The world of web dating becomes increasingly both amusing and alarming. I'm talking about the mug shots you see of these guys. I am remarking on this on this momentus day, when 'wabbet' AND 'catweasle' became my fans. I have just picked myself up off the floor from laughing - seem to be recovering well from the op then as it didn't hurt too much. Christ - I'm gonna be single forever. Actually there's one that looks like JC too (Jesus Christ) and he is even bathed in a divine light.
Anyway my brilliant idea is that I should become a web dating photographer.
Friday, April 29, 2005
2 girls must stay in on a Friday night more often
because today we had the pleasure of a knock on the door from a Karate salesman. Looked interesting and if I wasn't convalescing and the missus wasn't dancing we'd be there right away. Take that! Ayyyha!
Help - cabin fever sets in
It's the long bank holiday weekend - a time where I'd normally be scooting up and down the country or even out of it on my travels. Alas everyone seems to be scooting off doing exciting things (Montpellier, Kylie Concert, etc) and I'm stuck at home talking to the four walls. It may be time to do some weird painting to preserve my sanity.
How many hours can you spend choosing colours to paint your new walls?
Well I think I must have clocked up at least 6 so far perusing the brochures while sat in bed spread over 3 different sessions. I think I have decided now and it's only 2 colours for 2 rooms I'm buying after all that mental effort. Needless to say you'll turn up and think 6 hours very well spent (or not).
Reviews of Boscombe where I'm buying my flat
"Ah Boscombe....the exploding growth area of Bournemouth - according to local Estate Agents....
Stroll along the beach or overcliff (Boscombe Manor) - stunning.....or practice swigging white lightning from a paper bag in the Crescent and then update content on the company intranet using the delightful .net powered Immediacy system - is the broad smile from the cider or the joyous interface?!
My Dad lives in Boscombe Manor and absolutely loves it! Walks along the beach every day pretending to walk a dog."
Stroll along the beach or overcliff (Boscombe Manor) - stunning.....or practice swigging white lightning from a paper bag in the Crescent and then update content on the company intranet using the delightful .net powered Immediacy system - is the broad smile from the cider or the joyous interface?!
My Dad lives in Boscombe Manor and absolutely loves it! Walks along the beach every day pretending to walk a dog."
Thursday, April 28, 2005
Mum survives headon collision
Monday afternoon mum called me from her car where she was trapped having met with a lunatic coming from the other direction who had been overtaking on a bend. The car is a right off after he scraped all the way down the side. Mum is only battered and bruised thank heavens and thank God for the people who invented air bags. She was crying and shocked when she called me from her mobile. I eventually failed to stay calm and not to get upset, but by then I was talking to the paramedics. I could hear the ambulance man trying to work out how to get her out. They took her out through the hatchback of her Ford KA and she was flown by helicopter to Bangor hospital. The stupid pleb who was driving could only curse and swear that his custom imported Golf with hundreds of pounds of security on it was tarnished. Grrrrrrrrrr
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Operation biological warfare - life after an abdominal myomectomy
Well I survived my second operation too - abdominal myomectomy. The great news is it was all routine. I managed to keep the vital bits so can still have children should I want to and didn't need any blood transfusion. There's always something you don't expect though like being a little lop sided now without my (quote gynaecologist) "little friend" inside me anymore. He wasn't that little and certainly became unfriendly but he's gone now, with only a photo to prove it which won't be going on the mantelpiece. The other unexpected thing was the amount of work to be done each day to retrain your muscles as they heal so that they heal functionally. What nothing can prepare you for is the pain of sneezing - imagine holding out your hand and having it thumped with a sledge hammer.
Laughing is also not good. Jim brought over 4GB of music videos to entertain me through convalescence and I was in stitches (pardon the pun) at the MTV presenter introducing 'Lady Marmalade' from the film "Moulin Rouge which took us back to a time where the whore houses were about the music." It's the sort of pain that reels through you afterwards that makes you know you are ALIVE in a strange way.
I tire easily – just a 15 minute walk and I want to have a 3 hour kip. Most frustrating is my memory loss which is common after anaesthetic. I was showing photos of the recent Berlin Conference and could not remember some of the names of my colleagues. Bloody hell - what will I be like with the details of my projects and billion n 1 things that happen in the team I run. Good job they know what they are doing.
Princess Margaret Hospital in Windsor was very nice although the nurses, except the wonderful Spanish one, were not half as warm and friendly as those I’d had in the Royal Brompton. One was positively horrid when I called for a nurse in the middle of a night she came asking abruptly “And what’s wrong with you?” – well I’d just vomited as a reaction to the morphine, bad enough that you are straining your abdomen when you are not supposed to laugh but coupled with the fact I cannot move to lift myself up to be in a more comfortable position or away from myself so nearly choked. It really wasn’t what I needed.
Morphine also made me itch like crazy. They wanted to give me anti-nausea pills but they have their own side effects so I resolved to just wait it out of my system. Once I knew it was the morphine I refused all pain killers and preferred to deal with the pain myself, which apart from changing position, was just like a crippling day of period pain so not that bad. Dealing with pain stops you having energy to care about the aircraft noise outside (on flightpath to Heathrow airport). I do miss my multi level hospital bed though as that made it easier to get in and out of bed. Right now I have ropes tied to the end of the bed when I need to pull myself up.
I had lots of visitors which was fantastic. Bruce, Armen and Oksana popped in on their way to Ronnie Scott's Friday night. William and a very pregnant Esthea were there too. Bruce who is more obsessive about his blog took photos (censored) and wrote up at http://entropy.blogs.com/ "en route to Ronnie's we stopped off to see Marta in hospital, where she is making an impossibly swift recovery from her operation, laughing and joking, bemoaning the lack of wi-fi in what is after all a luxury private hospital, and generally behaving in a manner inappropriate to someone who's only a few hours out of surgery. I think they'll throw her out entirely by tomorrow. Hooray!"
And they did throw me out Saturday too. Saturday I actually felt awful like I had flu symptoms but still decided to put on the happy face, climb the stairs with the physio and get to my own home/bed. And no Sam, while in the hospital the sheets did not move so that I had a cheek glued to the plastic mattress.
BTW my biological mom was the warfare from stressful car journeys but mainly sitting in the overtaking lane as the world overtook us on the left, to making me evacuate my hospital room for an hour due to perfume overuse, to turning up over 2 hours late when I was starving and hypoglycemic waiting for her to help me eat breakfast and saying "great, you left breakfast for me!" as she tucked into it, to totally ignoring our telcon on me needing more help when out of hospital and booking the wrong holiday dates then offering to get me some strange Polish woman to be my nurse, to chasing Drs in the stairwell, to adjusting the table so it fell on my wound, to knocking every glass and bottle over at least once, to hiding things in my house from me and potential intruders (including the whip – a present when I left one job – that I had hanging on my bedroom door for show), to turning down the heating so much at home I returned to an ice box and was a shivering convulsing heap on the sofa under 5 blankets, to buying a new dress from the Jaegar sale to help HER cope with the stress of the operation. Saturday was the first day she got the hang of it and there was her 'care' without my 'fear'.
Dad was also funny – he rang Sunday to ask how I was. I managed to get out 6 words which really didn’t answer the question and he moaned for 20 minutes about how awful his health was. My family are barking. Mark, my 6 year older brother with a mental age of 11, would probably have been more sympathetic. He gave me a teddy he won in Brighton a few days earlier which was a pink pig with patches stitched on its stomach!
My wonderful friends have been a great help since mum left, keeping an eye on me, helping me with lifting and bringing me shopping. Being sick and hatefully feeling helpless has brought something positive to light and that is that I am so so lucky to have such wonderful people who care about me. Oksana brought over a lovely home cooked meal for me last night. Armen despite his mum visiting for a month and being busy at work has also been popping in. Jim came up from London. And they offered to drive me all the way to Wales to see my mum for the next part of the family saga. See post above
Laughing is also not good. Jim brought over 4GB of music videos to entertain me through convalescence and I was in stitches (pardon the pun) at the MTV presenter introducing 'Lady Marmalade' from the film "Moulin Rouge which took us back to a time where the whore houses were about the music." It's the sort of pain that reels through you afterwards that makes you know you are ALIVE in a strange way.
I tire easily – just a 15 minute walk and I want to have a 3 hour kip. Most frustrating is my memory loss which is common after anaesthetic. I was showing photos of the recent Berlin Conference and could not remember some of the names of my colleagues. Bloody hell - what will I be like with the details of my projects and billion n 1 things that happen in the team I run. Good job they know what they are doing.
Princess Margaret Hospital in Windsor was very nice although the nurses, except the wonderful Spanish one, were not half as warm and friendly as those I’d had in the Royal Brompton. One was positively horrid when I called for a nurse in the middle of a night she came asking abruptly “And what’s wrong with you?” – well I’d just vomited as a reaction to the morphine, bad enough that you are straining your abdomen when you are not supposed to laugh but coupled with the fact I cannot move to lift myself up to be in a more comfortable position or away from myself so nearly choked. It really wasn’t what I needed.
Morphine also made me itch like crazy. They wanted to give me anti-nausea pills but they have their own side effects so I resolved to just wait it out of my system. Once I knew it was the morphine I refused all pain killers and preferred to deal with the pain myself, which apart from changing position, was just like a crippling day of period pain so not that bad. Dealing with pain stops you having energy to care about the aircraft noise outside (on flightpath to Heathrow airport). I do miss my multi level hospital bed though as that made it easier to get in and out of bed. Right now I have ropes tied to the end of the bed when I need to pull myself up.
I had lots of visitors which was fantastic. Bruce, Armen and Oksana popped in on their way to Ronnie Scott's Friday night. William and a very pregnant Esthea were there too. Bruce who is more obsessive about his blog took photos (censored) and wrote up at http://entropy.blogs.com/ "en route to Ronnie's we stopped off to see Marta in hospital, where she is making an impossibly swift recovery from her operation, laughing and joking, bemoaning the lack of wi-fi in what is after all a luxury private hospital, and generally behaving in a manner inappropriate to someone who's only a few hours out of surgery. I think they'll throw her out entirely by tomorrow. Hooray!"
And they did throw me out Saturday too. Saturday I actually felt awful like I had flu symptoms but still decided to put on the happy face, climb the stairs with the physio and get to my own home/bed. And no Sam, while in the hospital the sheets did not move so that I had a cheek glued to the plastic mattress.
BTW my biological mom was the warfare from stressful car journeys but mainly sitting in the overtaking lane as the world overtook us on the left, to making me evacuate my hospital room for an hour due to perfume overuse, to turning up over 2 hours late when I was starving and hypoglycemic waiting for her to help me eat breakfast and saying "great, you left breakfast for me!" as she tucked into it, to totally ignoring our telcon on me needing more help when out of hospital and booking the wrong holiday dates then offering to get me some strange Polish woman to be my nurse, to chasing Drs in the stairwell, to adjusting the table so it fell on my wound, to knocking every glass and bottle over at least once, to hiding things in my house from me and potential intruders (including the whip – a present when I left one job – that I had hanging on my bedroom door for show), to turning down the heating so much at home I returned to an ice box and was a shivering convulsing heap on the sofa under 5 blankets, to buying a new dress from the Jaegar sale to help HER cope with the stress of the operation. Saturday was the first day she got the hang of it and there was her 'care' without my 'fear'.
Dad was also funny – he rang Sunday to ask how I was. I managed to get out 6 words which really didn’t answer the question and he moaned for 20 minutes about how awful his health was. My family are barking. Mark, my 6 year older brother with a mental age of 11, would probably have been more sympathetic. He gave me a teddy he won in Brighton a few days earlier which was a pink pig with patches stitched on its stomach!
