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. 

Jayne's Caribbean adventure...Part Two

Finding a strong wifi signal in the caribbean is the holy grail for guest entertainers, indeed for all crew member on a ship who have spent any length of time away from home. So not only to find this, but for the lovely lady in the hotel in Cozumel to allow me to use it for FREE??? It was like christmas come early. After a good chat with Steve I connected via Skype to my parents back in Accrington to catch up on the latest news from home. But something just wasn’t sitting right with me

“Mum, I feel a bit weird” I said “I can’t remember what time the ship is leaving. Its 3.10pm now and I’m not sure if it leaves at 3.45 or 4.45.”

“Don’t take any risks” she said “You can’t afford to miss the ship”

This is the on going and reoccurring nightmare of all frequent cruisers. They drum it into you quiet fervently that under no circumstances will a ship ever wait for you if you’re late back. I frequently have dreams where I’m stood gesturing wildly on a quayside somewhere protesting “You left early… wait for me” and a captain shouting back at me “No… you’re late… so loonnngg” I’ve woken up innumerable times with that panicked sensation so todays niggle started to fester at the back of my mind. 

“I’m pretty sure its 4.45pm mum… but I just don’t know” I said disappointedly as I relish my family time, albeit online of late.

“Seriously Jayne… go” she insisted. So I packed up and made my way towards the ship… a mere 5 minute walk at best. As I headed out into the warm rain, I checked my watch again and thought to myself that even if the ship did leave at 3.45pm I had time to nip into the grocery store over the road and buy some water and supplies before heading back, so post-haste I darted between the endless stream of taxi’s taking care to avoid their splashes as I negotiated the muddy puddles in the uneven road. 

I approached my shopping expedition like a stealth ninja.. determined to gather my wares and make it to the check out before the giggly group of spanish speaking teenage girls, their arms laden down with drinks and treats. As the checkout assistant processed my items I smugly furrowed around in my bag for my wallet as I internally patted myself on the back for making the shopping quick so hastily on my way back then the real panic hit me. 

“my wallet… its gone… where is it?” I emptied the contents of my copious tote on to the floor of the shop and ferreted around most erratically as the realisation hit me that not only did my wallet contain $200+ dollars and my credit cards but also my sea pass card for re-entry to the ship.

Immediately I ran through all the possible scenarios in my head: Its been stolen in the restaurant at lunch, I’ve left it in my friend Davids car, a Cozumel local who had so kindly taken me out to lunch that day, or have I dropped it?… and I pictured the ship… leaving without me as captain Tasos shouted 

“No…you’re late.. soo looonnngg”

I jumped to my feet in mad panic just as one of the giggly teenagers was leaning over me to put her purchases on the counter and I head butted her sandwich clean into the air 

“Muchos sorry” I offered as her friends laughed and she gazed at me bemused as if to say “who is this crazy wet lady launching my lunch?” 

I then realised that I may well have left my purse on the sofa in hotel. I remember taking it out to make an online purchase just before calling my Mum.

I scurried across the floor gathering my scattered belongings before darting out of the shop shouting “Muchos sorry… I’ve lost my purse I’ll be back”

and like Yussain Bolt in wedges I bounded across the road, ignorant of the puddles, unaware of the on-coming traffic and waving my protruding umbrella around like a knight on horse back. As I stumbled for the second time a shop keeper shouted “Woah take it easy amiga” and I found my self “Muchos sorry" for the third time in as many minutes. 

To find my purse, perched on the sofa where I had left it was a relief to say the least and I dragged my now mud splashed legs back to the grocery store to complete my transaction. The giggly girls were still at the till, faces full of goodies as I bounded in through the door panting like an out of breath collie. 

“I lost my purse” I offered. No reaction

“I had to go back to the hotel to get it” 

They looked at each other bemused, shrugging their shoulders. So the actress in me decided that I should use my university degree to portray through the medium of mime the calamity that had just befallen me to my spanish speaking audience.

Wildly I gestured, first, palms on cheeks I struck a panicked face.. before running on the spot.. pointing out of the window and then drawing my wallet from my now soggy bag… making a “phew” noise and wiping my genuinely now sweaty brow. They laughed… then they clapped.. so I took a little bow. Feeling more than proud of myself at this stage, shopping, purse rescuing AND doing my best Marcel Marceau for the Mexican masses, I paid my bill, picked up my groceries and fell out of the shop door. 

The giggly teenagers, now laughing at me not with me looked at me with those kind of pitying looks that manage to encompass both “Oh my goodness she is SO not cool” with “please don’t tell me I’l ever end up like her” whilst simultaneously laughing amongst themselves and eating a sandwich with my head print in it. 

