...if I got airmiles for taxi rides... part two

Maybe I did something really bad in a former life… but today yet AGAIN I am in a taxi from Puerto Limon to San Jose in Costa Rica. This is the second time in three weeks and I shall do the journey in reverse in a mere three weeks from now. It really is my least favourite airport commute and the airport itself did little to improve my mood today. After the previous jaunt of five and a half hours I was elated to be informed that the broken roads had indeed been repaired during my absence from this route and that the journey should be back to its usual three hours of single tracked, predominantly uphill, airconditioning free splendour I have known of yore. Today should be officially entitled.. be careful what you wish for.

Not knowing the roads had been repaired i requested help from the ships documentation officer Sheryl to arrange a transfer to the airport. Other entertainers were leaving the same time as me and though they had kindly offered to share the ride with me I opted to take my own car as ‘Stayton’ the cab driver had previously told me the bus the port agent usually provides would struggle up the hills and possibly make me late. Clearing immigration took longer than usual in the port and a flustered Sheryl ushered us to the gangway for our waiting transport. I jumped in the car, the others in the bus and i bid them farewell.

Hour two of the journey and my fingers and toes were positively frostbitten as the air-conditioning in the car roared through the gap between the seats and right into the back of the car. I was bursting for the toilet and had inadvertently chosen the only leg of the route to have no gas stations or convenience to voice this issue to ‘Bidal’ my driver for today. Squirming and cross legged I thought of other things for as long as I could until he veered perilously across both carriageways at the last minute to a gas station we had both missed on first sight due to the low lying clouds over the rainforest today. Shivery and full of fluid I bounded deftly to the first sign of a public convenience and hurriedly tore at my trousers in search of relief. It was only then I noticed the less than salubrious conditions of the restrooms and figured if it was my lot in life to contract the Zika virus it was likely to happen right here. Needless to say this influenced the expediency at which I completed the task in hand and I headed straight back out into the car park and the sideways rain to discover no Bidal and the car all locked. I had my handbag with me and though for a millisecond I thought he’d done a runner with my things and stranded me here it subsequently occurred to me pretty rapidly that 15 pairs of control pants and 250 Jayne Curry CDs probably wouldn’t get him very far and most certainly wouldn’t be worth leaving his car behind for even if it was a little battered to say the least. He’d spoken to me very little on the journey so far. Mainly just enough to tell me that he spoke un pocito english and that he wanted to practise every day because he wanted an American girlfriend, much to his mothers dismay apparently. When he asked me my origins and I told him Manchester England (the closest point of international recognition I find) he seemed dismayed that I neither supported Manchester United or Manchester City but instead I tried to explain to him who Burnley FC were. As a Real Madrid supporter, Burnley football team are unlikely to make it onto Bidal’s radar anytime soon and despite my best efforts to convince him they were the best football team in the world he remained unconvinced.

Currently, I was gazing across the busy highway (all two lanes of it, but nevertheless pretty perilous) and thought about this vein of connectivity between one coast and the other upon which I appear to be spending an undue amount of time of late. Rainforest lines either side of the road for the majority of the journey, interspersed by the the occasional Banana plantation and more than a handful of what seem to be soda shacks. Every couple of miles there a wooden building nestled amongst the plant life offering its soft drinks as though thats all there is to consume here. And they wouldn’t be far off the truth, My first journey chronicled in a blog of many moons ago describes how many times we stopped en route at gas stations and these soda shacks in search of bottled water to quench our thirsts on the most humid of days, to be told they sold only sodas. After three attempts I gave in and bought a coke (not even any diet available) and spent the rest of the journey with a mouth like Gandhi’s sandals. Ever since I have always brought my own water with me.. hence the need for the frequent comfort breaks.

My day dream was interrupted by what only could be described at a cookie monster-esque 

“Hellloooooo” and there and then I spun around to see Bidal pulling his trousers up and fiddling with his belt. Obviously also in a hurry not to have his behind bitten by a mosquito he had apparently also hurriedly exited the convenience next to mine and failed to properly fashion himself in the process. I think I was as startled by his booming protestation as I was about the fact he was only half dressed. The sesame street greeting seemingly somewhat out of character for him considering he’s said barely two words to me the whole journey.

