Day 2’s weather started very much the same as day 1: Drizzly and overcast with a side of humidity. A bit of sky juice isn’t enough to deter these hardy travellers though and with tiny umbrellas at the ready we headed out with our host across the road to his favourite bun cha ‘restaurant’. I use the term loosely as it is more like someone’s garage. A rough concrete floor with a few tables lined up, all complete with tiny stools, and a cooking set up in the corner. No sooner had we lowered ourselves onto a tiny stool when the food started arriving. Bun cha is a ‘build it yourself’ experience and it is believed to have originated right here in Hanoi. Starting with a bowl of sliced, grilled pork floating in a tasty broth, you add rice noodles, a selection of herbs, lettuce and as much of the minced garlic and chilly concoction as you can handle.
(Bun cha to go)
After breakfast, Craig departed to educate the youth of Hanoi while Murray and I wandered the back streets to Ga La Khê, our local metro station. After feeding the machine with 13 000 Dong each (about 80 cents NZ) we boarded the clean and efficient train, taking it to the final stop Ga Cát Linh. From there we strolled for 15 minutes to the Temple of Literature, dedicated to Confucius the temple was built in 1070 and served as Vietnam’s first national university, from 1076 to 1779. It also serves as a stop for Hanoi’s Citysightseeing Hop on Hop off bus which was our target. After handing over 300,000 Dong each ($20NZD) for our 4-hour tickets we climbed high up the stairs and claimed the front row of the open-topped double-decker bus. The health and safety police would have a field day with the activity in New Zealand. If the risk of losing an eye from overhanging trees isn’t bad enough, if you forget not to stand up, or get excited about taking a photo and lift your arms too high you can come into contact with high voltage wires which cross the streets randomly. The payoff of being this high though is that you get a fantastic view of the traffic chaos unfolding below you and of many of Hanoi’s sights including Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum, the Opera House and Cathedral, many of which stand as a testament to French colonisation of the area. The stop we chose to disembark at was the Women’s Museum.
The Vietnam Women’s Museum commemorates the contributions and legacies of women in Vietnamese history. A small museum, set over 4 floors with each floor looking at an aspect of how women have and continue to contribute to Vietnam. The 2nd floor showed aspects of family life, birth and marriage rituals of some of the 54 ethnic groups that make up the country. The 3rd floor was in honour of Vietnamese mothers who lived through the wars, how they were involved in protecting their country from foreign invaders and their sacrifice for the cause. The 4th floor was a display of fashion through the ages. The 1st-floor, which confusingly was on the ground, had the gift shop and ticket office.
After the museum, we had a banh mi for lunch sitting on a tiny stool on the side of the road before reboarding the bus to continue looping around the city. By the time we arrived back at the Temple of Literature for the second time approx 4 hours and 15 minutes after we boarded the bus, we disembarked and repeated our travel in reverse to return to our base. Murray kept getting his Dong out and wandering around with it in his hands. While this a fairly safe place don’t be like Murray, keep your Dong out of sight.
Another two couples from New Zealand arrived to stay with Craig in the late afternoon. I finally managed to stay up past 7 pm (thanks alcohol) after the seven of us walked to a craft beer pub about 30 minutes away for dinner and a couple of drinks. Followed by another couple of drinks when we got back as Craig entertained us with his guitar and by making up mad lyrics for songs. I stayed up so much past 7 pm that I don’t know what time I finally went to bed but needless to say, this morning I’m not feeling too flash.
We are now technically empty nesters with both our children living most of the time not at home, although if you looked in their wardrobes you wouldn’t think this is the case. With our new ‘nest’ status my first husband and I decided it was time to have an overseas trip together to see if we still like each other. First stop, Vietnam.
I was in charge of booking ground transport and accommodation, and Murray took charge of flights and airport parking. For reasons that I guess were budgetary, he chose the new ‘South’ Park’n’ride at Auckland airport. This turned out to be a good option but the map provided on how to get there would be 3/10 on a good day. It showed no landmarks to guide you, just a big ‘P’ in the middle of Puhinui Road, which is a winding and quite confusing road when you navigate it for the first time.
With the car safely deposited, we caught the free bus to the airport arriving over 3 hours before our scheduled departure on Air NZ. The airport was like a ghost town at 8.30 pm on a Friday so there was no wait for an Air NZ check-in booth. The only hiccough was that after sliding in our passports and pushing all the correct buttons we were summoned to talk to a human, this turned out to be to so they could check we had visas for Vietnam which they did by requesting the piece of paper we had printed at home.
There are a multitude of official-looking sites when you try to apply for a Vietnam visa, don’t be fooled though this is the official one https://evisa.xuatnhapcanh.gov.vn/
Others will probably do the job they will be more expensive than the official site which did do the job, and we were issued with boarding passes to Hanoi. While the airport was largely devoid of people, every single person in the airport seemed to be on our flight. Fortunately, we both had empty seats next to the aisle seats we had selected (we aren’t a couple that needs to sit next to each other on aeroplanes) and my row mate had perfect middle seat etiquette, we both observed the imaginary line that divided the middle seat.
While it’s only been just over 12 months since we did a long-haul flight I was disturbed by the cost or earth-saving measures implemented since then. I wish someone had told me. I wasn’t prepared. We boarded our flight to Singapore, found our seats and there was not a welcome pack in sight. No socks. No mask. No toothbrush. What has the world come to, first they stopped smoking on planes, and now this.
The first flight from Auckland to Singapore was smooth and fairly restful, which is saying something from this person who prefers to have her feet on terra firma. I wish I could say the same for the 2nd leg. As we were on the airbridge waiting to board our Singapore Airlines flight from Singapore to Hanoi I overheard a woman talking to her friend about valium. Specifically how much she’d taken already, how wasted she was feeling and wondering if she should take another or wait. Interesting, I thought. I’ve got melatonin and I thought taking one of those was risque but I couldn’t hold a candle to this kind of airplane narcotic use.
The boarding and taxiing of the flight were normal. The pilot did say that the fasten seatbelt signs would probably be on a bit longer after takeoff due to some rough weather. Over 90 minutes after takeoff when the fasten seatbelt signs still glowed ominously, even the crew were not allowed to unbuckle, and my bladder was on the point of bursting, I was ready to scream down the aisles to find the woman with the valium. Safe to say it was probably the least favourite flight of my life. It did land safely in Hanoi eventually, where the airport arrivals were smoother than expected, they didn’t even want to see our visa paper, and we were met by Craig, our host for the next 3 nights.
