Getting There is Half the Fun?

Who said that? Someone who was never subjected to a TSA security check and never drove from Dallas to San Antonio by way of Austin.

Okay, so we left last Friday. It was raining and half the city streets in downtown Dallas were closed off due to some kind of JFK memorial thing that was held for 5,000 of the Dallas elite. I have to assume that the closing of those streets pushed additional traffic onto I-35.

It was manic. Highways converging, people trying to merge and everything pretty much at a standstill. We had the wrong GPS in the car. (Mark's is new and tells you which lane to be in. Mine isn't that fancy, and it's vague at best. But then most days I know where I'm going.) I was driving so Mark could finish writing the report for the inspection he'd done that morning. I couldn't tell which lane I needed to be in because of all the trucks in front of me blocking the signs. Mark was urging me to just nose into whichever lane I wanted to be in. (Easier to do if you know which one it is.) But while he was looking at his screen, I was watching the road and I saw two people directly in front of me decide to switch lanes at the same time and sideswipe each other. When they stopped to get out and check for damage, it was easy to change lanes.

The bottom line is that we sat in that Dallas traffic for a good hour. When we left home, the GPS clocked our estimated arrival time at 6:12. By the time we were outside the Dallas city limits headed toward Waco, our estimated arrival time had been changed to 7:10.


It was still raining but outside the city the traffic moved at a normal pace. Mark didn't like the way I was driving. I like to set my cruise control and cruise. But when people are behaving stupidly around me, it makes Mark nervous. He wanted me to pull over and let him drive. I wanted him to finish his report and leave me to it.

We wanted to go through Fredericksburg instead of Austin. It's a little out of the way, but when you consider that you have to sit in Austin traffic for at least an hour, it just seems like the right thing to do. Since Mark was still in the passenger seat, it was his job to program the GPS to go to Fredericksburg. Unfortunately, the only Fredericksburg our GPS could find was in Norway. Not Texas, Norway. Well, we didn't want to go there.

Mark threatened to throw the GPS out the window. I told him if he did that, he should be prepared to retrieve it. He was prepared to stop at a Best Buy and get me a new one, but he was not prepared to retrieve anything he threw out the window. I did convince him that it would be better to toss it into the back seat rather than out the window.

He checked the back seat for maps. The only map we had was a Dallas Mapsco. It shows all the streets in Dallas. It might have been helpful when we were merging and converging, but it wasn't going to get us to Fredericksburg.

In the meantime, we were still headed for Austin. Having given up on going through Fredericksburg, Mark checked on Google and discovered that there is a toll road that we could pick up at Georgetown to bypass Austin. We would probably regain the hour we'd lost in Dallas. We stopped for gas and changed drivers since he knew where to look for the toll road and I didn't.

We took that toll road and got off on 290 West. I don't know whether we got off too soon, or what. What I do know was that we were still north of Austin and headed back toward I-35 South. At this point, Mark decided that it was not possible to reach San Antonio because the GPS did not work properly. And I had to register my complaint that he was drifting between lanes because he was looking at his gadgets instead of minding the road. So now it falls to me to navigate using my iPhone. I selected San Antonio and told Mark to get on I-35 North. Which he did.


"What? Are we going home then?", he asked.
"What do you mean?"
We're going back north. It's the way we came. Are you taking us back home?"
"No. I don't know. I know I-35 North isn't right. Oh, wait, it's taking us to San Antonio STREET, in Austin. Not San Antonio the city. Give me a minute."

Mark continued to complain that the GPS didn't work and that the phone navigation didn't work.

I had to ask, "What is it you want me to do?"

The traffic was horrible, the weather was horrible and we were sniping at each other. Where was the fun?

In the end, we got turned around and headed back south on I-35. Straight through the heart of Austin. Our new arrival time was something like 8:05. Only two hours later than our original estimate.We were a bit tired and starving to death. Lucky there was a Morton's Steakhouse right across the street from our hotel.

But let me assure you, getting there was NOT half the fun.

The Doldrums

It's my birthday. Not a milestone birthday, just an ordinary one. But I've been in the doldrums since Friday. There are things I need to do but I haven't done them. I spent most all day Saturday lounging around reading a novel. This is an activity that is typically reserved for after all the chores are done, or for sick days. I took the stance that productivity is over-rated. Why should I judge the quality of a day based on the number of items I've checked off my To Do list?