I settled back in to the car, a little damp but at least having had the ability to stretch my legs and watched the forest whizz by as we ascended the gradient we had previously been climbing over the last hour or so. On the outskirts of San Jose I am accustomed to the driver taking a right turn and a detour through the back streets of the city, traversing the shacks and houses to avoid the bustle and congestion of the metropolis. Cookie monster seemed oblivious to this route and headed straight into the centre of the mess where we then subsequently spent the best part of an hour creeping through the conjestion. 

Tired, a little frazzled and naffed off I drifted off into a daze thinking about Steve who was out shopping in Manchester for clothes for his upcoming golf trip, thinking about how long he’d spend in the shopping centre before he lost his patience and went home without me there to keep firing alternatives into the fitting room that he would not have considered should I have proffered them on the shop floor. It was about that point Bidal shouted

“AIRPORT 20 MINUTES” 

at the top of his voice and I was convinced as I tried to return to my own skin I had just literally jumped out of that some strange shenanigans may have occurred in that bathroom cubicle that had transformed the quiet nervous Bidal into a raving lunatic. What IS it with me and half crazy taxi drivers??? I must bring out the odd in them. I’m the common denominator it must be me.

As I write this I am again looking around the plane for a bathroom because of my rather strange experience in San Jose airport. My flight was delayed an hour which gave me time to grab a bite to eat and I headed for the food court I was familiar with from my visit here three weeks ago. As I dragged my luggage through the departure lounge I thought to myself ‘I really could do with something fresh and healthy. But last time there was only a sandwich shop and a KFC. What I’d give for a Chinese right now” and as I rounded the corner I discovered to my delight that the KFC was now indeed a Chinese.

$20 lighter and a decidedly miserable looking bowl of noodles later I headed disappointed to the gate area to Skype Steve before the recommencement of my travels and to pick up a bottle of water or two for my flight. I have been battling a cold and cough the past week or so and aeroplanes dehydrate me even more than ever. 

Boarding pass scanned and heading down the airbridge to the aircraft we were all stopped individually and our bags searched again. We’d all cleared security as is regulation for any international flight so this was a little odd to say the least. 

“you can’t take that water on the flight" the scrawny security guard barked at me.

“I bought it here in the airport” I replied

“It doesn’t matter” he offered

“but I bought it just there… in that shop” i retorted, more than a little confused.

“it doesn’t MATTER” he returned. Obviously not happy with me. “you can’t TAKE IT” So I took it back, held up the entire line and drank the whole thing right before his eyes.

Everything in me wanted to say ….”Yes I can… I’ll take it in my BELLY” but I thought better of it as he was already clearly less than amused at my gall at questioning his reasoning.

I just smiled, handed him the empty bottle and pootled off down the airbridge to my seat,

I have been to the toilet three times already. We’ve been in the air an hour.

...If I got air miles for taxi rides...part one.

Today is certainly a ‘delirious with tiredness’ kind of day. Therefore its probably not the best choice to be writing a blog in my current state.Goodness knows what I’ll publish. I look like a hobo. I’m in an airport where pretty much no one speaks English, I’ve been travelling for what feels like an eon so the computer is currently my only companion. 

I have however just Skyped Steve who is presently at home in a snowy Bolton project managing the renovations on our new home. Walls and ceilings are being torn down, a new kitchen ordered and ready to be fitted. He was even brave enough to make a colour choice on our new electrical socket fittings today. I say brave, not because he finds things like that difficult, I say brave because I can’t believe he DARED make an aesthetic choice without first consulting me ;-)

Before Christmas I spent three weeks based out of the states ship hopping between Florida and the Caribbean. Five cruises in three weeks, all whilst the completion of the house sale was going through. Due to numerous issues along the purchasing way, the sale had taken over six months to complete and we were on pins as to whether or not we would even get in for Christmas. We eventually did and Steve and his Mum so very kindly moved all of our things into the house in my absence whilst I sat on a sun lounger somewhere on the equator. I tell you this because I asked Steve at this point to fit a carpet in the living room so that we had one clean tidy room to host people at Christmas. I was pretty specific about what I wanted and even sent him an email with a sample of the colour I liked. On my return I was greeted with something entirely different and employed all my best university acting training to hide my apparent disappointment. It turns out however that after several spontaneous parties over the festive period (the first time we have lived in a detached house with no noise permutations) the darker coloured carpet was indeed the way to go… it hides a multitude of sins.