The hour-long taxi drive reintroduced us to Vietnam traffic. The last time we visited the Socialist Republic of Vietnam which has a population of around 100 million people, was with our kids who were 9 and 6 at the time. A lot of our energy went into making sure they didn’t get run over. Sitting in a taxi as a pair of adults was weirdly relaxing even though the purpose of the road white divider lines seems to be to line up under the middle of your car until you want to drift randomly across lanes to increase your place in the slow-moving traffic by one. Gently beeps on the horn from other drivers let you know that they are there as they swerve millimetres away from you while mopeds weave in and out. Red lights seem to be compulsory for cars but are suggestions for mopeds who weave through the traffic with or without a green light to make their way across. Green men on a pedestrian crossing are also not an indication that you won’t meet traffic as you cross the road but as long as you keep moving at a predictable pace they all move around you.
After arriving at 11 am after a couple of long-haul flights the challenge is to stay awake until a reasonable bedtime. When we sat on Craig’s enormous, comfortable couch at about 1 pm to watch the Bledisloe Cup game I knew I wasn’t up to this challenge. I excused myself, set an alarm and had a blissful 30 minutes of shut-eye. Craig teaches in Hanoi and lives in Park City https://www.parkcityhanoi.com.vn/en/index.html which says it is, ‘conceived to shape a good society by promoting wholesome living’ – I love a bit of wholesome living. This modern gated community is juxtaposed with more traditional Hanoi living as soon as you leave and cross the main road which we did at 4 pm to find some dinner. We entered a maze of narrow streets where nail salons, moped repairers and high-end bathroom fitting stores sit side by side. Along the road, many street food stalls set up selling their specialities cooked over coal BBQs.
Letting our local host take the lead saw us try a fried sweet potato and taro dish which I’d compare to hash browns. What Craig described as a ‘Vietnamese Cornish pasty’, a fried pastry (?) filled with veggies, ground meat and rice noodles and finally a meat skewer which I’m convincing myself was pork. Dinner (albeit a light bite) for 3 for 55000 Dong (under $4 NZD). After wandering a bit further enjoying being greeted by kids who popped out to see the strangers in their hood and yelling ‘hallo’ with broad smiles, we went to the Park City supermarket to buy some supplies (wine, beer and snacks) and headed back to Craig’s three-level villa for some wholesome living on his covered patio. We enjoyed catching up as the light rain turned heavy, and the sky provided a sound and light show.
As 7 pm ticked over I headed off for bed and I’m thrilled to report I had a mostly uninterrupted 13 hours of sleep.
Day 2
My cousin boasted on Facebook today that he had taken up running as a middle-aged crisis and ran 21km in 2 hours.
That’s impressive and all but today, after a breakfast of pho, we did 13 km.
In 8 hours.
To break up the time on our feet we stopped for:
1/ a Vietnamese iced coffee. A syrupy thick shot of cold coffee poured over a layer of condensed milk. Ice on the side to mix in which may, or may, have been tap water – time will tell.
2/ one hour break at La Flora Day Spa. My hour of choice was a 30-minute foot and leg massage and a 30-minute mini facial. Normally not a good choice in the middle of the day but by 1 pm my makeup had pretty much sweated off anyway.
3/ a pork and pate bahn mi from Bahn Mi 25, washed down with a mojito
4/ plenty of time to people watch, a fascinating experience
5/ a stroll down Train Street. Although no trains were passing at the time we wandered down the middle of the tracks (thank goodness).
All this in the Hanoi heat, and with intermittent showers.
Hanoi has so far proved to be a fascinating place. As a female traveller, I’ve noticed a few things that are quite different from other steamy hot countries I’ve travelled to previously (i.e. Malaysia, India and Morocco to name a few).
1/ You don’t have to cover up. It’s okay to wear shorts, a sleeveless top, or a short skirt, which is of course, a blessing when the temp is hitting 30 degrees Celsius and the humidity is high.
2/ The city feels very safe. Although I had a few female vendors outside the oldest university in Vietnam offer to sell me a fan, in no way all day did I feel harassed or harangued.
3/ The city feels so safe that our host doesn’t look the door to his house. Walking, often on the road as the footpaths have been disrupted by the recent typhoon, with mopeds whizzing by millimetres away, never did I feel my shoulder bag was at risk of being whipped off my person. It makes for a relaxing sightseeing experience.
The challenges we are facing are mostly related to my husband’s recent hip replacement. He’s only just over two months into his rehab and although he’s doing great the uneven footpaths are a bit of hazard. These have been made worse by the recent typhoon which flooded many streets raising cobblestones at weird angles. He chose to spend most of the day walking along the side of the road, as he’s not the only one doing this no one batted an eyelid. The biggest obstacle though is that 99% of eating establishments seating are plastic stools that you’d see toddlers use in New Zealand. I wonder because of this if hip replacements are much needed in Vietnam? Or are their hips all well-flexed through their lives so that it’s not such an issue? Something to ponder for another day.
Our day ended with another trip to the supermarket for supplies and Vietnam’s version of Uber Eats in the form of bun bowls. Rice vermicelli, crispy pork (or spring rolls), and crunchy vegetables and lettuce, topped with peanuts and nuoc cham sauce. The perfect light and fresh meal to top off an excellent first day on the ground.
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If I had a dollar for every time I’ve driven from Auckland to Tauranga and back I’d have, well, lots of dollars. Now that I don’t have crying babies, screaming toddlers, or kids who want to stop at every playground on the way I try to mix the journey up a little.
Sometimes I take a different route, stop somewhere along the way to explore or, if I have time, fit in a mini break. This time I’m heading to Tauranga alone for a family function at the weekend, as my regular job is term time only and it’s the school holidays, I thought I’d fit in a mini break on the way down.
My favourite way to make the 200km ish drive from my new home city to my old home city is via State Highway 2 which crosses the Hauraki Plains before winding its way through the Karangahake and Athenree Gorges. My favourite part of this drive is at the end of the Athenree Gorge where it spits you out of the hilly countryside and alongside the coast where a scenic vista awaits. To the left across the sparkling waters of the Tauranga Harbour is the Bowentown Peninsula, followed by Matakana Island which separates the harbour from the Pacific Ocean.
I’m ashamed to say in all my years travelling between the City of Sails and the Bay of Plenty I’ve never, ever, visited Bowentown. I decided on this trip to remedy that sad state of affairs and after a brief search online I booked two nights in a studio called ‘Two Bare Feet’.
The traffic out of Auckland was smooth sailing and I reached my first destination, Waihī, in around two hours. I found a carpark easily on the main street, a carpark which I have now claimed for life. In Waihī, there are no time parking restrictions, no need to pay for parking and zero parking wardens. This should be reason enough for everyone to want to move to the historic mining town. After a quick stop for food (an enormous toasted sandwich and a flat white) I wandered the 200 metres from my ‘carpark for life’ to the Cornish Pumphouse where I’d researched the not-very inspiringly named, Martha Mine Pit Rim Walk begins. At this time I’d like to apologise for the title of this blog, I couldn’t help myself.
Waihī’s name means water gushing forth (Wai: water; hī: to gush forth) possibly from springs in the area or its location on the Ohinemuri River, an east-bank tributary of the Waihou River. Waihī started as a shanty town based around a store and a hotel in the 1880s. The location between the two gorges, a route used by Maori and Pakeha alike to travel the area, would have made it as good a pitstop then as it is now.
