Back on track: I'm off to see the wizard

At long last, I'm back on track!
After about 6 months of being stuck at home and having to cancel trips, I'm once again packing my suitcase and backpack, including hat-gloves-scarves-umbrella, my prescription pain meds, and spiral notebook for taking notes (duh!).
What does all this have to do with the wizard? Surely I'm not going to Oz.
Well, not exactly.

See, the last trip I wrote about in this-here blog concerned going to hospital. Unfortunately, the surgery I underwent didn't turn out as planned. Complications ensued, time went by, and I was still unfit to travel. And so, with heavy heart, we had to cancel our trip to Canada. The plan was to attend our daughter's convocation ceremony at U of T, where she'd studied Landscape Architecture ; spend a few days with Daughter and other family members in Toronto; then rent a car and go driving to Quebec City, and down through beautiful countryside of Maine etc as far as NJ and MD to see my cousins. Imagine our disappointment when these plans fell through.

Fast-forward to a few months later. Strong painkillers, plenty of physiotherapy & exercise, lots of support and encouragement from family and friends, plus sheer determination seem to have worked. At least enough for us to consider foreign travel once again. Sensing that I was still a bit worried, my therapist said: "My own doctor once told me that he knows of a magic cure. It's called Passport Control".

Hence the idea of going to see the wizard. I shall meet him or her in a few hours. My passport will be stamped, and off to the Duty Free I shall march, to look at L'Occitane's latest collection -- the exquisitely designed Collection de Grasse; then to the BA Lounge where I can eat and relax until takeoff time.

Shucks! I just remembered! My wizard may be a machine. I often use the biometric system to get through passport control. Never mind -- as long as I emerge safely at the other side! And as for L'Occitane -- their prices are high, and I haven't smelled any of the new collection yet, so who knows. Maybe I'll save my dough for Boots or The Body Shop.

Back to what really matters: the trip. First few days in the heart of London, seeing family and doing touristy things; then by train to cousins in Delightful Devon (even grey skies and drizzle won't spoil our delight); then another train to cousins in a godforsaken little village in Lancashire, which will doubtlessly be an adventure; our hosts are no longer in the village where we got lost last time, so we get another chance at getting lost elsewhere :-)  From there, on to a couple of days in York, which we last visited in 1982. And back to London for a couple of days before catching our flight back home.

Of course, there should be lots of interesting things along the way. About which I hope to write and post in this blog, if I have the time and energy. No camera this time -- only my smartphone; it had better not let me down, or else! (Or else what? I'll replace it with another smartphone? Empty threats are so pathetic.)

Ta-ta for now. Or as we say in Hebrew: L'hitra'ot להתראות . Don't bother with Google Translate. It means ciao, au revoir, be seeing you, etc.

What not to bring to hospital --

-- when you’re scheduled to go under the knife.

 

The most recent tracks I made, quite of my own volition, were to a Tel Aviv hospital and back. Or, to put it more bluntly, to General Surgery, to be cut up and sewn back together again.

 

When packing my bag on the preceding day, I spent an inordinate amount of time fretting about what to pack:

- Toiletries, of course. But do I take my fave shampoo-and-conditioner, or do I travel light and pack one of those small complimentary bottles provided by hotels? I have quite a collection of those, and they’re so cute! Do I need my hair dryer, or will there be one in the bathroom? It is supposed to be a good hospital, after all. And what about makeup?

 

I had this long, carefully thought-out list…

 

Then came Reality and laughed in my face.

• What on earth made me think, for example, that I would be in any state to make progress with knitting my scarf?

• And what possessed me to bring along a pencil case with three kinds of pens and two pencils? As well as a clipboard with Sudoku puzzles… my kindle…  laptop… iPhone… chargers for all… a thriller… Not to mention essentials such as bathrobe, slippers, flip-flops, and some sweatpants and Ts in case I didn’t like those hospital PJs. 

I spent only 4 nights in hospital. But, as Hugh Laurie says in The Gun Seller (which I’d also packed),

“Time is a funny thing.

