Signs and Roads

I love names and signs in the Caribbean.

There is a different attitude down there, the "Island" view of life.

There is an official sailing chart of the island of Grand Bahama, which shows a reef off the coast. If you are sailing in that area, the chart will show you that a reef is marked by a buoy which was placed there to warn sailors. The chart helpfully notes that "The buoy was sunk in a storm in 1999." I was impressed that, rather than fix the problem, they took the time to note the fact in a permanent map that the warning buoy was no longer there.

Ireland, presumably because it is an island nation, has a similar approach to signage. We were barreling down the country roads, with trucks and tour buses bearing down on you, and the livestock in the fields protected by rock walls. We came around a corner and the little white line which normally runs down the middle of the road showing whose side is whose was no longer there, in its place was a helpful sign which said "No Road Markings".

Couldn't they have taken the time to do the road markings rather than leaving the roads unmarked and going to the effort to warn us about it?

I don't know if this happens to other people who grow up driving on the right side and find themselves driving on the left side on purpose. As I have told people in England and Ireland, "There is a right way to do things and a wrong way. We drive on the right side, which side do you drive on?"

The problem is perspective. When I drive on the right side, I think I know exactly where my right front bumper is. I believe that I could ease it up to softly touch something without harming it. When I drive on the left side and am sitting on the right side of the car the left front bumper is somewhere "out over there". The best guide is to line up your right bumper with the white line in the middle and hope that the roads are generally "big enough" to cover the left side of the car. Of course, this doesn't work when you are in villages and towns where people park cars by stopping forward movement and getting out. There, you just go around the cars and hope you don't meet up with another car, truck or bus coming the other way.

So, with no road markings, you have no guide as to where you need to be. The basic rule is to judge the size of oncoming vehicles, the bigger the vehicle, the more room you give them. If you are bigger, then you can hope that the oncoming driver has the same view as to the rule "size matters".

We have rented larger cars the last few times we've driven on the left side. My view is that the best defense is a good offense. My early ventures had compacts, we've graduated to four doors and I'm looking at SUVs and Hummers.

Ireland School of Falconry at Ashford Castle

I love the Theater... Shows we saw on this trip...

In New York - On Broadway...

In London - at the West End...

In Ireland - Dublin...

Lake Corrib Cruise - In a September Gale...

5 short clips from our Corrib Cruise this morning. It was mostly windy and rainy with just hints of sunshine. At one point a swell soaked everyone in the bow, including Gary who was above taking the video! (That's on clip #3) All in all it was great fun!

Sorry for all the wind noise in the clips. I didn't realize my iphone would pick that up.

Ashford Castle

Our home for two days...

Driving Through the Irish Countryside

We are having a total blast in Ireland!!!

The people are friendly, the food and drink have been stellar and the scenery has been gorgeous.

Of course, it has been a bit on the wet side. We saw a quote the other day which seemed to apply to our experience: "The weather has been pretty good the past week, it has only rained twice. The first time for three days and the second time for four days." That, and "Moisture is why Ireland is so green. We have sixty different shades of green and thirty of those are different types of mold."

Many of the Irish roads seem better than what we saw in some areas of Wales and Scotland. There are a number of motorways (divided freeways) and some of their highways actually have shoulders. However, there are also a large number of roads which are true country roads, wide enough for two cars if everyone holds their breath when they pass each other. The interest is heightened by the fact that on one side you have huge tour buses or trucks barreling towards you and on the other side is a rock wall which has been there for four hundred years and will be there long after you run into it. An amusing alternative to the rock wall sometimes appears in the form of a cliff, which falls either into water or rocks, depending upon the location.

Karen, on the passenger side (which is the rock wall or cliff side), has developed a distinct list towards me away from the window. People behind us probably assume she is either a cripple or hoplessly devoted to me. I'm voting for the latter.

One problem with the Irish country roads is that the speed signs are all the same. It doesn't matter if the road is too narrow for more than one car, has rock walls or trees inches from the roadside, twists and turns over a mountain pass or hugs the cliff with a four hundred foot drop to the sea, it is all posted 100 kilometers an hour. There are a lot of areas where, if you actually went the posted speed limit, you would undoubtedly go careening off the road. It only changes if you are inside the center of a town or village or going by the occasional hospital or school (you don't have to slow down for churches or pubs) where they have a few signs suggesting 60 or 50 kilometers and hour. Even there, once you exit the town center, it's back up to 100 per. I have this theory that the Irish got a great bargain on 100 kilometer signs and just posted them everywhere.

