which time several other people stopped, and he finally showed up with his car. By this point I couldn't move my arm at all, nor could I sit still, because of the pain. I felt my shoulder, and could feel the top of it sticking out - great - I dislocated it. The guy stopped by the apartment to pick up David, and then drove us to the hospital. We thanked him profusely.
Perhaps it's because it was not in a big place, but the signage in the hospital was awful, so we did have some trouble figuring out where to go. David and I waited first in this sort of ante-room, for maybe half an hour, where we were registered. From there, we were told to take an elevator up to another floor (to do this we had to walk out through an unheated area, which was a little odd). At this point I had my first set of x-rays done. This was excruciating and I had a terrible time standing in front of the machine (though the women there were very nice). From there it was on to another waiting area, which a very random collection of people hanging about, mostly young, speaking English and Norwegian. David tried to leave this area to use the toilet, but, apparently, once you're in, you can't leave - the security guard shooed him back in. After another half hour or 45 minutes (which seemed like about 10 years - I was really having trouble keeping it together). I was asked to go into a private room, where I was seen by a doctor and a nurse (both female). I was stuck with what seemed like quite a few needles (my hand is now bruised, as is my elbow) and given a good whack of morphine, after which the doctor did some unspeakably horrible thing with my shoulder and popped it back into place. Fortunately, I was mostly in la la land at that point or I'm pretty sure I would have pooped myself. I sort of vaguely remember leaving in a taxi with David, but, honestly, the rest of that night is a bit blurry.
Poor David - he is so supportive, and I have to admit that it was a goddamn stupid thing to go running that night, when it suddenly got cold, and was so icy. I think the whole thing stressed him out more than it did me - I think I owe him one.
I slept that night, propped up with pillows, on my back, and have had my arm in a sling. We ended up having to stay one extra day, which cost a fortune (most of it we will get back through travel insurance, but still). We got the 645am flight out yesterday - just barely made it to the airport in time. It was very cold out again and the car (diesel) didn't want to start. I drove, which wasn't quite as bad as I had feared, as I had only just given David his first lesson in driving a stick shift.
Today - well, today I went to the doctor and got a referral to an orthopedic surgeon, who I will see tomorrow, after which I will start physiotherapy. Again. My shoulder seems incrementally better already, and I was told I probably didn't tear any ligaments or tendons, but I can't bike, I can't gym, I can't run, and I can't even sleep normally. I'm annoyed and pissed off and feel like an idiot - I debated not running that night - thought it wasn't a good idea, but thought, oh it will be fine. And it wasn't. But, there isn't much to do about that now except get better, and never go running on ice again without proper shoes. I think about living in Minnesota - that was defintely done without the proper equipment, but it was generally fine (well, fine until I wrecked my car on ice and buggered up my knee). I didn't know at that point that you could get spiked shoes, or spikes to put on your shoes (which I got for my hiking boots - they are great). I suppose you learn these things. Unfortunately, I have always opted for the learning by breaking route, and, often, the thing that gets broken is me.
I would still go back to Tromso though - I intend to go back to Tromso - with my bike. That's the funny thing about the place and this trip - I come back seriously damaged but still think - hey - that was a really good trip - I'm not sure I've ever felt this particular conflicting set of emotions. The next month or so is going to suck - a lot. But, I'm still really happy I went. Tromso did not disappoint. It's nice to have a childhood dream sometimes that actually comes true.
David and I just got back from Tromso yesterday afternoon. Where the hell is Tromso, you ask? (Actually, there should be a little do-dah thing going diagonally across that last o, but I don't know how to do it and I'm too lazy to find out). Anyway, Tromso is right up at the tippy-top of Norway where it curves back towards Russia. It's on a small island surrounded by truly breathtaking mountains - imagine the sort of setting of Vancouver and put the treeline at about 500 feet. I'd wanted to go to Tromso since I was about 10 and read about it in a magazine (Geo, maybe?), and, I have to say, it did not disappoint. The home of such astounding things as the world's northernmost cathedral, university and Burger King (at nearly 70 degrees north - about that of Barrow), Tromso is actually a super-cool, laid-back, outdoorsy and very classy little city - not frontier at all.
We flew up there last Thursday via Oslo, nearly missing our connecting flight. Oslo is another place I want to go, btw. David, Avi and I went up there, and were met, a day later, by a friend of Avi's (also David), who lives in southern Norway, in Stavanger. The flight up to Tromso was rather bumpy, so Avi spent a good deal of time grabbing onto either the seat, David or me for dear life. Suppose the combination of mountains and high winds would make for a bumpy flight. We landed at the micro-dink Tromso airport, collected our bags and went to the rental car counter.
No, sorry, we don't have any record of your rental. Nope, none.