I limped off attempting to restore my pride, only to be greeted by my cabin steward who was entering the port as I was leaving 

“Rolando… where are you going?” I asked.. “Aren’t you going to miss the ship?”

“No miss Jayne” he offered “We don’t sail till 5”

As I write this I am currently back stage, preparing for my 36th show of this contract. This time next week I will be on a plane somewhere over the atlantic with any luck, quite possibly too excited to sleep. Whilst I have had an epic time over here, and epic really is the best possible word to describe it, at some point you do start to crave a little normality, less calamity and your creature comforts. Most importantly though I’m looking forward to seeing those I love the most. And even after 6 years of marriage and 10 years together, I still do my very best ‘Clark Kent’ impersonation on the aeroplane home. I get onboard looking like a hobo and squeeze my backside into that bathroom cubicle on the flight, borderline dislocating myself to change out of my sweat pants and hoodie and put a full face of make up on and a clean outfit to greet my husband at the airport in Manchester. I wish I could say the same for him… If I’m away, he doesn’t bother to shave so Shaggy from Scooby Doo will be picking me up next friday!

Tomorrow is Key West, the southern most point of Florida. I was here a few weeks ago when Steve was travelling with me. I shall doubtless be heading to the ‘Conch Republic’ seafood restaurant on the harbour for a bowl of their spectacular ‘Conch Chowder’ before this time most definitely sampling a slice of Key Lime Pie that I missed out on during the previous trip. Saturday is ‘Turnaround day’ which is basically the offloading of this weeks passengers and the arrival of the next. But as I am staying for the next cruise also it means only one thing to me… SHOPPING!!!

75 days

35 shows

26 beds

20 ports

14 flights

13 cruises 

9 shopping malls

6 car rentals 

2 new suitcases 

One Epic Adventure… to be continued.

Jayne's Caribbean Adventure... Part One

Its a common misconception amongst many, local advocates included, that life in the caribbean is stress-free. That people bumble along aimlessly like the leaves on a breeze enjoying the sunshine and rum in abundance as the pace of life slows to a veritable halt. That people on arrival immediately relax into the way of the Island folks, embracing the hassle free existence of the turquoise blue marine paradise in which they now basque. 

Don’t get me wrong, huge portions of the caribbean are utterly idyllic. And most of the visuals of the images I have just described do in fact exist. But stress free? No. Especially not for a european  like myself who’s life is dictated by the schedules and arrangements of my job. Then, the slow paced ‘mañana' attitude of the caribbean becomes positively heart attack inducing and you see the local people for who they really are when they operate under pressure. The nuances of the Grenadan accent meant I was unsure which of the plethora of what I could only assume to be expletives were the most offensive… I just knew this taxi driver was getting me to the airport.. and therefore his $10 bonus I had promised him.. regardless of who he had to insult or potentially injure on the way.

Picture the scene. This morning at 7.40am I was waiting in the conference room onboard the Celebrity Summit for officials to board the vessel, and clear me and the rest of the passenger manifest through the immigration process. The ship officially docked at 8am and my flight to Miami was booked for 9.30am. The airport is a 20 minute taxi ride away in the best of circumstances so to say I was a little anxious was an understatement. 

I waited patiently for the tardy officials to thumb leisurely through the mounds of paperwork before them as I uttered under my breath but inherently audibly that my flight was due to leave in 90 minutes. The blank looking gentleman pushed away my passport without even making eye contact with me and continued to revel in the merriments of the conversation his colleague was having with him about the inappropriate choice of car parking spot he had berated a local on this morning on the way to the vessel. Whilst I was obviously riveted at the prospect of a lengthy lesson in the innermost workings of the traffic system of the west indies… time was ticking on and I had luggage to collect and drag to the gang way. I tried approaching another of the officials hopefully… “sir, my flight leaves in 90 minutes!!”

“well choo be cutting it fine gurl” He retorted and I bounced up and down on the spot eagerly like a frantic Gordon Ramsay, biting my tongue all too aware they could make life very difficult for me if they wanted to. After the slowest passport stamp EVER in the history of modern man… moments later I was careering down the quay side with my two suitcases in the blazing hot sun, rueing the decision I’d made that morning to bother washing my hair. In the terminal building i scoured the empty hallway fervently in search of the driver promised to me by these ships agent in order to expedite the process to the airport and hope to make the flight by the skin of my teeth. After the security guard opened the gate in the SLOWEST fashion ever, I hurtled towards the ageing gentleman proffering his hands  motioning me to give him my bags 

:where choo be gurl? I be waitin on choo since a quarter to.” he said.

