***Special Edition Blog*** The inaugural 'Celebrity Cruises signature sailing..British Open golf cruise 2015'.... Jayne and Steve FINALLY get to work together!!!!

For those of you who are regular readers of my blog, you will attest to the fact that the content is ordinarily about the travel misdemeanours in which I find myself when flying from cruise ship to cruise ship for over 30-40 engagements a year. (Therefore clocking up well over 80 flights per annum.)  I rarely talk about my role onboard…as many of you read the blog because that is indeed where we met…onboard a ship after you had seen my show. But for those of you that may be new to my ruminations, due to the nature of this entry's subject I will briefly synopsise.. everyone else bear with me.

My name is Jayne Curry and I’m a guest entertainer. In brief, I am afforded the inordinate privilege of working exclusively for Celebrity Cruises and traveling from ship to ship all over the world performing my one woman show to passengers onboard the spectacular vessels of the fleet. There. I said it would be in short.

My husband is PGA Golf Professional Steve Parry and due to the demands of his job as well as mine, our schedules can be somewhat haphazard. Its a constant effort to synchronise our lives so that he isn’t always away at a tournament or teaching at his academy when I am home, or that I am not always sailing solo. Steve travels with me on an odd occasion per year, more usually in the winter months and he has never made any bones about the fact that he LOVES cruising. He however, is convinced that he was a pirate in a former exsistence and he revels in the rare occasion that sea is a little choppy and he can channel his inner Jack Sparrow. More often than not he is disappointed. 

This year however presented a brand new opportunity for us. Steve had  previously been invited to tender for an inaugural project which would see the beautiful Celebrity Silhouette coincide its British Isles itinerary with the 144th annual ‘British Open’ golf tournament to be held at St Andrews Scotland. The home of golf. The ship would stay in port in Edinburgh overnight and Steve would escort guests to the penultimate and final rounds of the tournament.

With a little clever liaising with the entertainment department at Celebrity and a successful tender from Steve, it was arranged that we would travel together on the cruise, me as guest entertainer and Steve as the resident onboard Golf consultant. These were exciting and nerve wrecking times… Steve’s tender had included plans for onboard golf tuition, a VIP deluxe package that would take 26 passengers ashore to play golf at three of the UK and Ireland’s top links courses, a children’s golf workshop, putting and chipping clinics and at the suggestion of Celebrity, Steve had been asked to deliver a ‘Beyond the Podium’ guest lecture in the Celebrity theatre. He was fortunate enough to play in the ’British Open’ in 2007 at Carnoustie, Scotland and has many tales to tell about his appearance there and indeed his quest to qualify for the tournament since he was a youngster. As this was indeed the tournament that in a large part, the passengers had booked the cruise to see, this was an added bonus for them. A pro who played ‘The Open’… a pro who LOVED cruise ships… and a pro who can eat a lot!! All pre requisites for a successful cruise. All in all, the project was incredibly exciting. Steve was incredibly excited. It was ME who was nervous. How was I going to spend a full TWELVE DAYS with him in a stateroom on the ship??? Hahahah 

Arriving in Amsterdam on July 14th a night before the cruise gave Steve and I a little opportunity to explore the city. Our hotel was near Schipol airport and after changing platforms several times, buying what we THOUGHT was a return ticket to the city centre and asking several lovely dutch folks for help, we eventually pulled into Amsterdam Centrale a grandiose building adjacent to the sea in the heart of the city and took a little time to explore before a scheduled planning meeting for the cruise. Amsterdam is a diverse and widely cultural city unlike  anywhere else I have visited in Europe. I have been fortunate enough to visit the city many times over the years and though this was Steve’s first visit, we will undoubtedly be back. Top tip for exploring the streets of Amsterdam: keep your wits about you at all times. I’m not alluding to any potential crime which inevitably with any major city you need to be aware of, I am referring to the cornucopia of cyclists emanating from every direction at great speed. They really do have the right of way here. If you don’t look in every direction at every turn you WILL end up as a tangled mess of metal and clogs on the pavement. 

As soon as we arrived onboard Steve was put to work. Shore excursions presentations, meetings and TV appearances on the daily cruise director show meant that for the first time on a cruise ship I was Steve Parry’s wife and he was not Jayne Curry’s husband. I liked it. I took great pleasure in teasing him about his new found fame. He made so many appearances on the TV and around the ship at presentations, meet and greets etc that I started calling him Steve Kardashian. He was so good at it though. He's a naturally likeable amiable person and he took to the project like a duck to water. 

The first port of call saw the first trip ashore for our VIP deluxe guests to ‘Royal Cinque Ports’ a true links style golf course with a challenging terrain to say the least. The passengers, from Australia, the United States and Switzerland, had never played true British links golf before and the course presented quite a challenge for many. Regardless of the long grasses and the undulating greens, everybody came off the course with a beaming smile on their face. They all knew they had experienced something they never had before and may never do again. Founded in 1892, the course is widely regarded as one of the best in England. The reception from the staff had been warm and welcoming, and above all new friendships were being formed. In Belfast they would play the famous ‘Holywood’ golf course.. home course  of world number one golfer Rory Mc Ilroy. The passengers were able to have their photographs taken with his trophies that he kindly leaves displayed at the club. They could take the a souvenir score card home with his signature on it… even Rory’s dad was there. Again, once in a lifetime signature experiences. And at Cork City Golf club, the weather and scenery were sublime and another memorable day had by all. Over the three days of golf, the participants had been invited to play against each other in a golfing tournament. This is one of the many details that sets this golfing package apart from others available on the cruising market. They also had the chance to ‘beat the pro’ on one of the par three holes on the course..this certainly provided for some interesting banter and goading between Steve and the guests.. I know I’m biased, he’s my husband, but Steve is not only one of the highest qualified coaches in the United Kingdom with an excellent playing resume to back it up… but he is still actively competing as a golf professional at events both nationally and internationally. He walks the walk.. as well as talking the talk. I might be being unduly kind to him at this point.. but I was adamant that this time HE was paying the bar bill! 

To see some of the passengers (and Steve) out on the courses and enjoying the signature golf package click on the link below. 

https://youtu.be/Hx3iCIEvbbM

Of course the highlight for many passengers on the cruise (well over 500 would attend) was the ships stop in Queensferry for Edinburgh and indeed the excursions to the British Open tournament. 

As a Brit I can confirm that summertime is predicted to last for about an hour and a half on June 27th at 1pm each year…. in all seriousness, you CANNOT predict the weather in the United Kingdom at any time of the year and I had advised friends of ours who were travelling from the States to join us on this trip, to pack for every eventuality. Mother nature reared her ugly head on the first day we arrived in Edinburgh and the winds were too high for the ship to conduct a safe tender operation ashore. Twenty five mile per hour winds are the limit to which a lifeboat can be lowered to the sea to ferry passengers ashore and at forty five mph that day.. though the captain tried several times unsuccessfully, he had to abandon the days excursions ashore. Although very disappointing, it was made more bearable for many by the fact that barely any golf took place at St Andrews that day either as the adverse weather was blowing the golf balls about on the greens and play had been suspended. With a great deal of negotiations with head office in Miami, the shore excursion land operators and The R&A (organisation that operates the British Open tournament) the captain was able to make the decision to extend the stay in Edinburgh to the Monday as ‘The Open' tournament would continue their play till then for only the second  time in its history. And were were not about to miss it! Hoorah for the Captain!

