More on airports

A good article from the BBC's Frank Gardner on travelling with a wheelchair and some of the problems he has had getting on and off planes.  Frank was paralysed from the waist down when he was shot while reporting in Saudi Arabia about 10 years ago.

I particularly like the shot of Frank wheeling himself across an airport with a walker slung around his neck - even with assistance I've found that sometimes, it's only for me, not anything I might have with me, even my crutches.  I end up balancing a carry on between my feet and two crutches on my lap.

I travel much lighter than most people - very seldom do you see me with a full size carry on, usually I just pack a small backpack with what is needed for the flight and check everything else in.  These days, that's an extra cost I somewhat begrudge.  When we're heading to NZ, though, we usually have a reasonably large backpack each, since we both need at least one change of clothes (I still take an extra change for the small Scottish boy, in case of knocked over drinks on board).  The boy is just about old enough to tow a decent size carry on case, but not when he is tired and grumpy.  Which I think is pretty reasonable for a 7 year old after 19 hours on a plane.

Heathrow Terminal 5, where I was last week, had a really sturdy wheelchair which had room underneath for a full size carry on bag, plus hooks on the back for small bags.  This was great as we hadn't checked anything in, so for once did have a full size cabin bag suitcase on wheels.  I was betting on the small boy pulling it, but at a push I can manage on one crutch for short distances.

They were also more than happy to take me all the way onto my underground train (to Kings Cross, which now has lifts!)  The only drawback was that it wasn't the sort you can wheel yourself, which meant a bit of juggling to get through some of the doors.

I *can* walk but I can't walk as far, nor stand as long, as is usually required in airports.  So wheelchair assistance is a great help, which I use when I need it but not when I don't, but sometimes it could be done a bit better!

Ah, Edinburgh (a rant)

I live just outside Edinburgh and mostly, I love that.  My town has a great character, lovely views of the Forth and reasonable house prices.  My two bedroom flat with a garden would cost two or three times as much in the city itself.  The small Scottish boy goes to a great school which I can literally see out of my front window.  I work 10 minutes away.  I'll write about the town at some point.

Most weekends, I head into Edinburgh to meet up with various members of City Knitty aka "scary queer knitters".  Every other Saturday, we meet up with kids, usually in the museum.  The other weeks we meet on a Sunday, mostly but not always without kids, in a cafe near Fountainbridge.  I also like to go into Edinburgh for other reasons, like shopping, eating out, the cinema or shows.

One of the things people who live elsewhere always say about living in Edinburgh is how great it must be able to go to the Edinburgh Festival (by which they invariable actually mean the Festival Fringe).  The problem is that it is extremely difficult to get to since there is so little parking in the city centre.  Public transport has it's own problems.  I don't do well on buses.  They usually mean long waits at bus stops with either uncomfortable seats or no seats.  They swerve about and judder a lot which leaves me with back pain.  Trains are better, but Edinburgh's train stations are not disabled friendly.  Haymarket lacks lift access to all but one platform.  Waverley has impressive lift access between platforms but as yet no lift access to Princes Street (a level access way used to exist, via a shopping centre, but this is closed off).  The steep, narrow pathway from the platform to Waverley Bridge meets no-one's standard.  I'm surprised not to see wheelchair users piled at the bottom of it.  The only practical way to get from the station to Princes Street at the moment is to take a taxi!

In a few years we will hopefully have trams running down Princes Street, the main shopping street in the New Town, which will be great.  I will be able to leave the car at the park and ride out by the airport and by delivered, comfortably seated and reasonably swiftly, to a stop right outside Marks & Spencer.  In the meantime, tram works just add to the misery.  Princes Street was until recently closed to traffic, for tram rails to be laid for a second time, after the first ones buckled before the trams even ran.  This shifted bus traffic onto George Street and meant all the on-street parking on George Street and a number of adjacent streets, including most of the disabled parking bays, were suspended for the duration.  Dashing (slowly) into the bank one day, I managed to get a parking ticket at a place I'd previously been able to park - poor signage meant I didn't notice the temporary "no loading at any time" signs, though the Council did cancel the ticket when I sent photos of said signage.  Here's the sign.  That's my red car.  Can you see how I managed not to see it?  Oh and that's two tickets - because they managed to issue the first one to the wrong coloured car.

