Tea For Three

Tea for Three


Well, here I am in Scotland, surrounded by lush countryside near the little village of Strathpeffer. But I cannot show you around here yet until you have tasted the delights of London.

So busy was I - tasting those delights – that writing two words together that made any sense was an impossible task so I resolved to leave it until after a relaxing day on the train to Scotland.

Now where were we? Oh yes, at the Dorchester! What could better the opulent charm of this wonderful Art Deco Hotel on Park Lane. As you make your way to the table, escorted by a young waiter, you make an effort to keep your gauping mouth shut and arranged in a slightly bored line, as though you pop in for arvo tea regularly and those enormous urns of fresh flowers are only what you expect. To say nothing of the marble, the velvet, the potted palms, the beautiful ceiling lights and the table lamps. No wonder the rich and famous like to be seen here.

Glittering stars like Marlene Dietrich, Judy Garland and Elizabeth Taylor all stayed at the Dorchester, along with such famous political figures as Winston Churchill and President Eisenhower.

The menu arrives:

A selection of finger sandwiches:
Cucumber with cream cheese on caraway seed bread
Egg mayonnaise with shiso cress on white bread
Smoked salmon on granary bread
Warm raisin and plain scones from our bakery served with homemade strawberry jam and Devonshire clotted cream
A platter of cakes and tartlets
Tea or coffee
And yes, we'll have the French champagne, pink I think.
The young waiting staff are attentive, cheerful and respectful, your wish is their command. The sandwiches are divine and when they come to offer more you need to remember to pace yourself, what about those scones with the clotted cream? Yes, here they come. Delicious. And the fruit scones must be tried as well.
It's about now that you realise with dismay you're never going to make it to the petite fours. But, the never-say-die attitude of the Brits is rubbing off on us and we valiantly nibble one or two. Can one ask for a doggie bag at the Dorchester? I'll bet that fellow with the red Rolls Royce parked out the front wouldn't ask. We are mercifully spared that embarrassment when the waiter suggests he make up a box.. Oh, if you insist my good man.
It's time to head off before darkness falls. I retire to the ladies to reinstate the more familiar me, oh yes, sorry, the pearls, nearly forgot them, silly me (almost got away with it!).
Gayle and Lex are driving in the Oxford direction to finish off the long weekend that my arrival has instigated, and I'll just stroll up Piccadilly and see if there's a red double-decker going my way.
I think I'm going to love this city with its funny little winding streets, its constant motion, its magnificent buildings and countless monuments. Oh, here's a bus now: excuse me, are you going anywhere near Bedford Square?

A Traveller's Tale with a Happy Ending

Okay, the gloves are off. I can now confirm that Flight Centre are in the running for the worst travel agent of the year award. I stopped short of naming them in a previous post but now it's official. Picture, if you will, arriving at Heathrow after 26 hours, inching your way through customs with hand luggage which seems to have increased in weight since leaving Melbourne, only to discover that your bus transfer, arranged and paid for in February with the above mentioned company, is not going to happen.

A hasty phone call confirms that they don't take bikes and have informed Infinity Holidays, Flight Centre's partners in crime, of this via email but have had no response. Neither have they received any money.

Now I have taken the precaution of invoking the protection of that patron saint of travellers, St Christopher, in the form of a medal purchased especially for me at the Vatican many years ago by my parents-in-law. Alright, I hear you all scoffing, and even the Catholic Church has demoted this worthy saint, but he has come through with flying colours, providing as he did the quite unexpected presence of a welcoming committee who have driven all the way from The Hague!

My extravagant and always surprising friends, Gayle and Lex, are waiting as I emerge from the scrutiny of British Border Security. I must appear somewhat like a stunned mullet as Gayle dashes from the waiting crowd with a delightful bunch of yellow roses, carnations, and liliums. I feel like Dame Nellie Melba making yet another comeback!

Gayle and Lex have not planned on spending a whole morning of their brief four day break creeping along the A5 (I think it's the A5) towards London with a deserted traveller, then entering the fray which is the daily state of play in central London. But they do, and deliver me to the door of my hotel with an invitation to join them for High Tea at the Dorchester in Park Lane at 5pm! By golly, perhaps I am Dame Nellie!

I have to tell you that, in spite of this excessively annoying drama with our old friend Jason and his inability to get the simplest thing right, and who has this very evening received a terse and I hope suitably cutting email from moi, I was feeling on top of the world. I must cautiously conclude that I might be a good traveller, having had quite a few hours of shut-eye en route.

My plan on this first day is to get a few things sorted out before hitting the sights. I'm determined to book my train to Inverness for Friday, go to the London Visitor Centre in Regent Street to cash in my e-ticket for a London Pass, and buy a mobile broadband stick for internet access. That was to be the focus of the morning and then make a start on my long list of things to see in London. I have not planned on there being the opportunity to inspect the roadside plantings along the A5 in quite such detail. By the time these three tasks are completed I have covered quite a bit of the Monopoly Board and am about to pass Go and collect High Tea at the Dorchester.

