It can only happen to me!
#justsaying
I was originally going to write a blog post about how not to pack a suitcase. For all my traveling, I have not mastered the art of suitcase packing. I'm a shover. Find a hole and shove something in it. When you have a Star Wars carry on suitcase inside your main suitcase, it makes packing more difficult.
Don't ask.
But then one of the wheels on my wheelie case seized. So now instead of each wheel moving like a ballet dancer so that I only need to direct my suitcase with one finger, I now have to drag it along as the one wheel has stopped turning. I could feel my right bicep increase several sizes from the effort I had to put in to drag a heavy suitcase.
Not a good start.
My original intention was to take a train to my hotel from the airport. However, changing trains and walking to the hotel dragging a suitcase, carrying a carry on suitcase, handbag and my laptop case on my back, made me think that plan might not be my wisest.
After all, I am an old woman. My hair is grey.
I dragged my suitcase through Charles de Gaulle until I found the exit to the taxi rank. A kind gentleman asked, "You want car taxi or motorbike taxi?"
Always thinking of the budget I asked, "Which one is cheaper?" In my mind I imagined the motorbike taxi to be like a tuk-tuk which I used to travel on in Thailand.
I tried to smile pleasantly to disguise my shock when I saw the motorbike taxi was just a large-as motorbike. The biker gave me his leather jacket to wear, put a disposable hairnet on my head before plonking a huge helmet on me so I had to strain my neck to see out the visor. He put my laptop bag and handbag into side compartments, and tied my big suitcase with deformed wheel onto the carrier on the back of the bike, then he indicated for me to climb on up.
Let's get one thing straight. I haven't straddled anything for many years. My joints have seized up like the wheel on my suitcase.
But, pride was at stake. So, completely disoriented with the heavy humungous helmet on my head, I managed to make my right leg lift and swing and got myself comfortable on the seat. The biker man then passed me my carry on suitcase and I realised that I would have to hold it on my lap for the journey, making a wall between me and the biker.
The trip was exhilarating, if not a little frightening, as we weaved in and out of the traffic, going way past the speed limit when the freeway was clear. My driver liked driving on the dotted line and I was sure I would lose both kneecaps or maybe knock off some sideview mirrors. However, he was very good, even though he shouted and swore at cars that came too close, and even gave a few cars the finger which of course meant that he had to let go of the handlebar. My nerves!
So today I am Bikergirl Cindy. I was pleased when I climbed off that I didn't walk like a cowboy.
This wasn't on my bucket list but I'm pleased I had this experience. And that it only took 20 minutes when if I had gone in a car it might have taken almost 2 hours in the heavy traffic.
So let the adventures begin...time to forage for food.
The Freedom Club is FREE on @amazon until Saturday!
getbook.at/freedomclub.
A group of teenagers decide to stand up to the school bullies, but what
they uncover is nothing they expected.
Cindy Vine is an author currently living in Norway, but traveling in Europe for the summer holiday. She's the author of The Freedom Club, Hush Baby, Not Telling and The Case of Billy B. All her books are available in both ebook and paperback format on Amazon.
Showing posts with label traveling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label traveling. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Confessions of a Perpetual Traveler
When I lived in New Zealand I was amazed at how many people had never left Auckland. To never move from one area your entire life boggles the mind.
I could never be that person.
For me life is made up of a series of adventures. Granted, not all of them are good. Some are downright miserable. But travel is always a good adventure.
As a child I was a bookworm, and would read into the night. I lived vicariously through the characters in the books. Through them I traveled to exotic destinations and ate amazing food from all around the globe. Those characters' lives planted a seed in me that was to grow over time. It was not enough to just read about the different cultures and cuisines, I wanted to experience them first hand.
Danger and living life on the edge became a part of me. The easy route through life is so mundane that it puts you into a comatose state where you just go through the motions of being alive. Little house, white picket fence, loving husband, 2 children and a dog. (Not a cat as I am allergic to them.) I have to confess, I did try that but kept swerving off the well-trodden path, until my life became one detour after another with many side roads. No cul-de-sacs for me.
Although it was never part of the grand plan (I had wanted to become a farmer or a vet), teaching proved to be an excellent career choice. It opened doors for me to see the world. Living in different countries and becoming absorbed in their cultures is different to going there on holiday. Immersion not a quick flit in and out.
