Back in our own bed

My rough calculations as to how many beds we slept in while we were away from home comes to just under thirty, some of which we slept in more than once.
Some were drastic, most were okay. Probably the best one was at my sister-in-law's place in Northampton. They'd bought a new bed before we came (I think for us, in fact), and it was very good to sleep in.
Perhaps the worst was in a room above a cafe we stayed at in West London. The middle leg was broken, and had to be propped back in place. Consequently sleeping on it was a bit of a ‘take care’ situation, in case it suddenly collapsed.
On the Continent we found that in Germany and Switzerland, they don’t have pillows the same shape as those at home. They’re large and almost square, and virtually flat, and it’s hard to know how they’re supposed to function. We never quite found out.
Some Continental hotels put two single beds together as though they were a double. You discovered the gap fairly quickly. Others were double beds, but they had separate covers on them. This worked quite well, except when Celia threw her cover over on mine. Still, it’s something she does at home anyway, so what’s the difference?
Many places don’t use a top sheet any more, including many of the places we stayed at in England. And they use duvets almost everywhere. I found the problem with these was they were often too heavy for the summertime, and I’ve lost count of the number of nights I woke up sweating.
The great thing about it all, I suppose, is that we became more flexible about just getting on and sleeping, whether it was in our tent with airbeds, or in a king size double bed in Valencia. Many places don’t have curtains heavy enough to keep out the light – many places, especially in Spain, don’t have curtains at all. So sleeping under these conditions is a test of how tired you are and whether you’re going to make a fuss about it.
Anyway, we’re home, and we’re back in the bed we belong in – and it’s great.

Flying home...

The flight from Heathrow to Seoul left at around 8.45 pm which should have meant we could fall asleep naturally and spend some of the flight in slumberland. Well, some of us did, but not me. Tired as I was I remained awake and finished up watching three movies: Oceans Thirteen, the latest Die Hard and, for my choice from the classic movies, The Grapes of Wrath.
I’d slept a bit on the coach coming from Attleborough to Heathrow, so that helped, but I would have been happier to have slept some of the night as well.
When we got to Incheon airport in Seoul, it was 3.35 local time - but about 6.30 am England time, which is what my body was still trying to run on in spite of my efforts to convince it otherwise. So I’d been awake all night.
On the coach into Seoul itself I slept a couple of brief times, and again since we arrived at our hotel. Which means my sleeping clock is completely out of kilter.
We were at Incheon for quite some time in the end, firstly through trying to find somewhere to park our two large suitcases for the two and a half days we’re here, and then trying to find the right bus to catch to get to our hotel - a hotel virtually nobody seemed to know about. When you see the size of Seoul city, it’s probably not surprising.
Finally we caught a 5C bus outside the airport, but as time went on and the bus seemed to be travelling forever, we asked a couple of guys behind us, Koreans who spoke good English, if they could help. One of them finished up ringing up the hotel to check where it was, and wrote the address down in Korean. And then when they suggested a stop to get off at, they helped us get a taxi as well. Meanwhile, three black English-speaking women in front of us on the bus got in on the act as well, and discussed at length the fact that they didn’t know where the hotel was.
However, the taxi driver drove with confidence (and considerable speed) to the hotel, and was enthusiastic about finding it. So were we!
The Korean man at reception, when I wrote that our home address was Dunedin, cried with delight: Dunedin! I stayed there four years ago as an exchange student. If he hadn’t liked us before, he certainly thought we were wonderful after that!

On the Ferry

21st Oct, 2007
I’m writing this on the Ferry from Civitavecchia (pronounced, roughly, Chiv-ee-ta-veck-ee-ah) to Barcelona. We left over an hour late last night, so it doesn’t look as though we’re going to get into Barcelona (which apparently is spelt, Barcellona, in Spain) until at least an hour late, and maybe longer.
We got to the ferry terminal much too early, being a bit concerned in case we missed the thing. As it was, we sat around from two to six waiting. And reading - more of Ian Rankin. Stood out in the cold waiting to go on board because Celia was concerned that the machine we had to go past might notice that she had knives in her pack - and so we were trying to avoid it! In fact, we didn’t put our luggage through there at all in the end. Maybe they don’t use it anymore.
When we finally got on board we found that the cabin is more than adequate for anyone’s needs: a shower and a toilet included, and bunks and a little couch, and a small desk with a chair. Only about seven foot across, but surprisingly well-designed. We opted for the buffet meal because the ‘proper’ restaurant was expensive. Perhaps we should have gone with the expense: the buffet food was lukewarm, and the beef stew was full of gristle. Very disappointing, and not that cheap for what it was. Breakfast this morning wasn’t much better: very little choice - the only cereal was cornflakes. Never mind, it’s fun being on the boat with hundreds of Italians all doing their usual shouting at each other, and with East Europeans who’ve been shopping in Italy and are bringing all their goodies home.
I didn’t find it easy to sleep, though Celia dropped off while listening to one of her audio books around nine and didn’t get out of bed again until eight this morning. The boat rocks, of course, but that’s no big deal. But when you’re lying in bed you’re much more aware of noises and movement. It shudders continually, but like it’s breathing; so there’s a space and then a shudder, a space and shudder and so on. And every so often it hits a solid rock of a wave, and it sounds like one of the articulated lorries in the hold has come loose and gone for a wander. After this crashing down below had gone on for quite a while this morning, I went and talked to the Purser, and an Italian-speaking guy came round to explain, not long after, that it was the ‘machina’ that was making the noise. It still sounds as though it’s trying to drive a hole in the side of the hold, however!