Developments in the gold mining process in the 1880s made the effort of mining profitable and in 1889 the town started booming. Underground mining at Martha finished in 1952 and it stayed closed until rising gold prices and further developments in mining technology rekindled interest in the mine. It reopened in 1987 as an open pit mine.
While it’s still a working mine a recent addition has been the 4km loop track around its rim. I planned to finish my rimming in an hour at my middle-aged pace. I set off at the crack of midday.
The track is multi-use and suitable for walkers and bikers. For a lot of the track, you aren’t too far away from either roads or houses although they are mostly out of sight due to the fauna lining the track. For the parts out of sight of houses and roads, this solo female walker walked extra fast, imagining axe murderers about to leap from behind every tree fern.
Axe murderers imaginged = 753
Actual axe murderers encountered = 0
Anxiety aside I thoroughly enjoyed the walk and would highly recommend it as a stop in Waihī and maybe a way to burn off some energy of kids who have been trapped in a car for a couple of hours.
I knocked off the 4km walk in 46 minutes – it seems the fear of imminent death is good for my speed.
Tips:
Take some water, especially if it’s a sunny day
There are no toilets on the track – Remember the rule of 5 P’s (Prior Preparation Prevents Pissing Pants)
Suitable for walkers of all ages, prams and probably wheelchairs.
After working up a sweat it was time to get back on the road for my final destination for the night, Bowentown. Given that I have two half-written novels sitting on my laptop you’d think I’d be planning to spend this mini break working on one of those but no…. My creative muse is driving me to put metaphorical pen to paper on a rock star romance set on the French Riviera. Who am I to argue?
When I met my first (and current) husband, he lived in Auckland and owned a house. I lived in Tauranga and owned a fridge and a very nice set of German knives. When we combined our lives, we decided it was easier to move my fridge and knives to Auckland than for him to move his house south. The deal was we’d have 20 years in Auckland, then 20 years where I was born and grew up. 23 years later, we are still in Auckland. The fridge is long gone, but the knives, and the marriage, are still going strong. With my family still in Tauranga, the drive between the two cities is one I could do in my sleep.
A few days ago, a young friend who I knew was travelling from Mt Maunganui to Auckland, posted an image to her Instagram story of a waterfall and tagged it ‘Owharoa’, a location I hadn’t heard of. I messaged her asking if it was swimmable, and when she responded I searched for it on the map app on my phone, marked it as a favourite location and made a mental note to stop there sometime and satisfy my penchant for river swimming.
A few days later, I set off for a drive to Tauranga. Usually, I navigate the drive on autopilot, but as I was stopping in Omokora at a friend I hadn’t visited before I plugged her address into the map app. Traffic was light as I cruised down State Highway #1 and onto #2, passing through the farming service towns of Ngatea and Paeroa.
I was confused when my lovely Irish-accented virtual assistant told me to turn right halfway through the Karangahake Gorge, off the main road and onto Waitawheta Road. Ignoring my Irish friend’s advice in the past had seen me caught up in traffic and roadworks, so I decided this time to follow his guidance. It seemed the universe was speaking to me when I immediately passed a sign for the Owharoa Falls and then a sign opposite for The Falls Retreat. While driving on the unfamiliar Old Tauranga Road which circumnavigates Waihi linking back to the main road at the start of the Athenree Gorge, I asked Siri to set a reminder for later in the day to research the retreat.
After Siri duly issued the reminder I set earlier, I researched The Falls Retreat and decided to break up my return journey to Auckland later in the week by booking a night’s accommodation. The online booking process was straightforward (https://www.fallsretreat.co.nz/) for the resort which describes itself as, ‘a special place where you will reconnect with food, nature and each other.’ As well as accommodation they offer several courses including bread making, pickling and preserving, and a kombucha workshop. Alas, there were no courses available for the random midweek date I had booked so I settled for just a night’s accommodation in the Waterfall Cabin for $225 including a breakfast basket. I probably should have clicked in and looked at the details before committing, as it was only later I learned that the bed is located on a mezzanine accessed via a ladder. This is not great news for my middle-aged bladder, but at least there is an indoor toilet.
Within an hour of my booking, I received an email from the retreat informing me that their restaurant was not open on Thursday and asking if I’d like to order a hamper to enjoy as a meal. The deal looked too good to be true so I confirmed I would like a hamper for one ($40) I was told it included marinated chicken breast, salad, candied cashews, marinated olives, cheese, chutney and pickle, homemade brownie, homemade chocolate truffle and homemade sourdough.
Thursday was a scorcher as I set off from Tauranga towards the Karangahake Gorge. I’d researched walks in the area and plugged into my map app to take me to the start of a cluster of them. Inexplicably my virtual assistant had changed to Australian during my stop in the Bay of Plenty. I don’t like him. I want my Irish man back. My new Australian side-kick got me safely to the Karangahake Gorge information centre where I was fortunate to secure a park among the throngs of tourists.
After pondering the information board for longer than should have been necessary I opted for the ‘Windows Walk’, a one-hour loop walk which required a torch. I didn’t have a torch but had my trusty iPhone flashlight which I decided would do the trick. For all the walks in the area it’s a good idea to have on sensible walking shoes (tick), take a bottle of water (tick) and use the facilities before hitting the trail (also, tick). I set off energetically across the two swing bridges that led to the start of my chosen walk. Everything started swimmingly, the sun was shining, and the climb up the stairs and through the remains of the Woodstock and Talisman Batteries, used during the hunt for gold in the area from the late 1800’s, was enjoyable. The first couple of restored tramway mine tunnels were short, and although darkish I felt comfortable on my own. My iPhone torch was no match however for the last long, dark, wet, treacherous tunnel. My overactive imagination had serial killers lurking around every bend but I couldn’t walk fast to avoid them in case of slipping in a puddle or tripping on or off the tramway lines. I’m sure Siri could hear the relief in my voice when I directed the torch to be turned off as the light hit my face. I paced down the multiple flights of stairs to the riverside only to discover the rest of the track was closed due to the risk of rockfalls, not so much of a loop as a semi-circle. Not only did I have to clamber all the way back up the flights of stairs but I had to renavigate the tunnel of doom.
While I cooled my feet in the river at the end of my hike I decided I still had some walking in me. I drove a few minutes further down the road to the Karangahake Hall. This was much quieter than the information centre but still with plenty of parking, public toilets and a water fountain to fill drink bottles. It is also situated a 2-minute walk from an entrance to the Karangahake Tunnel. A walk through the nearly 1 km long tunnel and back, where the temperature was markedly less than outside, there were no trip hazards and lighting was provided, was just what the doctor ordered and filled in the time I had left before my 2pm check-in to the Falls Retreat.
Do not stay at the Falls Retreat if you don’t appreciate rustic vibes. The place is too wonderful to be weighed down with the disappointment of patrons who can’t cope without wifi, televisions and overly sweetened food.
