It’s been a while since I’ve paused to post, but forgive me;
here’s why:
And oh what fun I’ve had . . . I have piled on the miles
from Manila to Hong Kong to Reykjavik to Edinburgh to no less than four states
in a ten-day swing through America. The
journeys covered several airlines (Cathay Pacific wins the award for the best,
United for the absolute worst) and a few trains, trams, and buses. I highly
recommend the Virgin train up to Edinburgh, where the view of scenic
Berwick-upon-Tweed is absolutely gorgeous—you can glimpse the blue-green sea
that would be enticing if it wasn’t freezing!
I don’t travel often for business, and when it rains, it
pours! What wonderful memories of each journey—the wonderful, generous,
friendly people of the Philippines; the vibrant, modern, expat-friendly city of
Hong Kong; a bit of R&R in Iceland, enjoying the never-ending daylight; a
quick stop to Edinburgh that was beautifully green in the sunshine, my second
trip there but a completely different experience from the rain-soaked first
visit; and, finally, America the beautiful. In England again, I’m spending a few
days on the Isle of Wight after several weekends away—and I must say, it’s a
wonderful homecoming.
First there was Manila, and I must say it’s the Filipino people
who make their country wonderful—hands down—though there are some lovely areas
I was able to visit on my one free day. I took a city tour with Bea, a native,
and we travelled by air-conditioned van (as it was well into the 90s F) through
the “old” and new parts of Manila. Remember that the city was destroyed by the
US bombing campaign in 1945 to end Japanese military occupation; MacArthur won
the battle, but Manila was utterly devastated. Intramuros, the oldest part of
the walled city, has been rebuilt and is a lovely area to stroll with its
historic feel, cathedral, and the old fort.
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| Mother of pearl windows in the Plaza St Luiza complex at Intramuros. |
It’s a city of many levels of economy—our guide took us
through the area coined “Beverly Hills” for its gated communities for the
uber-rich and mostly foreign owners, but we needed to go through some of the
poorest areas which had me clutching my throat: children bathing in the street
from buckets of water being poured over them; tiny, tin-roofed shacks packed
forlornly one after another; narrow, pot-holed roads that the city simply isn’t
interested in paving. And yet just a few miles away there is a mega-mall filled
with shops of every economic scale. It’s no different anywhere, including
places in America, and yet the localised destitution goes unnoticed as long as
the tourists still come.
The food in the Philippines can be challenging—you need to
appreciate meat and rice, though finding a place to have fish is not
impossible. I had a few “authentic” meals for lunch and dinner, which mostly
came from the office canteen since I was working the 2-to-10 pm shift, and Bea
and I had a lovely lunch that included delicious vegetables and squid. I did
not, dear friends, attempt the balut . . . for the uninitiated, it’s a boiled
duck (or chicken) egg with a partial embryo inside. Go ahead, Google it. The
photos will be enough to turn you off!
After the Philippines I had a four-day stopover in Hong Kong
and absolutely loved the city—like nothing I’d seen before with the tall,
narrow buildings huddled together, narrow side streets teeming with shops and
restaurants and people—a mix of Chinese and the world as the ex-pat community
is huge (second, I think, only to Dubai), a fantastic mass transit system that
is incredibly easy to use. I most enjoyed the tram because it was a bit clunky
and slow and gave a lovely view as it snaked through the city. You get on at
the back and pay on your way out in the front—which I learned the hard way and
paid twice. The underground is modern and well-mapped to easily find your way,
with touch screens on a map to choose your destination without having to know
how to spell it. My faux pas was trying to get through the turnstile with my
hotel key card, which had the attendant laughing—the card you get from the ticket
vending machine, much like an Oyster card, is hard plastic and of the same
dimensions as the hotel key.
You can get anything you want to eat in Hong Kong; just walk
one of the main roads in Soho and you’ll see Argentinian, Belgian, New York
deli, Mexican, Middle Eastern, Australian, well, you name it. I had a few good
tips from a colleague and did well to mix Chinese with tapas and enjoyed it all,
perhaps my favourite a little place called The Monogamous Chinese. It’s a great
city for singles—safe and easy to navigate, and many of the restaurants had
bars that served food so you don’t have to sit at a table alone, though I never
have trouble with that (and it’s become a bit easier with technology in hand).
