What we did while Charlie was away
Oct. 12th, 2017 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hypatia_66Well, I started to reply to Charlie's post "Just wondering", got carried away and over-ran the space, so I abandoned it and thought I'd do it here.
We took an 8-day trip to Scandinavia, flying from Manchester to Oslo to stay with a friend for a few days; a train to Gothenburg; and another to Copenhagen, before flying back to Manchester.
The worst thing about flying, which I used to enjoy, is the ludicrous and self-evidently pointless security procedures that have been introduced at UK airports. I stood next to a non-English-speaking Greek woman of about 50, while the security man tore open all the presents she had bought for friends and family because they contained tiny bottles of some kind of liquid. She wasn't permitted to restore them to the packaging — they were bundled up in a mess for her to sort out later. What possible threat she might have presented is lost on me. But jobsworths need work I guess. Do you have that expression in the States? It comes from the phrase, "It's more than my job's worth to let you [do something I can't be bothered to deal with and I want to cause you maximum inconvenience]" When my turn came, at least he found something I thought I'd lost, deep in a pocket of my coat — it too was a barely-allowed object.
Security at Copenhagen airport, on the way back, was just as effective, but not so overbearing or humiliating.
The trip was great: our friend booked us tickets for a new ballet at Oslo Opera House about Ibsen's Hedda Gabler — and I had to confess to my very literate and well-read friend, that I had never read or seen the play, so that was my homework for the afternoon. Good thing too, I was then able to see where the ballet deviated from the traditional interpretation. It was great — I'm not a ballet fan usually. The opera house is beautiful — all Italian marble and glass, overlooking Oslo harbour; inside is all dark wood.
Oslo has some lovely fountains. I took a photo of my husband posed near one — he took an otherwise rather nice one of me next to a rubbish bin. Hmm. Setting is everything.
The train journey to Gothenburg took us halfway to Stockholm, round Lake Vaenern, before turning west again. It was all forests, with their autumnal leaves, and sublime silver-grey views of the lake.
Gothenburg is familiar territory and it was great to rediscover it. We missed an anti-nazi demonstration and riot, however. There was a helicopter hovering over the city all day, but we saw nothing, of course. Just as well, probably.
On our last morning, the heavens opened and even in the five-minute walk to the station we got soaked, but travelling to Copenhagen was a good way to spend a wet morning. The sun came out after we arrived and we walked all along the waterfront to Lille Havfrue, the Little Mermaid. I forgot to take my camera so I used my phone instead, which, when I tried to download the photos into my laptop, died and I lost the lot. How annoying is that! But it turns out that my visual memory, which is quite good, has retained both the photos and a stronger memory of the walk, so I've lost nothing really.
On the last day, I nearly broke my ankle tripping off a high curbstone, and spent the afternoon with it wrapped in a wet towel, while himself went exploring. It was amazingly painful, but next morning when we had to be at the station by 7.30 to get to the airport, it was fine to walk on. Thankfully so, because it was miles to the terminal, miles to the check-in, miles back, and a fifteen-minute walk to the departure gate (and not a wheelchair in sight). It's still swollen, more than a week later, and looks very much like my grandmother's ankles used to look... sigh. Old age. But I can still walk two or three miles on it.
Sadly, two days after our return, a very close friend died on the day I had intended to phone and see if she was OK. I saw her before we went away, in hospital. She hadn't been answering her phone at home, so I phoned and couldn't get through to the hospital switchboard, so I rang her son-in-law in Cambridge and found out from him where she was. I rushed round and spent some time with her, hoping to see her back at home when we returned. She was 81, and I'd known her for nearly 40 years — her daughter lived with us briefly 30 years ago, when the family's move from York to Cambridge coincided with important exams (she's a high-flying film-maker now); and I once rescued her small son when he was attacked by bullies in the centre of York. He now lives in Berlin with his family. When I moved to Cambridge (several months before my husband could join me) they were there, friendly and supportive. Her funeral is tomorrow - there'll be lots of people there so it'll be a nice farewell.