Flustered and sweating profusely I retorted “None of this is my fault. This flight was booked on my behalf and immigration took an eon to process me today.”

“De traffic be bad girl at dis time. you be cutting it fine gurl”

Already aware that the ‘cutting it fine’ moniker would likely stay with me all morning I breathed deeply in and began to steel myself with the implications of missing the flight. There were no more flights to the states today and an overnight alone in a hotel for the umpteenth time this trip appealed to me somewhat less than the apartment of friends I was scheduled to spend the evening in..catching up and eating chicken.

As we rounded the first corner the taxi came to a halt and the drivers companion dangled himself out of the window and gestured wildly at a passer by.

“Tis mi daughter.” the driver offered. “I needs to cillect mi daughter” . addressing me through the rear view mirror.

Prone to an imminent explosion I calmly retorted “good sir, I have paid for the exclusive hire of your vehicle and we have no time for this. I’m sorry but we can not wait for your daughter” 

“but… but… okay..” he said reluctantly pulling out to rejoin the now queueing traffic.

“How much is the cab?” I asked. “I’ll pay you now so as to avoid any further delays when we get there”

“de taxi be twenty gurl. I ov the reeseet right ere”

Bravely I added. “I will give you $30 if you get me there in time. Now Step On It!”

Now acutely aware I sounded like something from a ‘straight to TV’ movie I waved the money at the drivers companion who gladly pulled his torso back in from the open window and gestured the cash in the air like a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.

If I’d turbo charged the engine myself I doubt it would have had more impact than the extra ten dollar proffer now appeared to make. My septugenarian 'Caribbean Lewis Hamilton' ploughed his way through the traffic like a maniac possessed. I was now more in fear of losing my life than missing the flight.

“We will do it gurl.. don’t choo worry your pretty ed” He laughed and made off like a bullet, steering wheel in one hand and a stack of crackers ten high in the other. He munched and blew out the crumbs all over his companion who seemed ill bothered by his manners as he asked me if I was married and where was my husband.

“He’s in Thailand.” I offered. “My husband is a professional golfer (that bit always fills me with pride.. i love the initial surprised response!). He is currently out there playing a tournament”

In an about turn from the norm, ‘Caribbean Lewis Hamilton' did not seem in the least bit impressed. 

“why don’t choo leave dat husban of yours and cum stay in Grenada wit me? Den you will be in no urry.I have a big ouse just for me… we can go to de beach.. I will cook you fresh fish and roti, I Know i will make choo appy gurl”

Whilst I was sorely tempted by the offer of the Roti, an amazing curry parcel native to the Islands of the caribbean and utterly delicious, I politely declined my suitor in favour of my current status and urged him to pay attention to the oncoming traffic instead of me.

His hollerings from the taxi van offered to the obstructing vehicles we overtook were choice to say the least. There was nothing ‘calm and relaxed’ about this Grenadan. I was thinking to myself, all this ‘chill out… take your time’ attitude we are so familiar with in this part of the world causes more stress than actually just getting on with what you need to do. I suppose I am guilty as the next western european of needing to rush through life, of being a slave to a schedule and feeling the constant need to plan ahead and be punctual when travelling at all times. But the laid back approach to my blind panic today had only caused me to stress out even more. There was very little sense of urgency displayed by anyone up until this point… and now I had incentivised my guardian with the prospect of a ten dollar tip… he was careering through the back streets of the island like a man possessed… much in contrast to the ‘chilled out’ traffic crawling around him.

‘I’m going to die in this taxi, stressed, sweaty and late’ I thought. Worrying about it wasn’t going to change a darn thing so I resigned myself to my fate.

However on arrival at the airport the stress tables turned and I instantly became enamoured by the slowly slowly approach to the order of the day when I hurtled towards the check in desk, convinced I’d missed the flight.

“Don’t choo worry gurl” the chilled out attendant offered. “its aaaall good. Choo have plenty o time” and she casually tap tap tapped away at the computer checking me in, her giant pink talons, curling back on themselves looking more like langoustine than finger nails and smiling away to herself like life was aalll ggoood.

Relieved, I waited in the departure lounge, perspiring, shaken, hungry and fatigued after only two hours of my day… and readied myself to board. 

When eventually seated in 24A, jubilant at having three seats to myself and therefore the prospect of a refreshing nap-ette, the captain spoke to us all over the PA system.

