Travel gaffs

I seem to travel quite a bit, and therefore believe that it is entirely normal to have had some cock-ups, some of which verge on catastrophe. I’m now accumulating quite an impressive list.

1. Missing a flight by one week; made worse by the three hours sleep I had managed the night before, the huge amount of mojitos consumed the night before, and the fact that it turned into a bit of a race to get back to Switzerland before my parents arrived in Switzerland. Did manage it, about £100 later (quite a bargain considering), and no tears, although it was very nearly a heart attack as the consequent rush left me with no time to eat or drink.

2. Booking the flights the wrong way round. Only realising when checking in online. Rebooking expensively.
(Interestingly both the first points happened with Easyjet flights; perhaps a sign that one should not travel with them ever!)

3. Having to spend an entire night in a café to avoid paying for an hours cab ride in the middle of the night having missed the last train. Coincidentally, the café that I stayed in with a friend is a bit of a cultural wonder, the Lillois equivalent of Café Flore; where the profs from the city’s universities gather at 6 in the morning to eat onion soup. Didn’t quite believe that story until I saw it, through sleep-deprived eyes.

4. Taking a chocolate cock through security. To be fair, I think that the security guard was a little more embarrassed than I was when she made the discovery. I found the whole affair ridiculously hilarious.

5. Asking my French host family to pass me the condoms at breakfast, having guessed (incorrectly, I soon found out) the word for ‘jam.’ I had thought that it would be similar to one of the English words for jam, chose preserve, Frenched it up a bit and then got it well and truly wrong.

6. Been chased down the street by a drunk tramp in Verona. Not just any drunk tramp, but a drunk tramp shouting ‘Pikatchu, pikatchu, pikatchu’

7. Getting food poisoning and sunstroke in Hungary and making the mistake of telling the particularly unhelpful doctor that I could not swallow tablets. “Then I stick it in your arse” (Hungarians are generally not so good at English). I sat out the food poisoning and the sun stroke.

8. Falling off a horse in a French orchard, rolling under a bush in an attempt to avoid being further injured (I broke my rib), and then being collected in a very shoddy Fiat Panda; which I am convinced injured me further.

9. Losing the dog of the family for whom I was au-pairing, chasing it round the streets in an attempt to catch it before it got squashed by a speeding, shaky and battered Italian car. And calling said dog in German, because the dog was never spoken to in Italian (something to do with the S sounds in German which dogs can hear better, which must mean that all Italian dogs are quite confused.).

Swiss Seasons

One thing I adore about Switzerland (or perhaps about most places that are not the UK), is that you really get to enjoy the different seasons since they don't just merge into one big damp grey mass.

This picture above was taken in Zurich on March 11th.

And this one above on 23rd March after a picnic dinner by the lake.

Why do they wear hats?

A Swiss take on East London

It is always interesting to hear what people have to say about places that you are familiar with; to get the outsider’s eye. I have commented before how I often feel I have acquired this outsider’s eye even in the country I grew up in, but I still obviously have a different level of familiarity than that of a tourist on a flying visit. Having landed at City Airport, I was then standing next to three Swiss university students who had been on the same flight from Zurich. They were gently mocking the ‘very British’ accent and doing what is often amusing to do in a foreign country; repeating the announcements of the station names in their best British. In my experience it is more amusing in a country where they consider one vowel sufficient in a ten-letter word, such as the Netherlands.
The girls on the DLR were clearly excited about their trip to London. In their polka-dot mackingtosh, Converse trainer combo, they actually looked more London that Zurich. They observed that the brick houses were cute; they would love to live in a brick house with a coloured door. Then they spotted the more common sombre sky-high rise blocks of East London; ‘can you imagine living there?’ said one, as she took out her pink Pentax to immortalise the multi-coloured laundry hanging out to dry on the balconies-come-entrance halls of these blocks. I realised that I evidently turn a blind eye to the sad poverty of it all; you grow used to such sights in London in a way that you never do in Zurich.
The girls were excited by a red bus. I found that quite endearing. It is so interesting to notice what other people find fascinating, for them to point out that in fact, little brick houses are quite appealing. They said less favourable things about the torrent of rain that was bucketing from the heavens, but I guess they’ll still get used to that.

Mind the Gap

I am beginning to believe that the United Kingdom is inhabited by mindless idiots. Or is it just that those running it believe it to be. Or is it?

(I think the BNP might argue the UK is being stuffed full of idiots, but that is an entirely different matter.)

When I return to the UK and hop onto a tube, a bus, a train, I feel my stress levels rise rapidly, sometimes to the extent that I worry steam might be coming out of my ears. It is simply impossible to relax on a train, for example. Public transport in the UK is undeniably linked to social class in the majority of cases, to a much greater extent that in other European countries, such as France, Spain and definitely Switzerland. So if you are not a fan of those groups of louder than average Elizabeth Duke jewelled Everton supporters, then trains are certainly not for you.

What bothers me more is the treatment you get, as a paying passenger, from the tannoy. Mind the Gap. They don't put similar signs up on limestone pavements in Yorkshire, and really, you have to be an ejjit not to mind the gap, but really, does it need to be announced every second minute, several decibels outside of your comfort level?

We are approaching Diss. If you are leaving the train at Diss, please take care to take all your belongings with you. (Oh no we're not approaching Diss, we have to wait outside the station for ten minutes while the driver of the train (that was supposed to have made a space for us at Diss station) takes a leak.) It is notable that there is often a pause between the announcement that the train is approaching the station and the name of the town itself, while the train driver wipes his Upper Crust sandwich crumbs from his daily script and attempts to pronounce the town name, making sure to drop all 'h' and 't's so that he does not sound to snobby to the proles aboard.

Train travel in theory should be a pleasure. In the UK, I fear, it will never become that the choice beyond those who have no choice; it is geared towards those who have no other way, which only pushes those who have a choice to choose an option that does not make them feel like a degenerate.

Surely I do not need reminding to mind the gap every 120 seconds? And what's this you keep telling me about a heightened security risk? And why do I need to know that eleven people have broken their hips falling down these very stairs in the last 365 days? And do I really need telling that the doors are closing?

And how the hell do I get you to shut up dear Mr Tannoy Man?