Posts in category "travel"

Two weeks ago, I was working in the beautiful city of Oslo. After a couple of hours, the client finally couldnt take any more of my tedious hand-waving and badly drawn architecture diagrams so he suggested we had a five minute coffee break.

In the immaculate pine kitchen, my eyes were drawn to a notice in Norwegian affixed to the kitchen cupboard. One of my hosts smiled and said 'I bet you don't know what that says'.

Quick as a flash, I replied 'Oh I bet you a pint of expensive beer that I do.'

'Please, please wash up your plates and mugs. Your mother doesn't work here'

'God that is absolutely amazing. Why didn't you say you spoke Norwegian ?'

In a similar vein, Andrew Sherman brings my attention to a marvellous blog devoted to passive-aggressive notices posted in office kitchens, officious post-its stuck on fridge doors and not-so-polite notices hanging on toilet walls from all around the world.

If only I'd known, I would have taken a photo of this British entry.

I have been a little quiet recently because I have spent the last two weeks in Florida during which time I didn't see a computer, pick up a newspaper and thankfully, didn't speak on a phone.

• Fly to Orlando
• Stubbornly refuse the persistent Alamo sales pitch offering an upgrade to a oversized vehicle, pre-paid petrol and a host of other unwanted 'options'.
• Visit Magic Kingdom on the busiest day of the year. Queue to board a ferry boat. Queue to buy tickets. Queue to get bag checked. Queue to enter park. Queue for restrooms. Queue for food. Board every ride almost immediately.
• Tie a Vielda cloth to car aerial to keep 3 car convoy together. Tell the parking valet, this ripped blue and white rag is the flag of the European Union.
• Trip to Discovery Cove. Much more civilised (free pints of Pepsi). Experience queue withdrawal syndrome.
• Return to Magic Kingdom for nighttime parade and fireworks. Thirst for queuing quenched.
• Stagger and amaze multiple Disney staff by correctly guessing their town and state of origin purely from their accents.
• Meet an American gentleman who accuses me of 'being Dutch', 'not speaking proper English' and proudly announces that his brother-in-law is 'mayor of Packney'. All in a 28 second ride in a lift.
• Car park attendant at Sea World finally rumbles the state of origin trick - 'hey - did you just read my name badge ?'
• Kennedy Space Center - 'Awesome' is a much overused word in America but on this occasion, completely justified.
• Early start for Universal Islands of Adventure. Splash out on Fast Pass tickets and gloat as we march to the front of the lines.
• Forcibly ejected from Dixie Stampede after answering 'Stand up if you are proud to be in America' by placing hand on heart, waving a star spangled banner and bellowing 'We applaud your war of terror'.
• Don ski-suit, hats and gloves for Blizzard Beach. Shocked to discover it is a Water Park with massive queues and no space to sit down.
• Drive to Miami Beach. Beautiful people driving flash cars past beggars lying on the sidewalk. Can't determine whether people here are unhelpful or merely of limited intelligence. Massively overrated.
• Attempt to bludgeon way into adjoining hotel room at 03:47 to kill noisy neighbours. Hammer on connecting door, screaming 'TURN IT DOWN' which, surprisingly, has desired effect. Wife still unable to sleep as she fears drug mafia will enter room to exact dreadful revenge.
• Airboat ride at Everglades Alligator Farm. Too scared to hold a cuddly alligator or a large yellow snake.
• Meet a lady who 'loves my accent'. She spent time in England last summer. In the famous English town of Newport (near Wales).
• Hotel safe jams containing passports and valuables (United scarf). Duty Manager helpfully asks 'You using the right code ?'. Maintenance department fail to open safe. Divine intervention (Clear - 9-2-1-1) miraculously unlocks safe as I am about to buy high explosives.
• Welcome drink at Sloppy Joes in Key West. Heard some decent music (Killers) and nearly died of shock.
• Call home for United score in European Cup Quarter Final. Father claims score is MUFC 5 Roma 0. Hang up as time is short and I am convinced he is joking.
• Gain 3 stone as result of outsize American portions. Started to share meals, only eat starters, request childrens menu and finally skip meals completely. Weight gain limited to 5 stone as a result.
• Key Largo. Superb snorkelling on Banana Reef in John Pennekamp Park.
• Put petrol in car. Advanced computer system for automated self-service payment means I only have to enter garage three times to complete transaction.
• Listen to John Mellencamp, Belinda Carlisle and Foreigner and an interminable stream of inexorable dross on an array of dreary ('Light Rock') radio stations. No wonder the US doesn't produce any decent bands.
• Return hire car. Failed to tip shuttle driver who gave me a stream of abuse.
• Fly back from Miami airport. Sophisticated on-demand video and entertainment system functional after a 'master-master reset'. Play Tetris continuously for 6 hours with attractive girl seated in 32B.

[Well, my SEO professor said it was much better than Sports Bars of Europe #7]

Feverishly scoured the Interweb looking for alternative sports bars in Copenhagen. Once I saw the address of my previous haunt, the marvellous 'Irish Rover', my mind was instantly made up.