Now, back to the Festival.  It adds even more fun.  Various street events take place, leading to more on-street parking bays being suspended.  In particular, the handiest for the Old Town, at the top of Victoria Street, and those in front of the Museum, in Chambers Street are pretty common targets.  On a recent visit to Chambers Street, the disabled bays by the Museum entrance had been suspended, but none of the other spaces.  Unfortunately, these are narrow spaces, running down the centre of the road (where the old tram tracks ran, as it happens) and I need space to fling two crutches and both legs out before I get out of my seat, so even without a wheelchair they're not practical.

If I do get parked, the town is so full of tourists and people trying to fling fliers in my hand (which hand, I have a crutch in each!) any attempt to get anywhere in the city during the festival is an exercise in frustration.  And endless apologies for having knocked someone round the ankles with a crutch (sometimes, it's not entirely accidental - don't cut up people on crutches!)  You can't pause for a rest without fear of being bowled over.

So, see you in September, Edinburgh.

Is this thing working?

This blog kind of got forgotten for a while there. Since I got back from New Zealand last spring, life has been taken up by a lot of studying and that's left me not in the mood for writing. The end is (sort of) in sight. The hectic round of short papers to take me to the end of my Post Grad Diploma is pretty much over, culminating in having 3 assignments due in 8 weeks over the summer this year. The exam for that course is in mid-October and then I start a long course with a much more relaxed schedule of 5 assignments over 10 months. And then, I am done.

Needless to say we've not stopped travelling. Spring this year saw us using up the airmiles we'd earned from all those trips to NZ with a short break in Dubai. It was winter there, which meant temperatures in the high 20s, just perfect for us. We swam every day in the unheated pool, saw the sights and cruised some shopping malls. Dubai is great for me, if only because of the cheap and plentiful taxis. A real contrast to London or Greece (of which, more later).

 

We stayed at the Arabian Courtyard in the centre of the older part of town, a few kilometres (or a £5 taxi ride) from the glitzy highrises of Sheikh Zayed Road and the 5* resorts of Jumeirah. I like this part of town though, because you can walk places and it has a bit of life. We were right opposite the old fort, now the city museum. Beyond that is the central mosque, then the old souq and beyond that the creek, where a short abra (open boat) ride takes you to the gold souk. If you want to go further afield, you just hail a taxi. Most of the 'locals' in this area are Indian and Pakistani. Tucked away just behind the central mosque are the city's Sikh and Hindu temples. We spent some time on the creek front watching boats come and go, everything from the ubiquitous abras and dhows to million dollar motorboats.


That area also contains a number of historic buildings, although historic is more akin to NZ's meaning of the word than Scotland's. Like all tourists, we had to demonstrate the fact that some of the doors were on the small side...


I've almost perfected my ability to pose for a photo while hiding the crutches, you'll see.

More Travelling

Kudos to CCS Disability Action, who operate New Zealand's disabled parking permit system.  They have a very easy process to apply for a New Zealand permit online and have the permit sent to your accommodation (or in my case, brother) to await your arrival.  All they need is a scanned copy of whatever the local equivalent is where you live - in my case the "blue badge".

A pity the UK can't reciprocate with this.

OTOH, it is possible to use UK (and other EU) permits throughout the EU and usually airport parking will let you use the disabled space, but take your blue badge with you on holiday - they usually ask you to let the attendant know as you are leaving.

Travel plans

The last couple of weeks I have been busy with 2011's travel plans.

In March, I'm heading to Ireland for three days, my first visit in almost 2 years. This is unusual - I was there annually in 2002, 2003 and 2004, then in 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008 at least twice a year. The multiple trips to New Zealand meant there was no trip last year and I promised myself a trip when I finally sold a house I owned in England (even though I made no money on the house at all!).

I'll be staying in Dublin, for the first time in 3 years and in the city centre for the first time in over 8 years. Usually I have stayed with my friend J, who used to live on the western outskirts of Dublin and now lives in Carlow, about an hour south-west of Dublin. I've been to Athlone twice and twice stayed on the outskirts of Dublin, but it was unusual for me to venture into the city centre.

This time, I'm staying just off O'Connell Street and J will join me for at least Saturday, possibly also Friday night. I'm meeting another friend for dinner on the Thursday. During the days I'll get the chance to reacquaint myself with a city I first visited almost 20 years ago.

In April, I'll be heading, with L, back to New Zealand for another longish trip. We're flying Emirates again, as I did on both trips last year. The value of frequent flyer schemes shows - I have so many points now it wasn't worth considering a different airline. We'll have lounge access in Dubai on the way out and in all the airports on the way back. We'll also have enough points for an upgrade on the final leg, which will get us a free car & driver in Glasgow to get us home.