Add to these country roads a collection of slow moving farm equipment, the occasional four-footed farm animal, hikers with backpacks and bicylists and you basically have a real life version of "Death Race 2000," complete with targets.

The problem with being an American is that speed limit signs are basically a dare. You know that is the speed that people go who have pocket protectors and sweater vests and drive Volvos because they are the safest car in crash tests. Real American drivers always view speed limits as the low threshold of speed, only marginally acceptable in traffic. This poses quite a conundrum when faced with an Irish country road.

My lovely wife solved that particular conundrum for me. "Slow down, Gary, if you want to share a room tonight."

As a result, we have been delightfully meandering through the Irish countryside at a safe Volvo-speed, being passed by the very occasional lone male driver and everyone else well behind us.

"I swear Officer... I only had one bowl of porridge..."

Drambuie Porridge at the Heaton's Guest House in Dinge!

(Karen had the most excellent vanilla waffles.)

Dinner in Dingle

Kenmare

Parknasilla - A Lovely Castle B&B!

England Swings Like a Pendulum Do

There is something about that song that sticks in your head and refuses to leave while in London. I found myself humming away like Roger Miller while walking around the sights. Of course, it did succeed in getting "New York, New York, a heck of a town!" out of my head.

On my first trip to London, in the early 70's, I arrived quite sick from India with long hair, a beard and a backpack. It was cold and rainy and I was dressed for 100+ degree weather, having just been in New Delhi, with a stop in Saudi Arabia on the way to England. I hated London.

Since that trip, I've had a number of pleasant trips to London. On our most recent arrival, Karen and I were sitting in first class, looking out over a clear sky at night, with Big Ben and the tower bridge in view, we felt like Wendy Darling and Peter Pan, flying over London. Between my first and the last trip, I recommend the last.

We were met at the airport by our car, with a driver holding up a poster, "Gary Barnum". We couldn't actually see him right away and I had to call the car company to get his location. I think he saw our luggage.

Karen and I are a "portable" couple in the classic Victorian sense. With one, possibly two, porters, we can pretty well navigate our way anywhere on the globe. At hotels, once we are close to being packed, I call down to the front desk and indicate "we need help with our luggage." I usually follow that with, "he should bring a cart . . . a large one . . . possibly some friends." In fairness, if they survive, I am a good tipper.

Well, our driver came out of hiding after his bosses tracked him down and he helped us portage our luggage to his car.

Shortly after that, we arrived at the Doubletree Hilton at West End. This is not to be confused with the Hilton we later stayed at in Dublin, this was a Hilton in training. Paris Hilton would not stay here, she wouldn't even allow it to carry her name. I assume this is why it was referred to as the Hilton at West End and not the Paris Hilton.

We arrived at the desk and were greeted by a confused but friendly man who apparently was recently from New Delhi or near there, given his accent. He looked vaguely familiar and I could recall giving a bunch of rupees to a seven-year old in New Delhi from my death bed so he could go buy my some Scotch (he picked me up a bottle of Black & White, I suppose that is why I am still fond of Yorkies). I know, who gives a seven-year old a bunch of rupees to buy Scotch? But he was good for it, and I am a good tipper.

Well, it seemed that, at the Hilton, notwithstanding our reservation and that we had prepaid it some time before, they were very crowded and only had a downstairs room that wasn't quite up to prime. We assured him that would not be acceptable and asked him what else he could do? He went to the backroom for a bit and came out all bright-eyed, assuring us that we could stay in a "Von room apardment, velly velly nice." We asked if that was better than the downstairs room. His eyes got even bigger, as he said incredulously, "Dees ees a von room apardment, velly big, velly nice!!!" I think the concept of having more than one room was too much for him to fathom. We went up to the room, named the "E.M. Forster Room", though I seriously doubt that he stayed there, or would approve. The room was tired, in a way that English hotels sometimes excel at, and the air conditioning had given up its job and went on holiday some time ago.

We declined this room and moved to the first level room, which was better, but not by much.

We were reserved for the "Executive King Room" and, if our bed was a king bed, it was for one of the more diminutive kings. From an executive perspective this was, at best, an assistant vice president, perhaps only an assistant treasurer. We did have the advantage of a long flight and an abundance of vodka, so sleep was achieved, though not what you would term a long or comfortable one. The next day, while we were gone, they did relocate us to a better room, with a bed made for a somewhat larger king, and working air conditioning. Still . . . .

The lobby was the nicest part of the Double Tree West End.