Tomorrow morning, when the customer politely asks me what I got up to last night, instead of 'Caught up with my email and ordered room service', I can now proffer 'I spent a glorious, unforgettable night up 'Jorcks Passage'.

Inspired, I ran down the 19 flights of stairs down to the lobby to get a city map which I strive to hold the right way up. The pretty, blonde Danish receptionist couldn't be more helpful. She pointed to the hotel (D2) and passed me the map with a knowing smile; 'I am hearing this place (G7) is very popular with the English business men, if you are knowing what I am meaning'.

Even with the map the right way up, I still got lost. I passed a large City square surrounded by an ice rink and then the street signs ran out. Desperate, I opened the map and accosted a young lady in a lonely, darkly lit street asking for directions to 'The Stroget'. Instead of running away, mugging me for my phone or accusing me of date rape, she replied 'Yes. I am going that way so you can follow if you like.'

We got chatting and it transpired she had a late night at work as she was planning for Scandinavia's largest fashion festival in 10 days. Inevitably, as we hit 'Stroget' and the designer shops, our pace slowed to a crawl as we stopped to admire this year's autumnal designs in a very fetching brown.

This was going nowhere. I don't like shopping, particularly when the outlets are closed. Kick off was approaching fast. I could feel that I was really close to Jorck's Passage.

I had to nip this relationship in the bud. Now. 'Do you fancy coming to watch Eng-er-land play Spain, love and maybe get a kebab later ?' My glamorous, shapely, dark haired Danish escort suddenly recognised her best friend and ran away.

Got a Leffe and secured a blissfully unobstructed view of the big screen upstairs. After 20 minutes of boredom, the incessant Danish flirting started again. Personally, I blame that (3 day old) Lynx aftershave. I asked the beautiful waitress a perfectly innocuous question: 'Is it possible to order some food ?'

She leant over, plunging her cleavage over my pint, and whispered breathlessly 'If you can wait till after the match, I can give you my very own Special for 10 Crowns'. I was speechless at this unsolicited but very welcome advance until my neighbour, an Irish student bricklayer, translated: 'Yes. Surely. You can have a Irish Rover Beer & Burger international friendly football special for just 10 Kroner'.

Sigh. Another chance gone.

Oh and here comes the match report. A very uninspiring, mediocre team in white lost 1-0 to an unadventurous team in red with silly haircuts.

Travel Administrator for overpaid and unbelievably stupid IT consultant

• must be capable of using a corporate travel service to book a flight to Copenhagen from London Heathrow
• must be capable of reading confirmation email to check flight is actually from LHR and not London City airport
• must be able to secure approvals for travel booked less than 7 days from departure
• must be able to verify a flexible ticket has indeed been issued as requested
• must be able to convince the lady at SAS ticket sales to change a fixed, non-refundable, non-changeable ticket to a different flight at no additional cost

Salary - none. Bonus - none although you will receive my eternal thanks and defer my next nervous breakdown.

Benefits - you can blog about your idiotic boss right here every weekday.

Next week, I am bound for the wonderful city of Copenhagen, near Denmark. I normally aim to stay in a hotel close to the client offices. If my commute can be done on foot, I am absolutely delighted.

However, on this one occasion, I have elected to stay on the other side of town which, unfortunately, will mean a very long taxi ride over a congested bridge, to cross the city in rush-hour. Once in the morning and again in the afternoon.

Last night I returned to London from Brussels. Unfortunately, my overnight bag didn't.

I guess this was inevitable after four years of multiple short flights in Europe and I have been pretty lucky thus far.

Curiously, two other passengers on my flight suffered the same fate. One gentleman was very irate. For reasons best known to himself, he had buried his car keys in his suitcase which seemed a very odd decision.

Consequently, he had to call his wife in Oxford to drive down to Heathrow with the spare keys. I happened to notice he held his mobile phone a full 12 inches from his ear while he made the call to his loving partner. Hopefully, the box of expensive Belgian chocolates he was carrying, may help to salvage the situation.

My immediate thought was the stray bags were lurking somewhere in Heathrow Terminal 1 whereas my new friend and ally seemed convinced that they had never left Brussels. He was insistent that Hercule Poirot was summoned immediately to locate the bags in Brussels and placed on the 20:00 flight (in business class with cloth napkins).

My gut instinct was reinforced when four more passengers from Amsterdam came over to report more lost bags. Again, from the now sadly empty luggage carousel 4. Maybe there was something interesting on TV or a baggage handler had popped out for more tea-bags.

Ironically, I was deputising at short notice for a sick colleague so this flight was booked at very short notice in business class. So, the bright orange 'Prioritaire' tag didn't exactly help my kit bag much on this occasion.

Anyway, I remain hopeful of getting my smelly clothes and stolen hotel toiletries back; particularly when I read this bold assertion on the BMI claim form

'We would like to assure you that every effort is being made to locate your bag using a world-wide computer network designed exclusively for this purpose.'

Earlier this week, I flew to my favourite city - Dublin.