However, as the ships tenders could not be lowered to take the guests ashore, neither could they be lowered to bring onboard the local Scottish folkloric act that was scheduled to appear in the theatre that evening.. At about 3pm I got a phone call from Harvey the Stage and Production Manager 

“Hi Jayne.. I’m guessing you’ll know what this call is about?”

“I have a fair Idea” I replied. “you need to bring my show forward to tonight don’t you?” 

“Is that possible?” Harvey asked. 

“yeah yeah no worries.” I answered. “See you in rehearsals at 4”

Steve and I had been up since before 6am as we had been expecting to take the passengers ashore for the Golf. When it became apparent this might not happen I had headed back to bed for an hour but I usually don’t get up quite so early when I know I have a show that evening. I carb-loaded in the Oceanview Cafe (well that was my excuse!) and soldiered off to work and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. For those of you who Have seen my shows you will know I refer to Steve frequently in the content as it often provides for amusing and interesting anecdotes.. a cruise ship singer and a professional Golfer literally like ships passing in the night. But this time when I told the audience I was Steve’s wife there was a communal “aaahhhhhh” as if 1400 pennies had dropped, followed spontaneously by a round of applause. So no pressure then.. Steve’s already a hero onboard.. I had a lot to prove!

Eventually we made the final day of the golf tournament and though the weather was challenging at times, no amount of meteorological adversity was going to keep any of us away from the golf. The atmosphere was amazing. And the proximity to which you could watch some of the top golfers in the world do what they do best was truly awesome. There were big screens dotted around the course so you could keep up with the action elsewhere and the centre of St Andrews which was just a stones throw away provided a welcome rest bite for me to sneak off and have some proper British Fish and Chips. Nothing like it.

 On the coach ride back to the port, a wind swept but jolly group shared their experiences with each other, what they’d seen… who had said hello, where they’d watched someone hole an awesome putt from 40 feet.. the sense that we had all been part of some thing very special emanated from these conversations like a visible buzz in the air. 

Over the course of two subsequent evenings, Steve, the team from the Miami office, (Rebecca and JP) and many of the friendly officers hosted an evening of cocktails for the guests that had been to ‘The Open’ with Steve on the excursions. For the guests who had booked to play the golf courses and enter into the competition there was a dinner hosted in the fantastic ‘Tuscan Grille’ restaurant. The ships food and beverage team went all out to provide two spectacular evenings for the guests, making a cake that took the form of a golf hole and an ice sculpture carved to look like the Claret Jug no less, the infamous trophy the lucky winner of ‘The Open’ takes possession of for a year after their illustrious win. Photo opportunities for all, a little speech from Steve and even a musical contribution from myself ensured that everyone had opportunities to chat to Steve about his golf, drink copious amounts of free cocktails and for the golfing guests, enjoy a superb dinner in excellent company before a prize presentation for the tournament winners. 

The ports of call on this British Isles cruise warrant a mention of their own. In particular, one of my favourite parts of the UK is a place I only myself discovered last summer. Guernsey is an Island in the English Channel which is closer in proximity to the coast of France but is a part of the UK and was occupied by the Germans during the second World War. As a result there in an incredibly eclectic European feel about the place. War memorials sit alongside beautiful French Bistro’s and English Tea rooms. The town of St Peter Port is a beautiful little idyl nestled neatly into the side of the hill. Rising above the beautifully rugged coastline of cliffs lined with acres of beautiful fields, we watched the scenery slowly illuminate with the glow of early morning as the ship made its way into the bay. We spent our day in the restaurant which is a firm favourite of mine on the harbour. ‘Mora’ is a European inspired restaurant with  flair for fresh seafood and as I have mentioned in previous blogs, one of the best seafood linguini’s I have ever tasted. But today for once I was able to share one of these favourite places with Steve.. one of the places I so often frequent alone.  Better still our friends from the US who had booked the trip to travel with us could come too. ‘American Mom and Dad’ as they have been affectionately named after virtually adopting us with their kindness every time we travel stateside, could now share in the fabulous seafood platter, and delicious wine and breads and lovely service and of course the seafood linguini. It was a hit. A great day was had by all and to top off the finale of a spectacular trip, the British summer time even made a brief appearance. Great times. 

Since the inaugural ‘Signature British Open Cruise’ I am flushed with pride to announce that the shore excursion to ‘The Open’ has won a ‘Magellan Travel Award’. Huge congratulations to everyone involved, both on the ship and the team in Miami.

 Furthermore, the project was so successful and sold out in such a short space of time last year that in 2016 the package has been expanded to incorporate more guests so this amazing experience can be shared by more people. Steve has recruited two more golf professionals to travel with him on the cruise, and this year Celebrity are proud to announce that they have secured tee times for the guests to play at ‘Royal Liverpool’ a fantastic course which hosts ‘The Open’ tournament on a regular basis. (and a favourite of Steve’s)

I don’t know about you… but i’m excited already!! 

For more information or to book your place on the 2016 ‘Signature sailing British Open’ cruise with Steve and I, click on the links below:

To book the cruise…..

http://www.celebritycruises.com/cruises/cruise-package-SI12U155?packageid=SI12U155&dest=EUROP&shipCode=SI&shipName=Celebrity%20Silhouette&sailDate=1160713&cabincls=BALCONY&promoType=80

British Open Shore Excursions:

1. 2016 British Open Championship at Royal Troon: http://www.celebritycruises.com/plan-a-cruise/shore-excursions/productDetails?productCode=GE65&productId=100000002973308199
http://www.celebritycruises.com/plan-a-cruise/shore-excursions/productDetails?productCode=J704&productId=100000002917067030

2. 2016 British Open Golf Aficionado Experience: http://www.celebritycruises.com/plan-a-cruise/shore-excursions/productDetails?productCode=J702&productId=100000002916527921

3. 2016 British Open and Tee Time Packages: http://www.celebritycruises.com/plan-a-cruise/shore-excursions/productDetails?cid=sm_int_tw_clbrty_1501_sxeu_twt_all_3298&productCode=GE66&productId=100000002973308463

...Just another one of those days...

As I begin this ditty I am ascending above the city of Manchester on my incredibly delayed flight to Lisbon Portugal to join the fabulous Celebrity Silhouette. The Flight was due in to Lisbon at 2pm latest and now at 3.15pm I have just left Manchester. This would not ordinarily be an enormous issue. However, I am scheduled to perform my shows tonight at 7pm and 9pm, I will not have time for a rehearsal even if I DO make the ship and to be quite honest I am a little pre occupied looking out of the aircraft window looking for passing pigs at altitude as to be honest, its much more likely I’ll see those than the Silhouette Theatre today.

Best case scenario the pilot makes up a little time, the captain agrees to hold the ship a little, my luggage is first off the belt, theres no queue for a taxi and rush hour in Lisbon has ceased to exist as theres some unexpected national holiday in Portugal today called the “everybody has to stay indoors and off the roads” holiday “with the exception of airport taxis” I however, am ever the optimist. Stranger things have happened at sea. 

The alternative to the above outcome is that i do indeed miss the ship and try to catch it up in its next port of call in Cadiz tomorrow. Again, not necessarily a problem but that there are no flights that can get me from Lisbon to Cadiz in time to meet the ship tomorrow so i am left with one of two options.