My experiences of Emirates and Dubai have mostly been good, although some staff seem to struggle to balance the combination of a passenger requiring special assistance *and* a small child. I've had a couple of experiences where the wheelchair was moving so fast, L was struggling to keep up, but they've slowed down when I ask.

On my return trip last year, however, there was a bit of a SNAFU which meant they had no way to get me on the plane at Dubai, as it was at a remote gate (no air-bridge). Emirates were very good and held the plane (for 90 minutes!) until it was sorted out but it was all very stressful. I complained and they apologised and compensated me. I'm happy to fly with them again but their apology included a very useful explanation of what had happened and how to avoid it again.

There are three classes of wheel chair assistant available (and I believe all major airlines use these codes - certainly the same options were available when I booked my Aer Lingus flights to Dublin).

• WCHR - this is for people who cannot manage long distances, but can manage stairs. It'll get you to the gate but not up or down stairs at the gate or plane. 
• WCHS - this also gets you assistance with the stairs - and if you need it a special lift (elevator) to get you onto the plane
• WCHC - this means you get assistance (carried or a special narrow wheelchair) to get to your actual seat.  

In my case, the code had been changed from WCHS to WCHR when I changed my flights in Auckland, but because there was a WCHC passenger on my flight from Auckland to Dubai there had been no problem until then.  

Of course I probably need a different one.  I am usually OK, especially on departure, to walk to the gate myself - and I enjoy having a look at the shops or getting a drink or something to eat, rather than being parked in a crowded pen somewhere.  A bit of gentle exercise also staves off stiffness which is an inevitable consequence of sitting for long periods.  

This is especially the case when I have L with me - the last thing he needs before a 24 hour flight is 2 hours sitting somewhere boring!  I can do this if there is an air bridge to get onto the plane, but if I need a lift, I have to get wheelchair assistance the whole way.  

Friday Club

I am very lucky to have been involved with two wonderful, strong, inspiring groups of women through my life. - my own group of close women friends was blogged about last year by my friend Lissie.

Many years ago, though, another group of women with similar backgrounds, one of whom was my mother, came together at a Parents' Centre coffee morning in New Zealand. All had babies under two, four girls and a boy. All but one went on to have another child, a year or so later - this time three boys and a girl. So in all we were five families. Well, there was a sixth, with an older boy and one the same age as me, and a few other families we spent time with, but as the years went on the core formed around five families.

Each Friday afternoon, these five Mums would meet for a few drinks, with us kids being sent off to play with strict instructions not to be seen *or* heard "unless there is blood" (especially as we got older). Massive quantities of chippies (crisps) would be ground into the carpet, accompanied by plenty of lego. Lifetime friendships were formed. In many ways the other "kids" (for we are still kids, although we're aged between 33 and 36!) are closer than cousins, especially for those of us without actual cousins.

We shared many good and bad times down the years, but big birthdays were always a big event, both the Mums' 40ths, 50ths, and latterly 60ths and the 21sts of us kids. Parties were held and the jokes became more and more elaborate. My brother found this today, which must day from a 50th birthday I think around 15 years ago now. Somehow, it captures Friday Club in it's glory days.



When my mother died, Friday Club gathered round and were a huge source of strength to my brother and I. Everyone came round at some point to help us clear houses, deal with practicalities. We were invited to dinner by kids and Mums alike. After the funeral a core bunch of us gathered to remember happier times and many laughs (and glasses of wine) were had.

This is most of the kids (by Friday Club tradition, one of us is inevitably missing - he turned up 5 minutes after the pic was taken) and *our* kids (again, one - our first girl - is missing, at just over a week old, she was asleep), taken while I was in NZ after my grandmother died.



And here we are, at least most of us, back when it all started - I think this must be December 1977.

Lost, one crutch

Just before Christmas, I lost one of my crutches. I have, well had, four pairs. My NHS issue ones. which I don't like on a lot of grounds, and three pairs of French made ones I have bought myself. All are elbow crutches, the French call then "canne anglaise". I can't use underarm crutches due to my dodgy wrists.

My red folding pair were the first ones I bought when I started using crutches full time. They are half cuff (that's the bit that goes round your arm, just below the elbow) which I found much better when you need to do things like open doors.

When we were in France over the summer I bought two more pairs. One in grey and one in "Bordeaux" - or Burgundy as we call it in English. They were this type:

Although they are not folding, they are very comfortable, the cuffs give lots of support which takes the strain off my wrists and elbows and they don't have the annoying click of many crutches.