I easily found the parking spot for the Waterfall Cabin and within 5 minutes I was shown to my digs, told everything I needed to know and handed my pre-ordered hamper. The beauty of only having 3 cabins available at any time at a place is the personal touch, like having a welcome message on the blackboard inside and an old-style glass bottle of milk in the fridge to have with the provided filter coffee or a variety of teas, each with their benefits explained on an information sheet.
After unpacking my hamper into the fridge I threw a towel over my shoulder and wandered back down the driveway, across the road, and descended the marked dirt track to the Owharoa Falls. It was blissful to sink into the cool water of the falls pool at my comfort level, i.e. never letting go of the rocks on the side or putting my feet in the firing line of any eels. The handily submerged rock ledge was perfect for lounging on, keeping me cool, but out of the way of the current at the same time.
A tepid bubble soak in my cabin’s outdoor bath seemed like a good way to wash any river scum off my bathing costume. After enjoying the sounds of the native bush while I soothed my aching muscles my stomach dictated the time to get out and wrap myself in a towel. A glass of chardonnay poured and I was ready to enjoy the antipasto platters from my hamper while sitting at the table outside enjoying the view back to the river.
Late afternoon, with my bathing costume still damp, I tested out the ladder to the mezzanine bed for the first time. I face-planted onto the mattress to test for comfiness and the next thing I knew I was awakened by a staff member dropping off my breakfast basket ready for the morning.
Shaking off my afternoon slumber I descended tentatively back to ground level. Hunger hadn’t yet made its presence known but the thought of the chicken breast and salad was too hard to resist, so I didn’t. The chicken was delicious, and the salad garden fresh, crisp and accented with herbs.
After the sun sagged in the sky and I indulged in a twilight outdoor bath, hotter this time, I settled in for the night with a book from the trove of literary treasures I had stumbled upon. As I read a short romantic comedy about a girl in Paris it took me about an hour to eat my chocolate brownie dessert. Not because it was bad, it was anything but. The brownie was muddy, the cherry compote just the right amount of tart, the quenelles of cream the perfect accompaniment and the sweet sesame crackers were out of this world. Every mouthful deserved to be given time to be savoured so I did.
I carried the book with me back up the ladder to bed and tucked in for the night. Hindsight being a wonderful thing I should have asked for the couch to be made up as the bed (this is an option) as I proved a health and safety risk to the cabin with my need to use the downstairs facilities during the night. The fact that I didn’t plummet off the ladder and make a crater in the rug-covered wooden floor was more good luck than good management.
The Falls Retreat is more than just accommodation. It offers a ‘unique dining experience focusing on seasonality, sustainability and food made from scratch’, ‘tailoring for functions and weddings’, ‘regular cooking workshops and gardening courses that are designed to give you top tips and lots of knowledge’, and packages which combine accommodation with some pampering, dining or workshops. The next time I come, and there will be a next time, I might try them all.
If you don’t like rustic, don’t stay, if you do, this gem is not to be missed.
Flying would have been an excellent way to visit Napier for a quick trip, I however elected to drive. In my defence, I only decided on Wednesday morning that I would head to Napier on Friday for the weekend, by this time flights were pricey. By Wednesday afternoon I changed plans and opted to leave on Thursday afternoon and stop for a night on the way down to break up the drive, this turned out to be a good and a bad option.
On Thursday morning I looked on booking.com and found a cabin at DeBretts Hotsprings in Taupō for under $100. Thinking this would be a great option and giving me the chance to have a hot soak after driving for a few hours I booked it. It was only when the confirmation email came through I realised I’d booked it for October 5th 2024. This would still have been a bargain but not very helpful for my imminent departure. Deciding to just wing it I threw my overnight back in the car and hit the road. Traffic, roadworks and detours turned a 3.5-hour drive into 4 hours, and as I pulled alongside New Zealand’s largest lake I realised that winging it on accommodation may have been a flawed plan. It was only then I remembered that it was still the school holidays which is a brain fade on my part given that this is the reason I am not at work.
I drove by many ‘no vacancy’ signs before I spied a large-looking line of motel-type accommodation which I popped into on the off chance. This random selection turned out to be a bit of a gem. The Suncourt claims to be ‘Taupō’s BEST local, family owned and operated accommodation, conference, event and wedding venue’, while I can’t vouch for its wedding, conference or event claims, their accommodation, food and staff were excellent. After checking into my lake-view room I wandered off in search of two of life’s necessities, wine and snacks. After enjoying both on my balcony as the sun sagged in the sky I moved inside for room service and an early night.
Friday started perfectly, watching the All Blacks win while lounging in bed, before hitting the road for the two-hour drive from Taupō to Napier. The last time I drove this road was exactly a year ago in a minivan loaded with teenage cricketers while rain battered off the windscreen. This drive, alone and in perfect weather, was a much more peaceful experience until I reached the Esk Valley. Twelve months ago this valley was a lush green landscape blanketed with grape vines and fruit trees, it was jarring and upsetting how much devastation was caused, and remains after Cyclone Gabrielle in February. The landscape is now dotted with piles of dirt being scooped up by an army of diggers and houses which were swept off their piles and moved to random spots sometimes miles away from where they were once homes.
I arrived at Hawkes Bay at midday, and my first thought was to hunt food. As the region is known for its wine it seemed fitting to head to a winery, the one that I chose was Mission Estate. Established in 1851 by French Missionaries the grand buildings are nestled in the Taradale Hills and accessed by a grant, tree-lined driveway. As I was dining alone I didn’t opt for the $60, three-course spring lunch menu, choosing instead the ‘Chicken Breast, ‘Pig & Salt’ Spec & Truffle Polenta, Corn Salsa, Cheese Croquette & Chicken Jus’. The suggested wine pairing was a Jewelstone Chardonnay, who am I to argue with the experts. The setting, the food, and the wine were all exceptional and the perfect way to start my Napier experience.
Watching my child play cricket is the guise for my mini-break so after lunch I headed to Cornwall Park, Napier for the first of the weekend’s scheduled games before checking in to my accommodation. While in Taupō I looked online and made a booking for a couple of nights. I chose the Masonic Art Deco Hotel as it looked cool, was central and offered a single room option which made the cost a little less. It was another wonderful surprise to check in and find that it was indeed as cool as it looked on the website.
The hotel is located on Tennyson St, a stone’s throw from Marine Parade and the waterfront and an easy walk to downtown Napier. While there is no parking at the hotel they provide free parking a couple of hundred metres away after you have unloaded your luggage in the loading zone alongside the hotel entry. The decor is true to Art Deco, a style that emerged in France just before World War I, but flourished in the 1920s and ’30s.