Nowadays, my part-time job (which is actually my sole source of income) takes me to many different countries. I can sometimes travel to three different countries in a month. Some might say I am lucky. Those are the people who don't travel a lot. Those who do travel will know exactly what I mean when I say that continuous traveling gives you a sore bum. Airlines really need to do something about their seats. No jokes. Yesterday's flight had me struggling to get comfortable. I think my coccyx is permanently bruised from bad plane seats. When it is more comfortable to sit on the toilet on the plane, then you know there is a problem with airplane seats. Hopefully, some airplane designer will read this and design seats for the frequent flyer.
Last night at the passport control, I watched two people completely lose it. The queue was long, I have to say. We had been standing in it for over an hour, shuffling forward every so often. Then a Filipino woman started shouting, "You jumped my line! You jumped my line! You are not a man! What kind of a man are you? You jumped my line!" The man in question first tried to respond in a friendly manner. He had a wife and about 4 children and a granny with him. But the irate woman kept shouting, "You jumped my line!" So he started shouting back. And then it was a very loud, full-on shouting match. Airport security arrived. Removed both the woman and the man and his family out of the queue and made them sit down for a while. More security arrived and escorted them all to some offices in the depths of the airport. They hadn't re-emerged when I finally went through passport control. It shows you have to be patient and just wait in the line. No matter how annoying it is. And use your elbows to protect your place in the line. That is something I learned in China.
Two weeks ago I was in Poland and managed to visit Auschwitz, a lifelong dream of mine. Two trains, three planes and I was back in Cape Town. Now I am in Doha, Qatar, looking out my hotel window on the 35th floor, wondering where I can go to forage dinner for tonight. Cheap food, not over-priced hotel room service. And what is it with hotels and restaurants all wanting to serve Italian food? Seriously? Why are they so ashamed of the local cuisine that they have to steal someone else's? I choose the local cuisine ahead of Italian every day. Not that I am anti-Italian. But eating the local food definitely enhances the travel experience. And makes you forget about your sore bruised bum.
Cindy Vine is an author and teacher currently living in Cape Town, South Africa. She is the author of The Case of Billy B, Not Telling, Defective, C U @ 8 and Hush Baby. All her books are available on Amazon in both paperback and kindle format.
I could never be that person.
For me life is made up of a series of adventures. Granted, not all of them are good. Some are downright miserable. But travel is always a good adventure.
As a child I was a bookworm, and would read into the night. I lived vicariously through the characters in the books. Through them I traveled to exotic destinations and ate amazing food from all around the globe. Those characters' lives planted a seed in me that was to grow over time. It was not enough to just read about the different cultures and cuisines, I wanted to experience them first hand.
Danger and living life on the edge became a part of me. The easy route through life is so mundane that it puts you into a comatose state where you just go through the motions of being alive. Little house, white picket fence, loving husband, 2 children and a dog. (Not a cat as I am allergic to them.) I have to confess, I did try that but kept swerving off the well-trodden path, until my life became one detour after another with many side roads. No cul-de-sacs for me.
Although it was never part of the grand plan (I had wanted to become a farmer or a vet), teaching proved to be an excellent career choice. It opened doors for me to see the world. Living in different countries and becoming absorbed in their cultures is different to going there on holiday. Immersion not a quick flit in and out.
Nowadays, my part-time job (which is actually my sole source of income) takes me to many different countries. I can sometimes travel to three different countries in a month. Some might say I am lucky. Those are the people who don't travel a lot. Those who do travel will know exactly what I mean when I say that continuous traveling gives you a sore bum. Airlines really need to do something about their seats. No jokes. Yesterday's flight had me struggling to get comfortable. I think my coccyx is permanently bruised from bad plane seats. When it is more comfortable to sit on the toilet on the plane, then you know there is a problem with airplane seats. Hopefully, some airplane designer will read this and design seats for the frequent flyer.