On our first full day in London, we were met by Michael Churchill, who was to be our personal guide for the day. We came across him on Trip Advisor. He gave us a 4+ hour tour of London and it was outstanding! All sorts of fun facts and places which we either had or would have walked by without ever knowing about. At the end of the tour, he dropped us off at the Old Vic Theater, where we had tickets to see Richard III, with Kevin Spacey in the title role.

Michael Churchill of Black Taxi Tours.

The play was wonderful, our only problem was lack of food and drink between riding about all afternoon and rushing straight into the theater. We managed to survive that trial and worked our way to the OXO Restaurant for Cuban night (yes, we were confused, too). The food and drink were plentiful, so all was well.

The view from OXO Brasserie.

The next day, we slept in, which is not so amazing as "we awoke" - a daily miracle. We had tickets to see Buckingham Palace, which is not normally open to the public. We had booked the "full meal deal" with all of the trimmings. The first thing to see was the Queen's Gallery, which is apparently a bunch of paintings that Bess has collected over the years. If you have the chance to see it, I'd give it a pass. She has made a good go of it, but there is a lot better stuff elsewhere.

From there, we went to the Buckingham Palace Staterooms. Now, this was worth the price of admission. It's a very nice, well-kept palace, not like some of the ratty or tarty ones we have seen on the Continent. This was the kind of place you could sit back with a brandy in one hand and a cigar in the other and go, "Good show, Chuck! This will possibly be Willies' some day?"

The big thing at Buckingham was the recent wedding of William and Kate and it was abundantly clear that they were cashing in on it. There were all sorts of memorabilia and an abundance of photos of the occassion. They even had the wedding dress on display, though it had a creepy Addams family feel to it.

Gary asked "Where's her head??"

We came out of the Buckingham State Rooms, had some coffee, scones and clotted cream and then decided to wander down towards the "Royal Mews", the next item on our agenda. Unfortunately, no one had told us that the exit from the Buckingham State Rooms and the entrance to the Royal Mews are at opposite extremes of London and a healthy walk is involved to get from one to the other. On top of that, our tickets indicated that the "Royal Mews" closed at 4:15. As the gate keeper helpfully informed us at the Buckingham State Roooms, "Oh dear, you'll never make it in time." We had a hurried extended march around a number of street corners, each one displaying no entrance to the Mews, until we finally came to the doors, promptly at 4:17. Apparently, being union, they had closed the doors. We went to the gift shop, which was open and plead our case. I can't tell you exactly what we said, though it involved travel from a distant land, leaving the country the next day and possibly a fatal disease, but we managed to work our way into the Mews "after hours". It was well worth it. We had a wonderful time and it was a highlight of our experience.

The next day, we were off to Ireland!!!!

Rock of Cashel (St. Patrick's Rock)- South Tipperary Ireland

Built in the 12th Century...

It's huge, it's complex, it's iconic, there is nothing like it anywhere else in the world and it's in Cashel at the heart of Tipperary. The Rock of Cashel, more formally St. Patrick's Rock, is also known as Cashel of the Kings. Reputedly the site of the conversion of Aenghus the King of Munster by St. Patrick in the 5th century AD. Long before the Norman invasion The Rock of Cashel was the seat of the High Kings of Munster, although there is little structural evidence of their time here. Most of the buildings on the current site date from the 12th and 13th centuries when the rock was gifted to the Church. The buildings represent both Hiberno-Romanseque and Germanic influences in their architecture.

To quote from the WIKI entry "The complex has a character of its own, unique and native, and is one of the most remarkable collections of Celtic art and medieval architecture to be found anywhere in Europe." The Rock is the setting of the fictional "Sister Fidelma Mysteries" mediaeval whodunits from Peter Tremayne.

Here's a good video from the Cashel Tourist Bureau that tells a lot about Cashel and the Rock:

http://www.cashel.ie/tourism.php?sect=Video%20Tour

On the Road Again!

With tickets in hand to New York, it seemed only natural that the news announcement shortly before our arrival was "Earthquake Rocks New Jersey and New York".

Karen and I have grown to expect this kind of welcome in our travels.

Of course, it was a little disturbing that, while we were in New York, the headlines were "Hurricane Irene Leaves Flooding and Destruction it its Wake as 11 Die and Millions Without Power While Storm Churns Up East Coast".

In between these two "natural" disasters (in the sense of "naturally, that would happen with the Barnums") we caught a couple of shows and had some nice meals. I think we might have been like General Gordon at Khartoum, "Seems like a nice morning for a pot of tea, might warm up in the afternoon."