1. Attempt to get a flight to another nearby airport, for example, Gibraltar or Malaga (last minute flights are v expensive) and then embark on an epic taxi ride to Cadiz tomorrow,
2. The more likely scenario… hire a rental car in Lisbon, drive 6 hours through the night in a country I have never driven in before, on the wrong side of the road, in an economy car that resembles a whistle and try to get to Cadiz without killing myself or any other innocent bystanders en route. This of course being a Jayne Curry travel blog, doubtless chaos of some form or other is about to ensue  whilst I loll idly and helpless at 35,000ft, waiting for the universe (or more accurately the baggage handlers in Lisbon) to decide my fate…...

On arrival in Lisbon I turned on my data roaming to find an email from the cruise director telling me that worst case scenario they would move my shows to 8.30pm and 10.30pm as me not making the ship was not an option really… there were no other guest entertainers onboard at present that could do a show in my place. So no pressure then, I had to make it. And the travel gods were well and truly on my side as I darted through passport control and lo and behold my bags were indeed the first off the belt. Buoyed by my fortitude I ran bounding into the arrivals hall, luggage piled high on the cart (I’m away for 13 days and doing four separate contracts in this time) and headed straight for the door. Apart from the wonky trolley that insisted that left was the only direction in which is was prepared to travel, I was hopeful of my chances of making the ship as my exit had been so expedient…until of course I saw the queue for the taxi rank. To exacerbate things further, the annoying guy from my flight who had asked me 100 questions during our delay at the airport whilst I was trying to write a letter to my Grandad was the last person in line for a taxi and at the risk of having to share a car with him… (he knew all but my inside leg measurement at this point.. what more could I tell him ???…plus he had a very untrustworthy hair style) I contemplated allowing the dodgy cart to take charge of the situation and take an anti clockwise tour around the pavement till someone interceded. However, time was of the essence so I had to just suck it up and in an attempt to abate him, I buried my head in my iPhone. 

The line was progressing at a snails pace but eventually, after about 20 minutes I could ill afford and several fake phone calls to avoid chatting to ‘weird hair’ I made the front of the queue.

A placid looking, older lady with a tight curly perm got out of the car. She looked in her early 50’s and had a warm face and spoke great English. I offered to help her load my bags into the back of the taxi but she shook her head and with ease, tossed them in like she was a seasoned weigh lifter. I told her the address of the port (there are three in Lisbon) before explaining to her that I had very VERY little time to catch the ship before it left and that I was very stressed. I called my friend onboard, the guest relations manager Jon and told him I was doing everything I could to get there. he told me to call him when I was 5 minutes away and that he would meet me in the terminal building. I settled into my seat, clunk clicked the seat belt and waited patently for our taxi to be let out into the pending flow of traffic. 

Well, if I had got into a formula one car, I couldn’t feasibly have been travelling any faster or have a driver with better manoeuvrability and speed. there was NOTHING my curly haired saviour wouldn’t attempt in order to get me to my destination on time. She took bus lanes, ran red lights, under took, over took.. the sheer G force of the journey rendered my seatbelt obsolete. I was pinned to the chair. Even more impressively, when she hit a small lane or two of crawling traffic she continued to edge her way aggressively making progress whilst simultaneously writing me a receipt for the trip. I thought for a minute she might be the ghost of Christmas past or something, arriving in my life and taking me for a flashback tour through my own history. It was surreal.

I have made the 20 minute journey from Lisbon airport to ‘Jardim Do Tobacco’ port many times over the years… but never in less than 10 minutes in rush hour. 

The taxi screeched to a halt and my body building Mrs Doubtfire offloaded my bags with aplomb as two members of staff, Jon the guest relations manager and Dee the production manager ushered them inside. I ran around to the drivers window of the cab and pushed a tip through the window. 

“You are without a shadow of a doubt the best taxi driver in all of Europe” I proffered.

She smiled at me.. winked, and sped off to the exit of the car park leaving a trail of dust and mania in her wake. 

“Hurry Jayne” shouted Dee. “you’re on at 7pm.”

“What????!!!!” I replied, startled and unconvinced by her statement. The cruise director had told me after all, that he had moved the show times.

“I thought I was on at 8.30pm now?” 

“No No.” she answered, “When you told Damien you were happy enough to do the show without a rehearsal he decided to leave the showtimes as they were so as not to confuse the guests unnecessarily”

“But the poor drummer…” I offered. “He has never played the show before! He has never even seen the music!”

I started to panic a bit. 

“will he be ok??” I asked.

“The bass player had recorded your show on your last trip here They have been rehearsing with him in the dressing room to the playback of the show. I think he’ll be fine. He’s a good sight-reader’

Temporarily appeased I asked “well what time is it now?”

“Six forty Five.” Dee said. “you’re on stage in 15 minutes”

I felt the colour drain from my own face and after the initial shock of the situation I thought to myself that I could look at the situation one of two ways.

I could either allow the rising sensation of panic to absorb me and therefore it would be highly unlikely that I would be able to use what little time I had to prepare in an affective way at all …or….

I could apologise to Dee in advance as we dragged the suitcases at speed through the halls of the ship…for the calamitous mess I was about to make of her backstage area and promise to rectify it between shows.

In fifteen minutes I dug out my stagewear, piled a layer of makeup on top of what I was already wearing, applied a set of fake eye lashes, got changed,  back combed the roots of my hair and applied almost an entire can of hairspray to it and covered myself in talcum powder to attempt to help with the profuse sweating which had now begun to occur as a combined result of sprinting with luggage and the impending realisation of what was about to happen. 

At 6.58pm I hurtled into the wings of the theatre to be greeted by the cruise director and Dee. We took one look at each other and burst into a fit of laughter. The whole situation was a little ridiculous, a lot stressful but certainly funny and at 7pm on the nose I was introduced on stage and I performed my first of the two shows I was scheduled for that evening.

Needless to say when I eventually hit the hay somewhat later that night my body was well and truly telling me that it was less than happy with how I had treated it that day. I ached everywhere.. it was an effort to even roll over in bed so I just closed my eyes and allowed myself to descend into the long awaited slumber that would hopefully heal me of the woes of the day.

I was only scheduled to spend two nights on the Silhouette before disembarking in Gibraltar and making my way to Malaga to join the Eclipse the same day. For those of you that have never been to Gibraltar, Spanish Law prohibits taxi’s from Gibraltar crossing the border into Spain so today consisted of disembarking the ship, taking a taxi to the border, dragging my luggage through customs at the border and finding another taxi to take me from the border to Malaga, some 90 minute drive away. The driver spoke very little English but was a personable friendly chap and we bonded over our mutual love for music. I managed to ascertain that he had a playlist of over 1000 songs in his car and that we shared a lot of the same tastes. As each track ended and another one started he looked at me through his rear view mirror for my approval. After twenty minutes I was shuffling along in the seat to Donna Summer, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Abba, Hall and Oates, Irene Cara… it was epic. It set me up for the day, put me in an awesome mood and though I shouldn’t think I’d ever need it in my line of work, it just went to prove that music really and truly is an international language (and that I really should try and learn more Spanish…) Mind you…two thumbs up seems to work for me wherever I go!

Calamity Jayne

Sometimes theres nothing better than a good cry. And sometimes there are instances when you know you shouldn’t really cry and you can’t really help yourself. If you’re me that is… that happens… sometimes. 