Napier would not have been known for its Art Deco buildings if it wasn’t for New Zealand’s deadliest earthquake on February 3rd, 1931, when ‘energies roughly equal to the detonation of 100 million tonnes of TNT was channelled down a moving slab of landscape’ killing at least 256 people. Fire destroyed much of downtown Napier which was rebuilt in the style of the time, Art Deco. Stepping into the hotel is a timewarp back to the era with stunning woodwork, carpet, fixtures and art all reflecting the era.
My single room features a king-single bed, a small desk, a reading chair, a cabinet with tea and coffee-making facilities, a window onto a courtyard an ensuite with a shower more powerful than most you come across from in hotels. Ready to eat again I opted to stay in-house and eat at The Rose, the Irish pub underneath the hotel. This was a mistake. It was not pleasant.
Saturday: After a good night’s sleep what better way to start the day than with a massage? Regular readers of my blog will know that I love a good massage and like to try the out whenever I travel. I haven’t blogged about my last two massages. In August, while visiting Mt Maunganui I had what was possibly the best massage of my life at the Mount Hotpools, 10/10 recommend. Needing one in Auckland recently I had what was possibly the worst massage of my life and a place I’ve been to before but with a therapist I (thankfully) hadn’t come across in the past. It was enough to put me off.
Put me off going back to that place, not put me off massages obviously!
After two minutes of Google research while sitting at the cricket I booked myself an appointment for 9 am at a Thai place just around the corner from my hotel.
It didn’t start well. The decor and colour scheme were questionable but the massage therapist was welcoming and directed me to a curtained cubicle with the usual wide, Thai-style, massage beds. I had opted for an ‘aroma massage’ which I was hoping wouldn’t involve me being twisted into a pretzel like the last Thai massage I had. Very soon I was nearly naked, face down and was mounted by Sarah as she began the massage. The massage was lovely but I found it very hard to concentrate due to what was happening in the cubicle next door.
I assume it was a largish, older man escorted into the room by his wife or maybe a carer. She explained to the therapist through the thin wall from me, that he was a bit hard of hearing but probably his back just needed a ‘good clicking’. She left with a ‘Have fun big boy’, at this moment I wondered whether I’d missed seeing the word ‘parlour’ on the massage sign. It took about 5 minutes of his half-hour booking for him to understand that he had to lie face-down and put his face at the end with the hole (specifically designed for a face). His breathing wasn’t the quietest while he was upright, as soon as he lay down it became snoring loud only interrupted with the odd grunt or moan. Once his session had ended (not happily) I could again focus on relaxing. All in all my experience was more towards the Mount end of the scale than my local experience and I would recommend it.
Photo or cricket to prove I actually went.
The massage finished in perfect time to watch some cricket which was alas interrupted by rain. This gave me the chance to try another local attraction the Ocean Spa, where for the bargain price of $11.50 I soaked away the chill of watching cricket in the rain. With the rest of the cricket day called I have stocked up on snacks for dinner and enjoying some downtime in the hotel before a 400+km drive tomorrow.
Day 14 – our last full day of the holiday. Tomorrow night we start the long schlep back to NZ from Paris.
Well before leaving home I booked Disneyland tickets for the three Scotts who wanted to visit. Murray had some work to do in Paris, so after we had filled ourselves from the brilliant breakfast buffet, which was pleasantly quiet at 7.30am, and had caught the free shuttle bus (that comes every 20 minutes) from our hotel to Disneyland. Murray headed into Paris.
(just one of the many rows of breakfast buffet)
We wanted to maximise our investment in the Disney tickets at approx $250pp for access to the two parks, by getting there early and packing as much as possible into the day. We arrived around 9am and were let into the Walt Disney Studios park with hoards of other keen visitors. Paris Disneyland, or Euro Disney as it was known when it opened in 1992 used to get a bad wrap in the 90’s when I was tour managing. There were usually a couple of people from each tour group who had more than two nights in Paris who would trek out to Disney and usually report back that the service was poor. We’ve been lucky enough to have visited two other Disney parks, the original in Los Angeles in 2012 and a few years later in Hong Kong, both had been good experiences and I was pleasantly surprised to find this was equal to our other visits. All the staff from entry to the rides and shops were very friendly and helpful, the park was clean and there were lots of options for rides and activities.
Here’s what we did and how we rated it on the universally recognised scream scale. This scale is based on how loud and how long the average mum will scream during the ride.
Toy Soldiers Parachute Drop, ‘Gather your young recruits and take the whole troop to Toy Story Playland for a fearless parachute jump behind enemy lines.’: While the London Dungeon were H&S OTT with Christian and his splinted hand, Disneyland Paris sensibly couldn’t have cared less. As long as you were over the height required and could get on and off the rides, weren’t pregnant or had back issues the rides were open to all. I am known as a bit of a scardy-cat. I don’t like things that go too fast, too high or tip upside down but propelled on by my offspring I agreed to go on this ride first up which didn’t look too scary. Once strapped under our parachute we were lifted in stages high above the Disney park. The ride then dropped then lifted randomly until we were lowered gently back to earth. My assertion of ‘this doesn’t look too bad’ as we were on the ground was quickly replaced with ‘it is actually quite high’ when we were at its peak. It wasn’t the ride that freaked me out though it was Christian’s random and erratic fake scared screaming that had me both crying with laughter and fear as we bounced up and down. Scream score 7/10
RC racer, ‘Andy is in a mischievous mood and takes you in his race car on a U-shaped high-speed circuit where you will climb up to 25 m high.’ Another ride based on one of my all-time favourite movies, Toy Story. While you only had to be 81cm tall to parachute you needed to be 120cm to take a spin in Andy’s race car telling me this one would be scarier. While it looked quite fast I managed to get myself on it as it didn’t look from the ground that there was any hanging upside down involved, just a speedy ride up and back on a semi-circle-shaped track. It wasn’t until we were hurtling to the end that I realised that the evil engineer hadn’t cut the circle in half but had maybe left about 200 degrees intact which meant that at either end we were in fact hanging a little upside down, albeit momentarily. Scream score 8/10.
(photo from Disney website)
Coaches Road Trip, ‘Rev your engine at this attraction at Walt Disney Studios Park and capture the natural and mechanical wonders of the legendary highway of the American West.’ Kenny had seen a POV video of this ride (at another Disney Park) and had hyped it up for me and Christian so we were excited to find it and that there was hardly any queue. You could hear Christian’s groan for miles when rather than individual self-drive cars turned up, but a road train that catered to the most timid of riders. Quietly relieved I boarded and enjoyed the ride through the ‘American West’ seeing characters from another of my favourite movies, Cars. There was a dramatic part of the ride that involved rocking, fire and flooding which I thoroughly enjoyed. Scream score 1/10.
Ratatouille: The Totally Crazy Adventure of Remy, ‘Rat-petez until you reach the size of Rémy and embark on a frantic chase in a gigantic kitchen.’ Another ride with no restrictions, this one provides entertainment all at ground level through the wonder of 4D effects and 3D glasses. Sitting in rat cars you get spun around in a simulated chase as the chef is trying to catch the rat under benches and tables in the kitchen and restaurant. This one made me feel the queasiest of the day, had a longish wait but was well worth it. Scream score 3/10.
