Double the food budget

I have promised to take my 15yr old granddaughter to Amsterdam to celebrate her forthcoming 16th birthday. 

Years of experience of travelling with teenagers has taught me this:

1.  Do not expect conversation




2.  Take a good book with you (see point 1 above)


3.  Plan where to eat beforehand as a hungry teenager is not pleasant.  3(a) Double whatever you have budgeted for food and drink


4.  Plan your day carefully and remember that you will be awake at dawn and want to go to bed at 8pm whilst the teenager will want to sleep till noon and be awake till midnight


5.  Take two good books with you (see points 1, 2 and 4 above)


6.  Leave sufficient time each day for the teenager's shower, hair and make up ritual (take careful note of point 4 above as this could mean you do not leave the hotel until 2.30pm)



7.  Take some magazines with you (see points 6, 5, 4, 2 and 1 above)


8.  You may be visiting one of the most photographed cities in the world but although the teenager will take lots of photographs,  it will not be of the architecture, canals and bridges.  The photographs will be self portraits known as 'selfies'.  These will be shared via twitter, Facebook and Instagram at ten minute intervals


9.  Check once, twice and even a third time that wherever you are going has Wi-Fi (see points 1 and 8 above) 


10.  Remember that teenagers cannot walk very far and need refuelling every 15mns (see point 3 above).  Use food and shopping as incentives for walking more than half a mile (pack snacks)


11,  Do not try to be clever.  Keep it simple.  Your attempts at trying to speak the local language will not be appreciated by the teenager who will see this as a direct attempt to humiliate and embarrass him/her.   


12. Upon your arrival home you may feel despair that the teenager had the most awful time with you but through the world of social media and not conversation (see points 1 and 9 above  above), you will learn that the teenager had the most amazing trip ever.  You will not need to tell anyone where you went as you appear to have checked in everywhere on Facebook. 

If life gives you limes, make Margaritas

My sister is very lucky to live in Florida and I am very lucky to be able to visit her and use her spare bedroom.  On my recent trip she persuaded me to go on a 2 night Bahamas cruise despite the fact that both of us suffer from sea sickness and do not like sailing.  We survived the experience by taking more than the recommended dosage of travel sickness pills, drinking Margaritas and a cocktail known as Bahama Breeze. 




She also persuaded me to do a solo trip to Key West.  Before I could finish my cocktail, I had booked the Tri-Rail to Miami and my seat on the Greyhound bus to Key West.  I did think about staying at a hostel but sobered up enough to book a Bed and Breakfast place in the Old Town. 






The Tri-Rail fare cost under $10 (return trip) and the Greyhound cost $70 (return trip).  I was very disappointed by the customer service and facilities offered by the Greyhound Bus.  My impression of travel in the USA has always been one of really good service but the staff were rude and unhelpful plus only one vending machine was available at the bus station.  The bus made a stop at a Burger King which was a little underwhelming. 





Key West was fun.  It oozes history, quirkiness and charm.  I took the Conch Tour Train which was a great way to explore and see the main attractions.  You can feel the strong connection between history and culture and I loved seeing and hearing about it all.  The architecture is amazing with wooden houses built on posts. 




The one mile famous Duval Street felt safe and welcoming to a solo traveller.  I ate and drank at Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville, popped into Sloppy Joe's for a cocktail then gate-crashed a drag queen's rehearsal at Aqua.  It was either Happy Hour or the drinks were very cheap but either way, I was made to feel very welcome.



No trip to Key West is complete without joining the crowd at Mallory Square for the Sunset Celebration.  Legend has it that Tennessee Williams initiated the ritual of celebrating the sunset with a gin and tonic in his hand however, even with my Starbucks, I appreciated the view. 

I do not know what happens to me when I leave home.  I appear to leave all sense and reason at the airport and do things I would not normally do.  I do not go to bars on my own at home, I do not swim in hotel pools alone at midnight and I do not sing with drag queens.  Actually, I would sing with a drag queen given any opportunity whether home or away but I definitely don't do the other stuff.
On my own, away from home I do it all and Key West was the best of places to do it in.

