Of favourite restaurants and embarrassing moments.

We discovered La Gourmandine on our first visit to the Ariege. Situated on the square in the little town of Seix it occupies an open corner location with views over the river and to the mountains behind the town. The restaurant was opened by a husband and wife team shortly before our visit and was recommended by our friends who had recently moved to the area. The husband did front of house while the wife prepared all the meals in the kitchen. The restaurant was small, perhaps half a dozen tables, but the welcome was warm and the food was divine - good, home cooked regional cooking.
Over the years we have continued to enjoy dining at La Gourmandine and watching it flourish and expand. At first a few tables outside then the addition of a canopy to keep diners dry if the weather turned a bit inclement and this time the seating had even expanded across the road into the square where passers-by could enjoy a beer or a coffee in the sun. the staff has also grown over the years and we were greeted by a young waiter who showed us to our table beside the road on the corner nearest the river. A local aperitif  of Hypocras is traditional before we order. Unfortunately we can't buy it at home so we have to stash a few bottles in the luggage before we depart!
We placed our orders and relaxed into friendly conversation. I was explaining how this was one of my very favourite places when I became aware of a large, moustachio-ed French man approaching our table at speed. We made direct eye contact, which he resolutely held while grinning widely. As he got progressively closer to our table he extended his hand towards me in greeting. By now my heart was sinking. I thought, 'Here is a classic case of mis-identification. He has mistaken me for someone he knows - although who does he know with hair my colour!'
'Bonjour! Bon apetit!' he bellowed, as he grabbed my hand and proceded to shake hands around the table! Thankfully, at this point our friends recognised him as the father of a friend! Phew! It is embarrassing enough trying to explain to someone in your own language that they have made a mistake but I am not sure I could have done it in French. Perhaps I would have just continued the pretense of being whoever he thought I was.

In which there is rage against the capitalist machine.

Beginning a holiday should be a calm and happy time. I like travelling even though I suffer my fair share of delayed flights and lost luggage and I certainly like arriving at my destinations. I was therefore greatly aggravated when I arrived at the airport to begin the journey to France to discover that Tiny Bomber, who had kindly provided the transport to said airport would be charge £1 for the privilege of dropping us off at the designated drop off spot – not even at the door as that is no longer an option following the bombing attempt at Glasgow a few years ago. It took less than two minutes to unload our cases and we were not provided with any comforting services, no cheery greeting or baggage carrying porter while occupying the drop off spot. And yet a pound was demanded for our temerity to occupy a space for a minuscule period of time.  

The words ‘Bandits!’ and ‘Scoundrels’ were uttered loudly, initially in the direction of the member of staff patrolling the exit barriers and thence towards anyone in a hi-vis jacket who looked like they may possibly be airport staff. My rage increased exponentially when I discovered there are no front of house management services available to placate disgruntled  travellers – although this traveller was not about to be placated with soothing words or calming explanations.

Bandits! What possible explanation can they have for charging a pound – one hundred solid pennies – for driving onto a piece of tarmac for the shortest period of time with no added services? It is outrageous and an example of rampant capitalist greed. My rage was exacerbated, I have to say by the Wing Commander’s seemingly placid acceptance of the outrage my anger towards which didn’t abate until we reached the final leg of our travels. On entering the Arac valley in the Ariege there was a bus shelter which some kindly revolutionaries, perhaps anticipating my mood, had spray painted ‘Kill Capitalists’. A less fervent member of the revolutionary fraternity had more generously painted over the last two letters to make the epithet read ‘Kill Capitalisme’. I was no longer alone in my rage and so was calmed enough by the solidarity to enjoy the beginning of my holiday.

P. S. My rage, however, is being carefully nurtured and a suitably incendiary letter will be winging its way to the hidden management of Aberdeen Airport on my return.

Friendships.

