ON LOVE, FRIENDS AND HOLIDAYS

Back in the saddle

Going on holiday since my wife Janine passed away has been difficult. More often than not, she did all the arrangements and booked everything. We were always careful to check things such as passport details together. Most of all, of course, we shared the journeys, whiling away long waits by chatting and observing the people passing by.

But eventually I was encouraged to take trips by friends. I went by train to Genoa with my friends Madjid and Rick. It got me back in the saddle, they were kind and supportive companions.

My first plane flight was to England with my friend Heidi who was a good companion and helped ease my fluster at the airport. The train I caught from London to Somerset was full of people going to Glastonbury Festival - I stuck out like a sore thumb. When a fellow passenger asked me if I was going there, I said, ‘Not as a spectator but a participant. I’m an old friend of Paul McCartney’s and he lets me play the tambourine on his set.’ They believed me and gazed at me in awe - my old skill at telling tall tales had not deserted me.

Neither had my honesty. I instantly admitted that I was joking.

The next holiday was to Crete, again with Heidi. It was Janine and mine’s favourite holiday spot and I deliberately chose to stay in our usual hotels. It was fine.

So much so that I went to Bayeux for a week on my own. And then I went to Crete again, to meet my childhood friend Brian and his wife Bev. I crossed to the island by ferry, something Janine and I promised ourselves we would do but time ran out for us.

AND THEN THE BIGGY.

Janine and I had booked to spend a month in Florida with Mark and Jayne, our lovely American friends. Two days before we were due to fly, the American borders were closed because of Covid so we had to cancel. Janine never made it to America.

But this year, I was ready to take the trip and visit our friends. It was years since we had met. I was beyond excited.

Here’s what happened on the way.

I decided to go to America by ship. Good.

I booked train tickets to Civitavecchia and, not checking carefully like Janine would have, didn’t leave enough time for easy transfers. Bad.

My friend Geoff took me to the station, I got there in good time and was able to catch an earlier train. Good.

My friend Mary lives in Rome and she met me at the station and put me on the right train for the port. Good.

When I arrived at Civitavecchia a smiling railway worker took me to the wrong place for taxis. Perhaps he misunderstood me. Or maybe he was having a laugh. Bad.

A taxi arrived and said he would take me to the hotel for 20 euros. I knew it was too much but was too tired to argue. He took me on a scenic tour past the same lingerie shop three times and then dropped me at the wrong address. Bad

The hotel owners came to find me. Good.

I went out for a meal of Spaghetti Carbonara. I think the chef must have been adding salt when his mama rang and he spoke to her for five minutes while still pouring the salt.

I sent it back. The aggrieved waiter gave me an insulting look and told me this is Spaghetti Carbonara. I said it wasn’t - it Spaghetti and a whole packet of salt. The replacement was better but still too mouth-puckeringly salty to eat. Bad.

Mary met me for lunch and went with me to the port, she speaks excellent Italian, is determined and knows how to negotiate the idiosyncrasies of the country. Good.

The port authorities appear to have thought that every passenger was psychic as there were no signs to say where to board the ships. Bad.

We got to the shuttle stop by following equally bewildered passengers. The shuttle came and the driver immediately got out. Mary grabbed him and he said he was taking a five-minute break. He sauntered back fifteen minutes later. He drove us on a circuitous route, circling the same roundabout twice (he must have been related to my taxi driver), drove into the pickup point and then drove out again, depositing us some way away on a busy road. Bad.

I found the shuttle to the ship. Good.

The charming woman at the security gate looked worried when I showed my visa to allow me to enter the United States and said she had to check it with her supervisor. Dreadfully bad.

She came back, all smiles and said my visa was okay. Good.

I got on the cruise ship and found my cabin. Very good indeed.

Next stop – Miami. Excellent.

And here’s one of my mother’s favourite poems.

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

John Masefield