Sadly, just before Christmas, I lost one. I sometimes "get away" with only one crutch. I shouldn't, it's bad for my spine and pelvis, but sometimes having one hand free helps, so for short distances I'll often take just one. All I can think of is that I went somewhere with two and left with only one. I've retraced my steps but with no luck. It's gone.

So now, I have one grey one, and four in different shades of red. Which presents a problem when I wear, for example, green. So now to decide. Do I buy one more grey one or a new pair altogether. I do quite like these ones from Cool Crutches.

Risotto

Risotto is one of my favourite easy dinners, but although easy it's time consuming so it's something I tend to make just for myself, when I can stand in the kitchen with a glass of wine and add extra liquid when required. This is tonight's.

My basic recipe is to fry a packet of lardons in a wee bit of olive oil. If I am worrying about fat content, I drain it off.

If I am using butternut squash, and I usually am, I add that (cubed) and let it fry a wee while. Then I chuck in about half a cup of risotto rice and let it fry a wee bit too.

I don't use proper stock, so I add in about 2 tsp of Knorr boullion powder with the first cup of water. Keep adding water until it's done.

Once I had that basic recipe, I add vegetables depending on what takes my fancy. Today was asparagus. Petit pois (baby peas) and broad beans are my other standbys.

Near the end, I put in about 1/4 cup of wine and after it's served, I often crumble some soft goats cheese over it.

It's good. And if you have managed to get this far, you will have discovered I not only use recipes, I can't write one either.

Well, life has happened

It's a long time since I posted, for various reasons. I may blog about some of them in more detail, but for now, I plan to just leap back in. For context, a month after my grandmother's death I also lost my mother. I ended up returning to NZ for a month. The day before I flew back, I fell down the outside steps. It turns out I broke my tailbone. Needless to say, my other problems have not helped me recover, but I am probably as good as I will be now.

And so... to the blog.

"My wife's people call it Polyfilla"

The title to this is a quote from Notes from a Big Country (aka I'm a Strange Here Myself, Bill Bryson's collection of articles about his return to the USA after 20 years living in Britain. He's relating how he lacks the vocabulary for a whole range of adult concepts, in this case DIY, having left the US at the age of 19. For my US readers, he wanted spackle.

I've just returned from an unexpected trip back to New Zealand, my Grandmother died three weeks ago, after a very brief acute illness and a longer battle with Alzheimers. She was almost 80, lived in her own home (with significant support) until late March and was still walking the dog at the start of the year.

My Grandma:



Like Bryson, I've spent my entire adult life outside NZ and what reminded me of his quote was trying to explain that I needed "bin tags" for the . The funny thing is, this is not a term I use in the UK - we have free rubbish collection here, but one I have picked up from Irish friends. Last time I lived in NZ, you had to buy stickers to put on your rubbish bags, so they would be collected - I couldn't remember what they were though. Now, you pay for a wheelie bin collection or you pay for pre-paid bags - it costs NZ$1.50 (approx UK£0.75, US$1) for a 60 litre bin bag, which it turns out was what I wanted. 35 years old and I can't figure out how to deal with the rubbish. I used 13 bags. And filled about 6 non-prepaid bags of clothes which will go to a charity shop.

It's strange being a stranger in your own country - especially since I am still a foreigner here, by and large. My accent gives me away and no matter how accustomed I am to negotiating life, every now and then something happens which reminds me I am, in many ways, not of this place. Most recently, realising that, on a hot sunny day at a park, we were the only ones wearing hats (and probably also the only ones with sunscreen on!). That's the kiwi coming out.

In NZ, it's even stranger. As I drive around Auckland (or even further field, I mostly do it as a local. I do not need a map. I know the streets, mostly (although every now and then I was surprised by a change - especially to the motorway network). I can slip back into understanding television peppered with Maori words - even in the first week of our stay, when it was Maori language week and I had to explain some of the kids TV shows to L. But to NZers, I am a tourist. My accent no longer sounds local to them and I struggle with the money - the coinage has been reissued recently and the coins, although they look the same, are much smaller. I go to the top of the Sky Tower - a building which still seems a strange addition to the skyline to me and can rattle off the names of the various volcanic cones and islands to L, but there are whole suburbs, just a few kilometres north of my childhood home, which are nameless to me. And in Glenfield Mall - one of my teenage haunts, at least before I had access to a car, I get completely disorientated. It's now 4 times it's old size and I can never get a point of reference relating to the old layout. Having the kids play area next to Dunkin' Donuts is a good plan though :D

A pic, looking north towards where I used to live, from the Sky Tower: