Fifty Shades of Grey Sky

It was down to earth with a bump after our amazing holiday. Incidentally thank you for all the very complimentary comments about my posts. It’s amazing what a spot of sunshine can do for creativity. There are some writers who thrive on doom and gloom and I’m obviously not one of them. Give me some warm rays and I immediately become a better person.

Surely I can bring some of that Caribbean joie de vivre into my posts about everyday life here in Haarlem?

Take for example, my close encounters this week with Dutch workmen. That’s a jolly subject.

Encounter number one – at a friend’s house. Friend was having some building work. Two young Dutchmen erecting scaffolding on her balcony whilst we, a group of 6 ex-pats having a catch-up and a glass of wine inside playing cards. (Contrary to what some people might think, I would like to point out that this is the first time in several years of being a professional ex-pat wife that I have EVER spent an entire afternoon playing cards.) Loud thud from balcony as we see young Dutchman falling to his knees, clutching head. Large piece of metal, presumably some sort of scaffolding fixing, at his feet. Second rather shamefaced Dutchman hurriedly descending scaffolding to check on the wellbeing of his colleague below. Lots of blood.

I don’t do blood. I certainly don’t do gashes to the back of the head.  Where was his hard hat? My friend insisted her builder had to go to hospital. Young builder insisted he was okay. She stood her ground.  Two hours later he was back, cut glued together, and still no hard hat (although it was quite noticeable that this time he was the one who climbed up the scaffolding leaving his younger colleague on the ground….)

So what’s the moral of this story? Dutch (dis)regard for health and safety.  Remember these people don’t wear cycle helmets. One American friend recently reported that her daughter couldn’t even buy a child seat for her bicycle because in the US they are considered unsafe. Here Dutch Mama’s strap their new born babies to their chest while they cycle the two older kids to school, one in a basket at the front, and another on a child-seat at the back.  All completely helmet-less. This week while out and about Mr T and I spotted a woman transporting a full-size double mattress in her Bakfiets. Mr T said this was actually quite sensible, because when she over-balanced, which looked inevitable, she would at least have something soft to land on.

Meanwhile, encounters with Dutch workmen two and three. Dutch workmen are dour people. Our landlord had arranged to have our decking fixed. We live in a terrace – the only way into the backyard is through the house, which decking man and his mate had to do several times. It’s a mucky job replacing decking, they could have asked for a broom (I made them coffee, filter coffee, two cups each for Christ’s sake). Still, I knew there was no point cleaning up after them because on Friday close encounter with Dutch workman number four. The gardener. Again, lots of traipsing back and forwards through the house. Still no point cleaning the floor. The weather forecast for the weekend was wet (what’s new) Mr T and I would be traipsing our own dirt through the house. Cleaning is a thankless task. Have I ever mentioned my black carpet??

Anyway, at least my positive sunny attitude inspired me to attack my novel writing with re-newed vigour. They always tell you if something is working, be brave, kill your darlings. Take a different viewpoint. Turn the plot on its head.

I once read somewhere that dreams can provide useful inspiration for fiction writing. This week my dreams have included arriving on a cruise ship and discovering I hadn’t packed a party frock or any underwear (every woman’s nightmare), and having a teenage romance with Daniel Radcliffe.

I certainly know where the first dream stemmed from, but could my fantasy romance be a subliminal message to aim for a different market? YA (Young Adult) fiction is all the rage. Could I write from a teenage point of view? I don’t think so. Not a modern teenager at any rate. When I was a teenager I used public transport and a phone-box. I definitely couldn’t write anything for today’s market. (I would hasten to add that as fond as I am of Daniel my feelings for him are strictly maternal – or so I thought….)

So it’s back to the drawing board with the novel, and back to reality with the blog.  In an effort to extend our up-beat tourist mood Mr T and I took the train to Dordrecht this weekend. Dordrecht,  20 kms south east of Rotterdam, is on the periphery of places we could possibly live when we have to make our summer move. The purpose of the trip was to either add it to our list of potential suspects, or eliminate it from our enquiries.  It was an okay sort of place, the usual array of gabled houses, some interesting architecture and a waterfront which we told ourselves would be worth re-visiting in the sunshine (we seem to end up saying this about an awful lot of places in the Netherlands).  It wasn’t exactly firing us up with any enthusiasm.

The only thing to do when you return from one good holiday is to book another, which is what we have done. Roll on August. Those fifty shades of grey Dutch skies may not be providing inspiration for any great writing, but they do are doing wonders for the travel industry.

See what I mean?  Dordrecht. Not exactly the Caribbean!

On Vacation Episode Five - All Our New Best Friends are Canadian

I wasn’t totally convinced I was going to like Jamaica – the warning not to make eye contact with anyone trying to sell you something doesn’t exactly fill you with any confidence. The boat docked in Ocho Rios and the main attraction here is Dunns River Falls - a 55 m high waterfall which flows into the Caribbean down a series of terraces. We just had to climb it, Mr T said, just had to. And he was right. There were times when I felt like spider-man as I hopped from rock to rock up the waterfall with my newly purchased florescent pink wet-shoes. There were other times when I was very grateful that on being told to line up boy-girl-boy-girl I had Mr T in one hand Mr 6ft Canadian in the other. Despite nearly wrenching my arm out of its socket, Mr 6ft Canadian hauled me up to the top of Dunns River Falls. I wouldn't have made it without him.

It is very touristy, and very 'contrived'. It isn't compulsory to trek up the waterfalls with a guide, but it seems the simplest, and most sensible thing to do. Did I ever think I’d be standing waist deep in water waving my arms up in the air with twenty complete strangers singing Hot Hot Hot, Wet Wet Wet? Does that honestly sound like me? No. There were a very po-faced couple in our group who were determined not to join in. They were not going to strip down to their bathers, deposit their bags in a locker, or hold hands with anyone else and follow the guide, but sometimes you just have to go with the flow (or quite literarily against it in this case). I have to say we had great fun!

Sorry no pictures from Dunns River as we didn't risk the camera, although we did buy the video (strictly for private viewing). Here are some pictures from the nearby tropical gardens instead - very similar scenery!

Jamaica done. Not somewhere I would particularly rush back to, because sadly it was true. Muttering a polite no-thank-you to any trader was the worst possible thing you could do, and you cannot get out of Dunns River Falls without passing through a rustic local market.

Fortunately, our next stop, Nassau in the Bahamas proved to be the complete contrast – totally hassle free, and it was bonus stop because originally the ship had been destined for Cococay, the cruise company’s own island. Cococay was due to provide nothing more than a day on the beach, where you could invest in a floating beach-mat, a luxury cabana or swim with dolphins. I was slightly concerned at the lack of wild dolphins in the Caribbean and came to the conclusion that most must have been rounded up for swimming with cruise-passenger's experiences.

A bad weather forecast diverted us to the safety of Nassau harbour – so rather than spend the day in an artificial resort, we got to spend it in a real one! The only downside was that on Cococay we’d have been able to use our complimentary drinks package, where as in Nassau I had to buy my own Bahama Mama cocktail - oh and of course we had to drag ourselves around a historic British fort,  take in all that stuffy old colonial architecture, oh and even worse, visit the slave museum. Yuck. its no wonder people prefer the Disneyfied  version.  Who wants all that culture? Me, me, me (in case anyone doesn’t get the sarcasm).

The Queen's Steps in Nassau - carved out of rock by slaves

I loved the Bahamas. I loved the whole cruise. Definitely something I’d do again although I’m not totally convinced about Celebrity. There was just a little too much hard sell – too many little extra’s which to be fair, our on-board allowance mostly covered. Mr T and I are not natural shoppers, or big spenders. I found it quite sad that our port guides consisted of little more than brochures for Celebrity's organised excursions and directions to the local shopping districts, rather than providing any information on the geography or heritage of the islands themselves. 

Mr T and I are not materialistic. We don't need diamonds and watches (or at least not one from every port) - we have each other.  My $10 wet shoes were definitely the buy of the cruise.

On Vacation Episode Four - A Tale of Two Beaches

This was what we had come for. Our first stop in the Caribbean and a half day tour on the island of Cozumel off the coast of Mexico. All those years in California and we’d never been to Mexico, so we were very excited. Cruises call into Cozumel primarily because it is (apparently) very good for snorkelling and it's also within striking distance of the mainland Mayan ruins at Chichen Itza – six hours travelling for one and half hours at the site. We gave that a miss and instead opted for a tour to the ‘mini’ ruins of a Mayan fertility temple at San Gervasio, just thirty minutes drive from the ship. 

Iguana’s scuttled over the ruins, exotic birds fluttered in the trees, it was hot, dusty, everything Mexico should be.  Less impressive was the subsequent beach stop – it was not the quiet Caribbean idyll I’d been hoping for, but party-city with regimented rows of sun-loungers and a Total Wipeout style inflatable water park.

As our guide Mauricio was at pains to point out, amigos, Cozumel's only source of income is tourism. The cruise season only lasts from December until May, and a quiet week only brings 5-7 ships. I suppose the locals have to try and make as much out of it as they can.

Still, I had to keep the faith. Paradise was just an overnight sail away. 

Insider information is a wonderful thing. One of my new friends in Amsterdam had spent six years living in the Cayman Islands.  As we docked in George Town I clutched her e-mail in my hot sweaty palms. We by-passed the hawkers at the terminal gates urging us to take their taxi, or their guided tour. Instead, we did as instructed and flagged down the local bus and headed out to Cemetery Beach.

It may not sound like an exotic location and as the bus driver dropped us off at an isolated spot on the roadside and pointed to a rough track between a bungalow and a graveyard I must admit I had my doubts.

'It looks like we're walking through somebody's garden...' I remarked to Mr T  before we realised that we actually were, and that the path we should have followed was  on the other side of the fence. But it didn't matter. We ignored the 'keep out' signs and hopped over the rope that separated the private property from the sand, and there we were. Paradise.

Our ship had docked in Cayman ahead of schedule, and as our bodies had yet to adjust to the time difference we were up and off the ship before anyone else. It really is the early bird who catches the worm. Apart from a couple of random chickens, we  had the place to ourselves for the best part of an hour. White sand, blue sky, turquoise sea.  

As more people began to intrude into our sanctuary we headed back into town for a lunchtime beer and a strawberry Daquiri which was absolutely vital to wash down the taste of the local delicacy - Conch Fritters. Sampling the conch fritters was probably the one piece of insider advice we should have ignored.  Definitely an acquired taste and definitely NOT something I’ll be trying again.

Paradise ticked off the list. Next stop, Jamaica.

On Vacation Episode Three - All At Sea

Our first full day on board was the perfect opportunity to observe our fellow passengers and acclimatise. Mr T and I are relatively inexperienced cruisers and we soon realised that we were  complimentary beverage package lightweights – you want a beer with your breakfast, you can have it.  We didn’t, but plenty of other people obviously did. It’s surprising how many people also drank a can of coke with their cornflakes, or rather not their cornflakes but corn fritters, waffles, smokey bacon, hash browns, stir fry, whipped cream and half a grapefruit. You name it, and you can have it. Food is unlimited and available all day. Breakfast transcends into lunch, lunch stretches until afternoon tea, and afternoon tea lasts until evening dinner. It’s a super place to over-indulge.

But we were determined to resist the temptation. Up early on our first morning we were jogging around the deck at 7.00 am. Our cabin was on the 8^th floor, mid-way up the ship, and we decided the only way we were ever going to stay fit would be to forget the elevators existed and take the stairs.