I arrive before 5pm and take photos of the fabulous floral display in the fore-court and can't resist a shot or two of the Mazarati and the red Rolls Royce with a number plate from the UAE or some exotic country of similar ilk. I loiter about waiting for Gayle and Lex to come and smuggle me into the lavish foyer. I'm thinking their glamorous presence will distract from the fact that I look like a back-packer and may be escorted out the door and thrown in a flower bed by one of the doormen in the British racing green tails and top hat. Then I spy Lex emerge from the door to peer around and so manage to slip in without incurring the wrath of the above mentioned.

Gayle, never one to say die, has brought along an assortment of items to transform me into a presentable Dorchester diner: a very nice top she's picked up on her travels today, a necklace of pearls in a charming shade of aubergine which compliments my shirt, and a pair of strapless shoes with a little heel. We adjourn to the ladies and Cinderella emerges to attend the ball.

Details of this indulgent evening to follow.

Bunking Down

A staggering 3 million plus tourists descend upon the British Isles each year. All of them in need of a bed for the night. For many nights in fact . As a consequence every house, converted barn or granary, and spare room not otherwise in use is available for rent.

The would-be traveller has a mind-boggling selection of accommodation from which to choose. There are hotels and apartments, B&Bs and self-catering cottages, hostels and camper-vans. The dilemma for the lone traveller arises from the practise of offering accommodation 'per person twin share'. A single occupant understandably pays an extra fee.

The solution to this problem is the self-catering cottage. The cost is the same for one person or half a dozen. And the big bonus is eating in. You can whip up a risotto or a chicken curry for a fraction of the cost of a pub meal thus saving a considerable amount of money. You do, of course, forgo to pleasure of hobnobbing with the locals, but there's nothing to stop you nipping off to the pub for a pint or a glass of vino if you're so inclined.

Most cottage rentals are for a week's duration which may not suit the traveller on a whistle-stop tour. But for those with time to explore an area, a self-catering cottage is ideal, offering a home away from home. The convenience of doing a load of washing is a luxury often not available to guests at a B&B or a hotel.

Now cottages and B&Bs may seem a little tepid to more adventurous types. And whilst Britain may be a bit short of the spectacularly bizarre digs available in some other countries, it is not to be overlooked on the unusual accommodation-go-round. How about an overnight stay at a haunted pub? The Ship Inn at Kirkby-in-Furness apparently has more than enough ghosts to satisfy the most discerning devotee of the paranormal. Or perhaps a sojourn in a lighthouse may appeal. You'll find the Rua Reidh Lighthouse on Scotland's west coast. You will be required to travel quite a distance down a dead end track to get there, but that's all part of the adventure really. Train buffs will no doubt jump at the chance to stay in a First Class train carriage near the village of Rogart. Those on a very strict budget and with an extreme desire for the unconventional may prefer to go to Austria and stay in a sewerage pipe. True dinks!

The internet is an invaluable tool for selecting and booking accommodation be it conventional or otherwise. Some intrepid travellers like to make it up as they go along, booking tonight's bed wherever they find themselves at the end of the day. This 'she'll be right attitude' probably results in some marvellously serendipitous experiences if you're up for it, but it's not for me. I'm more the now-have-I-got-everything-organised type.

When it comes to booking a cottage, being organised is of paramount importance. For the international tourists compete not only with each other for available beds, but also, during the summer months, with the locals. The UK has long cold winters, as we all know, and I suspect that on those long winter nights a Briton's thoughts turn to summer holidays. And so it is that in January bookings are already being made for the still distant days of the northern hemisphere's summer.

Sending money around the world is an expensive business and banks charge a hefty sum to transfer your dollars to a UK bank account. This being the case, it behoves one to pay the total accommodation fee upfront, unless your hosts are happy to take a deposit and the balance on arrival. Most require balance of the payment six weeks prior to your stay which would result in duplicating transfer fees.

Having arranged travel insurance prior to making your bookings is as important to the traveller as arranging the getaway car is to the bank robber. Who knows when some pesky volcano will throw your plans into disarray? It's happened before!

Next post will be a Jotting from London!

On Yer Bike

The bicycle must surely rank as one of man's great technological achievements combining as it does his greatest invention, the wheel, and a cheap, renewable source of energy for its locomotion. It can be used as a viable mode of transport for those aged from eight to eighty, and indeed still is in many countries. Why then do our air-carriers treat it purely as a piece of sporting equipment with a lower rank than a set of golf clubs?

I find that I can fly almost anywhere in the world with a set of clubs welcomed on board at no extra charge and in addition to my normal baggage allowance. My folding bicycle however is quite another matter.