My wonderful friends have been a great help since mum left, keeping an eye on me, helping me with lifting and bringing me shopping. Being sick and hatefully feeling helpless has brought something positive to light and that is that I am so so lucky to have such wonderful people who care about me. Oksana brought over a lovely home cooked meal for me last night. Armen despite his mum visiting for a month and being busy at work has also been popping in. Jim came up from London. And they offered to drive me all the way to Wales to see my mum for the next part of the family saga. See post above
My destiny revealed
So there I am having successfully walked in, wrestled the guards, got into the secret chamber, opened the required air vent as per my plan of the building, then scaled the mostly vertical shaft by using my freehand rock climbing skills (that was really tricky as at times I had to put all my force against the surfaces not to fall down and I felt as if I were upside down), my accomplice follows me up and I am concerned about his ability to scale the shaft because he can only be described as Alfred Hitchcock. He tuts at me and soon I move to one side clinging on as he passes me to reach for device at the top which we work on together to dismantle. Soon we are running out of there mission accomplished but the most difficult bit is running through the shopping centre which feels like a maze. We run into the open air - Hitchcock into a car and I stripping off into bikini and shorts, plonking myself next to my family having a picnic. "Raquet ball anyone?"
That's it! That's it! That's it! I keep saying in the future I'd like a meaningful job that contributes to society. My dream has revealed it to me - Bomb Disposal Expert!
That's it! That's it! That's it! I keep saying in the future I'd like a meaningful job that contributes to society. My dream has revealed it to me - Bomb Disposal Expert!
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Today's mushy email really appealed to me
"Read Each One Carefully and Think About It a Second or Two
1. I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.
2. No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won't make you cry.
3. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
4.. A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.
5. The worst way to miss someon e is to be sitting right beside them knowing you can't have them.
6. Never frown, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.
7. To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
8. Don't waste your time on a man/woman, who isn't willing to waste their time on you.
9. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the person, we will know how to be grateful.
10. Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened.
11. There's always going to be people that hurt you so what you have to do is keep on trusting and just be more careful about who you trust next time around.
12. Make yourself a better person and know who you are before you try and know someone else and expect them to know you.
13. Don't try so hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.
REMEMBER: WHATEVER HAPPENS, HAPPENS FOR A REASON."
1. I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.
2. No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won't make you cry.
3. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
4.. A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.
5. The worst way to miss someon e is to be sitting right beside them knowing you can't have them.
6. Never frown, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.
7. To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.
8. Don't waste your time on a man/woman, who isn't willing to waste their time on you.
9. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the person, we will know how to be grateful.
10. Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened.
11. There's always going to be people that hurt you so what you have to do is keep on trusting and just be more careful about who you trust next time around.
12. Make yourself a better person and know who you are before you try and know someone else and expect them to know you.
13. Don't try so hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.
REMEMBER: WHATEVER HAPPENS, HAPPENS FOR A REASON."
Monday, April 18, 2005
Strange dream number 504
Oh that was horrible. I dreamt I went to the cinema and they had this new concept of selling to you before the film started in party plan style. After sitting through a demonstration I was then ranting at the party plan woman to f' off with her inane questions and no I didn't want to look through her magazine. I came here to watch the bloody film.
May be it was the crocodile steak I had for lunch that day - yes really. It's amazing what you find at a Lulworth Cove restaurant.
May be it was the crocodile steak I had for lunch that day - yes really. It's amazing what you find at a Lulworth Cove restaurant.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Finally caught up with my blogging
Oh that feels so much better I've got all that off my chest and the photos I've been promising some of you too. There's pics from Gdansk, Cuba, My Big Fat Greek Birthday, Mallorca and Berlin here. Click on April in the right hand menu to see all the entries. If you're not on broadband may take some time to load.
Flights for 1 Euro? Time for a winter weekend in Gdansk then
If I had a blog back in December this would have been on then - thought I’d like to share it anyway…
Had some funny times with transport in Gdark (by 3pm it felt like 8pm) and Gdamp Gdansk - go only in summer for god’s sake.
Had some funny times with transport in Gdark (by 3pm it felt like 8pm) and Gdamp Gdansk - go only in summer for god’s sake.
The taxi driver saw traffic and set off down this unmade road in the middle of woods with steep banks. He forgave us for thinking we were gonna be murdered in those woods. He was very funny and kind - even if living a tough life - now that was a story and a half. We arranged that he’d pick us up for our way back.