Currently I am sat in the airport in Bogota, Columbia. Yesterday I left the beautiful Celebrity Equinox in Puerto Limon, Costa Rica. For those of you that have read my previous blogs, going back a way I have detailed the journey from the airport to the port in Costa Rica on more than one occasion. Yesterday I took the journey in reverse and what is always a three hour journey at least through the winding mountainous rainforest became a five and a half hour journey yesterday. Roadworks were being carried out along the single lane ‘freeway’ in the loosest of terms, which meant traffic could only flow in one direction at a time. This thoroughfare is the main commuter vein between San Jose and the province of Limon, where Stayton my driver had informed me many people travel to work. 80% of import and export comes in through Puerto Limon even though the journey to the capital is arduous and the  and the bulk of the population of Costa Rica live in the capital San Jose. Maybe its my western impatience or my generation’s ability to acquire immediacy in almost everything we want or do, but five hours in the back of an ageing 4 wheel drive with no air conditioning, sitting stationary for long periods was not really my idea of fun. However its common place for the Costa Ricans.

Last night I flew the hour and a half journey from San Jose to Panama City where I checked in to a hotel at 22.30pm before checking out again at 02.30am to return back to the airport. I flew to Bogota, where I have currently been waiting for six hours. Just another hour and a half to go before my final three hour flight to Barbados before joining the Exquisite Celebrity Eclipse tomorrow. 

Please don’t misconstrue this as a moan… I knew full well what this job entailed when I signed up for it. This is in truth, the part we get paid for. The shows and the sun loungers I’d do for free. Its the travel and the time away from your loved ones which isn’t everyones cup of tea. 

This life certainly throws up its oddities too. You meet some real characters on your travels. 

Before christmas on my ‘five cruises in three weeks’ stint I was lucky enough to have barely any travel days at all. The ships either all came into port together or on subsequent days so i could just wait for the next one in a hotel as I did in San Juan.

It was a perfect place for an overnight. The hotel was very large and busy and full of wedding parties but to be honest I was utterly exhausted and just holed up in my room for the night. I had been to the ‘Plaza de Americas’ shopping mall that day and done pretty much ALL my christmas shopping in  a day, I even had to buy a new suitcase! I walked my little legs off.But it is SO much cheaper than the UK for shopping and it meant I could buy all my family nicer gifts for the same money. I was best pleased with myself. 

At the end of this cruise out of San Juan I would leave in St Thomas and take my flights to Fort Lauderdale Via San Juan airport. It was such a breeze only having two flights in the entire contract. If this job was like this all the time.. wow it would be so much easier I thought as I boarded the plane. 

The problems began when I got to Fort Lauderdale and realised my cases hadn’t made it. 

Remaining remarkably calm, after all these things happen when you travel a lot, I headed to the airlines offices to enquire as to the whereabouts of my bag. I had already been informed that I would definitely be performing the following night in the welcome aboard show onboard the gorgeous Celebrity Constellation so I needed my luggage. My stage clothes were in it. 

I was informed that my bag was being loaded onto the next flight into Fort Lauderdale from San Juan and that it would arrive at 11pm. It was currently 8pm and after a long day I was reluctant to wait in the airport for three hours for my cases. I had no choice though really as the last ‘lost luggage’ delivery had apparently left for the day and I couldn’t risk not having the bags. So I waited with what was the lesser of two evil dinner options… there was a wrinkled up damp sandwich or a less than crisp looking Caesar salad. I opted for the salad, which I immediately regretted as it transpired only the top layer of the bowl was green and the rest a kind of weary tea bag looking brown. Nevertheless I waited and waited and stood and watched all the passengers from the 11pm flight collect their bags and leave. My cases were well and truly AWOL so I dragged my weary self back to the airline offices to find out what was going on. After an apparent misunderstanding between colleagues I was told by a gentleman that his female colleague had no right to tell me that my bags would be here for 11pm or that I should indeed wait for them as according to his system they were still stood in San Juan like a pair of lemons. 