(photo from Disney website)
The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror, ‘Discover the spectacular transformation of The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror and embark on three new experiences more terrifying than ever.’
I didn’t think I would go on this ride. The two words ‘tower’ and ‘terror’ are big red flags but still, I found myself following my offspring into the library of the rundown hotel where we were told we MUST stand on the carpet. Convinced we were going to plunge I secretly held onto Kennedy’s sleeve just in case. After a short audio-visual show were ushered through the bowels of the hotel and into an elevator. Here about 20 of us were seatbelted in and waved off with a ‘good luck’. I’m not going to lie, it lived up to its name and was terrifying. I wasn’t 100% sure we were actually moving higher than a floor as we were going up and down so much with the door opening often to reveal a spirit with a terrifying message before the doors slammed shut and we plummeted or rose again. It wasn’t until the doors opened revealing a view over most of Paris that I realised we had indeed gone quite high. My fear at that point was that we were going to move forward and be somehow dangled out of the building so when the doors closed and we fell at speed back to ground level it was weirdly a relief. Scream score 9/10.
Crush’s Coaster, ‘Let yourself be carried away in a whirlwind of adventures where you will twirl, dive and fight against the current.’ We opted to line up as single riders for this one cutting our wait time in about half. Fortunately, we got on one after another. I rode with a family who was subjected to my screaming as we hurtled and spun through the dark simulating riding on the East Australian current, dudes. Scream score 7/10
(photo from Disney website)
Hungry and thirsty after all the screaming we stopped for lunch and a dodgy burger combo before changing parks, walking the short distance to Disney Park.
(after some hair-raising rides)
Disneyland proper is made up of 5 ‘lands’ The one you enter first is Main Street USA lined with shops and eateries from which the other lands branch off. Our first stop was Frontierland where we spent an eternity lined up behind the world’s most annoying family waiting to get into Phantom Manor. ‘Are you ready for the big thrill? So set sail for this mysterious and fascinating journey, where ghosts and spirits await you at every turn.’ This was false advertising at its best. After waiting around an hour the ride was tame. Scream score – 1/10
(photo from Disney website)
Big Thunder Mountain, ‘Hold on tight, because the Mine Cart is about to take your whole family on a thrilling adventure around a haunted mountain…’ By the screams coming from the ride as we had another long wait we were more confident this would be a goodie, and it was. Boarding a rickety train cart we first plunged into a dark tunnel that took us under the lake and up onto the mountain which we hurtled around at speed. Scream score 8.5/10.
Next stop Discoveryland where we went on an old family favourite, the Buzz Lightyear Laser Blast. ‘Take off for space and help Buzz defeat Zurg with your laser in this intergalactic launch pad.’ Kennedy and I battled against each other as well as Zurg as we each tried to spin our cart in the direction that would most hamper the other as we tried to shoot targets with our laser guns. I didn’t win.
(whoever designed this Disney headband did not look at it from the back – design fail)
Star Wars Hyperspace Mountain, ‘At the wheel of your spaceship, fight the Empire in this fully revisited version of one of the Park’s flagship attractions.’ This ride looked fine until we got close to boarding and the warning sign said something like, ‘This ride plummets at speed in the dark and involves a 360-degree loop’. I pointed this out to Kennedy who merely shrugged her shoulders at me. I was trapped in a dark corridor and it seemed the only way out was to board the ride. My screaming was as fast and furious as the ride, so much so that within seconds my throat dried causing a coughing fit which lasted for the rest of the journey through the pitch dark at close to the speed of light and was only occasionally and briefly lit up with flashing lights, not nearly enough to see the terror ahead. I only knew we were going upside down due to my glasses, which were pretty much glued to my face due to the g-forces, started edging up onto my forehead. I couldn’t prise my fingers off my safety harness to put them back on my nose. Thankfully they didn’t fly off. Scare score 11/10
(photo from Disney website of people who were absolutely not on the actual ride – they look way too happy)
Needing to calm down my central nervous system we headed to the safety of Fantasyland and “it’s a small world”. ‘Set sail for a wonderful journey around the world with this iconic attraction that will amaze young and old alike! Climb aboard a joyful musical cruise for the whole family and sing the famous hymn to peace with dolls from all over the world.’ We boarded our boat and cruised serenely around the globe seeing cultures and animals all to the same repetitive tune of ‘It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small world after all, it’s a small, small world’. The perfect way to finish off our rides.
After a bite to eat, we strolled Main Street and bought a couple of souvenirs before boarding the free shuttle back to the Dream Castle where we reunited as a family for a drink before drifting, exhausted, back to our shared digs.
Day 15 – time to come home. I’m not ready. Adding to all the things I really like about this hotel is how accommodating they have been today. After having a late sitting at the buffet which was actually hellish, not any fault of the hotel, just the number of people and screaming, running around children in attendance alongside people who clearly don’t function before they’ve had coffee. In a crowded breakfast area lingering while staring blankly at the line of food or moving in random directions in front of people who are trying to carry trays laden with full bowls of cocoa pops and plates laden with bacon and croissants deserve to be evicted. They are worse than side suitcase pushers… way worse.
But I digress, after breakfast, we packed up and checked out at the prescribed time of 11am. It was no problem at all for us to store our luggage and use the facilities for the day. We were given a keycard to the luggage room and one each that allowed us access to the indoor and outdoor pools, showers etc… so we could relax for the day before our 4pm transfer this afternoon to the airport. Thank you for a wonderful stay, Dream Castle. If you are booking a trip to Disney with younger children, or if you’re young at heart, I’d highly recommend staying for more than three nights at the Dream Castle and having a couple of days at Disneyland to have more time to go on more of the rides, see some shows and soak up as much of the happiness as possible.
Day 12 was a day of using nearly every mode of transport under the sun and making a return to backpacking. But first, we started with a lazy morning at the hotel packing up after a week of being stationary then getting an Uber to Slough Station.
(The faces you make when your parents force you to go on a family holiday to the other side of the world).
While the rest of the family headed to Tesco Extra to stock up on lunch and snacks I stood guard over the luggage. When they returned laden with bags of snacks another four travel cards saw us onto the express train for the ride into Paddington. We hiked for what seemed like miles across Paddington station, with bags much heavier than they were for the same walk a week ago, to get a Circle Line train to Kings Cross/St Pancras to wait with the hoards of others for the 15.04 train bound for Brussels via Lille. It was a return to the backpacking days of old. With the entire vast seating area filled with people, we found a corner spot by one empty chair. While the youngest (and most broken) member of the family claimed the chair, Murray went for a wander while Kennedy and I took up spots on the floor using our bags as backrests.