Taxi drivers are always such a highlight of my times in Poland. When I organised a girly holiday for 9 of us in Zakopane the taxi driver we employed to minibus us around was a volunteer fireman and we were invited to the fireman's ball celebrating 80 years of the volunteer brigade. That was fab - we were treated like absolute royalty. They supplied a stream of dancing partners so no girl was ever left sitting alone. Rita and Josephine were asked to do traditional Irish dancing and the whole place joined in copying from grandmothers to toddlers. It was great. At the end of the night they presented me with this ciupaga - one of 5 especially made and carved beautifully for the occasion. It's got an axe at the top and a spike at the bottom. I keep it next to my bed (now a single woman) should I ever need it when there's a bump in the night ;-)
Picture below is from that holiday complete with axe and star taxi driver.
Picture below is from that holiday complete with axe and star taxi driver.
In the flat of Ewa's friend, her friend Mirek popped in to check we were okay. He was going to give us a lift to the tram stop but his battery had died so we had to do a push start. Scarier than that, I had to drive but this was a good step to me overcoming my fear of the wrong side of the road. That’s odd that I’m petrified of driving on the right because when 19 and living in Poland I was taking driving lessons in one of those dinky fiats in snow storms with lights less effective than a Magi torch - until I fell out with the instructor who spent most of our lesson time picking up groceries, dropping the kids home from school, buying petrol and car parts. Where did my fearlessness go?
Going to Sopot by local train we nearly got fined because we hadn’t stamped our tickets on the station in these tiny holes which we’d never have found if not pointed out to us. The ticket inspector was rubbing his hands together at the prospect of getting a bribe from us, not to be taken to the police station or fined etc. but we stood out corner and sorted it out with the Train Director who wasn’t such a horrible word beginning with C (cretin of course). We'd only just got on the train and asked where the machines were. It’s all very confusing. A friend had to pay a £50 fine for not buying a ticket for her luggage on the bus to Krakow airport. I hate this aspect of holidays in Poland - that they are out to get you.
We also met Mr Monologue, a complete loon, on the tram stop who spoke at length on the subject of “the ticket inspectors know me and I know them” - I swear it was like being in the theatre he gave such a performance. Nutters - I always attract them! I learnt in Bournemouth (place dear to my heart, lived there for 3 years, why did I leave?) that when you are being followed, the best thing to do is to turn round and follow them. Maybe being bonkers is just a way to survive this world!
Ewa led me astray again and I have ended up with a completely one off original work of art by Ewa Minge (YES! funny name!) - it’s a crazy pair of boots that I’m not sure I’ll have many occasions to wear but they are really something else! They are Barbarella-on-Acid boots. Not really for the office. However not as good as the best ever shoes I had with the Eiffel Tower complete with snow storm liquid in the heels. I promise you I normally pass for a normal person but occasionally my creative streak is expressed through what I wear. I also bought some sweaters with beautiful designs (not designer - I’m not that rich) that I can wear to the office.
and no.1 attraction is this ‘Herman’ or ‘Fluffy Poodle’ café in the style of a New Orleans street: beautiful design inside; cobbled floor; blood red walls; wrought iron chairs and balustrades; candle light; carefully placed flea market paraphernalia and wonderful atmosphere with 30s jazz playing. Owned by artists and it showed!
So back to amusing transport stories - on the way to the airport the taxi driver asks if we minded him stopping to buy bread - we said okay and bless him, he bought us some apple donuts while in the bakery. Before setting us down he pulled up to another taxi outside the airport and rolled his window down saying “Bartek, I spent the whole night with two beauties. What a ball we had! Didn’t sleep a wink. Shame I didn’t have your mobile number!”
Havana a good time
Well I got to Cuba while Castro was still there to dance salsa with me and it was wonderful except I couldn’t find him to ask for my dance. Food featured highly until I got sick at the end but there you go. Too much lobster maybe? And I wasn’t the one eating 3 lobsters in one night and having ice cream for lunch everyday either. Of course I totally approve. Life is short – eat dessert first! Still it’s nice to be poorly when you’re laid out on a sunbed by the pool, it’s hot and the waves of crystal clear water are beating against the shore not too far away. And you hear the three things that are missing from someone’s life apart from a significant other: a chrome plated dome shaped nut for a bathroom radiator to cover up the ugly brass bolt; an invisible shower curtain – perhaps compressed air; and finally a letter box that only accepts mail with a postage stamp on it. Life really is not that bad – especially when the travelling bit is over.