Last night at the passport control, I watched two people completely lose it. The queue was long, I have to say. We had been standing in it for over an hour, shuffling forward every so often. Then a Filipino woman started shouting, "You jumped my line! You jumped my line! You are not a man! What kind of a man are you? You jumped my line!" The man in question first tried to respond in a friendly manner. He had a wife and about 4 children and a granny with him. But the irate woman kept shouting, "You jumped my line!" So he started shouting back. And then it was a very loud, full-on shouting match. Airport security arrived. Removed both the woman and the man and his family out of the queue and made them sit down for a while. More security arrived and escorted them all to some offices in the depths of the airport. They hadn't re-emerged when I finally went through passport control. It shows you have to be patient and just wait in the line. No matter how annoying it is. And use your elbows to protect your place in the line. That is something I learned in China.
Two weeks ago I was in Poland and managed to visit Auschwitz, a lifelong dream of mine. Two trains, three planes and I was back in Cape Town. Now I am in Doha, Qatar, looking out my hotel window on the 35th floor, wondering where I can go to forage dinner for tonight. Cheap food, not over-priced hotel room service. And what is it with hotels and restaurants all wanting to serve Italian food? Seriously? Why are they so ashamed of the local cuisine that they have to steal someone else's? I choose the local cuisine ahead of Italian every day. Not that I am anti-Italian. But eating the local food definitely enhances the travel experience. And makes you forget about your sore bruised bum.
Cindy Vine is an author and teacher currently living in Cape Town, South Africa. She is the author of The Case of Billy B, Not Telling, Defective, C U @ 8 and Hush Baby. All her books are available on Amazon in both paperback and kindle format.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Trying to live the dream
Work. Something you have to do to survive which will hopefully give you the means to bring you closer to your dream. Unfortunately, the constraints of work often hold you back from your dream. Commitments, time constraints, all sent to try your patience.
Last night I dreamt that I owned six houses, each one in a different country. I spent the year traveling around the world spending two months in each house. That dream is probably a bit unrealistic considering that at this precise moment I don't own any property anywhere in the world. And 3-4 houses would be better so that you can spend longer in each country. But hey, it was just a dream.
Thinking about it though as dawn approached while I watched the Fiji Samoan World Cup Rugby game at some god-forsaken hour on a Sunday morning when all intelligent life were still firmly ensconced in their beds fast asleep, I realised that I quite liked that dream and might need to tweak it a bit and adapt it to make it my own.
The first step will be trying to save some money. You can't buy a property without any money. That is a sad fact of life. Unfortunately, I don't have any of that hugtight sticky glue to keep those dollar notes firmly stuck to my coffers. Exotic holidays are too much of a temptation and I can't resist flying off to explore somewhere new. And then, life is so short so you really should make the most of it and not short-change yourself on those holidays.
What I'd really like to do is give up my day job and then spend my time writing and traveling. Following my team for the 2015 Cricket and Rugby World Cups.
These dreams are not impossible; they just take a bit of conscious effort to work towards making them a reality. A dream is broken down into small goals. Each goal is then broken down into steps. Don't be afraid to dream big. It's the goals to get there that need to be small and achievable. Maybe today is the day to work out the blueprint, the road map to achieving your dreams. Good luck!
Last night I dreamt that I owned six houses, each one in a different country. I spent the year traveling around the world spending two months in each house. That dream is probably a bit unrealistic considering that at this precise moment I don't own any property anywhere in the world. And 3-4 houses would be better so that you can spend longer in each country. But hey, it was just a dream.
Thinking about it though as dawn approached while I watched the Fiji Samoan World Cup Rugby game at some god-forsaken hour on a Sunday morning when all intelligent life were still firmly ensconced in their beds fast asleep, I realised that I quite liked that dream and might need to tweak it a bit and adapt it to make it my own.
The first step will be trying to save some money. You can't buy a property without any money. That is a sad fact of life. Unfortunately, I don't have any of that hugtight sticky glue to keep those dollar notes firmly stuck to my coffers. Exotic holidays are too much of a temptation and I can't resist flying off to explore somewhere new. And then, life is so short so you really should make the most of it and not short-change yourself on those holidays.
What I'd really like to do is give up my day job and then spend my time writing and traveling. Following my team for the 2015 Cricket and Rugby World Cups.
These dreams are not impossible; they just take a bit of conscious effort to work towards making them a reality. A dream is broken down into small goals. Each goal is then broken down into steps. Don't be afraid to dream big. It's the goals to get there that need to be small and achievable. Maybe today is the day to work out the blueprint, the road map to achieving your dreams. Good luck!
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Saturday, August 14, 2010
Time flies when you're having fun!