“I’m afraid ladies and gentleman we are experiencing some serious technical difficulties with the aircrafts engine starter system. We will have to ask you all to disembark the plane back into the terminal whilst we attempt to rectify this situation. We are very sorry”

Four hours later I was still sat there wondering why I had bothered stressing myself out so much this morning. If I had missed the flight, I had missed the flight… nobody would have died. I’d just cause myself more grey hair. And for what?

The cruise I have just completed is cruise number 9 of 13 consecutive cruises I am performing onboard for Celebrity Cruises this winter, whilst being based out of the US and the caribbean for this duration of 12 weeks. I have another 24 days to go of my 75 day stint here and I am having an absolute ball. I was fortunate enough for Steve, my husband to be able to travel with me for four of those weeks over the festive period and whilst it is much harder without him here naturally, I am well aware how completely blessed I am to be able to call this my job.

I have lots of stories to regale over the period of my travels here. I will enlighten you with those at various intervals as I go along. I haven’t written a blog for a while now… the simple reason being I have been too darn busy trying to make the most of this incredible opportunity. 

Every few days I have been packing up and moving on and trying to get to the airport this morning is but one of the calamitous instances I regularly find myself entailed in as I traverse from ship to ship… bouncing about the celebrity fleet like an eager child, thrilled to be being paid to avoid the British weather and dark nights at the present time.

Last week I stayed overnight in beautiful hotel on the Marina in Phillipsburg, St Maarten. I had disembarked the Celebrity Reflection and was waiting for the Celebrity Summit to arrive the next day. As I sat there on the balcony of my room looking out over the crystal waters I was mesmerised at the literally hundreds and hundreds of white butterflies that danced in the breeze like tiny feathers. At first I had mistaken them for light, sun bleached leaves but their constant changing of direction betrayed them to be alive and I marvelled at the phenomenon of how very many there were gathered in one place at one time. Unlike anything I had seen before.

I was on my own and for a moment, sad I had no one to share this unique spectacle with. Then I stopped myself from beginning to wallow and appreciated what I was seeing all the more as a thought occurred to me

“Happy is he who gets paid for what he would happily do for free”

I’m a lucky, lucky Gurl.

Three planes, a train and a broken shoe :-(

Today promised the delights of a ‘three flight’ travel day to a destination, which if flown direct, would take two hours. But no no no… I left my house at 6am this morning and I’ll be lucky if I hit my hotel in Cadiz, Spain, by 9pm tonight. This is par for the course when joining the ship here as there are no direct flights from Manchester and I have indeed taken this route, or the same in reverse, several times over the last few years. You would think then I’d have prepared myself better. I tried. I brought socks incase my feet got cold on the plane, I wore layers so I could adjust accordingly to said temperature, I packed relatively light as I’m only away for four nights.I even ate a small snack at Heathrow as I knew Iberia didn’t provide an in-flight meal service. I however, did not contend for the fact that I am well aware that Madrid Airport Terminal Four is one of the longest in Europe, and that because the UK is not part of the European Schengen visa system it invariably means the flights that arrive from the UK do so at the complete opposite end of the terminal to the domestic flight that I am taking from Madrid to Jerez. This time was the most extreme example as the gate I arrived at was literally THE furthest away gate from which I am departing. One far end of the terminal to the other. My flight inbound to Madrid was delayed so I set off marching as fast as my little legs and rucksack laden body would carry me.. hoping that the onward flight would be retarded a little also.

However, in true Jayne Curry style, I had chosen shoes to match my scarf and so I was in fact careering through the airport in six inch wedges like a slightly flustered, possibly less hairy Kardashian sister. I was determined not to run as to be honest my backpack was already battering the base of my spine with worrying frequency and everyone knows that sweating in public is just not becoming of a lady. Nevertheless, I pursued my mission, target in view, ignoring ‘Zara’, ‘Mc Donalds’ and the place that sells nice cured ham and focused on the task in hand. It was a long way. And just as I seriously thought the end was in sight, up pops a sign that says ‘K Gates..9 minutes walk’. Thats all well and good for people with well proportioned legs and sensible footwear but unfortunately now fitting neither of those categories I had to adopt a gentle jog to the gate, aware not only that I look ridiculous running in heels but that I was not wearing a sports bra and was in grave danger of giving myself two black eyes. 

Arms folded tightly across my bosom to suppress the motion I made the gate with a couple of minutes to spare I was grateful for the laid back, European “mañana” style attitude I was greeted with by the staff taking my boarding pass. I only hoped this same mantra was not currently being adopted by the baggage handlers, responsible for transferring my luggage from one flight to the next. Don’t get me wrong, I like the scarf and wedge combination I am currently travelling in, but I don’t want to wear it on stage!