Fortunately, that was solved quickly through another (more expensive) rental car company, but we then spent the next hour on the phone with the rental car company (Alamo - they suck) and the bank trying to remove the charges from my credit card for the non-existent car. They are still there and I'm going to have the bank start an investigation. So, we got the rental car from Sixt. Sixt is one of the more bargain type car rental places, so we ended up with a small Hyundai with a huge sign across it advertising the local name of the rental car company - I'm talking covering the entire side of the car. Now that's high class. It was the first time in 6 years I'd driven a stick shift and the first time in 14 years I'd driven a stick shift with my right hand, so things were a little tricky at the beginning, though, amazingly, I actually didn't kill the engine. The car had studded tires, thankfully, as most of the roads were sheets of ice (that connects to the thump-ow bit).
We spent the first evening there just wandering around the town, and made the first of several trips to the small local supermarket to stock up on food (as we had rented a holiday apartment). Norway is so stupdendously expensive it just boggles the mind - most food items are at least twice what I would normally expect to pay. Apparently, wages are higher as well, but my God, how can these people afford to live?
Our sleep the first night was interrupted by what sounded like a herd of elephants running around on the floor above us. It turned out to be two Aussie women, who had returned from seeing the aurora at 345am. We couldn't quite figure out how they could possibly make so much noise, but every night it was the same routine - and it sounded like they were running back and forth from room to room - constantly.
The next day I drove back to the airport, with Avi, to pick up his friend. They have just installed a new gate system at the airport - to get into any parking lot, including the area in front of the terminal, where you pick people up, you have to put your credit card in. You then have to put the credit card in again when you leave, when it determines how much to charge you. Of course, none of this is written in English (how thoughtless!), so we spent some time at the entrance to the airport, trying to figure out how the hell to get past the gate. Fortunately, Norwegians seem to be patient folks.
We spent that day wandering all over Tromso, which, being quite small, is a very wanderable city. I ran across the bridge (huge views) and up into the hills as well. That night, we all went to dinner down by the waterfront, and spent an astronomical amount of money on a very nice dinner. I ate Rudolph. He was yummy. (My choice was down to Rudolph or Shamu, and I felt a bit guilty about Shamu).
Saturday, I ran in the morning on the ice-covered and hilly streets, and then we rented snowshoes and took the gondola up to the top of the mountain across the fjord. From there, we snowshoed off towards a nearby peak. It was pretty cold (maybe 20 or so) and very windy, and on the way down from the top we ended up in a whiteout. I've never been in a whiteout before - it's actually rather scary, as you totally and completely lose your sense of direction. Thankfully, we had a GPS, so we didn't die in the Arctic wilderness or anything silly like that - but it did illustrate how people can get in trouble very rapidly in such situations.
That night we drove about 100 miles inland (or, rather, I drove) - all of it on snow and ice-covered roads, and a good deal of it in blowing snow. The roads in that part of Norway are just barely wide enough for two cars. They seem to huge the water at the base of hugely steep mountains, and they are very windy (for example here and here). The Norwegians, used to driving on them, drive at a pretty good clip. Very scary in the winter, at night, in heavy snow (on top of packed ice). All I can say is thank God for studded tires! Our little Hyundai was a virtual snow-tank! Anyway, we drove way the hell and gone to the absolute and total middle of nowhere, just across the border into Finland, where it was clear and much drier. We had our first aurora sighting back inside Norway, when Avi looked out the window and wondered about this wispy cloud, which, in fact, turned out to be the Northern Lights. We stopped by the side of the road - cameras out, tripods up, and watched the river of white-green light flowing across the top of the valley until it faded away. We didn't actually go very far into Finland - less than a mile, b/c we didn't feel like dealing with the border station. I parked the car in an open area along the road and we sat around and waited, engine on, heat on, eating sandwiches. Amusingly, David and I bought these mats to lay on to look at aurora, but it was just too damn cold for that. So now we have some nice mats that we lugged back and forth to Norway.
The place we stopped, being exposed, had huge amounts of wind blowing across it, as well as whipped up snow, so the actual experience of standing outside and watching was a little on the nippy side (that and it was about 19F). The aurora was white-green again - nearly white to the naked eye, but green to the camera, and, being so far north, it covered most of the sky. We stood out there, in the elements, for quite a long time, just watching the slow waves of light wandering across the sky - the occasional arrow straight stabs of light, the fluttering curtains. I'd seen the aurora before, in Minnesota, but there was just something about standing out there, surrounded by miles and miles of nothing (and a car only about every 15 minutes) that was pretty damn amazing. Eventually, the lights faded away, and we pointed the car back towards Norway.
Someone, I'm not sure who, got the idea of trying the radio. We had three music choices. In Finland we had the Finnish language sort of oompa loompa music station, and back across the border in Norway we had either opera or Norwegian country. There is something very odd about driving across darkened, snow-covered Arctic landscape listening to country music sung in bork-bork.
Sunday, we slept in (as we got back around 130am) and then just did stuff in town again. I went for a long run up in the hills (surrounded by cross country skiers). Avi made a curry that night.