Of course being up so early in the morning we needed an afternoon nap – which is when I realised that the three women in the cabin next door to us obviously had a relative on the other side of ship they wished to include in their conversation. I have some really good American friends, so I will try not to be rude, but do they teach Voice Projection  in High School? When we later returned to the swimming pool and snuggled down in a cosy cabana, I could hear every word the man in the hot tub was bellowing to the guy sat next to him.  Why did he think everyone on the ship wanted to know he’d spent his entire life working in an inner-tube factory in Atlanta? We don’t care.

It was time for dinner, and Celebrity have dispensed with ‘formal’ attire and have instead created ‘evening chic’ – which basically means you can wear what you want. This suited Mr T, who having to wear a ‘formal’ outfit to work rather enjoys the casual holiday look.  

We decided to give the evening’s entertainment a miss. I’m sure the US comedian Ralph Harris is  a great guy but he’s going to have to change his name if he ever wants to crack the UK market. Anyway, we’d made it to nine-thirty. Cocktail of the day and then to bed – whilst our American neighbours were hopefully still out partying.

On Vacation Episode Two - The Mobility Scooter

Having survived the immigration procedure, we were prepared for anything else life could throw at us - which was just as well.

We finally made it to our Bayside hotel and our luxury room with its magnificent 33^rd floor view over the water. Sadly, we had very little time to appreciate it. Our heads hit the pillow and we slept, although only for 4 hours. Why doesn’t your body clock recognise a time difference when it hits one? We were wide awake at 6 o’clock in the morning chomping at the bit for our $15 buffet breakfast, which of course wasn’t $15 by the time the sales tax and gratuities had been added on.

‘Isn’t it great to be back in the US?’ I said to Mr T as he signed the check for $45.

Just across the street from our hotel was a Wholefoods Store – one of my all time favourite shops. It’s a very clever marketing concept. Everything in Wholefoods looks healthy and good for you, even if it isn’t. (For those of you unfamiliar with Wholefoods, in the UK there’s one in Kensington High Street, which should give you a clue to its customer demographics).

Just for old times’ sake,  I couldn’t resist buying a bottle of Raspberry vinaigrette salad dressing to pack into my suitcase before we headed across the road to the CVS Pharmacy, where Mr T purchased some dermatological cream which he hadn’t been able to track down in Europe (probably because the stuff is so toxic the manufacturer can’t get a licence for it). CVS is another wonderful US phenomenon – pharmaceutical products and alcohol under the same roof.

After CVS we strolled along the waterfront, spotted a manatee in the harbour and admired swooping pelicans.  Was it time to head for our cruise ship? No, it was still only 9 o’clock in the morning.

Two hours later we took a cab to the port,  the driver blatantly disregarding the flashing ‘tunnel ahead closed’ traffic sign, presumably so that we could have a scenic tour of the route he could have taken, before turning around and driving half way back to our hotel and taking (what looked like) a short cut to the cruise terminal. I may be a cynic but if you can con a tourist out of an extra $10 with a road diversion, why not?

But we were on board, in the sunshine, with a spacious cabin and 15 floors of fun filled cruise ship to explore.

We’d chosen Celebrity Cruises because a few years ago I’d gone into our local travel agency and asked for a recommendation for an Alaskan cruise. When the 30-year-old assistant had looked up at me and replied ‘go with Celebrity, they cater for the younger market  like us’  I had booked it on the spot. This time, we liked the look of the itinerary – not too many days at sea, which you might think defeats the whole object of a cruise but what it actually means is that we were due to call in at four different ports in six days, an opportunity to experience a diverse range of Caribbean destinations in a very short space of time.  The added attraction, of course was the complimentary ‘beverage package’  to include as many soft drinks, cocktails, beers and glasses of wine a day as we could manage, plus $300 on-board spending money. How could we lose?