We stayed at the Newark Airport Marriott Hotel. This may seem like an odd choice, but on actual days of travel, it is incredibly convenient to the airport (I suppose that comes with the name). On days when you're not traveling, admittedly, it is a bit odd, but inertia is a powerful thing when you have luggage ("an object at rest will tend to stay at rest" applies particularly well to me). As our bellhop told us, "It's the only hotel inside an airport in the United States." He was wrong, of course, but I let him live with the hope.

For our journeys to the City, we had Jose, our driver, to ferry us back and forth from New Jersey in a Black Escalade. It felt like the Sopranos, without cigars.

About eight years ago, Karen flew in to New York to meet me in early December. I was there for a conference, or work, or possibly just lost, I can't recall specifically. Because of the blizzard that was occurring, Karen's plane was the last flight in or out of New York City for the next three days. It was a freakishly early snowstorm which NOAA now just puts down as a "Barnum Visitation". While Karen was flying through the storm assuming the plane was not going to make it, the woman next to her recommended "Carmine's Restaurant" as a place to eat near Broadway. Karen took the fact that the airplane landed safely as a sign and we have been regularly dining at Carmine's ever since (with Karen gradually relaxing her hold on the table in case of air pockets). On our most recent trip, all of our evening meals were at Carmines.

New York was, as ever, a lovely place to visit. We were the last plane to fly out of Newark for the next several days. I think the Port Authority made a special effort to get us out of the area.

Waterford Ireland and The Granville Hotel

Guinness Tour - Dublin Ireland

Tour of Buckingham Palace

No photographs inside, only in the Mews and gardens.

London Calling...

Here is a slideshow from our Black Taxi London Tour yesterday...

Barnum's Underground

YACHT@Coachella 4/15/11

Ole & Asta.. out for a walk today...

Of course I couldn't keep up with any of them, but I did walk a little bit!

My BIG Knee Hematoma...

Update: April 10th, 2011...

101 days since I fell... and my knee still has spots like a dalmatian!

I continue to go to physical therapy three times a week and it's really helping. We're working on building up my quad strength and regaining the muscle I've lost. Other good news...I drove this week for the first time since December 28th!

February 28th, 8 weeks since the accident.

I started physical therapy this week.

This is my taped patella, "Alien treble clef- Lady GaGa look"!

Six weeks after the accident...

2/09/11

Two weeks after the accident...

One week after the accident...

(Outside of leg)

The day after it happened...

One Small Step for Man

You have to wonder what it would have been like in 1969 had Neil Armstrong done a face plant stepping off of the first lunar lander. It certainly would have put a a comic turn to the whole event, so long as he wasn't hurt and didn't puncture his spacesuit. "One giant, OOPS!!!!

Well, we arrived at Cambridge Beaches, checked into our lovely room (where we spent our honeymoon), and freshened up to go to the "Manager's Reception for Returning Guests".

We went down to the room, which is a cozy little bar where, five years ago, one of our guests, Brian, was entertaining everyone singing Irish drinking songs. A very fun place. We were very tired and thought about leaving early, but we were the first couple introduced by the manager, Richard Quinn.

We met a lot of returning guests, including a couple who was returning for something around the 25th time. We had one drink and then headed out of the building. I led the way and stumbled down the step outside the entrance (which was abrupt, broken and ill-lit), and I started saying "Karen, be careful of the step * * *." It was a little too late, as Karen, while holding a glass of ice water, took the same step and ended up doing a full frontal into the ground.

Fortunately, the glass went free, but Karen hit the ground hard. A group quickly gathered and we were all asking how she felt and if we should call an EMT. Karen was embarrassed, but got up, brushed herself off and went to the bathroom to freshen up, thinking that she would be fine.

We walked back up to the room and I put Karen into bed, giving her some ibuprofen and getting some ice for her right knee, which she had hit the hardest. We thought things would be fine, but within a short time her knee started and continued to swell.

There is some dispute as to exactly how large Karen's knee ultimately got, but it was clearly the size of a major fruit, something from the melon family. This was not a plum or peach swelling, it was something with a lot more body, possibly a little South of a watermelon, but not much. This was accompanied by a huge amount of pain, which Karen has later described as more than any pain she had ever felt before, including childbirth. At the time, detailed comparisons to prior experiences were not particularly apropos and the basic message was, "do something, now!!!!"

We got the EMTs to the room and they were great, but basically said, "get this girl to the hospital," so that's what we did.