That being said, by Sunday I'd thrown out the To Do list. I did not get on the treadmill. I did not cook the Brussels sprouts. I did not finish the revised web content. I did not work in the garden. I went to church. I read a bit. I went to a movie. I went out to eat. Mark and I fell asleep on the couch watching one of the JFK specials. Another "non-productive" day.

And now here I am, older. Wiser. And ready to get out of the doldrums. I've already spent 45 minutes on the treadmill this morning. I've had a lovely cooked breakfast and surprise birthday gifts. I've returned all the phone calls. I'm now going to cook those Brussels sprouts, clean my bathroom mirror (I'm sure I'll look younger once I've cleaned it!) and then go to the post office and the bank. I may even go get my hair and nails done today. And I intend to clear all the paper off my desk! Yes, I'm out of the doldrums!

Getting the VAT Back

In the UK they have what is known as VAT. Value Added Tax. I'm not sure how it adds value. It certainly doesn't add any value to me. But if you don't live there, you can claim a refund of this tax, which is about 20% of the purchase price. When you consider the prices of things and combine it with the exchange rate, it can add up. Assuming that 100 GBP is roughly equivalent to 150 USD, 20% is about $30.

I tried to get a refund of VAT on a camera we bought there once. I waited in line, only to be told that you must have the proper paperwork filled out by the retailer. Showing them the receipt wasn't good enough. Of course, I had no paper work from the retailer. That was several years ago and we hadn't bothered since. But this time, Mark bought some hiking boots and the retailer suggested that we might like to get the VAT back. We watched as the clerk filled out the forms, put them in an envelope for us and told us we could either take it to the airport or complete the form and mail it in. Then he bought a wax coat and once again, the clerk suggested that we might like to claim the VAT. She handed us a sealed envelope and told us all we needed to do was drop it in the mail.

We knew from the first clerk that we needed to fill out our name, address and how we wanted to be paid -  either a direct credit into a UK bank account or to a credit card, so we were a bit surprised when the next clerk handed us a sealed envelope, because she wouldn't be privy to that information.

So in the confines of the Clarence Hotel, we read up on what we needed to do to get our money back. It amounted to about 75 USD. (That will just about buy you a meal at the airport!) We were glad we opened the sealed envelope. The lazy clerk had not put any paperwork in it, just our receipt. If we'd mailed it, it would have been thrown out and there would have been no way to trace it. Ever.

But then I looked at the receipt and it had lots of different VAT information on it. You know how some companies automate things? I thought that perhaps EWM (Edinburgh Woolen Mill) had automated the process so their clerks didn't have to fill out the hand-written form. We'd find out when we got to the airport.

After standing in line where the sign said "Reclaim Your VAT Here!" for 30 minutes, we were informed that we had to go across the hall and have the paperwork stamped by customs first. What?? Why didn't somebody mention this before I'd stood in line for 30 minutes? A question that was met with a bit of rudeness by the woman behind the counter. Anyway, Mark went to stand in line across the hall and in the interests of saving time, I went to the back of the same line I'd just been in.

I was half way back to the front of the line when I noticed Mark waving and mouthing words to me. I had absolutely no idea what message he was trying to convey other than one of utter disgust. I gave up my space in the line and went to see what he wanted.

It seems that since all the paperwork had my name on it, I would have to be the one to get the customs stamp. Fine. Mark stood around the terminal commiserating with an old geezer who'd lost his pajama cords he'd brought from India and I stood in the line to get the customs stamp on the forms.

It didn't take too long. I was asked a stupid question or two, then advised to make sure I had any items purchased ready for inspection next time (next time????) instead of packing them in my checked baggage. I took my paperwork and moved away from the window. It was then I noticed that the EWM receipt with all the VAT information on it had not been stamped. Back into the line - fortunately only one person ahead of me. Unfortunately, he was preparing to unpack his bag to show the customs agent everything he bought. Fortunately, she didn't really want to see it. I handed the receipt back to the customs agent noting that it hadn't been stamped. This is when I found out that the EWM clerk was just lazy. The receipt isn't good enough - you have to have the form filled out by the retailer. Now I'm genuinely upset with EWM. That clerk had to know that she'd given me nothing but a receipt and then put it in a sealed envelope and told me to mail it. So that's now a different issue, one which I shall take up with EWM.