Today was one of those times. After a 4.50am alarm call to be on the quay side in Palma, Mallorca for a taxi transfer to the airport I was bleary eyed and more than a little frazzled at the travel week that had already befallen me.

Monday saw me leave home at 5.30am to travel from Manchester to Frankfurt where i was supposed to make a 45 minute connection time to my onward flight to Nice to meet the ship later that day. However a 40 minute weather delay ensured no possibility of that so I set about the process of sorting out the knock-on effect of this on the rest of my journey. I then settled in to a tasty Asian lunch in the airport, albeit one I would need to remortgage to buy. 

“No point in stressing about things you can’t change” I thought to myself. So after lunch I ambled around the airport browsing, waiting for my three hour window between flights to disperse and found myself peering in the Freezer in the cafe.  I might spoil myself for being such a good and patient girl with a chilly treat, I thought.

“ooo that red one looks nice” I said to myself as I reached in to flip the iced treasure over to read the label

“Bum Bum”

The name of the ice cream. 

I put it back. 

I headed to my gate, pretty tired and weary now after travelling for a good eight hours already and still being only fractionally closer to my final destination.

I had now been rebooked on a later flight. Yes, i would subsequently not make it to to Nice on time to join the ship today and yes this would in turn, mean finding a hotel and another ‘crack of dawn’ flight to try and catch the ship up the next day in Corsica. Bum Bum.

Tuesday therefore saw me up again at 5.30am after a stay in an odd hotel selected firstly for its proximity to the airport rather than its facilities and also as a result of my distain for early mornings.It would buy me an extra hour in bed. The city of Nice is an incredibly beautiful place and indeed one of my favourite ports ever to spend an overnight stay. The streets bustle with life and the restaurants and outdoor entertainers breed an air of ‘je ne sais quoi’ that oozes effortlessly from everything ‘French Riviera’. I LOVE it. But today I loved my bed more.

This hotel was not in the city. It was at the airport. It had no restaurant (its my own fault, i booked it) but it DID have a microwave so one late night mad dash to the petrol station later i was safely ensconced in my rather rigid bed, eating a frozen Lasagne for one and watching catch up TV online. 

I eventually arrived at the ship around noon on Tuesday, very tired but still in good spirits. I was determined to spend the subsequent few days catching up on sleep and resuming my errant exercise regime. No wine for me this week. Early nights and healthy eating was the plan. My body needed a break. I had in fact only arrived home from my previous trips on Saturday evening. Only 36 hours at home to turn everything around, see my loved ones and then head out again can also at times prove stressful.

Skip to today and again I am up at 4.50am as aforementioned and ready for my flights to pick up the beautiful Celebrity Constellation in Messina, Italy tomorrow.

My maiden name is my stage name. Jayne Curry, as you know.

I worked as a professional entertainer, accruing a reputation (I hope.. )for six years before I met Steve and so it made little sense to start all over again after wedlock with a new monicker so I kept it.

My married/passport name is Parry. Not much of a change. The first two letters have been substituted for an alternative two and it can and does cause all kinds of trouble. I have frequently, as was the instance yesterday, had to send flight details back to the offices because they were booked in my stage name instead of my passport name .Or arrived at gangways to ships and had to virtually burst into song to convince the security guard I’m not trying to smuggle myself onboard as someone else. On my arrival at the airport this morning I was to discover my booking of my flight to Frankfurt (yes, back to Frankfurt again) had been cancelled due to a similar mishap. This started to reveal itself as that little bubble of internal potential stress that you know can develop in to a full on melt down if you don’t control it. So I did. The lady at the Air Berlin desk was so impressed at my passive approach to my situation, even after a 20 minute phone call to the USA out of hours travel line to rectify the situation, that she made sure I had a lovely aisle seat with no one sat next to me on row 3. Its the simple things.

I asked the helpful lady on the phone in the states to copy me in on any correspondence relating to her having to rebook my seat just so as to avert any discrepancies when attempting to explain myself to my agent in the UK once the hour was reasonable enough for me to call them. Believe me I’m hugely fortunate. They will and have indeed answered the phone to me 24 hours a day 7 days a week wherever in the world I find myself stuck, but if I can avoid getting them up at 6am I will. This was something I could sort on my own.

On reviewing the subsequent email, (whilst the flight had now indeed been booked in the correct name), the author of the email had called me something entirely different throughout the content of it.

I have in the past been called Janet Clark, June Kerr, Jayne PURRY even. But Jayne Payne?? That was a new one. Was she trying to tell me something?

I made a total school girl error when selecting the queue for bag drop after seemingly sorting out my earlier woes at the airline desk.

A trainee on check in.. being supervised on what was undoubtley his first day on the job. Not his fault obviously and I was rapidly becoming a veritable ninja at this whole ‘patience is a virtue’ thing, clearly.

I don’t mind queuing. Brits are awesome at it. In fact I think they made a huge error when hosting the 2012 London Olympics in not choosing “Championship Queuing” as the host nations elected choice of sport to integrate into the games. We would have won gold across the board for sure.

The queue was not the issue here. My ultimate mistake was choosing someone I should have KNOWN would weigh my hand luggage. He was being trained to. And thats when the wheels came off. And when I lost it.

If you have read my previous blog you will know that I lost my luggage last month and much to my dismay it became apparent on my return to the UK( and after first scouring my house from top to bottom to eliminate any mistake on my part,) that during its solo adventure throughout Western Europe, my case had indeed been tampered with and my small travel jewellery box stolen. I was beside myself with anger at my stupidity after my less than enthusiastic travel insurance provider informed me that I was not covered for the theft as jewellery was classed as a valuable and should have been kept in my carry on case. I was quick to point out to the customer service advisor that the jewellery was of sentimental value and had a net worth of less than one of my Manolo Blahniks, also in my luggage (they are shoes guys, just in case!) and should I therefore then include every item of footwear in my carry on also?? 

“No Mrs Parry. Your shoes are not classed as valuables even if they are Manuel Blewiks”  

So by trying to learn from my own mistakes, I now ended up with hand luggage containing everything valuable, 10kg of sheet music, a stage dress and a spare outfit. Just incase my suitcase decided to sightsee Germany too.

After ten minutes of fruitless protestations, I was shoving half of my carry on into my luggage and paying excess for the privilege. This usually does not bother me. Its part and parcel of being an indecisive packer. But after the week I’d had some thing was about to give. It was like when you need to let the steam out of the back of the radiator. Tears began pouring down my face, 

The horrified trainee sat there in abject terror as i thrust my credit card in his direction, knowing full well if I’d tried to utter one syllable, volume control would no longer be an option and i would likely assimilate a sea lion in the final throws of childbirth. I’m not a pretty crier.

I sat on flight number one to Frankfurt, feeling down right sorry for myself. And I know I have no right. In the grand scheme of things I have no worries at all. This is the part of the job we get paid for and the law of averages alone would denote the simple equation that more travelling equals more chance of Calamity for Jayne. (she spells it wrong not me!) Before you know it, my Season One re-run of ‘Ally Mc Beal’ the box set was coming to an end and as the final scenes played out, the lead character sits at her desk contemplating the year gone by. Poised there pensively, her own voice over  can be heard philosophising in the background:

“If you look back on the last year of your life, and it doesn’t bring you to either tears of joy or sadness, then it has been a year wasted”

I was off again, blubbing like a toddler. Out of the corner of my watery eye I could see the napkin on the floor that had housed my complimentary pretzel moments earlier and reached down to grab it and blow my runny nose. It was at this point I realised the tissue didn’t belong to me at all but to the snotty nosed fidgeting Chinese boy sat in the seat in front. Bum Bum.