It’s hard to believe that it was only just over a fortnight ago that we were still travelling back from Cape Town! The past two weeks have flown by, with there hardly being time to catch a breath. It seems like nothing can top our arrest in Zimbabwe, but there always has to be one kind of drama or other, or just some small thing to liven up a day.
In Malawi my ATM card packed up, leaving us stranded without money, but luckily with help from some kind folks we made our way back home. We stayed at a sugar plantation in Dwangwa in Malawi and then drove to Nkatha Bay where we'd initially wanted to stay. What an amazing place right on Lake Malawi! Absolutely magical and I think we'll return to holiday on the lake during the Easter holidays. We had a rest day in Mbeya holed up in a hotel while we waited for the school to send money with the cellphone. Amazing how they do that. You get a text message saying go to Vodacom to collect your cash. It's a big problem when the magnetic strip on your ATM card gives up the ghost. The money from the school should have been enough to get home, but by the time I had travelled 20km from Mbeya, I had already picked up 2 spot speeding fines, so we crawled the rest of the way knowing we couldn't afford to pay out more money to corrupt policemen. But still, we were about 200km from Moshi when the car hit empty. Amazingly enough, we managed to drive 100km with my fuel light on. I had to leave my camera as security at Same, 100km from Moshi so that I could get enough petrol to get home, but that just makes life a lot fuller, and our adventures more interesting.
Once again we travelled through Mikumi National Park, and this time had to stop while a lion crossed the road. Of course I couldn't get the camera aimed in time and with Siobhan swearing in my ear as the lion was on my side of the road, tracked it through the grass while snapping away merrily. Some other travellers stopped and started shouting at the lion so that it would look at them while they hang out of the window with their camera phone. Crazy people!
One has to look on these little adventures as good material for my book. Driving the 100km to Same a couple of days later to pay our debt and retrieve my camera was a bit of a pain as just between you and me, I was a little tired of driving! The whole trip from Kilimanjaro to Table Mountain and back again was a whopping 11980km! But I have to say, I have caught the bug and I want to do more driving trips in the future! I quite fancy driving to Lake Victoria and the southern coast of Tanzania. There are some interesting ruins on the Mafia islands I’d like to see.
I didn’t have much time to reflect on the trip before I was back into the swing of things at school, meeting the new teachers, helping with their orientation and getting everything sorted for the first week of school. So far I am absolutely loving my new role in management, even though one of the kids asked me, “Miss Cindy, have you dyed your hair grey?” I ask you, would anybody intentionally do that? I decided over the holiday to stop fighting the grey hairs that sporadically appear, as when you colour your hair they quickly reappear at the temples making me look like a poor imitation of a Siberian hamster. But now, my daughter has instructed me to colour my hair as the salt and pepper grey look ‘doesn’t suit’ me. Of course, easier said than done as my dark blonde dye is not so easily available in Moshi! I could go red I guess. Our English teacher let his daughters colour his grey hair red and it came out shocking pink! Poor blighter even let them colour his beard. Luckily for him, it was virtually all washed out in time for the start of school on Monday.
Sometimes, you meet interesting people who you immediately know you are going to use as characters in a book. I met one like that, a lawyer whom I had to see to stamp his commissioner of oaths stamp on a document I have to send off. A small man, probably pushing eighty, with a full head of snow white hair, and a booming voice that seemed to come from a far more imposing figure than him. I was solemnly ushered into his office, a dead leopard’s head mounted on the wall behind the chair I was shown to, and was amazed to see him reclining back in a large black leather swivel chair that seemed to swallow his tiny frame up. What was more amazing to me, was that his waistband button and zipper was undone and he didn’t seem concerned about that at all. He looked up at me and smiled, and kept his sunglasses on even though he was inside his office. All very bizarre. He wouldn’t look at the form he had to certify until he’d heard about where I’d come from and my trip down to Cape Town. Then his phone rang, he politely asked my forgiveness while he took the call, and I listened to his booming voice alternating between Swahili and a delightful very upper class English accent when he repeated interesting parts of the conversation in English, obviously for my benefit. So I heard about corrupt politicians who were little more than thieves who were trying to set up a casino with prostitutes flown in, in the central part of Tanzania in a game park somewhere. The way his lips moved as he enunciated his words was quite fascinating, like a cartoon character. In fact, he was like a real life cartoon. I eventually managed to escape from his office with the form duly stamped, about an hour and a half later.
