12 September - Trains and Boats and Vertigo

Some days things don’t go to plan. Like today. It’s a travel day, so I set the alarm clock for 6:00 so I could repack and we could clean the flat. That’s so WE could clean the flat. The alarm sounded, I looked over at Bruce, and he was sitting on the side of the bed, hanging on to the edge and slowly moving his head up and down. I’ve seen that before. He has vertigo. It hit in the middle of the night, apparently. He got up to go to the loo and almost fell down. Right. So it’s on me to get us ready and out the door for the taxi that’s coming at 8:30. (Cue William Tell Overture.)

I guess it’s at this juncture that I should talk about how I packed. We’ll be away for 2 months; 3 weeks in England, 2 weeks on safari in Kenya & Tanzania, then another 3+ weeks in England. Since a lot of the moves from place to place are by train, we wanted to have as little luggage as we could get away with. Last year we took one 24” suitcase and a carry-on. This year, we’re taking 2 carry-ons, so packing is a fine art and takes a bit longer than normal. Okay, pack, unpack, move things around, pack, shift this to the other bag. You get the idea. That done, it’s time to strip the bed, collect dirty towels, wash breakfast dishes and clean the kitchen, empty wastebaskets, etc. I guess this is a good time to admit that I hate to leave a messy place. When we’re house sitting, I aim to leave the houses cleaner than I found them. People should come home and be delighted, not dismayed, at the state of the house. Last bits done, I head to the key safe at the back of the house as the taxi pulls up. Done? Yes! Stressed out? Yes!

Our taxi ride across the island was a bit harrowing. Charlie, the driver, was wonderful, though with the twisty-turny roads, I can see that Bruce’s head is swimming. Finally, though, we made it to Ryde Pier. We were taking the Wightlink ferry, not the Hovercraft, thank goodness, because it would be be far less bouncy, which would wreak havoc on poor Bruce’s head.

The Wightlink at Ryde is at the end of a very long pier. It’s a beautiful structure, designed by John Kent of Southampton and opened in 1814. It has a timber-planked promenade with lovely wrought iron embellishments and is 745 yards long. There’s a second tramway pier next to the one that carries pedestrians and cars. From there you can actually catch a train that traverses the island. That pier was added in 1880. Over the years, the original wooden piles were replaced with cast iron. It’s quite an amazing structure and offers beautiful views of the harbor.

So Sir Bruce the Wobbly, as I’ve decided to call him, made his way up the ramp to the nearest chair. Our tickets were for the 10:45, but the ticket master said it was fine to take the earlier ferry, as they weren’t terribly busy. Bruce wobbled down the ramp to the ferry at loading time and found a seat.

The crossing was smooth, thank goodness, and we slowly made our way up the ramp to the dock which opens into the Portsmouth train station. So convenient. I thought we might be able to change to an earlier train but, once again, I had bought advance tickets which require you to travel on the specified train. Okay. I collected our tickets from the kiosk, since this particular trip didn’t offer e-tickets. As we sat on the bench by the tracks I found the little sewing kit I always bring and repaired the strap on Bruce’s backpack, which was hanging by a thread. Several trains had come and gone while we sat there, with their noise and smells, so I suggested that we go back to the ferry terminal, which was clean and quiet and had both bathrooms and a café. Finally it was time to board the train. (The journey was to be 5 hours, so I had booked first class seats.) We slowly made our way to the coach and found our seats. It was a local train, stopping countless times along the way, but was still an enjoyable journey (for me, anyway) because of the wonderful scenery. It’s one of the things I really enjoy about traveling in England, whether it’s by car or train; the rolling hills, the grazing sheep, cows and horses, the villages you pass through with their old churches, and the great signs you see in the rail stations. Brits really do have a sense of humor. We passed a rail café called the Chomp and Choo-choo.

I liked this sign from the train’s loo.

Got to London Waterloo station and had to travel to Euston station. They very thoughtfully provide a lift for people with bags to get to the underground. What they don’t very thoughtfully provide is a lift to get from the underground back up to the rail station at Euston. So here are the two of us, the old and infirmed, Sir Bruce the Wobbly and Lady Bethany of Lumbago, hobbling slowly up the stairs while hundreds of other travelers curse us under their breath. At last we made it to the station just in time to board the train. Here’s where the first class tickets come in handy. One has reserved seats, so no scrambling to find two together and, best of all, there’s waiter service! And cocktails! And a full menu! This is usually when Bruce turns to me and asks what the poor people are doing today.

Three hours later, we pull into Lime Street Station in Liverpool. A taxi whisks us to the convenience store where we pick up our AirBnB key, then takes us to our fabulous flat which turns out to be a short walk from the Albert Dock. Drop off the suitcases and Sir Bruce the Wobbly. A quick trip to the Tesco Superstore for a few essentials, and we’re in for the night. Travel days take it out of me, and this day, more than usual. Goodnight.