By this point I was very close to exploding and though the employee I was dealing with was obviously not to blame for his colleagues errors (who I saw make a swift exit as I returned to the office) I was utterly exasperated at the breakdown in communication. I was told the bags WOULD be loaded onto the next flight and that they would send them to my accommodation in a courtesy hotel shuttle.I should expect them around 3am.

A loud ringing woke me from my slumber and reluctantly I dressed myself and dragged my now severely unwashed bedraggled self to the hotel reception to collect the bags. Tomorrow is a new day I thought. Its all behind me now. 

After rising early and feeling all smug and productive about it, I headed to the local mall to finish what was left of my christmas shopping. My geography of the Florida area is based entirely on malls I have and haven’t been to. I’m not going to lie to you, shallow it may be but they are my happy place.  After a mammoth speed shop I grabbed a slice for breakfast and returned back to the hotel to pick up my bags before making headway to the ship. 

I ordered a cab and on its arrival I was greeted with a man the IMAGE of Morgan Freeman dressed as a native american. He was sporting a leather patchwork waistcoat vest and a giant leather stetson with what appeared to be wefts of other peoples hair braided into plaits tucked into the band around the hat as well as several large feathers. Each to their own I thought and got into the cab. The subsequent journey was odd to say the least. 

He asked me my name and I told him.

“whats your name?” I replied 

“ You can call me Red dog or Strong Deer” he answered. 

"Those are the names my tribe have given me.”

Immediately I knew that this guy was not your average cab driver. Over the course of the longest twenty minutes of my life the conversation went from the sublime to the ridiculous. In an attempt to divert him from his bizarre need to confess all of his recent female conquests to me I asked him

“SO… where do you live? Here in Fort Lauderdale?”

 Big mistake. Huge!

“I live in the back of my van.” he answered.

 I’m a free spirit I live wherever I choose. There’s plenty of room for visitors. Want to see it on the way to the ship?” he added.

There was no way I was going anywhere with Red Indian Morgan Freeman and in my hurried panic to exit the taxi at my greatest expedience I left behind a grocery bag with my newly purchased christmas sweater I’d been so excited to wear later that day. It read “OCD… Obsessive Christmas Disorder”

Yes I was excited to go home after this long period away to a festive season with my family and friends but never more so than right this instant.

Back to today and as the epic seven hour wait for my flight nears to a close I’m having a good old think to myself about what the next few weeks holds for me.. a lot of travelling? Yes. Quite a number of shows? Certainly. But also the opportunity to happen upon old friends and make new ones. Because the size of the Celebrity fleet is in single digits, the fact I am working for them exclusively this year means I am coming across the same people more frequently. This is an amazing job no doubt but on days like today its also a lonely one.  My mood is always brightened by thoughts of who I might get to see and spend time with on the next ship and when I might dock alongside friends on other vessels in various ports and we can meet and catch up. This job is funny like that sometimes. you never know who you might bump into on the beach.

This is a good feeling. I meet people every week from all walks of life. Over 60 nationalities on average are represented by the crew alone on these vessels. And then there’s the guests. The 3000 odd people a week I make the acquaintance of and share a little of my story with. When I think about it, and I mean really think about it, theres a little piece of Accrington in Lancashire and all that goes with that, being spread around the world through the stories I'm telling the people I meet every week of the year. And the best part about it is that a little piece of them travels with me also. Each lovely comment, word of advice, personal experience or story regaled makes an impact on me and without wanting to sound like I’m being too deep and meaningful in what is in essence supposed to be a lighthearted travel anecdote, I think these experiences are constantly shaping me as a person. 

I’m proud of where I’m from.. that has I believe influenced me to the largest extent throughout my career.I am who I am simply because all my formative years were spent there and the people that have made the largest impact on my life are largely from that part of my life. But these crazy experiences I have like 'Morgan Freeman the Red Indian Taxi Driver' only serve to help me realise that I really do have the best of both worlds at present. I’m paid to travel the globe and sing songs to nice people. And then I go home. To my lovely new house in Bolton.. (well it will be lovely once we’ve stopped knocking lumps out of it) and the warmth and support of Steve and my family. Only four more weeks…..