Well we couldn’t, or so we thought. Yet, as we sat down to tuck into our first onboard lunch, disaster struck again, or rather, a mobility scooter struck Mr T. Please don’t think I’m prejudiced against people with mobility issues – because I’m not, but there is a time and a place for a mobility scooter the size of a Reliant Robin and a crowded buffet dining room is not it, especially when the driver, as his wife apologetically pointed out, had only just acquired his vehicle. This man didn’t need L-Plates, he needed to be accompanied by an instructor. If it was me he’d crashed into, or some other frail elderly passenger, the consequences could have been far worse.  As it was Mr T was able to pick himself up and continue eating his lunch.  A short spell in a bubbling jot Jacuzzi and the cocktail of the day soon soothed his wounds. Miami slipped away and we prepared ourselves for our first day at sea.

On Vacation - A Mini Series

Episode One - Welcome to America.

Whenever I have to fill in one of those questionnaires which asks about hobbies and interests, I always state Travel. It’s not exactly a hobby, after all you can hardly dabble in a bit of ‘travel’ while waiting for the washing machine cycle to finish, but it is something I am interested in. The truth is, of course,  that I like being on holiday – which makes me sound rather shallow, where as ‘travel’ conjures up an image of an intrepid adventurer who relishes in the prospect of exploring the unknown (not me at all).

We had booked our Caribbean cruise way back in the summer as a winter pick-me-up, a glowing beacon of light in the middle of the Dutch winter.  We always knew the first day of our trip was going to be the worst – contrary to my ‘explorer’ persona, I can’t think of anything worse than hanging around airports for hours on end, and unfortunately another of life’s great unanswered questions (along with why there is a lack of yeast in the Netherlands) is why are there no direct flights from Amsterdam to Miami?

However, our journey started off relatively smoothly.  After a mere two hour wait for our connecting flight at Heathrow we set off on the second leg, full of excited anticipation at that hot Caribbean sunshine awaiting for us.

US Immigration is always a pain. From past experiences we knew to pencil in at least an hour’s wait before exiting Miami airport. This time I was travelling on an ESTA, whilst Mr T still possessed his full US visa, so on arrival we headed off in two separate directions with the promise of meeting up again in the baggage hall. I joined a long line of holiday-makers directed towards the automated ESTA reading machines, which subsequently rejected my fingerprints four times before re-directing me to another long line at the manual immigration desk. As the minutes began to tick slowly by I could picture Mr T’s growing impatience in the baggage hall.  Finally passing the magic test, I skipped the opportunity for a trip to the restroom – there would be time for that later when I had met up with Mr T, and hurried downstairs to the baggage re-claim, only to discover I had in fact beaten him to it. I smugly grabbed the suitcases and waited. And waited.

Two hours later and I was still waiting, so wishing now that I had taken that toilet stop earlier on.  At least Mr T had had the good sense to send me a text to explain his delay….he was being detained for individual interview. I immediately imagined the worse –  was it because he had all his visits to Saudi Arabia stamped in his passport? Was it because he had recently travelled to India? No! It was because he had a US visa, and although this entitled him to work in the US, it didn’t entitle him to take a holiday.

The subsequent outcome was that he too needed an ESTA which seemed a totally ridiculous scenario considering the amount of paperwork you have to complete and hoops you have to jump through to get a work visa and more or less anyone can apply for an ESTA on line (as long as you don’t put a tick in the box that asks if you have ever been convicted of terrorism offences…) However,   as Mr T later agreed, it’s best not to argue with these people.

It was by now nearly midnight. The baggage hall was deserted apart from myself and an Hispanic woman whose travelling companion had obviously fallen victim to the same fate. At least she had the luxury of being able to converse with the few remaining members of staff as we perched uncomfortably on the edge of a baggage carousel. There was no other form of seating (even the staff perched on empty trolleys).

Finally, three hours after we had landed, to my huge relief Mr T emerged victorious into the baggage hall, clutching his ESTA.  A severe test of patience. And bladder control.  I could finally abandon the cases and head to the bathroom.