We arrived back home from our trip to find that termites had taken over in Siobhan’s room. Although they were living in the room, they were starting to eat through her ceiling and holes were beginning to form. In fact, if you banged on her wall you could hear them scuttling, and if you stood still you could hear the steady sound of them chomping. It seemed like it would be only a few days before her ceiling collapsed on her. Of course, being terrified of anything with more than four legs, Siobhan moved herself and all her possessions into my bedroom. So began my nights of interrupted sleep, as I desperately clung to the edge of the bed while she spread out like a starfish, and grabbed all my blankets, leaving me shivering in the cold. It’s been quite cold at night since we got back, and on overcast days it’s been decidedly chilly. We’re glad we brought our winter stuff back with us. Anyway, they fumigated her room and roof, removed part of the ceiling, and as is here took ten days to get round to putting in new ceiling panels. They still haven’t painted, so madam is still in my bedroom.
As happens here, simple jobs become more complicated. We were unable to shower, with only one continuous drip coming from the left side of the shower head. Strangely enough I never connected the lack of water in the shower to termites in the ceiling. One puts in the maintenance request and then you have to wait until they find the time. By that time, Siobhan has washed her hair in cold water in the basin and my hair looks like I’ve been working part-time in a grease factory. Five days later and they discovered that when they fumigated, they accidentally disconnected the water pipe in the roof that goes to the shower. At least now we can shower.
I’m setting aside weekends to work on The Great Mountain to Mountain Safari. It is just way too hectic during the week. Hopefully, the initial huge workload will lessen in time, but I have my doubts. The trick is going to be managing to juggle time, so that I can still keep up with my writing. At the moment I get home between 6.30pm and 7.15pm, eat dinner, watch CSI and then am ready for bed at 8.30pm-9pm. Just been feeling so shattered at night. But last night I managed to stay awake until 9.30pm, so I think I’ll start to build up stamina again.
Otherwise, it’s good to be back. I love life here and have good friends. But the way time is flying, before I know it it’ll be time to fly to Cape Town for the Christmas holidays. Yes, we’re flying not driving this time!
Have an awesome week ahead!
Luv
Cindy
In Malawi my ATM card packed up, leaving us stranded without money, but luckily with help from some kind folks we made our way back home. We stayed at a sugar plantation in Dwangwa in Malawi and then drove to Nkatha Bay where we'd initially wanted to stay. What an amazing place right on Lake Malawi! Absolutely magical and I think we'll return to holiday on the lake during the Easter holidays. We had a rest day in Mbeya holed up in a hotel while we waited for the school to send money with the cellphone. Amazing how they do that. You get a text message saying go to Vodacom to collect your cash. It's a big problem when the magnetic strip on your ATM card gives up the ghost. The money from the school should have been enough to get home, but by the time I had travelled 20km from Mbeya, I had already picked up 2 spot speeding fines, so we crawled the rest of the way knowing we couldn't afford to pay out more money to corrupt policemen. But still, we were about 200km from Moshi when the car hit empty. Amazingly enough, we managed to drive 100km with my fuel light on. I had to leave my camera as security at Same, 100km from Moshi so that I could get enough petrol to get home, but that just makes life a lot fuller, and our adventures more interesting.
Once again we travelled through Mikumi National Park, and this time had to stop while a lion crossed the road. Of course I couldn't get the camera aimed in time and with Siobhan swearing in my ear as the lion was on my side of the road, tracked it through the grass while snapping away merrily. Some other travellers stopped and started shouting at the lion so that it would look at them while they hang out of the window with their camera phone. Crazy people!
One has to look on these little adventures as good material for my book. Driving the 100km to Same a couple of days later to pay our debt and retrieve my camera was a bit of a pain as just between you and me, I was a little tired of driving! The whole trip from Kilimanjaro to Table Mountain and back again was a whopping 11980km! But I have to say, I have caught the bug and I want to do more driving trips in the future! I quite fancy driving to Lake Victoria and the southern coast of Tanzania. There are some interesting ruins on the Mafia islands I’d like to see.