Karen rode in the back of the ambulance and I was in the front. If you've never been to Bermuda, it is an incredibly scenic and small group of islands in the Atlantic Ocean, with no major highways, all of the streets are small and winding country roads, with rock walls or cliffs on one side or the other, which vary in size from (i) "just wide enough to take two cars going opposite directions with side mirrors, so long as neither driver sneezes or becomes distracted", (ii) "not wide enough to take two cars going opposite directions with side mirrors regardless of the driver", to, (iii) "if you see someone coming the other direction, think about putting your car in reverse".

Our ambulance driver had flashing lights and occasionally used his siren, not so much as a continuous warning, but more of an informative nudge. He drove between 50 and 60 miles an hour. Given Bermuda's roads, this is the equivalent of entering your garage at 50 miles an hour and executing a turn before parking. It was like being an extra in Death Race 2000. I was terrified and impressed at the same time.

We made it, without further injury, to King Edward VII Memorial Hospital.

I have always thought that there is a direct correlation between the amount of pain and the amount of time it takes someone to do something about it. The inmates at this particular institution had this down to a science. We waited and waited, for more than an hour.

At some point, with Karen's urging, I stressed that we needed something right away to relieve the pain and someone needed to look at the still expanding knee. The nurse muttered something about morphine, which I thought was a good idea (for both of us).

This is one of the few points where Karen and I have differing views. I think an illness is something to be fought with blazing guns, attacking with a combination of multiple doses of medicine, chased down by whatever highest proof is available. Karen tends to avoid medicines, generally taking half or less of what the doctor might suggest. We compromised. Karen tried one of the lighter medicines, then stepped up to the stronger dose when the first one didn't take. There wasn't enough left for me. Of course, Karen had an allergic reaction to the morphine which actually got the nurse's attention. They had to add another IV with anti-histamine to fight the morphine which was fighting the pain.

The ER command nurse could probably do the role of Big Nurse in Cuckoo's Nest, only not quite as friendly. Our doctor, also was a bit on the odd side. He was either "quiet and reflective" or "a stone who couldn't communicate", we lean towards the latter. His nurse obviously didn't get along with him and we found ourselves siding with her. When he started muttering something about surgery being possible, Karen and I exchanged one of those, "not in this lifetime anywhere near here" looks.

We eventually were allowed to check out, Karen's knee wrapped, sitting in a wheel chair and waiting for a taxi back to our hotel. The taxi driver, Jay, was outstanding! He had a delightful bass voice, a lot of opinions about the World, and helped me carry Karen up the stairs to our room. In saying he "helped", I am being polite about the ability of a man in his late fifties (even a loving husband) vs. a young Bermudian who is in shape and about 6'3". Let's say, I attended.

We made it back, around 2:30 a.m. (after the 20+ hour plane rides to Bermuda and a day and a half with almost no sleep), exhausted.

At this point, we were also able to check out what other parts Karen had managed to scrape, cut, bruise or otherwise injure. It was pretty much everywhere. The right knee was the worst, but Karen managed to scrape and bruise her right arm, her left hand, and her left ankle and leg. We have since found additional places she bruised in the fall. It is hard to believe that a single tumble did all this. Basically, she looked like we had run her through a rock polisher.




Karen has been working at moving around on crutches.

Long John Silver always made it look so easy!! Perhaps because he didn't have the risk of hitting his bad foot on anything. It is a lot more difficult that it looks. On top of being unstable, they hurt the user's underarms. All around, it is hard to tell whether they are really tools for the handicap or elaborate torture devices. Maybe if I get Karen a parrot and an eye patch, it will be easier.

Since then, we have altered our original vacation plans, which had included a trip down to Florida and Key West. The concept of multiple plane rides, an extended car ride down the Keys and checking in and out of various hotels kind of loses its allure when a lot of pain and crutches are involved.

We opted to stay in Bermuda, propped up with pillows overlooking the ocean, with all-day room service to suffer through.

It has been tough, but we are surviving.



All the Best from Gilligan and a crippled Mary Ann!!!!!

Best Laid Plans

As Robert Burns said years ago: "The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men, gang aft agley."

I'm not totally clear what "agley" is or how "aft" they may "gang", but I've always translated this roughly to: "Even if you have a martini pitcher and glasses chilling in the freezer, don't forget where the you put the flashlights and bandaids."

Karen and I spent the time in November and December, after sending off the last Zip-Loc bag of turkey with the kids and before ripping open presents, counting down the days to when we were boarding the plane, first class tickets, on a nonstop flight to New York, followed by a flight to Bermuda. Essentially a repeat, for our fifth anniversary, of our wedding trip. Each day was "___-days until we are sitting on the plane, vodka tonics in hand". We were excited, hopeful, a bit thirsty and woefully naive.