I once met an RAF pilot who told me how he and his navigator had had to eject from their very expensive Tornado GR1, three hundred feet above the Yorkshire dales, because of what he called a ‘bird strike’…. Anyway, the point of the story is that, after the accident, the pilot and navigator had sat in a de-briefing room and talked to investigators, uninterrupted, for an hour and fifteen minutes about what they’d seen, heard, felt and done, at the moment of contact.

An hour and fifteen minutes.

And yet the black box flight-recorder, when it was eventually pulled from the wreckage, showed that the time elapsed between the bird entering the engine intake and the crew ejecting, was a fraction under four seconds.

Four seconds. That’s bang, one, two, three, fresh air.”

 Time in hospital stretched out for me like… sorry, no good simile or metaphor comes to mind. Every night seemed interminable as I tried to get comfortable, despite the IV drip, the disgusting little drainage thingy, the dressing that was either too tight or too loose, and trying to decide whether to attempt reading, listening to music, or texting someone who’s awake in the wee hours (such as my daughter in Canada, bless her and bless the time difference.) Every day was divided into shifts according to the nurses on duty – the efficient-but-nasty one, the well-meaning but bumbling one, the always-late one.

Whatever I chose to do, I needed my hands. But when you’ve got an IV stuck in a vein, you’re a bit restricted. Within my short stay, the doctors had to move the IV to a different spot several times. Not fun.

 

I was lucky in that my husband and son came to visit, keep me company, bring me anything I needed. And I was in a room for two, which isn't bad, compared to the usual over-crowding in government hospitals.

 

Of course, all this is based on my blissfully limited firsthand experience. But I am pretty certain that, on the whole, my observations apply to patients and hospitals everywhere. 

 

By now I've been home for two months, and even though my surgeon thinks I'm fine in purely medical terms, full recovery is still somewhere in the offing. I'm aiming for it, laboriously chasing it, as I mutter under my breath the theme song of that 1962 French film, La Guerre des Boutons, where the youngest urchin keeps complaining (in French), "If I'd've known, I wouldn't have come!"

Travel: experiencing vs. remembering

Inevitably, some of the comments left on this blog are spam -- various companies or individuals trying to promote their wares. I suppose I should consider myself lucky - spam could get much worse than that. Besides, I could take it as a compliment: these spammers seem to think that my blog is so popular, that their message might reach lots of potential clients!

Today's spam-comment was slightly more oblique. It went as follows:

Most travel is best of all in the anticipation or the remembering; the reality has more to do with losing your luggage.
Flights to Dingaling
Cheap Flights to Dingaling
Cheap Air Tickets to Dingaling

With the hyperlinks pointing to some travel agency, say DingDong Travel Bureau.

- Ooh, I thought to myself, that's a negative attitude to take towards foreign travel! But then I realized that the punchline was the bit about losing your luggage. "Book your ticket with DingDong," it seemed to say, "and we'll give you a really good deal on luggage insurance!"

Well, I have two comments to make:
First of all, I have been traveling for many years and have never actually lost my luggage. In three cases (over scores of years) my luggage lagged behind me, as it were, when I had a tight connection. It arrived a bit late, but it arrived safely. Which doesn't mean I neglect to issue proper insurance before each trip.

Second, the statement about anticipation and remembering has some validity to it, or at least the first half does.
Only recently I finished reading a chapter called "Two Selves" in Daniel Kahneman's excellent book Thinking, fast and slow. This chapter deals with the concepts of the experiencing self and the remembering self. "Confusing experience with memory of it is a compelling cognitive illusion," says Kahneman (p. 381), and continues to elaborate on the subject.

So yes, much of the emotional value of the trip is in your memories, which you can relive, aided by photos, notes, blogs and conversations with your fellow-travelers, if any. And if you suffered the misfortune of a bad experience towards the end of your trip, it has doubtlessly colored your entire memory of the trip, even if most of it was enjoyable.