Friends come into our lives in many different ways. Our siblings and cousins are our first friends, closely followed by the children of neighbouring families. When we go to school we make a wider circle of friends, some of whom last a lifetime while others are more transient as we move on to different stages in our lives and new friendships. Many people attest to the lasting strength of friendships made at university as being the defining and longest lasting of bonds. Some of you may have also built friendships by post. I certainly had many penfriends as a teenager, none of which lasted, sadly, into adulthood.

Now modern technology allows for the renewal of friendships from the past. I have, through Facebook, renewed friendships from school and college but I have also made new friends with people from all over the world simply by playing some of the many games on Facebook. One such 'Facebook friend' has become a 'real' friend over the last couple of years, first through conversations and comments on Facebook and then with a direct meeting. Our respective offspring, in a real reversal of parental-child roles, voiced their reservations at our planned face-to-face meeting, warning that the other could be a) not who they claimed to be on-line and b) more specifically, an axe murderer! However, as we had expected, we have become great friends and continue to chat on Facebook and meet up when time and distance allow. We would never have met in 'real life' as it would have been extremely unlikely our paths would have crossed except through Facebook's reach.

Although that is the only friendship I have so far converted from 'Facebook friend' to 'real life friend' there are several others, met through games, with whom I would dearly love to meet and sincerely hope that it will be possible in the future.

Some of you may consider meeting a stranger 'brave' or 'weird' or 'risky'. I have certainly been told that. But I have to say that, naive as it may sound, I do consider that most people are basically good and decent human beings. Of course there are cases - too many cases - of young people being duped by predatory online personas; of men and women seeking love and attention being exploited by the unscrupulous. I have to say that the friendships I am talking about are equal and not based on need for affection or other reward. We chat as friends with a common interest and, like 'real life' friendships our relationship develops from there. The only difference is that we have never met except through the pages of our timelines on Facebook.

Recently I updated my status on Facebook saying I was going on holiday to Rome. As is usual many friends 'liked' the status and some made comments. Among these comments was one from a gaming friend who lived in Rome. She wished me a good holiday in the city and intimated it would be good if we could meet up as she worked in a restaurant near one of the places I had mentioned wishing to visit while there. Without much thought I replied that we could possibly drop in for lunch if time allowed on our tour and, apart from a few exchanges of advice about Rome and light chat we left it at that. 

On arrival, my friend again replied to a status on Facebook welcoming me to her city and wishing me a pleasant stay. Unfortunately, we were not able to stop in for lunch on the particular day of the tour in that area of the city but I checked the restaurant website and got favourable reviews from the reception staff at our hotel so we booked a table for dinner on our final evening in Rome. I then contacted my friend but unfortunately she would not be working that evening. However, she said she would let her colleagues know we were arriving and wished us a lovely evening. On arrival at the restaurant I could see that people recognised us (I am, as can be seen from my photo, rather obvious with my hair colour!). However, imagine my complete surprise when the cashier arrived at our table with a mobile phone saying my friend had called to talk to me! We had a short conversation and again she wished us a pleasant evening. How thoughtful of her to call just to say hello. It was completely unexpected but, I have to say it made my evening even more special.

We had a wonderful meal on our last evening in Rome and even though I had not managed to meet up with my new friend we had been able to speak for a short time on the phone. However, the surprises didn't end there. As we were leaving we were presented with a gift of wine which my friend had left for us! It was truly a wonderful end to a magical evening!

So, if you get the opportunity to make new friends through the new medium of the interwebs, please consider taking it with both hands. It is more likely to enrich your life that to place it in danger. (Although usual precautions are always advised!) I now look forward to returning to Rome so we can finally meet up someday. Until then we will be 'Facebook friends', which is just another way of saying 'friends'.

Buon Giorno, Roma. An Idiot Abroad.