Monday, David, Avi and I set off for the Arctic Ocean. I told David that he could no longer say we'd not had a beach trip this year. Of course, we sat, huddled up, eating our sandwiches on a snow covered spit of land, just past some fisher's cottages, with snow covered mountains in the background. It might not have been beach weather, but it was, most definitely, a beach. From there, we drove out to, literally, the end of the road, where there was a cute little town, reached by a very narrow bridge. We were slightly delayed on the way back by a very large moving truck blocking the the entire highway. Apparently, it did not occur to them to put chains on before trying to drive up the steep, ice-covered driveway, so everyone had to sit around and wait for what seemed like an inordinate number of men to run around and finally fit oversized chains to the truck to get it out of the road. We sat for maybe 15 minutes - not sure, during which time no one honked. Not once.
And then, the thump ow bit. That evening, it being a beautiful, cold evening, I decided to run up the hill again. The sunset lasts for several hours at that latitude and the light is just amazing. They do, by the way, sell running shoes with spikes (I'm going to buy some, for future winters), but I just had normal shoes (but a lot of experience running on ice). Anyway, all was fine until I was on my way back down the hill. I turned a corner just as I hit a patch of glaze ice and my feet just went out from under me. I went flat over on my left side, right onto my shoulder. I did manage to pick myself up out of the road, but became aware of a growing amount of pain from my shoulder, and that I couldn't move my arm properly. That was the shoulder I broke, so, of course, that was my first fear, but it didn't feel broken. I sat down on the snowbank, then tried to walk. I couldn't walk, because of the pain. I did call David though, as I was starting to panic and didn't know what to do. I tried to explain where I was, but, having no idea the name of the street, I succeeded mostly in blubbering on the phone. To my immense relief, a slightly older couple walked by and asked if I was OK. No, I don't think I am. The guy said he would go get his car and drive me to the hospital. I waited a little while, during which time several other people stopped, and he finally showed up with his car. By this point I couldn't move my arm at all, nor could I sit still, because of the pain. I felt my shoulder, and could feel the top of it sticking out - great - I dislocated it. The guy stopped by the apartment to pick up David, and then drove us to the hospital. We thanked him profusely.
Perhaps it's because it was not in a big place, but the signage in the hospital was awful, so we did have some trouble figuring out where to go. David and I waited first in this sort of ante-room, for maybe half an hour, where we were registered. From there, we were told to take an elevator up to another floor (to do this we had to walk out through an unheated area, which was a little odd). At this point I had my first set of x-rays done. This was excruciating and I had a terrible time standing in front of the machine (though the women there were very nice). From there it was on to another waiting area, which a very random collection of people hanging about, mostly young, speaking English and Norwegian. David tried to leave this area to use the toilet, but, apparently, once you're in, you can't leave - the security guard shooed him back in. After another half hour or 45 minutes (which seemed like about 10 years - I was really having trouble keeping it together). I was asked to go into a private room, where I was seen by a doctor and a nurse (both female). I was stuck with what seemed like quite a few needles (my hand is now bruised, as is my elbow) and given a good whack of morphine, after which the doctor did some unspeakably horrible thing with my shoulder and popped it back into place. Fortunately, I was mostly in la la land at that point or I'm pretty sure I would have pooped myself. I sort of vaguely remember leaving in a taxi with David, but, honestly, the rest of that night is a bit blurry.
Poor David - he is so supportive, and I have to admit that it was a goddamn stupid thing to go running that night, when it suddenly got cold, and was so icy. I think the whole thing stressed him out more than it did me - I think I owe him one.
I slept that night, propped up with pillows, on my back, and have had my arm in a sling. We ended up having to stay one extra day, which cost a fortune (most of it we will get back through travel insurance, but still). We got the 645am flight out yesterday - just barely made it to the airport in time. It was very cold out again and the car (diesel) didn't want to start. I drove, which wasn't quite as bad as I had feared, as I had only just given David his first lesson in driving a stick shift.
Today - well, today I went to the doctor and got a referral to an orthopedic surgeon, who I will see tomorrow, after which I will start physiotherapy. Again. My shoulder seems incrementally better already, and I was told I probably didn't tear any ligaments or tendons, but I can't bike, I can't gym, I can't run, and I can't even sleep normally. I'm annoyed and pissed off and feel like an idiot - I debated not running that night - thought it wasn't a good idea, but thought, oh it will be fine. And it wasn't. But, there isn't much to do about that now except get better, and never go running on ice again without proper shoes. I think about living in Minnesota - that was defintely done without the proper equipment, but it was generally fine (well, fine until I wrecked my car on ice and buggered up my knee). I didn't know at that point that you could get spiked shoes, or spikes to put on your shoes (which I got for my hiking boots - they are great). I suppose you learn these things. Unfortunately, I have always opted for the learning by breaking route, and, often, the thing that gets broken is me.
