Flights, Ferries and Fjords..... the long way round!

I’ve seen some pretty obscure happenings on my travels over the years but the site of six Asian women with a full size kettle making cups of noodles in the Ladies toilets  in Amsterdam airport yesterday has to be right up there with the best of them. They took it in turns to boil the kettle and fill up each cardboard bowl with water before surreptitiously slurping the sloppy treat whilst a queue of bewildered ladies waiting to perform their ablutions formed around them. I don’t know what I was more baffled by… the fact they had bothered to pack a full size kettle in their hand luggage possibly in a vain attempt at saving a few euros or the fact that in one of the largest airports in Europe they chose to dine in the toilet. 

It was merely the beginning of what was to be yet another unusual travel expedition for me which was to commence with my disembarking the beautiful Celebrity Silhouette in Amsterdam, after joining her for the last five days of her baltic cruise and heading to Flamm, a blog favourite of mine for those of you who have read before, to join the Celebrity Eclipse during her Eight night Fjords cruise through Norway. 

Never straight forward, obviously or I wouldn’t ever need to write this blog. Feel free to peruse a map of Europe if you’re unfamiliar (I live here and I still had to take a look) but Latvia was not necessarily up there with my assumption of stop over choices en route from the Netherlands to Norway. However I headed to the airport and tried to settle myself for what was to be a 10 hour wait for my first flight to the capital Riga. 

Theres a baggage storage facility in Schipol airport and though I contemplated a trip on the train back into the city, to be honest I was truly exhausted. I never really sleep much the night before I disembark or travel to a ship for fear of sleeping through my alarm and having performed in the farewell variety show the previous evening I needed the ‘coming down’ time and chance for the adrenalin to disperse for hitting the hay anyway. So I decided I would pay for some premium wifi, stream some of my favourite UK TV shows and have a quiet relaxing ‘me’ day.

The only spoiler to this plan was the fact that I couldn’t find a plug socket. Anywhere. A soap opera marathon was going to require three things… a set of head phones, some snack food and a power point so as not to be disrupted at a crucial plot crossroads. I wasn’t having any luck. I checked all the bars and cafes in the departure area and in the end I could only find one on the back of the fire extinguisher station. Sporadically therefore I would have to leave the relative comfort of my seat and go and sit on the floor for half an hour to recharge my devices. Less than glamorous but hardly arduous. 

The day passed by relatively smoothly and after a painstaking slow check in process I headed to my gate for my flight to Riga, the Latvian capital. I wasn’t even sure what currency they used in Latvia. Good old google reliably informed me they had indeed joined the Euro and on my arrival, tired and weary I headed to the taxi rank with all my luggage to ascertain the quickest possible route to my hotel bed. A very grumpy taxi driver I can only describe as ‘lobbed’ my bags into the back of the car and before I had even closed the door set off at break neck speed through the airport car park. I deduced that maybe my hotel wasn’t that far away as he seemed rather disgruntled at my destination request. I felt guilty that the guy had got to the front of the taxi line for his turn to be taken up with my short jaunt but before I had time to apologise or indeed even fasten my seat belt he almost thrust me though the gap in the seats and potentially through the windscreen. He was swearing  (an assumption, granted as my Latvian isn’t my strongest suit) and swishing about between carriageways like a Super Mario Cart. The journey was literally a blur and only three Euros later I found myself castigated on the pavement outside the hotel with no receipt and the driver speeding off into the distance in a plume of exhaust fumes. 

I dragged my wares into the foyer and the much much friendlier hotelier helped me carry them to my room.

The alarm went off at 5am and off I headed back to the airport, this time safely ensconced in the hotel shuttle bus. 

I tried to take a little nap on my flight from Riga to Oslo but the all too frequent shoving of the seat behind made that implausible. 

I had to collect my luggage AGAIN on arrival in Oslo and head back to check in for the third time in 18 hours and pay for my luggage again as all three flights had been with different airlines.

I had a couple of hours to kill in the airport and this was put to good use trying to choose a bathroom suite online whilst on the phone to Steve. We are renovating our new home whilst living in it which to be honest is not the most fun I have ever had. Though Steve is the one living in the disruption more than I am so I won’t complain.

I boarded the tiny propellor plane to find there were only three passengers. It was about as close as I’ll ever get to travelling in a private jet! I felt pretty sorry for the cabin crew member who had to repeat all the safety announcements in English just for me. My Norwegian is about as good as my Latvian. 

As the plane took off and became smothered in the clouds she came and sat next to me

“I hope you don’t mind me asking?” she enquired “But what are you doing going to Sogndal? "

 

I told her all about my journey to the ship, what I do onboard, the usual questions and we happily chatted the flight away. There was no view to behold as the marshmallow white of the sky had completely enveloped the aircraft.