We kept our eye on the weather, both West and East coast. We were mindful of our trip to Europe a couple of years ago when Portland got hit head-on with a massive snow and ice storm (some say, well me, "of Biblical proportions") that caused us to go to Trafalgar Square in London by way of Ghirardelli's in San Francisco, the subject of an earlier post. This time, we were comfortable that we could adjust our travel plans and leave early if the weather started to get bad. The problem was, the weather didn't "start" to get bad, it just "got bad". Once again, as in 2008, airports were closing on our planned travel route and then started closing on all alternate travel routes. I can understand New York and Boston airports closing because of snow, but Atlanta? This starts to feel like the work of a much higher and somewhat mischievous power.

On the day of our planned departure ("Only 12 hours until we are sitting on the plane, vodka tonics in hand."), I received an email from Continental Airlines informing us that "Your flight has been canceled." Not delayed, rebooked, changed, or slowed down, but canceled. The email included a contact web site and a phone number for us to arrange for alternate plans. I didn't realize at the time that they were just joking.

I started on their web page, which ran me through an infinite series of various steps, all incredibly slow to download, followed by a massive entry of information which, by the time they start asking for personal information ("what is your preferred sexual position?"), you just put in an answer and hit "Return". Finally, I got to the "coup de grâce" of the search with a final hit to "Return", at which point the web site started thinking away with the screen filled with the Continental Airline insignia and whirling planes. After an incredible amount of time (I thought days, Karen told me it was just a huge number of minutes), Continental Airline's solution to our travel problem appeared on the screen: "We are unable to process your request, please call us at * * * *."

So, after a few choice words, I hit the phone and called the number. The phone was answered by a recording which said, "Due to the high volume of calls, we are unable to answer the phone right now. Do you know you can make and change reservations on our web site? Just contact us at * * * *." I could be wrong, but it felt like they were telling me, "Fuck you, and the plane you rode in on." Actually, it would have been nice if they would have given me the opportunity to leave a message on voice mail (they didn't, it just hung up), I had a few thoughts.

I tried both the website and the phone number (together with a few additional phone numbers on their website) - all with the same result. I even tried United Airlines, as Continental has merged with United and they have assured us that they will be "one big happy airline" - just not quite yet. The United personnel indicated that they could not handle rebooking a Continental reservation, but they could provide us with both a website and a phone contact which we could use to do that with Continental.

In the end, in this world of instant world-wide communication and all electronic reservations, we were forced (once again, as in 2008) to fire up the family auto and head to the airport. The nice thing this time was, although the East Coast was buried in snow, it was just wet, cold and miserable in Portland. We made it right up to the ticket agent and we had the choice of a reserved flight to Bermuda by way of Chicago and Newark (so, one more stop) on Wednesday, three days later, or to arrive at the airport on Monday and wait as a standby as the rest of the US slowly got back on schedule after the Winter storm. We opted for the Wednesday reserved flight.

We rebooted our calendar, "only three days until we are sitting on the plane, vodka tonics in hand." and enjoyed a few extra days at home with Ole and Asta (who always love it when we stay at home, never quite grasping why we have to go away some days).

On Wednesday, with Aunt Jonie taking care of the puppies, we headed off to the airport!!

When making reservations, it is important to note what they are proposing to do with you on your flight. One thing is the difference between "direct" and "non-stop". For those of us who were raised on Monopoly ("go to Jail, go directly to Jail, do not pass Go") you might think that "direct" is the same as "non-stop". It isn't.

The other thing that you need to watch out for is that you can have a "direct" flight, from point A to point B, on Flight 784, but that this "direct" flight may include an undisclosed stop at point C (isn't A before B, except when C is involved?) where you stay on the same flight, which is Flight 784, it's just that Flight 784 is now a different plane. In our case, our "direct" flight from Portland to Chicago included a stop in San Francisco (as in, the "wrong way" from our ultimate destination) followed by deplaning, walking down the concourse and replaning (which may or may not be a word) on the same flight but with a different crew, seats, hull, engines and magazines (which is to say, some other idiot has taken an inartful stab at the crossword puzzle and Sudoku messing it up for anyone with half a brain who would like to do it - it amazes me the random answers that some people come up with - " 4 down - Facing glacial direction" -- attempted answer: "North" "5 across - 16th President of the US" attempted answer - = "Clinton").