We managed to fly out a few hours before air traffic control systems went down. Phew! Way back was a nightmare as the Madrid connecting flight got cancelled and Iberia were totally crap. Do not fly Iberia. They are so rubbish. The flight was so hot and dry instead of asking for an extra blanket as usual I was doing a striptease – lots of Spanish people naturally and difficult to sleep with carnival breaking out every now and then. It’s this kind of travel that makes me wonder if I really want to do longhaul ever again. I was so dreaming of my own bed – alas I discovered on landing at HTW that the boiler was broken (we had let it run out of oil) and until it was fixed and the house got warm again from freezing, I had to extend my hols and stay with friends.
Life goes on in Cuba at a different pace. There seemed to be two different time zones at play – different by an hour so that was interesting. No wonder we had trouble finding a restaurant still serving food and had to wake up the portero to get back in the hotel. Ordering food at the café in the all inclusive hotel by the beach was fun. “We’ll have the ice cream please.” “Yes of course Madam. We’ll have some in 2 hours.” Things looked up when we found the buffet. Here we found “Show cooking: paste” – that’s what the sign said above the man making pasta. Great food and great display- best of all the Beetlegeuse effect. Seen the movie? The moment where the dinner guests become possessed by a spirit that makes them mambo number 5 or whatever it is to “Shake Shake Senora. Shake your body line”. Well here are all these people stalking around the buffet tables plate in hand, then the salsa band starts up and suddenly their step transforms into a wonderful wiggle to go with the music.
The Hotel Melia in Varadero was disappointing as I’d never spent so much on a hotel room and got so little value or had such an inefficient check-in. After much faffing around & trying to do a slippery deal with us, it was “Please fill in these cards” and he walked off without giving us pens. Jim and I just gave each other a ‘why bother’ look and dug into our luggage for our own pens. It was the most I’d ever paid for a hotel room anywhere in the world and I have been known to splash out from time to time. Ouch! But I did do the salsa lessons, check my hotmail, admire the fresco of nudes in bed painted on the bedroom wall, read the hurricane advice in the welcome pack with interest and was responsible for a full scale security investigation when my pool towel was stolen. The free shows were very funny too – particularly the very communist paying homage to the directors and the half costumes.
Salsa bands were de rigeur! Like at the famous Nacional Hotel where 2 guests were seriously strutting their stuff dirty dancing style amidst crowing cockerels. I got a taxi back and the driver was tooting at everyone and everything which came a step away from the road even if they were a mile away. May be it was his contribution to the rhythm of Cuba. I did hear ‘Cuanta la mera’ far too many times though. Live big bam band salsa is great but at breakfast? – Noooooooo thanks! Best music was a serenade in a restaurant by an excellent singer who sang beautiful Cuban love songs accompanied by a pianist. Very Buena Vista Social Club. Particularly amusing was the rest breaks and much chatting between songs.
The Hotel Raquel in Havana was also expensive but really wonderful and an experience to savour. Stunningly beautiful with stained glass dome and roof terrace. So terribly stylish – you expected to see a photo shoot for Vogue happening. It was a bit noisy and thank heavens I travel with ear plugs. Jim solved the mystery and it was not a penchant for pneumatic drills at 5am but water being pumped into the buildings. I did like the towel sculptures in that hotel.
Jim in Utah complained I wore too many clothes and now he complained I wasn’t wearing enough and may be burdened with unwanted attention from men. Well I still went out in my very short shorts and didn’t stop traffic after all. I have a lot of sunbathing to catch up on you see, so the white pegs had to get on show to change colour. And even when wearing jeans I still had as many “Welcome to Cuba!” and “Hello beautiful” salutations from the locals. Anyway to punish me for my boldness, Jim deserted me when I was taking pictures and was observing from afar when Lawrence sidled up to me – alas he was the most boring Englishman on the planet who curses be was a city boy turned Estate Agent. While Jim argued with the authorities about leaving his bag n valuables with the coat check, Lawrence and I strolled around the Revolution Museum silently fearing Jim was going to be locked up. Here he excitedly told me in the plumiest of accents how disgusted he was that he couldn’t buy Coca Cola in Havana – “I mean, REALLY!”. I thought I was going to have to break a Kalashnikov out of the glass case and shoot myself. What is about rich people? You think they could be intelligent, worldly and have good conversation too to get so far in life.