But back to the mission of getting the VAT back for the hiking boots. I went over to stand in the 30-minute line again. It was looking a bit longer than it had earlier. About the time I was three people away from the front, a baby about halfway back decided she'd had enough of it and started to wail. Nothing her mother did amused her. She just wasn't a happy girl anymore. I knew how she felt. I'd now spent over an hour trying to get what was by that time about $30.

I was finally next in line when one of the workers had a break or maybe it was a shift change. The woman who'd been rude to me before was going to keep the person she had at her station until the other person called me. That was fine with me. I didn't want to have to deal with her either. But the other clerk had to wait for the computer to reboot. Then she had to check her email, and Facebook, and Twitter. God only knows what she was doing. It seemed like an eternity before she called me to her station.

This is the point where you find out that they take a sizable chunk of your refund as a processing fee. (Never mind that the sign says that you pay no commissions if you take the money in your home currency. Apparently processing fees and commissions are two different things.) We're probably down to somewhere around $25 now. Then you find out that if you want cash in hand, they will take an additional fee. If you choose to have the money put back on your credit card, there will be no additional fee, but you'll be waiting four to six weeks for it to process. Yes, that will be fine. I had now wasted nearly two hours of my life to get this money back and it kept dwindling. I was given an envelope and instructed to drop it into the box.

It's only been a couple of weeks, so I still haven't seen the money yet. I'm not confident that I ever will. And I suspect that if I do see any money, that it will not have been worth the nearly two hour wait (especially since a screaming baby was involved).

I suspect that Her Majesty uses the money that people are not successful in reclaiming to buy hats. I'm just happy my money is going to a good cause.

The Clarence Hotel

We tried to do the right thing. We checked TripAdvisor - and Mark said everyone was just cooing about it. Very high ratings, the pictures looked very nice and it was in Windsor - a wide choice of restaurants within walking distance and just a short jaunt to Heathrow the next morning.

But we made one mistake. We used LateRooms.com to book the room. NEVER AGAIN!! I don't care who works there! This is the third time we've booked a room only to be informed when we got there that we had booked a twin room. (In case that isn't clear, that means a room with two twin beds.) The two times it happened before, after brief discussions where they told me what I had ordered and I insisted that I didn't, they were able to accommodate us with the type of room we wanted. But not this time. There was nothing available but the "small twin" room that we had "requested".

I was a bit slow to catch on, but I think I've figured it out. I think LateRooms defaults to a twin room if you say there are two people. I know!!! Why would anyone make an assumption like that? On the other hand, there's Hotels.com who show you the types of rooms available along with the prices and let you choose the type of room you want. A better idea, assuming that the hotel is in the right city. Switching you to a city with the same name but in a different county or state is the preferred mean trick of Hotels.com. But this isn't a discussion on the merits of one booking company over another. Let's get back to the hotel.

This room gave new meaning to small. That small hotel room we stayed in a year ago had nothing on this one, although I will admit that the bathroom was bigger. (You didn't have to slide under the sink to use the toilet.) Seriously, my closet is bigger than this room. And we could hear traffic on the street all night. Who would have thought that Windsor was one of those cities that "never sleep"? Once again, we had to go up multiple flights of stairs - very narrow stairs. We had to leave everything except our carry-ons locked up in the manager's office overnight. Number 1 - we couldn't manage to get them up the stairs and Number 2 - even if we could, they would have taken up the entire room.

On the plus side - the grounds were beautiful. There was a lounge indoors and a garden out back that were both absolutely charming. The breakfast was good and the staff was as pleasant and helpful as could be. But when you arrive that late in the day, there just aren't any options but to take the room being offered - the one they said we "requested".

Maybe next time we can stay in the lounge.

Winzah!

I may have mentioned this before. We call our GPS Miss Smartypants. Even when she doesn't know everything, she sounds like she does. When she tells you to enter the roundabout and take the first exit, she does so with confidence.