Realising that my requirements were not quite straightforward I decided to book my air ticket with a well known retailer of both domestic and international flights. I deduced, not unreasonably, that their experience and expertise would have this little issue sorted in a jiffy. I now realise that dealing with this purveyor of things aeronautical is like buying lunch at a popular hamburger establishment, all very well if you just want a burger and chips. Don't bother asking for a kangaroo steak and jacket potatoes.

Having explained my luggage abnormalities to a seemingly helpful young man, we'll call him Jason, and emphasising that I had no intention of paying for excess baggage, I left him to find a flight with a generous cabin baggage allowance and flexible baggage dimensions. He found a flight which could accommodated the bike as long as it was not over weight, and had a 12 kg cabin allowance. Fantastic! And the price was right. Excellent!

I took home a print out of the proposed itinerary: Melbourne to Kuala Lumpur, Kuala Lumpur to Amsterdam, Amsterdam to London, and had a week to confirm. Well, now I am about to be shown up for the naïve bunny that I am. I booked the flight and handed over the cash and only later discovered that the Melbourne to Kuala Lumpur leg was with a another airline who have a different baggage allowance! Not only can I not fathom how any airline could think that this is reasonable, but could someone please offer a suggestion as to why Jason did not, a: see this as a problem, and b: not mention it to his customer? A free packet of Minties to the reader who solves these puzzling questions.

My frustrations with the charming but relatively useless Jason do not end there. I find, on close inspection – I'm becoming savvy now – that my airport transfer ticket has me arriving in London at 0555 hours. This, in fact, is the time I arrive in Amsterdam, not London. I take the now familiar trek to my local flight branch and point out this little anomaly to Jason who says, 'Oh, no problem, I'll just change it on the computer'. I think he's missing the point.

I sincerely hope that Jason and I have seen the last of each other. Helpful friends have since been forthcoming with recommendations re travel agents. Thanks guys, but where were you in February?

A trip to the airline's office seems a good idea as I now have no faith in anything I'm told by J. To my relief, they confirm that the bike is quite acceptable as long as it's not over weight and yes, they can label it fragile so with any luck it will arrive still in a ridable condition. I discover, as a bonus, their cabin baggage allowance has increased by 2 kilos, to 7 kilos. I can live with that ... I think.

Travels With My Bike

The travels of Jules Verne's fictitious adventurer, Phileas Fogg, caused a stir of breathless excitement amongst travel obsessed readers in Paris, London and New York in 1872. They kept pace with the adventure via weekly instalments in popular journals of the time. To complete a journey 'Around the World in Eighty Days' was deemed a possibility and one wonders how many intrepid travellers set out on their own quest inspired by this imaginary character. It is true that a character from literature can change lives and so the desire to seek out their places of abode and routes of travel has always motivated readers of fiction.

With a lifetime of fictional friends in mind, I too am off on an eighty day adventure. Like Phileas Fogg, my travels will begin and end in London, a city which perhaps has featured more than any other in the literary landscape of the centuries.

Unlike P. Fogg Esq., rather than dashing at breakneck speed around the world, my expedition will be a more leisurely meander covering the length and breadth of Britain. From the Scottish Highlands to the Yorkshire Dales, Peaks, Lakes, Broads and Wealds, Welsh farms and Cornish Villages. Castles and battlefields, gardens and galleries. A whole world in a small island.

My companions on this journey will be a folding bicycle, and a small hire car which, although I tried hard to do without, will be necessary to avoid spending many hours languishing in railway stations. A train journey from London to Inverness takes around nine hours but to make a trip of 20 kilometres can take five hours when not on a direct route. Hence I take to the road and once more the romantic visions of the past give way to the modern convenience.

However, my intentions are honourable and my desire to spare the planet a premature demise as a result of my travels, will encourage me to take to bike, train and bus wherever possible. The powers that be in the great British transport system have embraced the idea of patrons completing a journey by cycle and, to say welcome may be exaggerating a little, but certainly allow a folding bicycle on most services. To get your bike on a plane is not quite so easy. More on that subject to follow.

There are a number of things other than the route that set me apart from Phileas Fogg, not the least of which is the size of my fortune and my converse gender. Mr Fogg set off with a carpetbag containing twenty thousand pounds, a fortune indeed in 1872. Twenty thousand dollars, conveniently stored on a Travel Card - thus eliminating the need for a carpetbag - will have to do for me. No match for P.F. you'll agree.

Regarding my gender, it is unlikely, although not unheard of, that a member of the fairer sex could have undertaken such a trip unescorted in the nineteenth century without risking a lot more than her reputation. Hovering as I am on the wrong side of sixty, I think my reputation is quite safe.

Readers may be making that 'humph' noise at this point and declaring it not possible to confine one's spending to so trivial an amount over such a long period of time. On the other hand they may think me a spendthrift having no care for budgeting at all. As a newcomer to this international travelling lark I have no experience on which to call. Only time will reveal which of these camps has the final word.

If you are curious as to the outcome of this odyssey then join me here. We are guaranteed a lot of blunders, wonders and lively adventures as the weeks unfold.