After a steadying chat with my agents at home whilst I waited for this connection in Frankfurt, I got to thinking about the tumultuous few days I’ve had and how its taking its toll on my hair tone.Six-weekly root cover ups will no longer do. I’m Fifty shades of going grey and I swear this job is the main contributor.

I decided to do what I always do in these situations. Try to think positive. What are some of the good things to come out of this week?

1. I’m going to get to meet up with my awesome friends on the Constellation tomorrow. The ship I was on for six weeks in the winter.
2. I have a week off next week… including my birthday at home  (actually scratch that, the impending doom of turning another year older only serves to cause me more angst)
3. …. and then I remembered the sign I saw as I sat in the back of the taxi on Tuesday morning heading back to Nice airport to try and catch up with the ship. An arrow pointing left instructed “Kiss and Fly…. At manchester airport we call it the "drop off bay". Damn those French are good! I wonder if Steve will “Kiss and Collect” on Monday?

I smiled to myself and boarded my now delayed (surprise surprise) second flight.

Babies cry. thats what they do. And now I find myself eventually sat in my aisle seat in row three whilst a tiny baby in row one screams its lid off…. and so do its parents…..at each other. I can sympathise with the baby. I’ve had a rubbish day too. But I don’t understand German, at all. 

Nationally we should adopt the slogan 

“Great Britain… fabulous at queuing, atrocious at languages”

From what I can deduce, the baby daddy has been screaming “Ein, zwei, drei” at his wife for the last ten minutes. Maybe thats how many seconds are left until he starts crying too. 

I might try it 

ein zwei drei 

ein zwei drei...

Bilbao? - Bil-WOW! (Did I really just say that?)

Its not often I turn down a cruise… to be honest I am singularly the worlds worst person at saying no. I set my stall out at the beginning of every working year.

“Thats it I’m working two weeks on two weeks off all year” and then my agent says.. “what about this its only 2 days “  or “we shouldn’t really be burning any bridges” 

Then I think about how hard I have had to work to get myself into this position and how incredibly privileged I am to be doing it at all and inevitably I relent. 

But this time I had said no. And i was really upset about it.

I was asked to perform on the inaugural voyage of a brand new state of the art cruise ship. All of the head office would be there… anyone who’s anyone. I was to my knowledge the only female in the inaugural cruise guest entertainer line up and I had said no. Why? Well I had been away for 45 days prior to this and initially the offer for the job had coincided with 3 days during which steve was away from home anyway so I had accepted. But when the dates were changed to later that week and the realisation of yet more time away from Steve rose steeply in my mind, I made the decision to turn the offer down. As much as I knew it was a great opportunity for my career, it was not a great opportunity for my marriage. Any relationship is tough under the best of circumstances and it has taken Steve and I years to try and work out the formula for relative success. We can cope with being apart but for how long was reasonable? At what point do you have to put your life before your job?

The situation arose whilst I was still away across the atlantic on the beautiful Celebrity Constellation.

I spoke to steve

"You don’t seem yourself." He said. “Is there something wrong?”

“I turned down the inaugural voyage today” I moaned. “They changed the dates and I absolutely cannot bear for us to spend anymore time apart after what we have just done throughout this winter”

“I agree” He added. “What are the new dates?”

I told him.

“If I can move some things around and get some help with my teaching commitments why don’t I come with you? Jayne this is a really big opportunity for you. We said we were going to take a mini break together in April and whilst I know this isn’t a holiday for you its quality time together isn’t it?” 

“You would do that for me?” I asked “Seriously? At this time of year?”

“Yes Jayne. I will sacrifice a weekend of standing on a freezing cold driving range to come on a state of the art brand new cruise ship with you in Spain. It will be tough, but I will do that for you"

I smiled. How had he managed to make me feel like he was doing me a favour? His cheeky, seraphic smile emerged across his freckled face. That inimitable guise that meant no one could reasonably ever be mad at him.I reneged on my frustration at once again being conned by the ginger ninja and I allowed myself to become excited about the prospect of our trip together. This would be an adventure.

Before joining the Ship in Spain we would need to overnight there as no flights would get us into the port on time to catch the ship on the day of embarkation. So we headed out a day early to Bilbao. I had been here before as a port of call some years previous. It has a Guggenheim museum that I had made the mistake of going to with some other crew members who did not in anyway have an appreciation for modern art. It was one of the reasons I was so eager to go to MoMA when I was in New York (see previous blog) as my trip to the Guggenheim had been cut short by my party moaning they wanted to leave and that it was ‘boring’.

Other than that I had very little experience of Bilbao and to be honest pretty low expectations.

We were fortunate enough to be staying in a hotel right in the centre of the city.  Silken Indautxu Hotel on the Plaza Bombero was a good hotel with friendly and helpful staff but most importantly was walking distance from what appeared to be the Centre of the bar and restaurant district. After a broken conversation with the taxi driver and some advice from reception of the hotel we decided to quickly change and head out down the hill and just see what happened.

Steve is jammier than a jar of preserve at the best of times but for some unbeknownst reason to me when we travel together he always seems to have the super cool experiences in ports that I don’t when I’m on my own. More often than not my futile attempts to find something to do on these hotel overnights result in me eating a kebab in my hotel room watching re runs yet steve always seems to land on his feet in this respect.

Bilbao was no exception. It was unlike any other Spanish town I had stayed overnight in before. Most of the others were predominantly tourist resorts and usually I had been there in the mid week but this was Saturday night and all the locals were out in force. And by all, I mean just that. Families, couples, groups of older people in their smartest attire, students in huddles hanging out in the streets or sitting cross-legged on the pavement sharing giant bags of snacks. This really was a universal experience and we were pleasantly surprised. Though neither Steve nor I have any Spanish to speak of we could recognise things from the menu and ended up with two large beers and an enormous plate of Iberico Ham and Manchego cheese, a slice of Tortilla Espanol (a Potato Spanish Omelette)  with as much crusty bread as we could eat for less than €20. 

Steve waited outside the first bar at an upturned barrel posing as a table for me to bring out the goodies. As I presented him with the food he said

“We’ll never eat all that!!!” as he dropped the first curling winding slice of ham into his mouth. His eyes widened as he chewed, “mmmmm-ed” and swallowed..

…”Maybe we will” he laughed.

The street we had stumbled on was a pedestrianised side street and adults stood and conversed loudly and enthusiastically whilst their children sat happily in prams or played with other children in their midst. There was no music.. none at all just the increasing buzz of people collecting each others stories and sharing the news of the week. 

After a really good go at finishing our tapas we moved on, peering in the windows of the bars we passed.

“Come on…” said Steve “this is only the first street. We should go and see what else is going on”

As we rounded the corner it became apparent that the street we had previously visited was but a warm up for what lay ahead of us. The evening was balmy and pleasant and as the sun gave up over the horizon people were teaming in the streets with glasses of wine and small plates of food. 

“We are going to eat and drink our way around this town tonight Jayne” steve protested.

“I concur” I said and we smiled and headed in to the thick of the crowd. 