6 slices of gammon

I connect my love of travelling and storytelling with my upbringing. 

By far the greatest influence in my life has been my grandmother and her two sisters.  They were born in the early 1900s and were far from traditional housewives.  Raised in the tenements of Glasgow which have either now been demolished or refurbished into very desirable accommodation, they were very proud of their working class identity.  Although, at the time, women were very much associated with domesticity, the three sisters challenged quite a few preconceptions and instilled in me a strong work ethic, a commitment to education and a sense of humour.

In the late 60's, they each bought a static caravan and sited it at The Red Lion Caravan Site at Arbroath.  This caravan site was directly opposite the West Sands beach which hosted a variety of fun filled attractions such as the miniature railway, miniature buses, a fire engine, trampolines and crazy golf.  Arbroath was quite a popular holiday destination in the 60's and 70's despite the weather!  In the early 80's, I took my own three eldest children to their great-grandmother's caravan and they played on the same beach and swam in the same outdoor swimming pool. 

There is a notion that Scots are a friendly bunch but the competition that existed on that caravan site would have put the recent BBC2 Caravanner of the Year to shame.  Throughout the years, the caravans got bigger as did the funky floral patterns and colour schemes and having a key role in the site owners club was the true measure of success.   My great-aunt became the club secretary much to the annoyance of my grandmother who accused her of being too full of her own importance.  This was around the same time that my grandmother refused to have Spam in the house as it was 'cheap' meat and tried to introduce my grandfather to culinary delights such as a starter of peaches, gammon and salad cream (I kid you not).  We (my cousins and I) also had the most painfully embarrassing experience of being made to eat a home-made curry outside in an attempt to embrace diversity.  My grandfather refused to eat the rice because that was a 'pudding' and the neighbours found the whole thing highly entertaining. 

Annie's recipe for starter

Tin half peaches
6 slices gammon not Spam
Salad cream

Drain peaches
Place in top of paper towel to dry out
Cube the gammon, add salad cream

Serve with a piece of lettuce and tomato
Place peach on a plate and pore mixture over the peach

Ta da!

The Winter Gardens

My first trip abroad was in 1976 to South Africa.   Holidays prior to that included Great Yarmouth, Scarborough, Margate, Blackpool and Arbroath. 


The annual holiday was taken during the 'Glasgow Fair Fortnight' when businesses and factories would close for two weeks in July.  You would then see coach after coach of holidaymakers leaving Glasgow on their way to Saltcoats or further afield to England. 

There was a frenzy of excitement in our house leading up to 'Fair Friday' .  Suitcases lay open for several weeks beforehand with summer outfits being folded and packed on a daily basis until we had no clothes left to wear.  My grandfather came home from work at lunchtime, had a bath (this was significant as baths were normally taken on a Sunday) and then changed into a 1960's Hawaiian shirt (apparently this is now a popular vintage collector item) and a pair of lightweight trousers declaring himself ready!  A couple of flasks were made up; one containing tomato soup and one chicken soup and we were off.

The overnight journey seemed to take forever with several toilet stops made on the way (buses did not have on board facilities).  There was also a distinct lack of motorway.  Scottish people like to sing and I can remember falling asleep to what felt like 'Sounds of the Sixties'.

We stayed at the same B&B in Cliftonville for years and the daily pattern never seemed to change.  I don't recall my grandparents owning a camera but we had lots of holiday snaps.  These were mainly taken by commercial photographers who took lots of photographs of holidaymakers as they walked along the prom. Often taken with pet monkeys and parrots (don't ask). 


I spent most of my time at the Lido swimming pool or on the beach and at night after dinner (always announced by a gong - in fact, at the same time in each B&B - it was like a seaside symphony orchestra/percussion section), we went to a live entertainment show. Singing Edelweiss at a talent show was my introduction to interactive entertainment. Who knew I would end up singing 🎶 at a karaoke bar in Key West with a drag queen.