Book the tickets online as normal. Check-in at the Aer Lingus self-service kiosk to get my boarding pass as normal.

My credit card isn't recognised. No problem. Just use my passport instead. My passport isn't recognised. No problem. Just enter my name instead. My name isn't recognised. No problem. Enter my booking reference number. This isn't recognised either. As this is the first time I have flown on Aer Lingus, I give up and queue up at the desk.

There is no problem. I am quickly booked on the flight and the pretty lady checks my bag and hands me my boarding pass. As I turn away, she asks 'Do you did book a ticket for a colleague ?'. 'Err, no' 'Oh - you appear to have made two identical bookings'. She suggests that I clarify the situation at the ticket sales desk.

Sure enough. For some reason, I have two identical return flights booked so I cancel one. However, the tickets are non-refundable so I am told to contact the travel agent who made the original booking.

So I call the corporate travel agent. I waste 15 minutes explaining the problem. The customer agent doesn't understand why I booked two tickets when I only wanted one. I explain it is an human/computer/administrative error. I explain that I received a single confirmation email. Then she doesn't understand why I need a refund issued. Then she doesn't understand why the airline can't issue a refund.

I explain that is absolutely imperative the customer is not billed as a result of this error. It is even more imperative that I, personally, do not lose the sum of £221. Finally, we understand each other and she agrees to talk to Aer Lingus to see whether a refund can be issued. Panic over. I board the short flight to Ireland with only a slight feeling of unease and a mental note to investigate this more fully on my return.

The following evening, I am returning to London. My credit card isn't recognised at the Aer Lingus kiosk. No problem. Type in my newly issued, confirmed, 100% correct booking reference. This isn't recognised either. Sigh. People behind me in the queue aren't moaning. They are smiling, chatting and laughing while they wait. Because they are Irish.

I queue up at the check-in desk. Lots of frantic typing. Puzzled expression. More frantic typing. The lady must be dying to look up and say 'Computer says No' but resists. 'Sorry I can find your name and booking but I can't allocate you a seat. Sorry but you'll have to go over to ticket sales.'

I duly trudge over to the queue at ticket sales. Finally I reach the head of the queue. A helpful Irish gentleman hears my story. He types frantically and looks puzzled. He says 'Would you excuse me a minute while I just ask the supervisor a question ?'

I wait patiently for the outcome but I don't need to. I know exactly what he is going to say.

'Sorry for the delay Sir. There seems to have been some mix-up. For some reason, your travel agent has cancelled your return flight.'

I am working in Oxford and booked into this small hotel overnight. I arrived at 18.30 and rang the bell. No one is home.

I phoned the company who made the booking to get the phone number. They call the hotel on my behalf. Guess what. No one is home.

The helpful man from LateRooms asked if I could wait around in the cold for 30 minutes to 'see if someone turns up'.

I was convinced my ears had deceived me and asked him to repeat this suggestion. I politely decline his kind offer so he consults his supervisor and offers to find me another hotel.

I reply that I wouldn't trust him to tell me the time of day and hang up. I then drive aimlessly around Kidlington until I happen to locate the Holiday Inn. Thankfully, this hotel has a person manning reception and rooms available.

Later, the proprietor of the Happy Lodge calls me to explain the situation. Not to apologise but just to explain the situation.

When I made the booking, I indicated I would be arriving around 19.00 so that is when someone would have been around to greet me. So it was actually my fault all along. Of course, I see now. Everything is crystal clear. It was my mistake. How stupid of me.

The proprietor thinks I owe her an apology because she had to turn a couple away from booking the room allocated to me but now unexpectedly vacant at short notice.

I disagreed and politely suggested that maybe, just maybe, she might owe me an apology.

The lady disagreed but helpfully suggested that next time I stay at the Happy Lodge, I make an effort to arrive at the designated time and not half an hour earlier.

I count to two and half before exploding: 'Sorry but there will be no need for that because I will not be staying at the Happy Lodge. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever'.

I had a blind date this morning at 06.55. An early start admittedly but this lady would surely be worth it. The lady's name was Iris. I was supposed to meet her in Terminal 1 at London Heathrow.

Iris was flying in from Russia after a short courtship (19 hours) on the Internet. I even had an letter (IM) from Iris. Iris said she'd be waiting on the right before you reach the shops (which was worrying enough in itself).

So I slept downstairs on the sofa, snatched some sleep and I booked the taxi 30 minutes earlier than normal.

But, of course, Iris was nowhere to be seen. Stood up once again. Why. oh why, didn't Iris show up ? What's wrong with me ? Will I ever find true love ? I am disconsolate. I am a broken man.

Turns out that Iris only wants to date high flying, big earning, international travellers with BA Silver (or above) and isn't interested in peasants in flying to Newcastle. Even if they are staying in the Malmaison.

Just encountered two very talented buskers, attired in an immaculate dinner jacket with bow tie and a lovely, long, sparkly dress, singing the most beautiful opera.

I was about to toss them 3 Norwegian Kroner but found they only accept credit cards.