At 15.04 and 15 seconds, we were speeding through the English countryside before plunging into the Chunnel. 90 minutes after departure we disembarked at Lille and awaited our connection direct to the Paris Disneyland station. After another 90 minutes of speeding through the French countryside, we arrived at Gare Marne-la-Vallée Chessy.
Just outside the station, we found, among the line of shuttle bus stops, the free bus shuttle that delivered us right to the door of the Dream Castle Hotel, our home for the next three nights. Weary from a day’s travel we headed straight to the buffet and for 35 euros a head we ate our body weight in food, before rolling upstairs to bed. Our last stop of the holiday is the first time the four of us are sharing one room. There were certainly some settling-in issues as we adjusted to different sleep times and routines but after we all settled in a good night’s sleep was had by most.
Day 13 – After a sleep in we partook with gusto in the included breakfast buffet. Being France I’d expected the buffet to be mainly of the cold variety, a few cereals, croissants and the standard jambon et fromage (ham and cheese). But this was a French buffet on steroids. Along with the aforementioned, there was bacon, eggs, and pancakes with an enormous bucket of Nutella that all the guests aged under 10 could not resist. Salad, yoghurts, fresh fruits, juices, pain au chocolate, baguettes, coffee, potatoes and a French attempt at baked beans meant there was enough food, and variety to keep every Scott happy. Our initial impression of the Hotel Dream Castle was good last night and it only got better today. There are five hotels in a cluster about 10 minutes drive from the Disneyland Park of which ours is in the middle. It’s designed for families, who mostly have children younger than 20 and 18, and could have come off as kitsch but it’s been styled in a way that I really like and is reminiscent of a French chateau. Having lived in a French chateau for a year I consider myself expert enough in this field.
With the weather forecast looking better in the afternoon than in the morning Kennedy made an executive decision that we would go shopping first before returning to the hotel to relax by the pool when the sun was hottest. She was so keen that she headed off before the rest of us to La Vallée Village which boasts 120 brands. When the rest of the family arrived at the same spot we quickly realised why she had ditched it quickly and headed next door to Val D’Europe. Firstly the Village is an outdoor outlet shopping situation. With the temperature approaching 30 degrees, moving from one shop to another outside wasn’t that much fun. Secondly, the price tags of the 120 brands were eye-watering. Next door in Val D’Europe there were all the brands that we needed to shop for, some good summer sales, and it was air-conditioned. We left the centre at 2pm with a bag full of picnic supplies including two baguettes, chorizo, two types of cheese, a punnet of grapes, six beers, a bottle of red wine and some soft drinks, all for 21 Euros.
We returned, eventually after having to cancel one Uber who couldn’t work out the shopping mall carpark, to our hotel for a couple of quality hours by the pool.
Doing research earlier in the day I’d found that the local village, Magny Le Hongre, had a musical picnic to celebrate Bastille Day, starting at 6.30pm in Parc du Lochy. This park was less than a 30-minute walk from our hotel so picnic in hand we followed Google Maps out the back of our hotel, alongside a lake, through the village, then followed the sound of the band, until we found the park and the Bastille Day fête. It was a lovely event and barren of the tourists that inhabit the five hotels. This celebration brought out the locals with picnics of their own and sets of boulles to play while they sat on hay bales or blankets, listened to the band and bought a treat of ice cream or toffee apples. After strolling home we enjoyed a sundowner on the hotel deck before heading to bed, excited to be visiting the happiest place on earth the next day.
It was a short walk from Waterloo Station to The London Dungeon, here we had unfinished business. In 2012 when Kennedy was nine and Christian was six the three of us visited this attraction. We got maybe ⅔ of the way through before one of the children was so freaked out we had to exit through a secret side door. At 20 and 18 we had high hopes all of us would make it through 100% of the attraction. Kenny and Christian signed up to Student Beans and submitted their student ID – this gave them more than 50% off the cost of The London Dungeon. When we arrived at the attraction we discovered you could only buy student tickets online, so Kennedy sorted that for the two students while I purchased a ticket for the same timeslot at the self-service booths.
Our tickets were scanned and we were sent on our way with a ‘have a horrible day.’ We were plunged into darkness and joined the line snaking around to the actual entry where groups of about 40 at a time were let in. The attraction is made up of multiple ‘rooms’ which you are directed through to both learn a little about the history of London and get the shit scared out of you. Unfortunately, we didn’t know until we got inside and to the first ride that you couldn’t go on the couple of rides that are a part of the attraction if you are pregnant, have back or heart issues or have a broken limb. Christian was promptly rejected and escorted to meet me and Kennedy as we came off the first ride, a boat in the dark. I’m all for safety, but nothing on this ride would have harmed Christian and his splinted hand. We didn’t get wet and we didn’t have to hold onto anything.
During our journey from ‘room’ to ‘room’ we learned about Sweeny Todd, Jack the Ripper, the great fire of London and some of the gruesome torture tactics used in days gone by with some pretty cool 4D effects to add to the terror. While my 20 and 18-year-olds coped just fine there was more than one under 10 in our group freaking out for the entire journey bringing back memories.
Day 9 – another day of the family going in different directions. Murray was up and at ‘em first, as he made his way south to see a friend the rest of the family had a slower start to the day. Once the enfants had been through the chocolate Weetabix buffet we ambled to the Slough station and caught the express train to Paddington. After a stop for food, we navigated our way to the underground and took the Bakerloo line to Waterloo. Can anyone ever go to Waterloo without singing the song? Hindsight being a wonderful thing, what we probably should have done when we first arrived off the Eurostar was buy a 7-day 6-zone travel card. Learn from our mistakes. When you come to London give your transport some research time and make informed decisions, you will probably save yourself money. Unless you know the right questions to ask it can be hard to get the information that helps you best when you’re under pressure at a ticket booth! If you are buying the same ticket for three or more people at the same time you get 30% off.
After exiting the Dungeon Christian decided he’d had enough of being a tourist for the day. Back at Waterloo Station, he headed to the Bakerloo line to retrace his steps to Slough and we headed for the Northern line to continue further south to Battersea Power Station.
Built between 1929 and 1935 Battersea was a coal-fired power station which has been decommissioned and turned into 253 residential units, bars, restaurants, office space, shops and entertainment spaces. Outside the building alongside the river, there was a space set up to watch Wimbledon on a big screen, places to play boules, table tennis tables and a tennis court.
Our next stop was Little Venice which we reached via the Northern, then Bakerloo line.
After a false start with my old iPhone sending us in the wrong direction, we came across the main canal which we followed all the way to a pair of canal boats where we each had a margarita and ordered some carbs to share to get us through the journey back to Slough.
Dinner in the hotel finished off the day, another 10000+ step day.
Day 10 was a failed attempt at having a family day. With pairs setting off at slightly different times to the same place. On our way we walked past a house fire which Christian later learned had been caused by the lithium battery of an e-bike. We managed to have a family lunch together in Windsor before rejigging the pairs with the boys headed back to the hotel.