Sleeping in Rome

Neither of us slept well last night, so we finished up having breakfast in the hotel this morning (part of the package, for once) and going back to bed for a snooze. It had been increasingly humid during the day, and stuffy during the night. Celia even got up at one point and leaned out the window to get some cool air. We may just have to get used to it: Barcelona, our next stop, probably won’t be any cooler. Seems there’s been very little rain in Italy generally over the last while, although it rained during the night a little. The riverbeds throughout Italy - the ones we’ve seen - are very dry.
After we’d booked this hotel, which, for a change, was supposed to be an improvement over some of the places we’ve stayed, we realised that it was quite some distance from the centre of things. So the night before last we’d sat down with a Roma timetable and map and worked out how we would get here. Mumma mia! what a trip!
We would get on the Metro at the Roma Termini (where our train would come into), travel some eight or nine stops to Cornelia, hop on the bus to Villa Cartegna, get off, get on an 881 bus and come to the hotel. The actuality was somewhat different: we got the Metro part right, sweating all the way, got onto the bus (the 791) to Villa Cartegna, with the help of some non-English speaking people (!), got off at the right stop, and then proceeded to go in the wrong direction on the 881. Saw the street number of the hotel as we passed by, got off, had a conversation with a woman who only spoke Italian as to where we should be going - lontano (a long way) - had another conversation with a rather blunt woman in a street front office who told me it was Pisana, not Pasana, as I was saying it, but who at least told me that if we went the way we were going we would land back up in San Pietro (a Metro station we’d already been through). Went back to the bus stop, smiled at the old lady who’d told us lontano, and discovered that it really was a long way to Via Pisana. But another older woman on the bus knew the hotel, and helped us arrive at it - in due course.
When the Italians are smiling and friendly, they’re lovely. When they don’t want to know, they seem very cold. Fortunately there are plenty of friendly ones!
Getting a meal last night proved to be a bit of a mission too, as there are no restaurants around our area - in fact, it’s a bit of a semi-industrial area mixed with residential. (Which isn’t uncommon in Europe.) We got on the 881 one again, went back to Villa Carpegna, because it had seemed that there was more life up there, and found that while there were some restaurants, they weren’t the most economic. In the end settled for a ‘first course’ of pasta each, which was plenty. The restaurant was very busy, the food was fine, we had a quattro litre of red wine between us (which is also plenty) and came home on the famous 881 (in the right direction) and tried to sleep.

Nature calls...rather too often!

Second day in Köln and the weather was a bit cooler. Unfortunately I’d got it into my head that summer had returned and went out in short sleeves again without taking a jacket or jersey. Froze. We decided not to get one of the tour buses around the city because a number of the places were within walking distance anyway. Headed for the river - the mighty Rhein - and because I had a bit of an upset stomach, I needed to find a loo quickly. No such luck. There were three portaloos along the bank of the river, but each one of them had a hefty padlock on the door. The last public WC we’d seen (and used) had been quite a way back.

Things haven’t changed by the way, in terms of needing loos. When Celia and I were on our honeymoon in Rome some 33 years ago, searching for public toilets was an issue even then.
Anyway, there were a number of large river boats alongside the bank, and in the end, in desperation, we paid to go on a trip up the river so that I could be sure of finding a loo in a great hurry. Most expensive loo we’ve had to pay for yet!

Anyway the river trip was pleasant, and worth relaxing for an hour or so on.

We’ve both been very tired today. Came back home after the river trip and slept - again. Think it’s probably all the sights and sounds and noise and travel. Whether we’ll get any better at it or not remains to be seen. How these old people who go on fourteen days on the continent type tours cope, I have no idea. Up at the crack of dawn, five hours in a bus, tramping round a city for another couple of hours, off again and then finally kipping down in a strange bed for the night. We like to take our trips a bit more easy.

Sleeping Policemen

Keep meaning to mention Sleeping Policemen. We just call them something subtle like judder bars at home, but in England this phrase is a reference to those annoying humps in suburban roads which are meant to stop people hooning down the street.