I would still go back to Tromso though - I intend to go back to Tromso - with my bike. That's the funny thing about the place and this trip - I come back seriously damaged but still think - hey - that was a really good trip - I'm not sure I've ever felt this particular conflicting set of emotions. The next month or so is going to suck - a lot. But, I'm still really happy I went. Tromso did not disappoint. It's nice to have a childhood dream sometimes that actually comes true.
Sunday, 11 March 2012
And what happened, exactly, to winter?
I think it occurred about 345pm on a Thursday. There was a little cold, some snow and a lot of whining. And now it's spring - things are blooming, my allergies are being a huge pain in the ass and we seem to be having a serious lack of rain. But then, that has been true in at least half the springs since I've been here. There is much talk of doom and drought. Things turn and icky brown and then it starts to piss it down all summer. That would be find with me, as they are threatening to ban hoses for the summer, which will make gardening a little difficult.
I went for a 66 mile bike ride today with a friend (a friend with a proper racing bike). Wow, that pretty much kicked my behind - definitely time to shed a few unnecessary pounds, bikewise. Still though - it was a lovely ride and the weather was perfect.
We're off to Tromso on Thursday, hopefully to actually see some northern lights. I've been wanting to go there since I read about the place when I was about 10, so I really can't wait!
I just ordered a bunch of flower seeds for the back yard. Without giving it a whole lot of thought, I ordered two ounces of mixed dry-weather flower seeds. Two ounces is a lot. We will have a lot of flowers - hopefully without a lot of water! After today's ride, I spent the last hour before dark pruning things, cleaning up debris, etc. The life of a gardener, eh?
Oh, we had a funny minor disaster the other evening that would probably only happen in a gay household. I walked up the stairs and noticed this funny chemical smell - vaguelly sweet, definitely familiar. What is it? Where is it coming from? I traced the smell into Robin's room and finally into a corner where WHOAH there seems to be an exploded bottle of poppers and guess which dumbo just gave himself a massive dose of it? It was a funny experience - I was really torn between trying to open the room and ventilate the room and being, briefly, high as a kite. I suppose if one was going to have a mishap, there are worse possibilities. We aired the house out for a day, but it took several days before the house didn't stink. Ah, the hazards of a gay house.
I went for a 66 mile bike ride today with a friend (a friend with a proper racing bike). Wow, that pretty much kicked my behind - definitely time to shed a few unnecessary pounds, bikewise. Still though - it was a lovely ride and the weather was perfect.
We're off to Tromso on Thursday, hopefully to actually see some northern lights. I've been wanting to go there since I read about the place when I was about 10, so I really can't wait!
I just ordered a bunch of flower seeds for the back yard. Without giving it a whole lot of thought, I ordered two ounces of mixed dry-weather flower seeds. Two ounces is a lot. We will have a lot of flowers - hopefully without a lot of water! After today's ride, I spent the last hour before dark pruning things, cleaning up debris, etc. The life of a gardener, eh?
Oh, we had a funny minor disaster the other evening that would probably only happen in a gay household. I walked up the stairs and noticed this funny chemical smell - vaguelly sweet, definitely familiar. What is it? Where is it coming from? I traced the smell into Robin's room and finally into a corner where WHOAH there seems to be an exploded bottle of poppers and guess which dumbo just gave himself a massive dose of it? It was a funny experience - I was really torn between trying to open the room and ventilate the room and being, briefly, high as a kite. I suppose if one was going to have a mishap, there are worse possibilities. We aired the house out for a day, but it took several days before the house didn't stink. Ah, the hazards of a gay house.
Thursday, 1 March 2012
16 Again (sort of)
Wow, so, today, in the mail, I got my "Provisional Driving Licence" for the UK, which is, essentially, my learner's permit. It has the awful, grumpy looking picture from my passport (which never seems to work in the automated passport checking booths at the airport for some reason...). I figured that, after 8 1/2 years it might actually be time to get a local license, seeing as how my NYS license is, technically speaking, only good in the UK for year. I'm going to renew the NYS one, even though I've not lived there since 2003. Gotta love crappy data control! Anyway, I now need to learn the highway theory book ("The Highway Code"), take a few lessons to improve my LH stickshift driving (as you have to take the test on a stick if you want to be licensed to drive a stick - most cars here are manual). The worst bit is I have to take the road test, and most people fail their first time. Unlike the US, where if you don't cause a 38 car pileup you can pass, here it's actually quite difficult, and I'm actually going to take a series of driving lessons, so I can learn what I have to do to pass here (like not ever crossing my hands over when I turn the wheel). Yay, I can't wait.
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Sicily
16 Feb - Oy vey! Up at 345 this morning to catch a 735 flight to Sicily. We didn't actually get to bed until 1030 and then I had repeated dreams of waking up. On the plane now, somewhere over France, and I'm so tired I just want to cry. The funny thing about this flight is, being full of Italians, they are all standing around in the aisle having animated conversations. Perhaps they should pull out an in-flight stoop on which they could gossip? This is the beginning of our Golden Girls Heritage Tour, which isn't offensive at all, I'm sure. I'm Rose, David is Dorothy, Robin is Blanche and Avi is Sophia. Between the four of us, we might know enough Italian to order a cappuccino. Maybe.
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17 Feb - So, first impression of flying into Palermo was something along the lines of flying into Beirut (or, at least, how I imagine Beirut) - lots of very square, tired looking, beige concrete buildings that look like they had seen better days. We were unloaded from the plane and onto an enormous bus - the only bus I have ever seen that opened also from the back. The bus drove us the 100 or so yards to the terminal, which was undergoing, um, extensive renovation. There we waited 20 or so minutes to file past the two border guards to the luggage carousel, on top of which was running a very amped up, drug sniffing German Shepherd. Mamma mia! Remind me not to smuggle drugs into Sicily... Then it was off to the large, aptly named "RentaCar" building, in which we got to wait again. The car, a (relatively) recent Peugeot 308 automatic (very hard to get an automatic!) had a number of scratches (which we dutifully noted), was dirty, misssing an antenna (which we swiped from the car parked next to it - figured, hey, when in, um, not Rome...) and cost more than it should have. Welcome to Sicily.
I was too tired to drive (in fact, I didn't drive this trip and only had to change my underpants a few hundred times with Robin at the wheel... ;-). So, Robin drove the 200 miles across the island. It actually looks very much like Southern California - sort of coastal Orange County, though it seems to have been mostly denuded of just about anything other than grass in many places. The drivers are a bit more southern than that though - think Tijuana. My God! Officially, there are 2 lanes each direction on the Autostrade. Unofficially, there seem to be three. There is the get the hell out of the way lane (which you can putter along in as long as you have your left turn signal on permanently). There is the slow lane, and, sort of halfway over into the shoulder, there is the old Fiat lane. Using one's left turn signal seems to be mandatory, and it is always left on when in the fast lane. I'm pretty sure the right turn signal is prohibited though, as we almost never saw them in use. Car horns and light flashing are absolutely required. There is also quite a lot of hedging one's bet, lane-wise - hmm, right lane, left lane, who can say - best to stay in the middle! One cool thing is that since everything was in km/h, we cruised along happily at 170kph. We did, however, at one point do the math and figure out that was over 100mph. But there are so many more number on the dial! (The speed limit is 130kph, btw). Signage was generally of the sort of "ha ha, you missed your exit" variety. All I can say is thank God for Jane (we named our GPS Jane).
We stopped on the way at a supermarket (a "hypermarket"). I love foreign supermarkets, especially the meat and cheese sections. The Italians are big meat and cheese eaters. There was a wheel of cheese as big as a tractor tire and meat with God knows what in it. (It was all very tasty except something I bought that slighty resembled a horse wang. It tasted OK, but had these big strings of fat that kept getting stuck in my teeth. Some of it went to a nice stray kitty and the rest of it in the trash. One can only eat so much horse wang, it turns out...). Oh, apparently "speck" is not Italian for "bacon". It's more like prosciutto, and, when cooked bacon-style ends up turning into sort of wafer-thin beef jerky with the general texture of shoe leather. Oh well, live and learn.
So, we're staying in a holiday apartment in the middle of Taormina, which is a sort of slightly faded glory coastal resort town that seems to be slowly reawakening to it's cuteness potential (based on the large amount of Prada that could be found on sale in the pedestrianised centre). The town perches on cliffs 600 feet straight up from the Ionian Sea, with and astounding view southwards along the coast to the steaming, snow covered hulk of Mt Etna (which erupted just last week, apparently). We met the owner of the apartment at a parking lot at the edge of town. He showed up on a Vespa (of course) and then led us, in the car, down increasingly narrow streets to the apartment. Once there, we unloaded the car as quickly as humanly possible, as we were blocking the street. Robin then followed the guy back to the parking lot to drop off the car, then rode back with the guy on the back of the scooter. I'm so glad that wasn't me - I would have likely wet myself.
Anyway, we walked around the nearly completely desolate town last night, but mostly hung around here eating breat and salami and wathing "The Core" in Italian because we were so exhausted.
The apartment itself is on four levels, with one main room on each level, and with a fantastic roof balcony, from which one could look up the street to the 400 foot cliff with a cross on top of it backing up the town. The guy who owns it seems to have an African fetish, as the decorating motif is quite African, with the occasional ceramic head thrown in just for fun (these are all over town - very odd - as well as for sale in the many schlock shops full of brightly coloured pottery and nativity scenes).
Today we slept in late, then I went for a morning run down the hairping road to the sea (and then back up). We spent the day walking and oohing and aahing at things. From the beach there is a gondola ("funivia") back up to the town. We had the enormous pleasure of watching Avi scream like a girl as the gondola lifted off into the air, climbing the 600 feet back up to the town. I think Robin is going to put the video on Facebook.
The coastline looks like California thinks it looks (minus the awful housing developments), but it really does feel of yesterday's glory - lots of grand old abandoned houses. The town itself does have a lot of money, and definitely caters for tourists, but we hit it on the low season, meaning about half the stores were closed. None of us knew that they rigorously adhere to the siesta. Everything closes at 130pm and then reopens at 430pm. It is damn near impossible to get anything to eat between those hours, save at a very few places.
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21 Feb - On the plane back to London, feeling tired and a little bit fat. Didn't get much sleep last night. The next door neighbours were clomping around and moving chairs on hard floors (I think they had a party, it being the end of Carnival) until about 230 and we had to be up at 6. Ugh.
Anyway, we had a really great time, and only a few changes of underpants - not bad for Robin driving! Saturday, we drove down to Etna, which rises over 10000 feet from the coast and periodically trashes the surrounding towns and cities. We exited the Autostrade on a rather poorly maintained road that climbed through vineyards, forests and eventually snow covered lava fields to Sicily's only ski area (I think) - parked right smack dab under the smouldering crater and partially wiped out by lava in 2009. Gotta love the Italians. The place was thronging with chattering Italians in expensive ski wear and the ubiquitous large sunglasses (do Italians whisper? I don't think so). We definitely looked out of place, dressed for mildly chilly weather, in jeans with sensible shoes. The view - spectacular - and way down there, past the numerous cinder cones - Catania - the 2nd city of Sicily - last obliterated in 1693.
We had dinner back in Taormina. I ordered clam and mussel soup, thinking it would be like clam chowder. Wrong! What I got instead was a smallish bowl of large pile of clams and mussels on top - their tongues lolling out. I was very brave and managed not to look completely horrified, and Robin showed me how to eat a clam by using the shell for a scoop and a spoon (yeah, I know - somehow I grew up in a cave or something). Admittedly, it as tasty, but eek! The rest of hte dinner was some sort of unidentified meat (it was a "meat plate").
Sunday we drove down to Catania, a fairly sprawling coastal city of faded glory, sitting at the base of Etna. The suburbs were mostly of the sort of drab, stacked concrete apartment blocks you see people getting stuck in during an earthquake. Driving rules in the city seemed fairly optional and large intersections swarmed with squeegee men. It seemed people were even paying them not do do the windows. I would have just hosed them off with the windshield washers, but I suppsoe that might have meant bad news for the wipers. The centre of town consisted of mostly what would have once been grand, baroque buildings laid out in blocks, now in various stages of quiet decay. There definitely was once a lot of money there - wonder what happened? It being Carnivale, the world's entire supply of silly string and confetti seemed to have been strewn about the streets. Hmm - confetti sounds Italian (as does graffiti, which is)- wonder if there is a link? Most of the cathedral, were built of lava. When life gives you a volcano...
Yesterday (and today) it rained. We spent yesterday doing other things in Taormina - climbing the 9 million steps up to the cross on the hill (from where they play "Ave Maria" over the town every day at noon - nice!) and then wandering around the Greek (and later Roman) amphitheatre. I sat in one of the seats and tried to imagine a Greek play going on - slightly difficult with the annoying loud group of Spaniards. Seriously - whispering - try it sometime! And - last night, we had pasta in the apartment and sat around watching Fashion TV (surprisingly addictive, actually, those runway shows!).
Today - 300km back to Palermo, in the rain, an emergency run back out with the rantal car to get gas (as none at the airport!), a slightly chaotic process of loading the plane (Italy) and now we are starting our descent into London. Thank you for flying Queasyjet; don't let the door hit you on the way out!
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17 Feb - So, first impression of flying into Palermo was something along the lines of flying into Beirut (or, at least, how I imagine Beirut) - lots of very square, tired looking, beige concrete buildings that look like they had seen better days. We were unloaded from the plane and onto an enormous bus - the only bus I have ever seen that opened also from the back. The bus drove us the 100 or so yards to the terminal, which was undergoing, um, extensive renovation. There we waited 20 or so minutes to file past the two border guards to the luggage carousel, on top of which was running a very amped up, drug sniffing German Shepherd. Mamma mia! Remind me not to smuggle drugs into Sicily... Then it was off to the large, aptly named "RentaCar" building, in which we got to wait again. The car, a (relatively) recent Peugeot 308 automatic (very hard to get an automatic!) had a number of scratches (which we dutifully noted), was dirty, misssing an antenna (which we swiped from the car parked next to it - figured, hey, when in, um, not Rome...) and cost more than it should have. Welcome to Sicily.
I was too tired to drive (in fact, I didn't drive this trip and only had to change my underpants a few hundred times with Robin at the wheel... ;-). So, Robin drove the 200 miles across the island. It actually looks very much like Southern California - sort of coastal Orange County, though it seems to have been mostly denuded of just about anything other than grass in many places. The drivers are a bit more southern than that though - think Tijuana. My God! Officially, there are 2 lanes each direction on the Autostrade. Unofficially, there seem to be three. There is the get the hell out of the way lane (which you can putter along in as long as you have your left turn signal on permanently). There is the slow lane, and, sort of halfway over into the shoulder, there is the old Fiat lane. Using one's left turn signal seems to be mandatory, and it is always left on when in the fast lane. I'm pretty sure the right turn signal is prohibited though, as we almost never saw them in use. Car horns and light flashing are absolutely required. There is also quite a lot of hedging one's bet, lane-wise - hmm, right lane, left lane, who can say - best to stay in the middle! One cool thing is that since everything was in km/h, we cruised along happily at 170kph. We did, however, at one point do the math and figure out that was over 100mph. But there are so many more number on the dial! (The speed limit is 130kph, btw). Signage was generally of the sort of "ha ha, you missed your exit" variety. All I can say is thank God for Jane (we named our GPS Jane).
We stopped on the way at a supermarket (a "hypermarket"). I love foreign supermarkets, especially the meat and cheese sections. The Italians are big meat and cheese eaters. There was a wheel of cheese as big as a tractor tire and meat with God knows what in it. (It was all very tasty except something I bought that slighty resembled a horse wang. It tasted OK, but had these big strings of fat that kept getting stuck in my teeth. Some of it went to a nice stray kitty and the rest of it in the trash. One can only eat so much horse wang, it turns out...). Oh, apparently "speck" is not Italian for "bacon". It's more like prosciutto, and, when cooked bacon-style ends up turning into sort of wafer-thin beef jerky with the general texture of shoe leather. Oh well, live and learn.
So, we're staying in a holiday apartment in the middle of Taormina, which is a sort of slightly faded glory coastal resort town that seems to be slowly reawakening to it's cuteness potential (based on the large amount of Prada that could be found on sale in the pedestrianised centre). The town perches on cliffs 600 feet straight up from the Ionian Sea, with and astounding view southwards along the coast to the steaming, snow covered hulk of Mt Etna (which erupted just last week, apparently). We met the owner of the apartment at a parking lot at the edge of town. He showed up on a Vespa (of course) and then led us, in the car, down increasingly narrow streets to the apartment. Once there, we unloaded the car as quickly as humanly possible, as we were blocking the street. Robin then followed the guy back to the parking lot to drop off the car, then rode back with the guy on the back of the scooter. I'm so glad that wasn't me - I would have likely wet myself.
Anyway, we walked around the nearly completely desolate town last night, but mostly hung around here eating breat and salami and wathing "The Core" in Italian because we were so exhausted.
The apartment itself is on four levels, with one main room on each level, and with a fantastic roof balcony, from which one could look up the street to the 400 foot cliff with a cross on top of it backing up the town. The guy who owns it seems to have an African fetish, as the decorating motif is quite African, with the occasional ceramic head thrown in just for fun (these are all over town - very odd - as well as for sale in the many schlock shops full of brightly coloured pottery and nativity scenes).
Today we slept in late, then I went for a morning run down the hairping road to the sea (and then back up). We spent the day walking and oohing and aahing at things. From the beach there is a gondola ("funivia") back up to the town. We had the enormous pleasure of watching Avi scream like a girl as the gondola lifted off into the air, climbing the 600 feet back up to the town. I think Robin is going to put the video on Facebook.
The coastline looks like California thinks it looks (minus the awful housing developments), but it really does feel of yesterday's glory - lots of grand old abandoned houses. The town itself does have a lot of money, and definitely caters for tourists, but we hit it on the low season, meaning about half the stores were closed. None of us knew that they rigorously adhere to the siesta. Everything closes at 130pm and then reopens at 430pm. It is damn near impossible to get anything to eat between those hours, save at a very few places.
-----
21 Feb - On the plane back to London, feeling tired and a little bit fat. Didn't get much sleep last night. The next door neighbours were clomping around and moving chairs on hard floors (I think they had a party, it being the end of Carnival) until about 230 and we had to be up at 6. Ugh.
Anyway, we had a really great time, and only a few changes of underpants - not bad for Robin driving! Saturday, we drove down to Etna, which rises over 10000 feet from the coast and periodically trashes the surrounding towns and cities. We exited the Autostrade on a rather poorly maintained road that climbed through vineyards, forests and eventually snow covered lava fields to Sicily's only ski area (I think) - parked right smack dab under the smouldering crater and partially wiped out by lava in 2009. Gotta love the Italians. The place was thronging with chattering Italians in expensive ski wear and the ubiquitous large sunglasses (do Italians whisper? I don't think so). We definitely looked out of place, dressed for mildly chilly weather, in jeans with sensible shoes. The view - spectacular - and way down there, past the numerous cinder cones - Catania - the 2nd city of Sicily - last obliterated in 1693.