Planes waiting to take off at EWR

Well, from San Francisco, we went to Chicago and from Chicago, we went to Newark, then from Newark we went to Bermuda. When you add the various layovers in each airport, it ended up being about 20 hours to make the 7 1/2 hour trip. Of course, if this had been the 18th century and we would have gone by boat around South America, it would have taken a month and a half. I'll bet Continental Boatlines could have done it in five months.

We finally arrived in lovely Bermuda. Our luggage came out in fine style, immigration/customs was a snap, "Welcome to Bermuda, Mr. and Mrs. Barnum, too bad you are only staying with us for four days," and we were met by a cab from the resort with our name on his sign.

Coming round the bend in the road (with an old rock arch framing the ocean), we were greeted with the beauty of Cambridge Beaches once again!!! The pink stucco siding on all the buildings, with the white roofs, the graceful English reception area for checking in. We were greeted by Nadia, our wedding organizer from five years ago. Whitney brought us a warm wash cloth and a "Dark and Stormy" (a wonderful ginger rum thingy). We then were whisked away to Kiskadee Upper, the gorgeous room where we stayed on our honeymoon.

All was right with the World.

Well, at least for three hours.

:)

More in the next post.

Thanksgiving at the Barnum's - 2010

Alex's U of O Graduation Party

Stockholm's 700-year-old Storkyrkan Cathedral

Stockholm’s Medieval Cathedral, built in 1279, houses unique objects such as the St George and the Dragon sculpture (1489),



and the legendary Vädersoltavlan (1636)... which I couldn't stop looking at:

(photo from Wikipedia)

Vädersolstavlan (Swedish for "The Sun Dog Painting") is an oil-on-panel painting depicting a halo display, an atmospheric optical phenomenon, observed over Stockholm on April 20, 1535. It is named after the sun dogs (Swedish: Vädersol, "Weather sun") appearing on the upper right part of the painting. While chiefly noted for being the oldest depiction of Stockholm, it is arguably also the oldest Swedish landscape painting and the oldest depiction of sun dogs.

(my photo taken at the Cathedral)

Since 1527, the Cathedral has been a Lutheran church. A wide range of religious services and concerts are held. The wedding of Crown Princess Victoria and Mr. Daniel Westling took place on Saturday, June 19, 2010 in Stockholm Cathedral.

We bought photo mugs at the Royal Palace gift shop commemorating the event.

Kalmar Castle, Kalmar Sweden

The history of this legendary castle stretches back over 800 years. During the 12th century a defense tower was erected to protect against pirates and other sea-faring enemies. A harbour was constructed and in the course of time a castle grew around the original tower. Kalmar Castle soon became “The Key to the Kingdom”, a significant defensive fortification on the Danish border with an essential part in international, political life.

The Castle acquired its present appearance in the 16th century, when the Vasa kings Erik XIV and Johan III rebuilt it in the style of a Renaissance palace and furnished it in a continental manner. The last king who lived in the Castle and issued governmental documents was Charles XI. He was on the throne from 1673 to 1692.

Ode to a Swedish Sandwich

Scandinavians are a frugal people.

Swedes make Norwegians look like crazy shoppers.

Driving through the countryside from Copenhagen up North to Stockholm, we were struck by the complete absence of any roadside inns, restaurants, hot dog stands, convenience stores, or anywhere you could actually buy food. We have come to the conclusion that everyone in Sweden makes their own sandwiches at home before going anywhere in the car and then drives straight through until they arrive at their destination or they run out of sandwiches and die.

The hotels actually cater to this and provide breakfast and, in many cases, dinner, so that the Swedes can feel at home when they travel and never have to go out anywhere.

This is the world of the "smörgåsbord". Of course, having grown up in the United States, we are used to expressions like "he has a real smorgasbord of choices". I used to think that meant there was a lot to choose from.

The Swedish "smörgåsbord" is comprised of the following:

1. The bread table, which includes the flat bread or hårt, as the Swedes aptly call it.

2. Yogurt.

3. Ham and cheese.

I have found out that the word "smörgåsbord" does not actually mean "a wide medley of choices", but comes from two separate words, "smörgås", which means sandwich, and "bord" which means board. So, basically, when someone in Sweden says "Vell, Sven he has dere a real smörgåsbord of choices!" What he is actually saying is, "Want a ham sandwich?"

The sandwich bread is comprised of a couple of loaves of "normal bread" (as in edible), a couple of loaves of "really really dark and heavy bread" (as in marginally edible), and baskets and baskets of "flat bread" (which is inedible). They actually have a huge collection of flat breads in Sweden. The one thing they have in common is that they are very, very hårt, which is Swedish for hard. They have baskets and baskets of them. As far as I can tell, none of the Swedes actually eat them.