On boarding the small aircraft scheduled for the 45 minute connecting flight to cadiz, the aisle seemed unusually small and parading through to row 15 proved a little more difficult when carrying a backpack full of sheet music. I took my time and was careful not to bang into the already seated passengers, smiling and ‘Ola’-ing to the best of my ability. I could smell the guy in the next seat to me before I even sat down. It was a combination of two day old KFC and an apparent distain for hygiene products. I have become an accomplished mouth breather since flying so frequently and I squeezed into my less than capacious seat and attempted to settle. 

“OOO I’ll just get my laptop out so I can write my blog on the flight” I thought to myself. And though the aircraft was still filling I attempted to wangle out the the bag I had just so precariously wedged under the seat in front of me. In doing so I lost my balance, stood on my own shoe and fell into the lap of the unsuspecting and now somewhat overwhelmed gentlemen in the aisle seat opposite. Graciously he helped me to my feet and looked down at my now bedraggled Michael Kors wedge which now has half of the cord piping hanging off the side of the shoe. They are my favourite “mildly inappropriate for travelling, but still do-able” shoe and I was as vexed at the state of my orange old faithfuls as I was embarrassed at sandwiching the poor guy into his seat. 

Well after a fairly uneventful flight I waited with baited breath at the carousel hoping my bag had made the transfer and a little giddy at the prospect I might even make the 17.41pm train from Jerez airport to Cadiz. All seemed to be going just too well when my bag came bouncing along the belt and I almost kissed it. Aware of the time, I chose not to change my broken shoes at this point and instead teetered as quickly as possible to find the nearest signs of a train station. I was feeling pretty smug at myself for having ‘beaten the system’. Not all cruise lines pay for a transfer to the ship for guest entertainers, some instead choosing to give you money towards that travel. In Europe especially, this money rarely covers the actual cost so in knowing that a taxi from Jerez to Cadiz would have cost me the best part of €100 I instead opted to google the public transport options yesterday before I left and discovered that there was indeed a train from the airport straight to Cadiz which takes an hour. Result!

So here I am currently at the train station waiting for a train… a train that has only cost me €4 and feeling pretty pleased with myself.. until the train didn’t arrive, no one on the platform, including the announcement lady speaks English and there are no seats. The next train is scheduled for an hours time so I am perched on the edge of a step thats covered in bird poo wondering if this is the image people at home have of me… I bet they think I’m chaffeur driven and business class all the way. Instead the reality is I’m sitting in bird poop after falling on a stranger, in broken shoes, watching the sunset with a rumbling tummy. At some point today I’m sure I’ll get to my hotel.

I have only one cruise in November this year as December sees me embark on a new adventure. I need the time with family and friends before I go and we’re even having a fake christmas together in a few weeks as I won’t be here for the real thing. As of December 1st I will be based out of Florida for the majority of the winter season. I will stay at the other side of the atlantic till Feb 12th before coming home for a 17 day break then heading back stateside till April 17th. I will be ship hopping most of this time with an occasional lay over in some of the Caribbean islands and a few days off here and there in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Don’t get me wrong, I KNOW how lucky I am that Celebrity Cruises have given me this opportunity and I am beyond excited to embark on the venture. It is however, the longest period of time I will have gone without seeing my parents and family and though Steve will fortunately hopefully be traveling with me for a month of that time, I’m not sure how I’ll fair without seeing my folks. The wonders of modern technology obviously prescribe that whilst Steve and I are on a beach in Curacao on Christmas day. we’ll be able to have a ‘cyber beer’ with my folks online as they celebrate with my brother’s in-laws in Manchester. But it won’t be the same and though I have worked away at Christmas before, I’m apprehensive as much as I am excited about the prospect before me. I am however, delighted to be working exclusively for Celebrity during this period and very much looking forward to introducing new songs by my arranger Jennifer Watson and some new dresses designed and made by my costumier/corset maker Emma at Elysium Corsets, Blackburn.

 I love a fresh challenge, I love the sun, I love shopping malls in Florida, PF Changs, watching the Caribbean sunset, entertaining for a living and bringing in the new year in style. So I’m lucky that the end of this spectacular year concertinas perfectly into the start of the next one for me… though if I have to sit on this step for much longer I’m pretty sure I’m going to seize up completely and I’l still be sat at Jerez train station on December 25th.

OK, I’m giving in… I’m opening my case and getting my flats out :-(

… wait… holy pigeon poop… the train is here...