I didn’t have much time to reflect on the trip before I was back into the swing of things at school, meeting the new teachers, helping with their orientation and getting everything sorted for the first week of school. So far I am absolutely loving my new role in management, even though one of the kids asked me, “Miss Cindy, have you dyed your hair grey?” I ask you, would anybody intentionally do that? I decided over the holiday to stop fighting the grey hairs that sporadically appear, as when you colour your hair they quickly reappear at the temples making me look like a poor imitation of a Siberian hamster. But now, my daughter has instructed me to colour my hair as the salt and pepper grey look ‘doesn’t suit’ me. Of course, easier said than done as my dark blonde dye is not so easily available in Moshi! I could go red I guess. Our English teacher let his daughters colour his grey hair red and it came out shocking pink! Poor blighter even let them colour his beard. Luckily for him, it was virtually all washed out in time for the start of school on Monday.
Sometimes, you meet interesting people who you immediately know you are going to use as characters in a book. I met one like that, a lawyer whom I had to see to stamp his commissioner of oaths stamp on a document I have to send off. A small man, probably pushing eighty, with a full head of snow white hair, and a booming voice that seemed to come from a far more imposing figure than him. I was solemnly ushered into his office, a dead leopard’s head mounted on the wall behind the chair I was shown to, and was amazed to see him reclining back in a large black leather swivel chair that seemed to swallow his tiny frame up. What was more amazing to me, was that his waistband button and zipper was undone and he didn’t seem concerned about that at all. He looked up at me and smiled, and kept his sunglasses on even though he was inside his office. All very bizarre. He wouldn’t look at the form he had to certify until he’d heard about where I’d come from and my trip down to Cape Town. Then his phone rang, he politely asked my forgiveness while he took the call, and I listened to his booming voice alternating between Swahili and a delightful very upper class English accent when he repeated interesting parts of the conversation in English, obviously for my benefit. So I heard about corrupt politicians who were little more than thieves who were trying to set up a casino with prostitutes flown in, in the central part of Tanzania in a game park somewhere. The way his lips moved as he enunciated his words was quite fascinating, like a cartoon character. In fact, he was like a real life cartoon. I eventually managed to escape from his office with the form duly stamped, about an hour and a half later.
We arrived back home from our trip to find that termites had taken over in Siobhan’s room. Although they were living in the room, they were starting to eat through her ceiling and holes were beginning to form. In fact, if you banged on her wall you could hear them scuttling, and if you stood still you could hear the steady sound of them chomping. It seemed like it would be only a few days before her ceiling collapsed on her. Of course, being terrified of anything with more than four legs, Siobhan moved herself and all her possessions into my bedroom. So began my nights of interrupted sleep, as I desperately clung to the edge of the bed while she spread out like a starfish, and grabbed all my blankets, leaving me shivering in the cold. It’s been quite cold at night since we got back, and on overcast days it’s been decidedly chilly. We’re glad we brought our winter stuff back with us. Anyway, they fumigated her room and roof, removed part of the ceiling, and as is here took ten days to get round to putting in new ceiling panels. They still haven’t painted, so madam is still in my bedroom.
As happens here, simple jobs become more complicated. We were unable to shower, with only one continuous drip coming from the left side of the shower head. Strangely enough I never connected the lack of water in the shower to termites in the ceiling. One puts in the maintenance request and then you have to wait until they find the time. By that time, Siobhan has washed her hair in cold water in the basin and my hair looks like I’ve been working part-time in a grease factory. Five days later and they discovered that when they fumigated, they accidentally disconnected the water pipe in the roof that goes to the shower. At least now we can shower.
I’m setting aside weekends to work on The Great Mountain to Mountain Safari. It is just way too hectic during the week. Hopefully, the initial huge workload will lessen in time, but I have my doubts. The trick is going to be managing to juggle time, so that I can still keep up with my writing. At the moment I get home between 6.30pm and 7.15pm, eat dinner, watch CSI and then am ready for bed at 8.30pm-9pm. Just been feeling so shattered at night. But last night I managed to stay awake until 9.30pm, so I think I’ll start to build up stamina again.
Otherwise, it’s good to be back. I love life here and have good friends. But the way time is flying, before I know it it’ll be time to fly to Cape Town for the Christmas holidays. Yes, we’re flying not driving this time!
Have an awesome week ahead!
Luv
Cindy
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