The first bar we entered was called “Cork”. The bottles of wine were all displayed on the shelves with their prices written on the side in white pen. There was a notice board with drinks suggestions but I think the general gist was just to point at what you wanted. I liked the concept as it was incredibly helpful considering my lack of the local lingo.

I attempted to order and the bar tender immediately realised we were English.

“May I make a suggestion?” he said. “try something local. These wines are only produced in a region very close to here and you will usually only find them in Bilbao. One of the vineyards is very close to the town” 

He handed me a botte and I looked at it, pretending to know what I was talking about and nodded in agreement. I like my wines as many of you who have travelled with me will attest and I thoroughly love to learn more about what I do and don’t enjoy. This however was a compete shot in the dark for me. I wasn’t too worried though. At €1.60 a glass it wasn’t going to break the bank if I didn’t enjoy it. Steve chose a red and I a white and we were more than pleasantly surprised. We shared the glasses and bravely attempted an octopus skewer seemingly soaked in olive oil. It didn’t offend me and I didn’t love it… but I’d tried it. So we moved on.

As we followed the street we observed the locals. They were pretty much all drinking wine. All in the exact same style glasses regardless of the place so each bar we went to we asked for one white and one red and repeated the routine. We were lucky enough to find ourselves in a bar called Zintzoa on the corner of Calle Licenciado Posa (this main street we were traversing) in which we had a slice of the best Spanish omelette we had ever tasted. I could see the cogs turning in Steve’s mind. The conversation quickly progressed from “I wonder how he made this, we must try when we get home” to “I think we should open a tapas bar near us called Little Bilbao” I nodded placatingly.

We were thoroughly enjoying our night and a 90 degree left turn onto another side street found us in a region of bars which seemed to sell more seafood. This made us happy as a lot of the tapas so far that night had involved some kind of bread too yummy to refuse and we felt ourselves starting to expand internally. A plateful of small shrimp and a wet wipe later we were again on our way. I realised at this point why it was that Steve was having so much fun. It wasn’t so much the great food and wine, the incredibly reasonable price of the night out (we spent less than €50 between us all night) or even my sterling and witty company. It was the fact that we were moving on every ten mins and Steve didn’t have a chance to get bored.

Even though we were quite probably the only non local people in the area that night and our  attempts at speaking Spanish were ridiculous at best, we were welcomed most warmly everywhere we went and felt like we’d discovered some kind of secret food and wine haven that no one had heard about.

Though we were unsure whether or not we had got lucky with the fact it was a Saturday or it could maybe even have been a public holiday, Steve and I promised we would most definitely return to Bilbao for a more extended visit. There was a lot more we wanted to see and do… I doubt I’ll get him to the Guggenheim though.

As we were packing at home to come away on this trip Steve announced he was only taking hand luggage. I scowled. Steve regularly leaves it to the last minute to pack and rarely a trip goes by where we don’t spend hours running around shopping for the things he has forgotten.

“I’m not packing any trainers (sneakers) I’m going to buy some new ones whilst I’m away” he announced. "I need a new pair anyway"

“Theres no sports store in Terminal 3 at Manchester airport that I know of and I’ve never been to Terminal 1 at Heathrow.”

“Don’t worry it’ll be fine” He said. I just ignored him and carried on packing. My experience denotes the inevitable outcome and stressing about it makes no odds.

There was no sports store at Terminal 3 in Manchester

There was no sports store at Terminal 1 at Heathrow. 

On arrival in Bilbao I offered him a shopping trip and he said no we’ll leave it till tomorrow .

‘Tomorrow’ was Sunday and everything was closed.

So every morning on the ship Steve went to the buffet in his shorts and dress shoes.

I stayed in bed ;-)

 some of the local wines we tried at "Cork"

      

This is the main street where everything seems to happen on a Saturday.

 People just hanging out in the streets. No trouble, no animosity, every section of society just having a drink and a chat. I wish we had some of this "tapas bar" culture in the UK

 after a few drinks I couldn't really feel my face. This was a shredded ham and cheese kind of mix on a baguette. Yummy. I'm wearing more than I'm eating!!!

Chapter Two (back to the USA) Don't think just do it!!!!

In the United Kingdom we do not discern the concept of 'Spring Break’ other than to witness its representation in American movies. Yes, at a similar time of year those involved in academia at every level take some sort of vacation of sorts for a week or two and in that time they might take a holiday. But the apparent consensus that is evident in the USA that spring break equals universal fun fuelled abject chaos for those in their late teen/early twenties is something that I have experienced first hand for the first time this year. Because the ship I was performing on was based out of Florida and therefore one of if not the warmest place in the USA at that time of year, hundreds possibly thousands of people from all over the country flock there to vacation in some form or other during this period that spans a month or so depending on your schools schedule. The first week of March 900 of them joined us on the Celebrity Constellation for a five day voyage which consisted in the most part of lots of drinks with lots of alcohol not so many clothes with not so much material. I felt old, ugly and terminally uncool. 

I was scheduled to be virtually resident on the Celebrity Constellation for the best part of 45 days. However, as I am not classed as a crew member and haven’t therefore acquired the relevant medicals or safety training I have to disembark the ship every 10 days or so as if you are onboard in my capacity for longer than 21 days you must therefore be signed on as such. I knew this before I came to join the vessel. Every 10 days I leave the ship for one four day cruise and then return. What I didn’t know is that the cost of accommodation would sky rocket so extortionately in Florida at this time, due obviously to the fact it was Spring Break that even the most basic of accommodations that I would not usually consider as a woman travelling on my own were to cost me the best part of $800 dollars for the duration of my time there. This came as quite the shock. 

I spoke to steve about it

“ I had no idea that this was the situation when I agreed to this deal… I feel pretty stupid. I should have known”                I lamented. The thought of having to pay for the privilege of having my self esteem surreptitiously shredded at the sight of all those pert bosoms and tiny bottoms made me shudder, literally.

“Can’t you fly home?” he asked 

“Its going to cost me almost a thousand pounds to do that and for all of two free days, one of which you will be working and the other I will be jet lagged. Its not worth it.” I replied.

“Is there no where else you can go? Its not that expensive to get about in the States is it?” He suggested.

That set the cogs turning. Why not take a little trip somewhere? If staying in Florida would cost me so much, to do in essence what I have done every other time I have overnighted there, then why not go and see something else? I think I was partly inspired by the impromptu trip to Philadelphia I had made on my layover en route here (see previous blog) and maybe by the values instilled in me by my parents growing up that getting value for money was as important as the price of something. I don’t mind spending money at all if I think its worth it. But all that money for a 2 star hotel on the outskirts of Fort Lauderdale??? It just didn’t sit right with me.

I spent an hour or two on the internet in Key West in the days running up to the break and after weighing up all my options I called Steve.

“Darling? I’m going to New York”

Just like that.

During the days that followed my excitement grew and as I queued to pass though immigration on the day of disembarkation, every passenger in the terminal had been privy to my tale of my impending adventure as I’d bounced and boasted my way around the ship all cruise long. They all wished me well and off to the airport I went.

Flying with a budget airline that even charged for carry-on I had micro packed a capsule wardrobe into a small backpack taking only the bare essentials and anticipating the need to at least buy a coat on my arrival as I was leaving behind 30 degrees of sunshine and heading north into one of the coldest winters on record in the US. It was the longest two hour flight of my life as I waited eagerly for the decent into La Guardia airport. As the world famous skyline came into view I became profoundly aware in my excitement that although I was indeed doing this alone and impromptu and clearly I’d have longed to have shared this experience with Steve or with a pal, this crazy roller-coaster of a career path I have wended my way around this last 12 years enabling the privilege of this last minute madness. I am going to NNEEWWW YYYOORRKK.

