Category Archives: Solo travel

Chicago, Vermont and a very small Murphy

Solo travel, Travel, Uncategorized, USA, , , , ,

In January of this year, Aer Lingus had a sale. I checked out the destinations and found a six day return trip to Chicago for 395eur in September. That was a steal so I booked it immediately. Having travelled to Chicago a quarter of a century earlier, I did not have any abiding memories of the city. That earlier excursion had been in August and was three days at the end of a fortnight’s journey to New York, Boston and Chicago. I remember the stifling humidity of August, my friend urgently requiring a toilet while in Boystown after a burger went down the wrong way, and me getting trapped in a different toilet.

Back in the twentieth century I had two regular traveling companions with whom I travelled each year. Usually at the end of our holiday we needed a break from each other and we’d take an ‘alone day’ where we’d do our own thing and then meet for dinner and drinks later. I think I went to a bookshop. I selected a diner for lunch and had a sandwich. After my meal I repaired to the restroom, to a cubicle. Unfortunately the door would not unlock for me after my business was finished, and I ended up calling for assistance from the laughing waitress, while being a luminous shade of puce. I remember her comment ‘don’t worry, you’re not the first that’s happened to.’ With 20/20 hindsight I wish I had replied ‘Maybe the door needs fixing then.’

This trip would be different. I was travelling alone and therefore would be marching entirely to the beat of my own drum. Travelling alone is not a challenge for me. About ten years ago I decided that the world was far too big to wait until others are ready to see it, and that if I have a yen to take a gander, then I should go right ahead. Happily when I make the booking I will often acquire a companion who will ask if they can come as well. Not this time however.

In March, a curveball flew in my direction. My youngest brother and his wife (whose wedding I attended in Ibidan, Nigeria last year) announced that they were expecting their first child on September 20th. My travel dates to Chicago were 18th to 24th September. They lived in Burlington, Vermont. A mere 900 miles / 1500 kilometres away. I took this as a sign that I was meant to travel to Vermont for a few days. A return flight from Chicago O’Hare to Burlington International Airport (one flight a week to Canada) was acquired.

My flight to Chicago departed on time at 3pm on Wednesday and lasted eight hours. I watched the films ‘The Bridges of Madison County’, ‘Singin’ in the rain’ and ‘Joker’ during the trip, where to my joy I had a row to myself.

I was staying at a grim little boarding house in Chinatown. This suited me fine. It had a bed, a table, chair and bathroom which is all I need. I wasn’t planning on doing anything there except sleeping. Chinatown is about four miles south of the famed Chicago Loop which would be classified as the main downtown, tourist area. I didn’t arrive till 9pm so that evening I stayed local and dined on sour fish soup in Friends BBQ in Chinatown.

I woke at 6am on Thursday (the six hour time difference meant my body thought it was lunchtime). I had an appointment at 11am for an architectural boat tour of the city. I estimated that it would take me about ninety minutes to reach the meeting point along the Chicago river. The plan was to take the Metro but the early morning sunshine was refreshing so I walked along the banks of Lake Michigan to reach the meeting point, stopping en route for a Korean breakfast of an egg tart, apple and bacon on toast, washed down with filter coffee.

I passed the famed Cloud Gate statue (more commonly known as The Bean as it resembles one) in Millennium Park. This is possibly the best known landmark of Chicago. I am not sure why. Although to see the majestic skyline reflected in the bean is impressive.

The architectural boat your was fascinating. In 1871 Chicago was a rapidly, expanding city of 300,000 residents. Mrs O’Leary’s cow knocked over a paraffin lamp (allegedly) resulting in nearly all of downtown burning to the ground, and one third of the population being displaced. Amazingly only 300 people perished in the fire which raged for days. Chicago became an architect’s dream as it was being rebuilt. A blank canvas – the skyscraper was invented in Chicago. The first skyscraper only had ten floors, but even that must have been a wonder in the 1870s. Various iconic buildings were shown to us including Willis Tower (pronounced locally as Sears Towers – at one time the world’s tallest building), Trump Tower and the St Regis tower – the 101 storey building by Jeanne Gang which is the tallest building in the world by a female architect.

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The tale of the Swedish suitcase

Holiday, Solo travel, Travel, , ,

I arose early on Good Friday – I was a man on a mission, with places to visit and things to do. Late last year when Ryanair was doing another of their promotions I managed to find an Easter deal to visit Stockholm – departing on Good Friday and returning on Easter Monday – for 98 euro return. Stockholm (or Sweden) had never featured highly on my ‘places I must visit’ list – partly because I had visited Malmo on a day trip from Copenhagen years earlier. This meant I had already been to the land of IKEA and Volvo, so it was not a gaping hole on my European travel map. This coupled with the fact that it was still sub-zero at night in Stockholm in April, meant my attitude towards Sweden was one of mild interest rather than burning desire. Don’t misunderstand me – I adore ABBA as much as the next person, but they are a band that has transcended time and space that can be appreciated from anywhere.

I packed my bags, taking special care to look after my passport card. When I replaced my ten year passport book last year I also invested in a five year passport card. This credit card sized item enables travel within the EU without the need for a regular passport. Good thing really. My passport is currently at the Nigerian Embassy in Dublin as I wait on a visa for my brother’s June wedding. This would be my first trip solely using the passport card. Into my hand luggage it went along with bank cards; phone, insulin; change of underwear and a book – my reading material for this journey was ‘The wonder’ by Emma Donoghue.