After spending a few days back home Tim and I went to
Reykjavik for a long weekend to have him speak at the Bar European Group
conference on the rights of the accused while I reunited with the WAGs from
previous BEG trips (you may remember jaunts to Athens and Sorrento). Neither of
us had Iceland on our bucket list, though I must say having been there it is
something to see—a lava desert, flat for miles until you reach Reykjavik, where
the city is compact, modern, and filled with shops brimming with Icelandic
sweaters (yes, I did) and assorted cold-weather gear. Food options are pretty
diverse and, if you’re not careful, expensive—we had two nice dinners out and
both tipped over £100. But, that said, the food was delicious and I don’t
regret a single pence. There are lots of tourists in hiking gear donning
backpacks who were not doubt prepared to walk on glaciers and climb volcanic mountains;
we stuck with a leisurely walk in the national park where the tectonic plates
of North America and Europe meet.
And what is a visit to Iceland without a dip in the Blue
Lagoon? The geothermal water spa is about 100 degrees F though there are
currents which are hotter or cooler as the water surfaces from 2,000 metres
below—we moved around a bit and occasionally paused when a surge of hot water
bubbled up. And the lagoon is more milky white than blue; I read it is the
silica, algae and a smattering of other minerals that give it that eerie colouring.
And, considering the air temperature was probably not more than 20 degrees F,
it felt lovely to be submerged to the chin. Tim gave himself a silica mud mask;
I sipped a Green is Good concoction which, naturally, is served at a bar in the
spa.
I had chance to spend just one day in Edinburgh before
heading off to the US of A—a quick work trip but, owing to a four-hour train
journey I needed to stay overnight. Arriving in the early evening sunshine I
walked around a bit, found the hotel, and then dropped my bag and walked some
more—it’s such a lovely city with clean, wide avenues, some nifty old buildings
dotting the area and a lovely view of the Firth of Forth (formed by a former
glacier, to keep the theme going). And green! I mostly remembered grey, but in
the daylight and the sun it transforms into a lovely place to stroll.
I walked until, alas, the wind picked up and the rain
started to fall, and found myself in a lovely pub called Tiles where I had a
lovely salmon dish and watched the world go by from my high-top table. When Tim
and I had last been in Edinburgh it was a bit cold, very wet, and very crowded.
In fact seeing the capital on a sunny day I almost didn’t recognise some of the
sites we’d walked before. How nice it was to steal a few hours mid-week to see
the city, a part of the UK but with a slightly different feel than the edgier
London—perhaps I just didn’t see enough of Edinburgh. I suspect a return visit
awaits.
And then, the most favourite journey, home. Home is still a
funny word—I feel at home in London, but I always feel like where you’re from
is where your home is, and so going back to America automatically delivers the
word home from my brain to my tongue.
As usual, it was a whirlwind adventure filled with family on
both sides, starting with my brother’s family, now ten years in Texas and visiting
for my godsons’ high school graduation. I graduated with 67 students in my
class; Chris had 960+ classmates that congregated at a football stadium to
collect their diplomas. It was lovely even in its largeness. Several of us
recorded the announcer as he read Chris’ name; what a proud moment for his
parents. I know, I know; the British don’t “get” why graduating high school is
such a big deal in the states but it has always been, perhaps going back
generations where to make it through that much schooling was not an easy feat.
Catching up with my brother David and the rest of the
family, including Elena’s relatives—some of whom travelled from Peru to be
there—was really wonderful, despite a bit of a language barrier as my Spanish
is poor and many of them don’t speak English—Elena had to do quite a bit of
translating, and as ever she did it in good spirit. The Peruvians adore Tim—they
find him charming and funny, and no doubt like most foreigners swoon over the
British accent!