I recently visited Margate with high expectations that all the familiar paths walked in my childhood would still be there. The Winter Gardens looked grey and old but it felt comfortable like going to visit an elderly relative that you are particularly fond of. I could see my grandparents with their best clothes ready for a 'show'. I remember having a little autograph book to collect the signatures of the famous variety acts.

I was only there for a few hours. I sat in a cute cafe in the developing old town, had a coffee then browsed around the trendy shops. There was not a stalk of rock or 'kiss me quick ' hats in sight. Margate and I had grown up. There seems to be much to do to polish and prune this seaside town and I look forward to going back again soon to support this and keep in touch with the old dear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beached whale

I am not quite clear if I am a solo traveller by choice or design. 

My teenage granddaughter likes to come on trips with me but my youngest daughter makes comments like ' that will not be happening any time soon mum'.  This is based on more than a few holidays that have not quite gone to plan.  I asked her today how would she sum up our holidays together and she replied 'ummm'.

A great example is Marrakech.

I should have known it was not written in the stars when she gave me the wrong dates for her annual leave and I had to rebook the flights and accommodation and then we nearly missed our flight after waiting in the wrong departure lounge.  That actually was not my fault. 

The riad was beautiful but forget that, the markets and the sunshine because all she remembers is the spa.

I thought that we should experience a traditional, authentic hammam massage.  It was described as a 'magic treatment' and included an entire body exfoliation and deep cleansing.  My daughter was initially obsessed with not being naked during this experience but later said that was the least of her worries.   It started with us having to strip, put on paper thongs, dressing gown and slippers.  I, apparently, put the thongs on the wrong way.  We were then taken to a room which looked a little like a mortuary or a butcher shop  i.e. it was a wet room with two marble like slabs, and instructed to each take off our robes and lie on one of the slabs.  At this point, I have to say I am a giggler.  Any situation that makes me nervous makes me giggle and this was definitely one of those situations. 

A woman came in and started to rub me all over with black soap.  When I say rubbed me all over, I mean this woman rubbed parts of my body that have never before been rubbed.  I also never realised before just how many positions the human body can be manipulated into.  In addition, the more soap that she rubbed onto my skin, the more slippery the surface and I became.  As I had nothing to grip onto I started to slide everywhere. After trying to grip onto the slap with my fingernails, I realised that I couldn't see because soap was in my eyes and tried to find some water to rinse my eyes out by groping along the wall.  The woman saw me and immediately fired water at me using a giant shower head.  She then stood me up, lathered me and then rubbed me all over with oil.  Once again...slippy.  My daughter said she made the mistake of opening her eyes at this point .....her head was positioned at my feet.  It was not a pleasant sight and that is not the mother and daughter experience I was aiming for.

At this point I resembled some kind of beached whale.  My daughter on the other hand was sitting in the lotus position, graceful and sylphlike.  The woman was gently massaging her with oils and washing her hair.

The next stage was for us to be left relaxing, allow the oils to soothe our weary muscles and then be massaged.  It was also at this stage that I realised that I had booked the 4-hand massage and that meant 2 people.  I can count, I just didn't add up.

We were shown into a tent like area where we were served mint tea and biscuits.  My daughter at this stage refused to look at me even though I offered her my biscuit.  When she finally spoke to me it was to order me to explain to anyone who would listen that we only wanted a 2-hand massage and in different rooms.  Fortunately, my broken French did manage to convey this message clearly.

My daughter skyped her siblings and father that night who all commiserated with her and shook their heads at me.

It was also on the Marrakech trip that I informed my daughter that in Marrakech, a popular way to get around is by foot and by a petit taxi.  My understanding was that this was similar to the tuk-tuks used in Thailand.  So, one evening I hailed a petit taxi to take us back to the riad.  It was quite difficult to get into and I had to be helped up.  We then didn't actually have a seat to sit on and it did smell a bit but it did the job and took us back through the narrow streets safely.  On arrival at the riad, the owner and the driver found the whole thing hysterically funny as I had just paid some meat van delivery man to give us a ride