I asked her about her life as cabin crew flying only in Norway with this domestic airline. She worked away a week at a time and was home every other week and had two children that her husband predominantly cared for. Every night she stayed in different town in Norway in a different hotel and therefore in a different bed. I pack and move every four or five days on average and I find this hard but compared to her I felt a little embarrased. She was utterly lovely and I really enjoyed talking to her. As the plane came in to land it became apparent that Sogndal was a very small place indeed. Throughout the caribbean season I frequently take island hooper flights on small aircraft in and out of petite airports but this was indeed the smallest airport I had ever seen. The guy waving the plane along the runway to its halt was the guy that opened the aircraft door and the same guy that unloaded the luggage and then drove it and put it onto the tiny conveyor belt in the arrivals hall. I say arrivals hall but the room was about the same size as the downstairs of my house. After asking a very accommodating big ginger viking whether or not I procure a taxi in this tiny hamlet he arranged for someone from the town to come and collect me. 

“it will be about 20 minutes” he said. Theres no taxi’s here. we have to call the next town and they will send someone. You can wait in departures.”

I thanked him and headed inside out of the damp and cold to discover that Departures was half the size of arrivals!! This place was so lovely and as I waited a guy casually strolled in off the street and enquired about when the next flight was to Oslo like he was catching a bus. I loved it. This, i thought, is real community.

When the taxi arrived another typically ginger Nordic gent helped me put my bags in the car somewhat more courteously than they had been handle in Latvia. I got into the back of the plush four wheel drive and enquired about the journey. 

“how long will it take to get to Flaam?” I asked politely. As per usual I was thoroughly embarrassed to death at being English and therefore having no command of the local language what so ever. 

“its about 15 minutes to the ferry. Then the ferry is about 15 minutes. Then about 50 minutes on the other side” he answered.

“Ferry?” I replied??

“yes. he said. Its the only way to cross the fjord to get to Flamm”

“ok I guess” I replied and settled in for the journey.

As we wound our way down the beautiful narrow causeway into the village at the base of the fjord, I started to feel a rather strange sensation. I was getting hotter I think… I felt a little flushed and after a few seconds realised the sensation was coming from my legs and my backside (insert delicate whispering voice here)

Worried for a second I thought maybe I had a blood clot or worse still at my ripe old age was losing control of my bodily functions in public. I saw a light on the door frame out of the corner of my eye and realised it was in fact a heated seat. What a numpty I am.

We rolled up to the dock for the ferry and quickly and efficiently boarded for what was a short and scenery-free trip across the water. The cars were packed in and the sides of the ferry built up very high. I didn’t see a thing. I literally had no idea where he was taking me.

At the other side we headed off on our way and I whiled the time away marvelling at the sheer grandeur of each hillside and mountain and the breathtaking beauty of the tumultuous waterfalls as they spilled their wares around us tumbling into the icy fjord below. In and out of tunnels through the mountains I could see we were following the base of the fjord around into the valley. A little tired now and somewhat oblivious of time we entered another dark passageway and didn’t seem to emerge. I day dreamed and contemplated, thinking about how hungry I was (no shock there then) and how much I was looking forward to taking a power nap once I got onboard. Eventually we emerged froth other side of the tunnel and it took me a moment or two for my eyes to adjust.

“wow that was a long tunnel” I said 

“yes” the ginger viking replied “the longest in the world. Twenty five kilometres through the mountain”

It was then it struck me. Even though this was an indirect somewhat crazy way to transfer from one ship to the next, it occurred to me that despite my fatigue I had embarked upon a journey that most people in their lifetime would never take. Three flights, the tiny plane. “Gunn” the lovely airline steward, the ginger vikings, the ferry across the fjord and the longest tunnel in the world just for little old me to get to a ship and seeing some songs.

I’m so blessed

...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…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

https://youtu.be/Hx3iCIEvbbM

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that possible?” Harvey asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To book the cruise…..

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

British Open Shore Excursions:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought I was on at 8.30pm now?” 

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

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

I started to panic a bit. 

“will he be ok??” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Calamity Jayne

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

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

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

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

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

“Bum Bum”

The name of the ice cream. 

I put it back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nationally we should adopt the slogan 

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

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

I might try it 

ein zwei drei 

ein zwei drei...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I spoke to steve

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

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

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

I told him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…”Maybe we will” he laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was no sports store at Terminal 3 in Manchester

There was no sports store at Terminal 1 at Heathrow. 

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

‘Tomorrow’ was Sunday and everything was closed.

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

I stayed in bed ;-)

 some of the local wines we tried at "Cork"

      

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

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

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