Our first day in Rome and because we had our flights re-arranged we had arrived earlier than expected. This gave us a chance to do a bit of aclimatisation before the full on tourist mode kicked in. Our hotel is to the north of the Borghese Gardens so our first experience of Rome was one of a calm garden stroll watching assorted couples, families, dog walkers and ... er... possibly every Boy and Girl Scout from Italy. Rome is awash with woggles! It must be a Scout gathering from every region and they are everywhere in groups both large and small.
We exited the park at Piazza del Popolo which seemed like a good time to stop for a glass of wine and ice cream! The sun was shining and we were in Rome, the Eternal City so it seemed like an appropriate thing to do. It is at times like these that I am aware just how lucky I am to be able to travel to places like this. From an early age I always dreamed of travelling the world (this was before the popular, nae, almost compulsory, teenage gap year before university/college.) I don't think I ever expected to have more than a handful of opportunities to go abroad and yet I have been very fortunate to have been to several cities in several countries. Sitting in cafes, watching the world go by, I am able to thank the local gods of  food and drink for the chance to worship at their alters.
Refreshed, we walked down to the Piazza di Spagna and the famous Spanish Steps. This is were we met the real crowds, drawn to the tourist centres like so many back-packed, camera-pointing flies. Now, I am fairly well-travelled and have learned a thing or two about what can happen at touristy places. Hang onto your belongings, be vigilant, don't forget to put a fish in your ear...no that's from a different kind of travel...Anyway, this blog isn't called Tales Told By an Idiot for nothing and some of you may be aware of my first visit to Amsterdam (our honeymoon actually) where we were approached by a young man on Dam Square who asked if I would like some 'coke'. I replied, as politely as possible (because I was brought up to be nice to everyone) that thank you but no. I wasn't thirsty. At which point I received a thump on the arm and an angry admonition from Himself that that wasn't what I was being offered. So you see, I am not the sharpest tool in the box sometimes. So, back to the Spanish Steps. There I am taking photos when a nice young man (well, not so young) places three roses on top of my camera. No thank you I say, trying to hand them back. To which he smiles broadly, flutters his eye lashes at me and says, 'No, no! It is a present. For you!' Big smile and walks away. Oh well, I think. If he wants to give me flowers, that's his prerogative. Further up the steps he appears before me again asking if I like the flowers. I try to hand them back but again, 'No, they are a present.' Himself is giving me the rolling eyes by this time so I know I haven't picked up some clue. Flower man then approaches Sean and asks for payment for my 'present'. The shrift he is given is short and my continued possession of said present even shorter! Idiot status continues unimpaired. Although in my defence I didn't actually accept the flowers as much as have them laid on my camera.

Destination, Rome.

It is somewhat disconcerting to receive an e-mail from the airline cancelling your flight two days before your departure. However, after the initial screaming and cursing we managed to re-arrange our flights - unfortunately it consisted of the 6.00am red-eye to Charles de Gaulle in Paris instead of the more civilised 9.30 to Amsterdam. CDG is one of my least favourite airports due to its incomprehensible transfer routes but we had a couple of hours and at least there are a few more restaurants and cafes now. (Originally it was an airport almost devoid of eateries which, in itself, is incomprehensible for France). 

At Leonardo da Vinci airport in Rome we were met by our wonderful driver, Massimo who took us to our hotel, The Lord Byron. Seeing limos driving through Rome is not that uncommon; these guys make a living taking tourists to and from airports, ports and between the many tourist sights. But it is a great way to travel and a very relaxing way to start the holiday. There was a slight hiccough trying to find the hotel which is tucked away up a very quiet street, but we arrived safely at the beautiful art deco inspired hotel safe and sound to be greeted by Massimo at the door. Is everyone called Massimo in Rome?

Our room is wonderfully comfortable with a large bed, marble bathroom and walk-in wardrobe. There is even a tiny Juliet balcony. The decor is very art deco with geometric mirrors and white paintwork. I am slightly concerned about the wall coverings which can only be described as padded. Have I been duped into checking into a spacial clinic?

'We Apologise for any Inconvenience Caused.'