I have been to the big apple before but only for 36 hours and this time I had three nights reserved at the Millennium Hotel Times Square and the intention to spend my time doing exactly the things that no one else would want to do if they were with me in New York. I wasn’t going off shopping and lunching like I would with a girlfriend or to the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building like I would with Steve. I was going to indulge my passion for art, I was going to take my time over what ever it was a chose to do. And I was going to walk. A lot.

Quite co incidentally a good friend and fellow guest entertainer hypnotist Christopher Carress was staying overnight in times square too so I immediately checked into my hotel, and headed out for a quick coffee with him. We bump into each other all over the world. Other than being an amazing entertainer and all round good guy the best thing about getting to see Chris is that he too shares the same wonderment that I do… the feeling that we were both brought up in small working class towns in the North of England by loving and supportive parents but were not inordinately wealthy as kids and therefore we still giggle and pinch ourselves when we bump into each other in an exotic location… so incredibly grateful for these incidents of fate that our chosen careers have provided for us. 

That night I met up with yet another of my guest entertainer friends that I have been fortunate enough to meet on Celebrity Cruises… very funny lady Michele Balan. She travels as much as I do so her being home in Manhattan when I was visiting was a real bonus and she took me to this amazing downstairs cabaret bar on restaurant row called ‘Don’t Tell Mama’

Michele and I had so much to catch up on having not seen each other for a good while and the wine and conversation flowed as easily as the music from the in-house piano entertainer and the chicken wings we'd ordered. We sang along and laughed and joked having a whale of a time. I don’t know if it was the unexpectedly large glasses of Chardonnay, the intoxicating hold that being in New York City had recently impressed upon me or my new found penchant for adventure but before I knew it I was up singing with the piano player. Me. Singing. In NEW YORK!! 

‘What the heck’ I thought to myself. I’ll never see any of these people again. (With the exception of Michele and I’m sure I can take her in a fight if I have to)… I giggled to myself. 

Blasting out my best if somewhat inebriated Whitney, I was so excited at the sheer novelty of the occasion that I just went for it hammer and tongs. What fun. What a great gal Michele is. What a great great day.

The next day I rose early, filled with anticipation and revelry. Today I was going to MoMA. The Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. Somewhere I had always wanted to go after buying a book in their store at JFK one day in transit through the states. The best thing about it? I was going to take as long as I liked. I was not going to look at my watch and if I wanted to sit and look at something for a while… I would. 

I wore out three iPod audio guides during the 6 hours I spent in the museum. I kept having to go back for a new one as I marvelled and pondered, took pictures (the iPods have cameras and they send the shots to your email address!!!) and got as close as I could to the works. Looking at brush strokes and patterns, the materials and textures. What a geek. This was heaven for me. Getting to be ‘off the clock’ literally… where I had no ‘all aboard’ or flight time to make for three days was blissful in itself.

The highlight of the day for me was undoubtedly getting to see ‘Waterlilies” by Claude Monet. Ever since being a young teenager and first becoming aware of art I have loved the French impressionists and in particular this piece. Its huge. Really huge. And I took a minute to sit and marvel at its proportions and its beauty. I called my mum discreetly.

“Mum? I’m at MoMA. And I’m looking at ‘Waterlilies’. Yes the Monet. I was just thinking about Nana and how she would buy me his calendar and notelet sets every year at christmas. What would she think if she could see me here?”

I’m not going to lie, I had a little minute to myself but in the best possible way, emotional but thrilled at this experience afforded to me. After a spectacular but far too large portion of Pork and Fennel pasta in the museum cafe I felt I could honestly say I left the museum satisfied. Not before I bought Steve a ravioli maker from the gift shop. Random I know.

The next day was wet and windy and I opted for the hop on hop off bus from Times Square. After about 45 minutes of straining to see out of dirty windows, missing the skyline completely because the upstairs roof was leaking and we were confined to the lower deck, the icing on the cake was the vegan tour guide who spent more time extolling the virtues of a meat and dairy free diet than telling us anything of worth. So I “hopped off” bought an umbrella and found myself unexpectedly on the end of “Bleeker” which is a street featured quite prominently in the series ‘Sex and the City’ of which virtually every 30 something British female like myself is a fan. I began to realise lots happened about this part of town in the series so I began to explore the side streets and take in the bohemian feel of the Lower West Side. After perusing rather pricey vintage stores and walking for blocks and blocks through Soho and Tribeca I hopped on the subway to the site of the 9/11 memorial and took a minute to reflect on how a city seemingly so sprawling and strong was at times as vulnerable in essence as just little ol' me travelling on my own.

I hailed a cab and with the help of my iPhone map I managed to locate a recommended eatery that a friend had told me I was crazy not to try.

‘Vanessas Dumpling House’ is as inconspicuous as it sounds. It could quite easily be just that if it wasn’t for the clatter of the kitchen and the incessant shouting of order numbers as people tussled for a seat. Its aesthetically bland and primitive to say the least but the oodles of pots of bubbling steaming freshly made dumplings, giant sandwiches of home baked sesame bread and the queue out of the door alerted me to the fact I was about to have a once in a lifetime culinary experience. The menu was SO cheap I thought I would order as many things as took my fancy so I could try as much as I liked.

“Next please” the lady bawled as I untangled myself from my umbrella and took my place in line.

“the mixed dim sum ten selection, the pak choi in oyster sauce and a carton of sweetcorn soup please”

“Is that for two?” she barked, rifling through the box for the plastic cutlery

“erm no… just me” I whispered

She looked up but didn’t reply. Her eyebrows spoke a thousand words. 

I managed to perch myself on the end of a bench by the door but utterly undetered by the constant flow of human traffic in and out I waited patiently for my order number to be called.

All I can say is that there wasn’t much waste. And that my favourite scarf and my chin were now plastered in Soy Sauce. 

Google it. Its a must.

I tried unsuccessfully to walk to see the Brooklyn Bridge (not realising it was well over a mile away) and on arriving at the shoreline realised only then that the spectacle was completely obscured by low cloud. So I walked back. And then continued into Little Italy and beyond before finally having to relent and take the subway back to the hotel as my feel were crying out to be released from my boots. 

Sleep when your dead I thought and after a quick soak in the tub at the hotel I headed back out to whence I came and to Little Italy to sample their wares for my dinner.

After a decent meal at “Bread” I decided once again to take to the streets and walk as far as my legs would take me. It was raining heavily but there was certainly something romantic about that, my funky “I’m trying to pretend I am a New York fashionista” hat I had acquired whilst shopping at eleven thirty at night the previous day, and the umbrella that protected both me and the hat from the elements whilst affording me the ability to gaze up whenever I chose at the expanding grandiose and unmistakeable New York skyline. I was truly in love.

After over 25 blocks my legs were joining my feet in protest and I hailed a cab for the remainder of the trip.

Sad to be leaving this city I was infatuated with but glad to going back to work for a rest, I knew I had the mental fuel to carry me through the subsequent impending weeks away from my loved ones until my return to the UK some four weeks away.

I’m so glad I listened to my gut and just went for it. 