To the station I went to catch the 12.55 train to Dublin. This wouldn’t be a direct train – I would need to change at Limerick Junction. Regular readers will know of the existence of Limerick Junction – a bleak, desolate station in a field in county Tipperary where passengers from Limerick travelling to Dublin must change to the Cork train to their final destination of Heuston. The Junction is a hovel where dreams go to die, suffering as it does from a micro-climate where it rains 367 days a year, where the temperature rarely exceeds 4 degrees and where there are only two hours daylight even in the height of summer. While I might be exaggerating somewhat, you’ll understand the type of place it is.

Surprisingly that Saturday the Cork to Dublin train was already waiting at the Junction. The sun was shining. How unusual, I thought to myself. My seat was D33. I was seated at a table of four. The other three passengers at my table were three Dublin grannies who had been to Cork to support their grandchildren at an Irish dancing Feis (competition).
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A gas time in Athens

Holiday, Solo travel, Theatre, Travel, , , , , , ,

I made my way to the airport in an almost fugue state.  A 6.20am flight meant arrival at the airport at 4.30am – not the time of day that I want to live, laugh or love. After I made my way through the security screening I realised that I had lost my ring – between the metal detector / X-ray machine and the point when I was on my way to the gate. My father’s wedding ring had slipped off my little finger. Perhaps it was when I removed my belt and jacket, or took the liquids and laptop from my bag for screening. This was unfortunate. I have worn the ring intermittently over the past twenty years. I received it after my father died in January 2003, while I was on holiday in Melbourne. Having noticed that the ring was slipping off my finger more easily in recent months I had made a vague commitment to being more careful with it. Fully awake now I went back to the screening area. The guards re-Xrayed my bags and in an apologetic but firm manner told me that they could do no more, and gave me a card to report it to Lost and Found, who updated their website with missing items daily. I was peeved. I am not somebody who is sentimental over physical things, so I wouldn’t be weeping into my pillows over the missing ring. Save for the ring though, and a brown leather box, these were the only items I possessed that belonged to my father.

Parthenon

There was no point in stressing. It had happened, it couldn’t be undone, and I’d have to get on with my trip (after an email to Lost and Found). My first ever journey to the cradle of western civilisation – Athens. I’d been to Greece’s second city Thessaloniki a few times previously with work, and to the beautiful island of Mykonos, but this would be my first trip to Athens. I didn’t know what to expect. I knew there would be magnificent, ancient ruins for sure, but had been told by various people – Greeks included – to be careful, as it was a fairly grungy city where petty crime was sometimes a feature.

Travelling on Friday 3rd March,  four days earlier Greece had experienced its worst ever train disaster when a packed, passenger train travelling at full speed from Athens to Thessaloniki had a head on collision with a freight train coming in the opposite direction. Fifty seven people (at the most recent count) had been killed. Greece was a county in mourning, while also seeking answers from the government who had privatised the rail network without securing the rail infrastructure’s safety.

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Travels in the Heel of Italy – Lecce and Gallipolli

Italy, Pandemic Travels, Solo travel, Travel, Uncategorized, ,

As I sat in Dublin Airport waiting to board my plane to Bergamo, I had a thought. If I’d checked travel dates when booking my foreign trips six months earlier, I wouldn’t have travelled to Naples one weekend, returned home, only to go back to southern Italy the following weekend. I’d have stayed in Italy. Sadly, this was only a thought, so there I was again – sitting in Departures, waiting to board a Ryanair flight.

Basilica di Santa Croce, Lecce

Upon arrival in Bergamo I realised why my hotel was so cheap – it was out in the countryside – and as my flight landed at 10.30pm I had to take a taxi there – there being no public transport at that hour. The driver was a sleazy grifter. He didn’t look like one, but he changed forty euros for a five-kilometre trip. In these situations, it’s not worth arguing. I paid the money and swore not to take another taxi this holiday. Arising at 7.30 I started planning my return journey to Bergamo Airport for my 11.50am flight. Sipping a strong coffee, an awkward fact presented itself. It would be quicker to walk from my rural B&B than to take a bus. Also 40 euro cheaper than Uber was telling me the 5km journey would cost. It seems like I had misjudged by driver from the night before. This is after all the most expensive part of Italy. The early morning stroll to the airport was scenic and rustic until I reached the motorway. I could see the airport in the distance, but how to safely traverse six lanes of traffic. A kindly Italian farmer pointed me in the direction of an underpass (he saw me looking bewildered from his tractor). Onwards to Lecce.

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Pandemic travel: Paphos, Cyprus

Pandemic Travels, Solo travel, Travel,

Ryanair is an airline that receives a lot of deservedly bad press. Its lack of customer service; its ability to charge extra for absolutely everything; its habit of charging more for a flight change than it is to simply abandon your initial flight and instead make a brand new booking; its hard sell at every point of the booking and flying process – I doubt the children’s charities who are meant to benefit from Ryanair lottery tickets receive much funding from the airline Like clockwork Michael O’Leary issues a press release every couple of years to announce that Ryanair are going to start charging to use the toilets on board. Cue lots of press outrage over this publicity stunt, even though everyone knows that free toilets are a legal onboard requirement in the aviation industry.

Paphos Castle

I have no issue with Ryanair. It is upfront about how horrible it is, almost proud of this fact. You get what you pay for – and woe betide you if you miss something – the airline won’t help. I like the fact that it flies to many destinations that other airlines don’t offer. It can also be very cheap so long as you check the small print. Your €9.99 trip to Amsterdam will actually cost you €140 when you add in the price of the return flight; the price of a carry-on bag and the train transfer from Eindhoven to Amsterdam. With a bit of plotting you can get some deals.

Two weeks ago the carrier had one of its flash 24 hour sales. I had a quick look at saw that a return flight from Dublin to Paphos in Cyprus including a carryon bag would cost €120. This is the longest flight on the Ryanair network.  The flight lasts about 5 hours. More horrifically, the outbound leg of the journey was at 5.45am on Friday morning. Needs must.

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