It's January. A new year and another Dear Russian Conference. So I was off to Norwich for a few days. After a successful conference I was looking forward to several hours of pleasant rail travel back to Scotland. I had booked first class tickets - a little bit more expensive but well worth it for a long journey.
The journey was in three parts; Norwich to Peterborough, Peterborough to Edinburgh, then Edinburgh to home. A long day but hopefully a relaxing one, I thought! I should have known as soon as I saw on the departures board at Norwich station that my first train had been cancelled (no explanation as to why) that things were not going to go to plan. However, I knew I had about an hour to wait for my connection at Peterborough so there had to be a way to get there in time. One train to Ely followed by another to Peterborough got me there with some time to spare. It had been a little bit stressful and it wasn't first class but I'm back on track, I thought to myself, with a little smile at the pun!
On arrival at Platform 4, the departure board was showing my connection to Edinburgh as 'Delayed'. Oh bother! But, again, I had some leeway in the schedule and should hopefully manage to make the final connection. The train was 15 minutes delayed, I was informed, and it was hoped that the lost time could be made up and that arrival in Edinburgh was expected to be delayed by only 4 minutes. Great! Sit down to wait for the train and anticipate the comfort and service of first class.
Every time I checked the departure board the 'delayed' time was getting longer until it was 30 minutes late. Still, no worries. They were confident they could make the time up as the train travelled north. We finally boarded 35 minutes late but the service was prompt and pleasant. 'Cup of tea or coffee, madam?' Quickly followed by 'Something to drink, madam?' and then, 'Can I take your order, madam?' One cup of tea, bottle of water, glass of red wine and a cheese and onion tartlet later and I am a happy traveller again.
All being well, I should still have 15 minutes to make my connection at Edinburgh and, with modern technology, I could check online to see which platform I would be arriving on and which to run to for my connection. Time to relax and read my book.
Approaching York, when the steward announced that the person who had deposited a substantial amount of luggage in the guards van should now make his way to the rear of the train in order to speed up his exit at that station, I began to get an uneasy feeling that the 'catch-up' wasn't going entirely to plan. It was looking increasingly likely that sprinting could be involved in Edinburgh and, as is well known, I was built for comfort, not speed. Sigh.
Even the staff eventually gave up on the pretext that the Aberdeen connection could be met and, as we approached Edinburgh, we were advised to move two carriages back in order to have a better chance of clearing the platform and getting to our connections. I know Edinburgh station fairly well and knew immediately we came in that the carriage I was now in, having moved as instructed, was going to overshoot the platform exit. I, of course, was not the only traveller trying to make a connection so there was a bit of jostling at the carriage door as we all tried to get off and gallop up the platform. As I rounded the end of the platform onto the main concourse I saw my train. I ran up to the turnstiles just as it began to move away. I swore. Loudly. A guard turned slowly around and asked, 'Aberdeen train?' 'Yes!' 'You've missed it' he added, unnecessarily. I swore, again loudly.
I knew there wasn't another train to Aberdeen so I wandered into the ticket office to see what plans they had in store for getting me to my destination. It was definitely their fault I hadn't made the connection. Ticket office lady sent me to Customer Services man who tried to send me back to Ticket office lady. No, not happening!
After a few phone calls and a summoning of someone with authority, I was dispatched to the Dundee train and from there I would be given a taxi to get me home. Said Dundee train, of course, had no first class carriage and decided to cross the Kingdom of Fife at snail-speed and call at every one-horse town on the way. I eventually crossed the Tay Bridge at 11.45 p.m. (which should have been the time I was getting home!) I was met on the platform by a surly Dundonian who would show me to my taxi which would take me to Stonehaven Station. I explained that was not suitable as I had no way of getting home from the station as it would be nearly one o' clock in the morning by that time. 'It's only station to station we do', he grumpily informed me. No use arguing with someone who doesn't have the wit or authority to deal with it so I just asked the taxi driver directly to drop me at home. There was another passenger for Aberdeen so we would be passing home anyway and was no farther out of the way than going into Stonehaven station.
It had been a long and unexpected journey but I finally arrived home at 1.00 a.m. I'm taking the day off to recover! Oh, and write a letter of complaint!