I certainly had more fun being taught to dance salsa in the local social club by a sociable local with brittle hands like you wouldn’t believe, while Jim got hussled by a young Cuban lady and her pimp mom. We had to make a quick exit. I loved Cuba but I didn’t like the being ripped off. It’s the price you have to pay as a tourist out there. If you see a Cuban granny dressed in white with a big flower and the biggest cigar you’ve ever seen, you’ll be paying a dollar to take her photo.
I’d definitely recommend it but don’t book last minute and arrange it yourselves like we did because that worked out very expensive. Don’t fly Iberia. Consider going to Cancun for the beach holiday and from there coming over to Havana. It’s well worth it. Don’t expect great things from the food. Have lots and lots of camera film. Expect a photogenic city with much charm and ambience. Flying back home, just saunter down the VIP lane rather than do the long queue for the immigration control. Here ends my Cuban tale.
We managed to fly out a few hours before air traffic control systems went down. Phew! Way back was a nightmare as the Madrid connecting flight got cancelled and Iberia were totally crap. Do not fly Iberia. They are so rubbish. The flight was so hot and dry instead of asking for an extra blanket as usual I was doing a striptease – lots of Spanish people naturally and difficult to sleep with carnival breaking out every now and then. It’s this kind of travel that makes me wonder if I really want to do longhaul ever again. I was so dreaming of my own bed – alas I discovered on landing at HTW that the boiler was broken (we had let it run out of oil) and until it was fixed and the house got warm again from freezing, I had to extend my hols and stay with friends.
Life goes on in Cuba at a different pace. There seemed to be two different time zones at play – different by an hour so that was interesting. No wonder we had trouble finding a restaurant still serving food and had to wake up the portero to get back in the hotel. Ordering food at the café in the all inclusive hotel by the beach was fun. “We’ll have the ice cream please.” “Yes of course Madam. We’ll have some in 2 hours.” Things looked up when we found the buffet. Here we found “Show cooking: paste” – that’s what the sign said above the man making pasta. Great food and great display- best of all the Beetlegeuse effect. Seen the movie? The moment where the dinner guests become possessed by a spirit that makes them mambo number 5 or whatever it is to “Shake Shake Senora. Shake your body line”. Well here are all these people stalking around the buffet tables plate in hand, then the salsa band starts up and suddenly their step transforms into a wonderful wiggle to go with the music.
The Hotel Melia in Varadero was disappointing as I’d never spent so much on a hotel room and got so little value or had such an inefficient check-in. After much faffing around & trying to do a slippery deal with us, it was “Please fill in these cards” and he walked off without giving us pens. Jim and I just gave each other a ‘why bother’ look and dug into our luggage for our own pens. It was the most I’d ever paid for a hotel room anywhere in the world and I have been known to splash out from time to time. Ouch! But I did do the salsa lessons, check my hotmail, admire the fresco of nudes in bed painted on the bedroom wall, read the hurricane advice in the welcome pack with interest and was responsible for a full scale security investigation when my pool towel was stolen. The free shows were very funny too – particularly the very communist paying homage to the directors and the half costumes.
Salsa bands were de rigeur! Like at the famous Nacional Hotel where 2 guests were seriously strutting their stuff dirty dancing style amidst crowing cockerels. I got a taxi back and the driver was tooting at everyone and everything which came a step away from the road even if they were a mile away. May be it was his contribution to the rhythm of Cuba. I did hear ‘Cuanta la mera’ far too many times though. Live big bam band salsa is great but at breakfast? – Noooooooo thanks! Best music was a serenade in a restaurant by an excellent singer who sang beautiful Cuban love songs accompanied by a pianist. Very Buena Vista Social Club. Particularly amusing was the rest breaks and much chatting between songs.
The Hotel Raquel in Havana was also expensive but really wonderful and an experience to savour. Stunningly beautiful with stained glass dome and roof terrace. So terribly stylish – you expected to see a photo shoot for Vogue happening. It was a bit noisy and thank heavens I travel with ear plugs. Jim solved the mystery and it was not a penchant for pneumatic drills at 5am but water being pumped into the buildings. I did like the towel sculptures in that hotel.
Jim in Utah complained I wore too many clothes and now he complained I wasn’t wearing enough and may be burdened with unwanted attention from men. Well I still went out in my very short shorts and didn’t stop traffic after all. I have a lot of sunbathing to catch up on you see, so the white pegs had to get on show to change colour. And even when wearing jeans I still had as many “Welcome to Cuba!” and “Hello beautiful” salutations from the locals. Anyway to punish me for my boldness, Jim deserted me when I was taking pictures and was observing from afar when Lawrence sidled up to me – alas he was the most boring Englishman on the planet who curses be was a city boy turned Estate Agent. While Jim argued with the authorities about leaving his bag n valuables with the coat check, Lawrence and I strolled around the Revolution Museum silently fearing Jim was going to be locked up. Here he excitedly told me in the plumiest of accents how disgusted he was that he couldn’t buy Coca Cola in Havana – “I mean, REALLY!”. I thought I was going to have to break a Kalashnikov out of the glass case and shoot myself. What is about rich people? You think they could be intelligent, worldly and have good conversation too to get so far in life.
I certainly had more fun being taught to dance salsa in the local social club by a sociable local with brittle hands like you wouldn’t believe, while Jim got hussled by a young Cuban lady and her pimp mom. We had to make a quick exit. I loved Cuba but I didn’t like the being ripped off. It’s the price you have to pay as a tourist out there. If you see a Cuban granny dressed in white with a big flower and the biggest cigar you’ve ever seen, you’ll be paying a dollar to take her photo.
I’d definitely recommend it but don’t book last minute and arrange it yourselves like we did because that worked out very expensive. Don’t fly Iberia. Consider going to Cancun for the beach holiday and from there coming over to Havana. It’s well worth it. Don’t expect great things from the food. Have lots and lots of camera film. Expect a photogenic city with much charm and ambience. Flying back home, just saunter down the VIP lane rather than do the long queue for the immigration control. Here ends my Cuban tale.
Friday, April 15, 2005
This was Mallorca for the Easter weekend
A belated blogging.
Took up my friend's invite very happily and what a fine time we had. A place which bemused me in terms of the English stuck to a bar stool drinking day and night. Has to be more to life. I know the sun shines but still. Did some great sight seeing on some pretty hairy roads. It's such a beautiful island. Had loads of fun with Ewa, who talking of hair, really knows how to let hers down. She's Polish and was my neighbour when I lived in Sunningdale. I thought I was going to die of a highly dangerous mix of laughter and embarassment when she started on sex toys and the importance of keeping every muscle of the body in shape.
The other quote that was funny from Ewa was on the subject of food of course "I don't like sweet. I like sausage."
Are all Polish women wild and outspoken?
Everytime I see the pictures or think back it brings a smile -we really had so much fun.
Anyway I bemused them too being from so far South I was "practically French"!
Took up my friend's invite very happily and what a fine time we had. A place which bemused me in terms of the English stuck to a bar stool drinking day and night. Has to be more to life. I know the sun shines but still. Did some great sight seeing on some pretty hairy roads. It's such a beautiful island. Had loads of fun with Ewa, who talking of hair, really knows how to let hers down. She's Polish and was my neighbour when I lived in Sunningdale. I thought I was going to die of a highly dangerous mix of laughter and embarassment when she started on sex toys and the importance of keeping every muscle of the body in shape.
The other quote that was funny from Ewa was on the subject of food of course "I don't like sweet. I like sausage."
Are all Polish women wild and outspoken?
Everytime I see the pictures or think back it brings a smile -we really had so much fun.
Anyway I bemused them too being from so far South I was "practically French"!
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