We had dinner back in Taormina. I ordered clam and mussel soup, thinking it would be like clam chowder. Wrong! What I got instead was a smallish bowl of large pile of clams and mussels on top - their tongues lolling out. I was very brave and managed not to look completely horrified, and Robin showed me how to eat a clam by using the shell for a scoop and a spoon (yeah, I know - somehow I grew up in a cave or something). Admittedly, it as tasty, but eek! The rest of hte dinner was some sort of unidentified meat (it was a "meat plate").
Sunday we drove down to Catania, a fairly sprawling coastal city of faded glory, sitting at the base of Etna. The suburbs were mostly of the sort of drab, stacked concrete apartment blocks you see people getting stuck in during an earthquake. Driving rules in the city seemed fairly optional and large intersections swarmed with squeegee men. It seemed people were even paying them not do do the windows. I would have just hosed them off with the windshield washers, but I suppsoe that might have meant bad news for the wipers. The centre of town consisted of mostly what would have once been grand, baroque buildings laid out in blocks, now in various stages of quiet decay. There definitely was once a lot of money there - wonder what happened? It being Carnivale, the world's entire supply of silly string and confetti seemed to have been strewn about the streets. Hmm - confetti sounds Italian (as does graffiti, which is)- wonder if there is a link? Most of the cathedral, were built of lava. When life gives you a volcano...
Yesterday (and today) it rained. We spent yesterday doing other things in Taormina - climbing the 9 million steps up to the cross on the hill (from where they play "Ave Maria" over the town every day at noon - nice!) and then wandering around the Greek (and later Roman) amphitheatre. I sat in one of the seats and tried to imagine a Greek play going on - slightly difficult with the annoying loud group of Spaniards. Seriously - whispering - try it sometime! And - last night, we had pasta in the apartment and sat around watching Fashion TV (surprisingly addictive, actually, those runway shows!).
Today - 300km back to Palermo, in the rain, an emergency run back out with the rantal car to get gas (as none at the airport!), a slightly chaotic process of loading the plane (Italy) and now we are starting our descent into London. Thank you for flying Queasyjet; don't let the door hit you on the way out!
Tuesday, 7 February 2012
Giant 3 inch blizzard paralyzes London under miles of snow
Or so you'd think. The way I see it, there has been a city here for, what, 2000 or so years, and very nearly every one of those years it has snowed. That's a lot of snow, a lot of times. What happens then? Well, every time it does snow it's like, well, it's like my god what is this white fluffy slippery stuff falling out of the sky? Granted, they have gotten a little better lately. They actually managed to salt the main roads BEFORE it snowed this time - not like the massive 6 inch dump that stranded all the city buses in their yards (something that not even the Blitz managed to do, apparently). The side streets though, well, forget them. Oh, my favourite - last time we got significant snow, I believe it was on the day it finally started to melt that they decided to spread salt in front of Town Hall, and today - the single and only place that was still icy on the way in was - wait for it, in front of the main government services building. Nice.
Oh, an interesting phenomenon in the local park was observed that did seem to correlate to the weather. Normally, this being a rather multi-ethnic area, the people out and about in the park reflect this mix. On Sunday, however, amidst quite a number of hastily crafted snow-people (I'm being 21st century politically correct, of course), one could play the game of "spot the ethnic minority". Very odd...
Saturday night I went out walking in the snow. David, Robin and Robin's friend, Mike decided to watch "Warrior", which seemed to have some amount of plot, but mostly a lot of beefy men beating the crap out of each other. Now, I'm all for beefy men, but I'm not so big on them beating each other up.
Some pics (most of them taken at night, hence the funny tone...)
Our poor little palm tree!
A beckoning door in the cold night... ;-)
Finsen Road, in the night-time snow.
A very cold monkey puzzle...
Almost Dickensian, except for those big lumpy buildings in the background...
Oh, an interesting phenomenon in the local park was observed that did seem to correlate to the weather. Normally, this being a rather multi-ethnic area, the people out and about in the park reflect this mix. On Sunday, however, amidst quite a number of hastily crafted snow-people (I'm being 21st century politically correct, of course), one could play the game of "spot the ethnic minority". Very odd...
Saturday night I went out walking in the snow. David, Robin and Robin's friend, Mike decided to watch "Warrior", which seemed to have some amount of plot, but mostly a lot of beefy men beating the crap out of each other. Now, I'm all for beefy men, but I'm not so big on them beating each other up.
Some pics (most of them taken at night, hence the funny tone...)
Our poor little palm tree!
A beckoning door in the cold night... ;-)
Finsen Road, in the night-time snow.
A very cold monkey puzzle...
Almost Dickensian, except for those big lumpy buildings in the background...
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