It should be noted that when Mark first moved to the US, he set the GPS to speak with a British accent. I guess he wanted to hear a familiar sounding voice. He's moved past that now and the GPS is programmed to issue commands with an American accent. Which is why I had to listen and try to read the screen (you have to be quick - sometimes it doesn't appear on the screen for long) to know what she was talking about most times while we were in the UK. "Enter the roundabout and take the first, second, or third exit" is pretty easy. But there were some road names and town names that left Mark and me looking at each other and wondering "what did she say?"

Some of it was completely unintelligible. So much so that I can't recount it here because I have no idea how to spell whatever it was she said. But when you consider that this is a machine, programmed by code and algorithms and all of that, it's really quite amazing that it can speak at all. But what I absolutely loved was her pronunciation of Windsor. Winzah!

You could hear the exclamation point.

The Church Inn

What a great find! The Church Inn, (so named because it's located right next to St. Mary's Church) is a great place to stay. In spite of the fact that our room was up two flights of stairs and there was no one available to help, the staircases were wide enough to maneuver the bags and the room was quite large. We were less than a thirty minute walk from both of Mark's kids, even though much of the walking was in the rain. (The Manchester area is not known for it's idyllic weather and we did have the umbrellas that we bought in Clacton.)

The room was very spacious and had a large double closet, plenty of drawer and shelf space and a good-sized bathroom. We were served a full English breakfast (well half, in my case) each morning and they went out of their way to prepare food for us on Sunday evening, even though they typically don't serve food that late on Sunday.

The owners and the staff went out of their way to accommodate us and even though there are some other inns within walking distance that look promising, these people are so nice that we've already booked our February stay with them. (We'll only have one flight of stairs next time!)

No Spares

I always pack more than I need - of everything. I count out the number of days I'll be gone and pack underwear for each day plus three. (You never know when someone will dump a pitcher of water in your lap.) An extra pair of jeans (for the same reason). Clothes for a visit to a "nice" restaurant. Shoes for every occasion and of course jewelry to go with the clothes.This often means a special ring or necklace to wear with a particular outfit and one or more spare pairs of earrings.

But this trip was a bit different. I still packed the extra underwear, the extra jeans, the completely unnecessary clothes for the "nice" restaurant and a few sweaters that didn't get worn. I wore one pair of shoes and packed another - in addition to The Cruel Boots. But I didn't take any spare jewelry.

My reasoning was that we were visiting family and doing a short canal boat trip. A canal boat trip is a bit like camping. How much jewelry do you need? When I left the house for the airport, I was wearing my wedding rings, my gold and silver heart ring, my Chinese "long life" pendant, and my ancient Brighton earrings. It was really all I needed.

But then, on the second day of the canal boat trip, one of the earrings kept catching on the scarf I was wearing and it was starting to get a bit aggravating. The third time I attempted to free it, it broke in my hand. Eeeeek! No way to fix it and no spares. We still had a full week to go and my ears would have to be naked. I can go out without lipstick easier than I can go out with naked ears.

I believe I've had those earrings for something like 20 years. Mark said we would shop for new ones when we got to Llangollen. It's not as easy as it sounds. I am one of the few people in the world who actually wear clip earrings. There is no Brighton store and no Sam Moon store and no SteinMart in Llangollen. Therefore, a shopping trip for earrings was completely out of the question.

Like everyone else, I had my ears pierced in high school, but by the time I was 22, wearing earrings had caused my ears to tear. I had them stitched back up and then re-pierced a year later. I was admonished not to wear anything that dangled - studs only. It didn't matter. The holes in my ears just expanded until the entire stud could pass through the hole. I was afraid of losing earrings, so I started wearing clips. This happened long before I ever met Mark. However, being an engineer, Mark sees this is an engineering problem. He has offered to "re-engineer" my ears so that I'll be able to wear pierced earrings. But seriously, we're talking about my ears. These are body parts, not a shelving system for the garage. I'm okay with clips. Really.

This was one of the few pairs of earrings I own that I could wear for hours on end without any pinching or discomfort. I sure hope they can be fixed or that the Brighton store will have something similar.

The Cruel Boots

I love shoes. My ex-husband believed that I bought them just to keep other women from having them. (Totally not true!) If you knew me back in my 20s, you know that I could dance in 5-inch platform heels. I could hike for blocks wearing Candies.