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| Hats being tossed by the new graduates! |
And it was HOT. You’ve heard me complain before about the
lack of a “true” summer in England—the joke is that it usually lasts a week—so
going to a warm climate for days on end to let the heat just soak into my skin
is always a treat.
It was just as hot traveling to Georgia and Florida, where
we met with Tim’s relatives whom he hadn’t seen in, well, let’s just say a long
time. Once there, the years melted away and there were numerous stories of when
the cousins were growing up, and introductions of all the cousins’ children who
are all friendly and polite and seemed genuinely pleased to meet the Brit(s).
We toured peach orchards and farms in Georgia, ate soul
food, went to see the Cypress trees resting in the shallow waters shared with
alligators (but unfortunately no sightings), and enjoyed the catching up with
the relatives, who treated us so wonderfully. Believe what you hear of Southern
hospitality!
The warmth and kindness continued on our stay in
Jacksonville Beach with Tim’s cousins, who treated us to a great Thai meal at
one of the local restaurants, a homemade blueberry crisp, lots of beer and
wine, and, best of all, hours of conversation and reminisces. My favourite line
came from Brendan, aged 10, who spoke his much-practiced line to Tim: ‘ello,
guv’nor!
And then there was the beach. I’d been dreaming of a bit of
warm weather holiday, and while we had just three days at Jax Beach, we made
the most of it by rising early for a long walk along the sand, having a swim in
the ocean where the water temperature made it comfortable to dive right in, and
drying off in the shade by the pool, all well before noon so that we could
spend the afternoon with the family. I quite liked being immersed in American
accents—it’s unlike visiting anywhere in Europe where there is a collection of
languages spoken around you; for me it’s just one of those “things” that makes
it feel like being back home.
Most certainly one of the highlights was a bit unexpected. A
thunderstorm shut down the airport in Jacksonville for a couple of hours, which
meant we were going to miss our connection in Newark to get to London
overnight. We opted to get at least to Newark if possible, and then board a
plane in the morning from there, which meant I could have a quick visit with
Robyn. We planned a 6 am breakfast meet at Tops Diner, one of our favourites,
figuring a 9 am flight would give us an hour or so to have a coffee and catch
up. Upon settling in one of the booths at the diner my phone buzzed—an alert
from United that our 9:05 flight was delayed . . . by nine hours. I thought I
was misreading it and asked Tim to look, and sure enough it was showing a 6:30
pm departure. Ugh.
Tim called United who said the time posted was an “estimate”
and that we ought to show up as it could change. Hugs all around, Robyn dropped
us at the Departures entrance and we spent the next several hours as guests of
Newark Airport. We tried to coax United into giving us free access to their
club, but they would not, so Tim ponied up for the fee and at least we had free
wifi and an assortment of drinks and snacks as well as a comfortable chair,
free newspapers, and room to play cards. Playing several hands of 21, Rummy,
and War got us through the day, along with a nice lunch with our $42 in food
vouchers courtesy of customer care. Tim is still drafting his Dear United
letter! I sent an email to the CEO, and got a wholly unsatisfactory reply from
a Corporate Customer Care person three days later, offering nothing but an
apology. United did give us a non-transferable $125 credit on our next flight,
to be used within one year. Well, I suppose that’s something, though I
suggested they take a more proactive approach to caring for international customers
stuck in the airport for innumerable hours. I also was a bit disappointed she
didn’t do her research—the tickets were not in my maiden name, but she referred
to us as Mr and Mrs using that surname. I’m debating whether to point that out
in my reply, LOL.
Fortunately we weren’t in a mad rush to get home, having travelled
on the weekend to give ourselves a bit of recuperation before picking up the
work pace again. It did mean that Tim’s mum had to delay her arrival to take
Tim out to dinner for his birthday, but as ever she simply rolled with it, well
travelled and well used to the whims of trains and planes, and came to visit
two days later, treating us to a lovely meal at one of our favourite local
pubs.
There’s that funny word “home” again. I think it’s quite
alright to say that I have two homes,
as I have two citizenships and hopefully soon two passports. I don’t love one
more than the other; I’m merely privileged to have them both.