But, applying the same logic, if you lost your luggage early on in the trip, but the luggage was later retrieved, or you got very prompt and generous compensation that enabled you to continue the trip complete with a spanking new suitcase, stylish jeans, quality toiletries and a new laptop and camera -- and if the rest of the trip was terrific -- then your memories will be terrific, too. Lost luggage? Who cares!

So, thank you, Ms. X from Down Under, for giving me this idea for a blog post.
I hope all travelers take out travel insurance, and I wish you all safe landings and wonderful, memorable trips.
Oh, and do read Daniel Kahneman -- both enjoyable and enlightening.

Valencia - first impressions

“Valencia? What’s that? Never heard of it. I thought you said Venezia,” said my hairdresser, who was hopefully giving me that wash-and-wear haircut I value so much on trips.

As my daughter pointed out, I value Ari for his hairstyling skills and pleasant manners, not for his geographical expertise or insights. When he travels, Ari never goes to the same place twice. He’s of the been-there, done-that persuasion, and wants to see as much of this planet as he can.

And so we reached Madrid airport and wended our way through generic airport passageways to Terminal 4, gate K96, at the very edge of the universe – sorry, of the airport -- to await our flight to Valencia:

Madrid: An airport is an airport is an airport. 

Landed in Valencia. Walked down to the metro station, checked which stop to get off at – Xativa – and walked down the road to number 9, Plaza del Ayuntamiento:

Beautiful Plaza del Ayuntamiento, Valencia

The entrance to "our" building

Yep, I think I could easily get used to living in the center of Valencia! Despite the city noise, which is no worse than the noise in my daughter’s apartment in the center of Tel Aviv. And when the windows are tightly closed, the noise is much less noticeable. Oh, and being on a higher floor obviously helps, too. Fourth floor was fine, fifth or sixth are probably even better.

Since this specific apartment was obviously refurbished, arranged and furnished with tourist rental in mind, it’s a bit lifeless and devoid of character, unlike some of the apartments offered on Airbnb, which have a very unique, lived-in nature. One of them especially appealed to me in terms of its charm, but it was so full of photos, wall hangings, knickknacks and doodads that I wondered how the owner could bear to put her precious things in the hands of total strangers on a regular basis. Aren’t guests tempted to touch, feel, possibly dropping, breaking or tearing in the process? I’d have to ask the landlady.

Adding our personal mess to the rented apt.

If we were renting the apt for any length of time, rather than three nights, we’d probably endow it with a bit of our mess and personality (see photo. Yes, that's a mural decorating the living room wall.)

Though of course you can’t go so far as to hammer nails into the wall. And, talking of nails, that’s what was missing in this otherwise perfect apartment: A few hooks, towel racks, and such things on which to hang the hand-towel in the bathroom, your dressing gown, handbag, etc. The towel rack opposite the shower stall was so high that I’d need the stepladder to reach it. I mentioned these minor shortcomings in an email to the owner, and truly hope he does something about it, for the sake of future tourists.

Other than that, as I said, the place is perfect. Kitchen with everything you need for either a light meal or serious cooking; a spacious dining table, comfortable sofa, and so on.

Most important for us was the central location. Just take the elevator downstairs and walk out in any direction – you’re smack in the center of town, with friendly Tourist Information kiosk, shopping, eating, entertainment, antiques, city bikes for rent, all within walking distance.  And walk we did. And walk. And then walked some more.

A propos walking: It’s very easy to tell the locals from the tourists, and not only by the cameras, maps and backpacks they carry. It’s the clothes. To the natives, end-of-October spells Beginning-of-Winter, and they dress warmly with scarves and jackets. To many tourists, coming from colder climes, 17 deg C is still summer, and many girls are in shorts and flip-flops.

Recommended taberna: La Coveta, Calle de Vallanca. Intimate side-street, good food, pleasant service:

La Coveta is on the left

La Coveta menu

 Recommended tapas bar: Lizarran, a chain I enjoyed in Salamanca back in 2002. A huge selection of appetizing, delicious tapas.

Warning: Beware of local sangria. It may not be what you think.

Amazing site: Ciudad de las artes y las ciencias, Valencia

- to be continued -