I still love those types of shoes. I have them in my closet. I just don't wear them all that often. I struggle to find the balance between style and comfort, but I try my best to err on the side of comfort.

Remember the Steve Martin bit about "The Cruel Shoes"? It's here if you want a refresher. (The Cruel Shoes). I always seem to be buying those shoes. I can't remember the last pair of shoes I bought that didn't blister, bruise, cramp, or in some way damage my feet.

My Baretrap sandals rubbed a blister on my toe. I had to get a cart after walking nine holes in that new pair of Foot Joys. Even the Clark's Privos rubbed a blister on the top of my foot.The only exception to this trend has been athletic walking shoes.

I really thought I was going to be safe with rubber rain boots. I ended up with a rather plain pair. They had some really cute floral ones, but they laced up. (Way too much effort!)

The really high wellie-type boot kept catching on the leg of my jeans. We were about to spend a couple of weeks in the rain and I didn't want to be fiddling and fussing with boots. I only wanted to be able to slip them on and keep my feet dry. These boots were really my only option.

Who would have thought that rubber boots had sharp edges? I could not believe my injury when I took them off after the first day of wearing them. But there it was - a bloody leg with a small patch of skin missing. (You would have thought I'd have noticed it before I took the boots off, too.) So the next time I wore them, I tucked my pants legs inside the boots. And thank God we had two days of sunshine so I could go back to wearing my Privos rather than The Cruel Boots.

The Llangollen Canal - Suspended in Air

The Llangollen Canal was our second canal boat holiday. I especially wanted to cruise this canal because of the unique aqueduct feature. We drove through the area a few years ago and I saw the aqueduct and then I found this picture of it on the web. Imagine taking a canal boat along here! I couldn't wait to take my own pictures!

It was a short trip. Canal cruising (or ditch crawling) is slow. You know you're puttering along at the right speed when pedestrians on the adjacent path are overtaking you. We took our time leaving Maestermyn Marina in the late afternoon and stopped for the night at Chirk. This route has two locks, two aqueducts and two tunnels - and at this time of year, not much traffic. Not much traffic is important because there is no room for two way traffic in the aqueducts and tunnels. There are also a number of places on the canal where there is no room to pass, so waiting on boat traffic could take a considerable amount of time. We were there at the perfect time. We got to Llangollen late the next afternoon and spent two nights moored in the basin, exploring the town before heading back to toward Maestermyn the next day.

There was no shortage of beautiful scenery along the canal.

The aqueducts almost make you feel like you're suspended in air.

 In and around Llangollen.

Leaving in the morning mists.

Shifting Responsibility

Sometimes it's difficult to keep your mouth shut when you know someone doesn't have their facts straight. I listened to Mark's dad talk about how the British National Health Service (NHS) has abandoned him. No one even bothers to see if he can walk. (If you haven't walked in a year and a half, the odds are not in your favor.) No one bothers to give him physical therapy to improve his chances of walking. It sounds really pitiful. But he leaves out the part where after six weeks of physical therapy, he told them in no uncertain (and somewhat rude) terms that he wasn't going to do it any more and that they needn't bother coming back. So they didn't. I don't blame them. They're not obligated to withstand verbal abuse. 

Plus, there are a number of events where his recollection and Mark's differ significantly. I won't go there. And since I wasn't there, I believe my husband's account. I know that it sometimes takes a good deal of constraint for him not to be confrontational about it. Although we're both at that stage in life where we realize that being confrontational is not typically beneficial. But after thinking about it, I've concluded that there are people who are unable or unwilling to accept responsibility for their circumstances. It was the other guy's fault. You were clumsy and fell, but I was pushed. It's not quite the same as recognizing and accepting that while some events were out of your control, many of the circumstances and situations you find yourself in are the result (direct or indirect) of decisions you made. And if you tell yourself the same lie often enough, it starts to sound like the truth. (We can't fool anyone quite as easily as we fool ourselves.)

But then I suppose we're all guilty of putting our own spin on our own story. To some degree or another, we rewrite our histories so that any negative outcomes are attributable to someone else, assuming the negatives can't be completely eliminated. We paint the picture so that any reasonable person would do what we did - there was no viable alternative so there could have been no other outcome and we can feel good, (or vindicated, or victimized, or whatever it is we want to feel).