Now, wheres next on Jayne’s crazy list of unexpected impulsive random adventures?

Look out times square... I can shop at 11.30pm!!!

Fullfilling a lifelong ambition

The view descending into La Guardia... excited much???

Some of the sculptures in the garden at Moma (I'd given my audio guide back at this point so I was taking pictures "old style" on my camera)

Crazy kitchen at 'Vanessa's dumpling house' in China town. Best $10 I ever spent.

Chapter One ... Back to the USA (leaving Manchester March 1st)

JUST as I got comfortable, wrestled Steve for my portion of the duvet and was reaching over to mute my phone, it beeped… an email? at 11.30 at night? And there it was 

To: Jayne Curry

From: US Airways 

We regret to inform you that your flight from PHL to FLL tomorrow has been cancelled due to poor weather conditions. 

Very little you can do about that from a bed in Manchester at 11.30 at night. 

After calling the emergency travel line that Celebrity Cruises provides for us, I was advised to speak to the representative at the airport tomorrow.

“Don’t worry.” He said “there are several other flights to Fort Lauderdale from Philadelphia tomorrow.

So I settled.

Tonight was to be my last night at home for another six weeks. I have been back for a mere 17 day break after 75 days away and here I was preparing to go back for more. As hard as it is on your personal relationships I knew I was heading back with the full support of my family. This time I would be spending the duration of my stay on one vessel.. I have never done this before. With the exemption of two periods of four days off, I would be spending six weeks on the Celebrity Constellation. The ship from whence I had arrived for this leave. The ship I had left all my summer clothes on. There was after all, no need for them in Manchester at this time of year and no need for winter clothes in Florida and the Caribbean. Sunshine!!! YAY.

On my arrival at the airport I was reliably informed that my flight from Philadelphia to Fort Lauderdale had indeed been rebooked for me but now consequentially I had a 6 hour wait in Philadelphia. My heart sank. A long haul flight followed by a lay over like that was a really sucks. But I was determined not to allow my spirits to be dampened. Inevitably when you spend as much time travelling alone as I do, you have days that you feel a little low,  the only way to combat this is to be as positive as possible as much of the time as you can manage. I reminded myself of this as I reluctantly accepted my new boarding pass. And again at the check in desk when the attendant told me my bags were too heavy and I was forced to repack… and again when the guy behind me shoved my seat all the way to Philly. 

I arrived back in to the US with a spring in my step. What positives could I take from today? I had two seats to myself on the plane, I managed no to cry in public watching a soppy movie AND they had diet Dr Pepper on the plane. My air of positivity quickly trebled into one of mischief and adventure. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the excessive caffeine but there was no way I was killing time on a bench in an airport for 6 hours when there was a city out there I had never visited. Sailing through immigration and baggage claim so expediently sealed it for me. Stuff it! I know I have a tonne of hand luggage but I’m going to  Philadelphia!!!

Train ticket bought and safely ensconced in my seat onboard, the excitement fizzed inside me at the prospect of seeing somewhere I knew very little about. I had no idea the declaration of independence had been signed here. I knew about their famous Cheese steak sandwiches and the Tom Hanks movie, but little else.I asked the train conductor where was best to disembark to spend an hour in the city before dark. He was incredibly helpful, sold me a cheaper return ticket and gave me a map. He told me the historic old city of Philadelphia wasn’t too far west of the station stop so a mere 20 minutes after boarding I was in downtown philly.

I think up until this point, the sheer excitement and marvel at my spontaneous adventure had prevented me from feeling the temperature. Wearing a hoodie with a small leather jacket I headed into the sideways hailstones, dragging my wheelie case carry-on bag through the couple of inches of the previous days snow and slush. Even though within a minute I couldn’t feel my fingers I was too giddy to stop or to consider pausing to buy gloves. I had promised Steve in a text I would be back at the airport before it went dark and having in fact no conceivable idea when it WAS going to go dark I continued ploughing on through the adverse weather.. laughing to myself like some scruffy, deranged bag lady. I looked a real state. Hardly dressed for the conditions or the occasion. wearing barely a scrap of make up and dragging a bulging bag I charged on, determined to see something of significance. And that I did. After a brief trip to the Independence Visitor centre and time to pose for a selfie with a life-size statue of Rocky (I’d forgotten he hailed from these parts) I discovered much to my delight that across the road from where I now stood, was housed the Liberty Bell. I know a very small amount of American history shamefully, but I was more than excited to learn more and at least aware of the significance of the bell to the American people. After emptying the contents of my bag for the umpteenth time that day for security at the entrance to the museum I marvelled at the displays, watched the interactive movies with avid interest and paused to take a picture of the bell itself. So much history and significance steeped on one tiny bell… not tiny, but certainly in comparison to “Big Ben” it was. 

The weather worsened and after struggling on a couple more blocks in the weather i thought it sensible to head back to the train station. I hadn’t really realised how far I walked so, map in hand, I found the nearest subway station and used my all day pass to head back towards Jefferson Station for the airport train. The subway platform was deserted and reminded me very much of the scene in ‘Ghost’ where the guy is shouting “GET OFF MY TRAIIIINN” to the newly dead Patrick Swayze. 

With very little hassle I ended up back at the airport and found a lovely looking restaurant for a spot of seafood and a glass of wine.

“Do I need to see any ID Mam?” the waiter asked 

“Yes Yes!!!” I hollered “He thinks I’m too young to drink!!! Hoorah!!” And I started my own partially exhaustion fuelled mini mexican wave. 

“This is the best worst travel day EVEEERRRR” I yelled after he waiter as he walked away in bewilderment. My inner-American was back!

The elation of my crazy day eventually began to gradually wain as the reality of the amount of hours I had now been awake began to kick in. Exhausted, I dozed on a bench for a while at the gate until I was safely ensconced on the plane and nodding off happily. The captains announcement came over the tannoy.

“Sorry folks theres going to be a further delay. We are in a queue to be de-iced before take off and we won’t be leaving the ground for at least another hour”

More delays. By the time I eventually hit the tarmac it was 12.15am on the morning of March the 2nd and I had been travelling for 19 hours already. Thoroughly exhausted and a little grumpy I headed out on the all so familiar route to the taxi rank.

As we left the airport I noticed the flashing blue lights ahead of us and the two police cars now blocking our slip road. Very long story short, there had been an accident on the railroad and the enormously lengthy freight train that traverses the length of Florida from bottom to top of the state and back was at an utter standstill and was likely to be there stationery for some time.  This was a problem for the taxi as we needed to head west to east across the railway line which was stood still south to North and therefore we took a $50 detour around the very edges of Fort Lauderdale and an hour later me and my copies amounts of baggage dragged our entirely dilapidated backsides into the hotel to crash. 23 hours after leaving Manchester I was in bed in Florida. I could have travelled to Australia in that time.

The next morning still jet lagged I rose early and drew the curtains and there it was… the beautiful florida sunshine… I slipped on a T shirt dress and headed out for supplies to the local supermarket. 

I’m not sure if it was the crazy juxtapositions in temperatures I had experienced in the two days or the jet lag that made me a little delirious but I beamed a smile across my face the whole way to the store.

Yes being away from home is hard. Yes missing the people you love is hard. But I was determined to be inspired by my slightly wacky spontaneity of the day previous…. I was going on another adventure and I had a feeling this one would be even crazier than the last.