We have been taking samples of the various types of flat bread.

They are disturbingly similar.

We even have an example of flat bread from a medieval castle.

My personal theory is that all the flat bread in Sweden was made back in the Middle Ages and has been handed down, from generation to generation, in little baskets that are put out for visiting foreigners as a Swedish joke. After having a couple of tries at the "hårt", most of us give up and the remaining massive cache of "hårt" lives on for future generations.

Just a theory, but I'm sticking with it.

Hop On, Fuck Off

We are in beautiful Stockholm!

This place is stuffed with historic buildings and you can’t throw a rock without hitting something owned by the Royal Family. I am not sure whether it is still King Oscar of Sardine fame, or someone else, but everywhere you look, they have another palace, suite of offices, restaurant or hot dog stand.

Stockholm is actually a large collection of islands, or as my lovely wife says, “An archipann, no, an archipegg, no, an archipatio?”

It really is quite gorgeous. We took a dinner boat tour last night around the “Large Group of Islands”. We had a lovely evening tour, saw hot air balloons and sailed about looking at the Royal Family’s possessions.



I was complaining earlier about the Swedish disposition in general, but Karen has pointed out that we are up to 4, possibly 5, people who have been “pretty good, for Swedes”.

Today, we slept in, relaxing in our lovely hotel room at the Clarion Stockholm. I’m not sure what it is about the Clarion hotel chain in Scandinavia, but they really have very nice accommodations and stellar breakfast packages. They aren’t bad places in the States, but it’s not like we search them out. It’s one of those mysteries, like finding out that Jerry Lewis is really big in France.


In any event, we had our “typical Swedish smorgasbord” (more on that in another post) and then headed off to see some Stockholm stuff today.

So, we went for one of the “Hop On, Hop Off” boat packages, which are these delightful little ferry boats that run about the Stockholm archipann, no, archipegg, no, archipatio. You buy a day pass and, as they say in their promotional literature: “Sightseeing by Stockholm’s oldest sightseeing boats is a fun, beautiful and comfortable way to experience the city. Hop-on and hop-off to your heart’s content; the ticket is valid for 24 hours. You can hop-on and hop-off at the various stops as often as you like, or stay onboard and enjoy the ride. The ticket is valid for 24 hours.”

I am sure that the ticket is valid for 24 hours, but the boats only run until 4 p.m. So, you can keep your valid ticket in your pocket and walk about, comfortable that it has not slipped into invalidity, but you need to find a taxi to actually get yourself home.

The next thing that they don’t tell you is that there are a wide variety of “Hop On, Hop Off” companies and you can buy your valid ticket (which, by the way, is valid for 24 hours), but it will not be honored by companies other than the company that sold you the valid ticket (for 24 hours).


We found this out by taking one of the “Hop On, Hop Off” boats to the Vasa Museum.

First, a word about the Vasa Museum. This is a large and beautiful museum dedicated to a complete failure of boat construction. The Vasa was a “Fearsome war machine. With 64 guns and 300 soldiers should she scare and defeat the Polish enemy.”

I think it might have succeeded had the Poles been watching, as they would have been laughing themselves to death. The boat left the harbor, sailed about 1,200 yards and sank like a stone. Maybe this is when the Swedes started being so cranky.


Well, we hiked about the museum, the Vasa is incredibly preserved, having barely been used, “This little beauty was owned by a little old lady who only took it out on Sundays and holidays.”


When it was time to go, we hiked back to the dock of the “Hop On, Hop Off” boats and waited for a boat to arrive. A boat came up and we all marched to the gangplank, our “Hop On, Hop Off” tickets in hand. The Steward (if that’s what you call him) stood at the boat, saying no to each of us as we presented our ticket, no explanation, just no. The last couple was from Australia and after the Steward said no, they tried to ask how much it would cost to get on board, but the boat was already pulling away. It was like the boat had just been stopping as a joke, they didn’t pick up anybody. I turned to the couple and said “Do you know what “hej da” means in Swedish [the Swedes claim it means “goodbye]? Fuck off..”

We had another boat arrive with the “Hop On, Hop Off” Logo on its side, but our ticket wasn’t good for that one either. Finally, a boat arrived that accepted our ticket.

Well, we made it back to our hotel (with an extra taxi ride) and are comfortably settled in our hotel room with our Absolut on ice. There is at least one thing the Swedes have done right.