Kennedy and I ambled a way down the Long Walk which was created between 1682-85 by King Charles II. We didn’t walk all of the over 2.5-mile tree-lined path as that would’ve taken a good couple of hours, but it was lovely to wander for a while along where we have seen so many royal processions take place.
On our return to Windsor, we mooched about the local shops paying special attention to the sweet stores before taking an Uber back to our Slough Palace to meet up with the men-folk for a traditional English pub dinner.
Today I would describe as a bit of a slump day. It’s hard to keep up the pace of travelling over an extended period of time, it’s even harder for four people to keep the same pace and be in sync for extended periods. Everyone has different energy levels, drive to sightsee and tastes, for me getting the best out of the holiday is trying to find a way for everyone to get what they want out of their holiday while also spending time together, this can involve a lot of compromises. There are going to be off days when travelling and Day 10 was a bit of an off day for us.
Day 11
Our last day in London and we were keen to hit the ground running after yesterday’s bleh day. Out the door of our Slough Palace at 9.30am we made our final walk to the train station to purchase off-peak travel cards. Again for everyone to get the most of what they wanted out of the day we broke into pairs after a 20-minute express train to Paddington. The boys headed north to Arsenal’s (football) home ground to do a tour of the stadium. Kennedy and I transferred to the Elizabeth line underground for a couple of stops to Tottenham Court Road and a few hours of shopping. After that couple of hours, we discovered that essentially just done a big blocky and ended up on the other side of Tottenham Court Road station. Something I liked about a lot of the stores was that a lot of the mannequins were more my shape and the advertising featured a lot of diversity.
Time for some culture we made the less than 10-minute walk to the British Museum. Another great thing about London is that a lot of museums are free to enter, and this is the case of the British Museum which claims to cover ‘two million years of human history and culture’. Whoever has the energy to see two million years of history hasn’t just done 15000 steps around Tottenham Court Road station.
Wikipedia states that ‘In 2022 the museum received 4,097,253 visitors,’ I think 4 million of 2023’s visitors were there with us today. 4 million people plus 2 million years was a bit overwhelming so we didn’t last too long. Seeing the building and the main atrium alone made the visit to the institution founded in 1753 worthwhile.
A little nostalgia followed as I led us down familiar footpaths to Southampton Row and the Royal National Hotel the hotel where for a few years I met groups of excited travellers before dragging them around Europe on tours. While some things look largely the same, like the exterior of the hotel itself, there are lots of things that are different.
Something notably missing was the Thomas Cook which used to be situated on the corner near the Russell Square tube station. Kennedy had never heard of Thomas Cook, why would she, being born well after the time of travellers’ cheques. She shook her head at the ways of travel from the days before Wise cards when travellers would exchange their hard-earned cash for pieces of paper which you signed on receipt and could be exchanged for different currencies when you matched the initial signature and provided ID at a Thomas Cook, or exchange office. When working for Contiki in the 90’s you also got issued with travellers cheques to pay for the running of the tour. As a mobile cook in 1995, I remember being issued with about £7000 of travellers’ cheques, an absolute fortune at the time, to carry around strapped to my body to exchange over the course of 45 days to buy food for the 40-odd people I was tasked with feeding on a portable stove as we travelled as far out as Turkey, Hungry and Bulgaria.
A ride on a London bus to Trafalgar Sq and we had time for another trip to the Lego shop, avoiding the crowds of people in pink waiting for the Barbie movie premiere, and were still early for our 4pm meeting with the boys at The Moon Underwater. Deciding we’d sneak in a cheeky ½ pint we discovered the boys already inside with the same idea. After an Italian dinner on Leicester Square, we headed home for our last night in Slough.
Overall the stay in Slough has been about average. The hotel itself is great, with very comfortable rooms, plenty of space and reasonably priced. Slough itself though is a bit of a dump, dirty, not a lot going on, not even a movie theatre, and doesn’t feel like the safest area to walk around.
Today we are back on the Eurostar and heading to Paris Disneyland.
Day 7 – a week of our holiday has gone by already and we are settling into something of a routine. Murray and I wake up at ‘old person o’clock’, somewhere between 6 and 7am. Murray ambles down to the local supermarket to pick up a newspaper and milk, and I message the kids to let them know the ‘room 602 chocolate Weetabix buffet’ is open. They wander in when they are awake (much later) and we discuss each of our plans for the day and see where they intersect.
Today they don’t intersect a lot. Kennedy went off to meet her old school friend Michael – AKA Wham Boy – due to the way he, and his friend, looked when he made his first visit to our house when Kenny was about 12. Michael has lived in London for a few years studying musical theatre. They had a lovely day together and we caught up with Kennedy back at the hotel at bedtime.
Christian walked into Slough with us to have lunch. We opted for gyros from a Greek place. While it was tasty, it’s not quite the same eating gyros on the main street of Slough as it is under a windmill on Mykonos. We headed to the train station to buy our travel cards, weirdly it was cheaper to buy four and get the discounted rate than buy the three we needed. Travel card in hand Christian did a U-turn and walked back to the hotel for an afternoon of napping. Later he made his way to Ickenham Cricket Club again (told you it was a hotspot) to meet his mate. The rest of the details are yet to be determined as he’s not home yet.
Murray and I started a train journey together, he disembarked at Paddington and I continued one more stop to Bond Street. It was a tropical day in London. Not in the blue sky sunny version of tropical but the overcast, muggy as all hell and punctuated by heavy bouts of rain kind. I ducked in and out of Oxford St shops as I headed towards Regent St before turning left and heading to The Regent’s Park. London has some fantastic green spaces, and while Hyde Park is usually the go-to, The Regent’s Park was well worth the buckets of sweat I poured out wandering in some of the 395 acres. The park was first acquired by Henry VIII (whose grave we accidentally stomped on the other day) and was used mostly as a hunting park up until 1649. I very much enjoyed my stroll past the boating ponds, waterfalls and some of the 12000 roses in the park before I made my way to the mosque and exited.
My next stop was a cricket ground almost as good as Ickenham, Lord’s. Pretentiously calling itself the ‘Home of Cricket’ (clearly they haven’t been to the Devonport Domain) it was exciting to be making my first visit. We had purchased tickets earlier in the day for the Australia v England women’s T20. I spent an hour walking around the lower concourse checking out the merch (too expensive) and sampling some of the local delicacies. The first delicacy was a pie and a pint. The pint was good, and the pie was average at best. Before I headed up to my seat to rendezvous with Murray I had a pint of Pimms and lemonade. At over $20NZ it wasn’t cheap but it tasted good as I sat high in the stand looking down over this historic cricket ground where in 1949 Murray’s Dad had played for NZ against England. Opening the batting with Bert Sutcliffe Murray’s Dad (AKA Verdun Scott) he scored an opening partnership of 89 helping their team to a draw. Back in 1949, the English team came through the middle of the grandstand from the ‘gentleman’s entrance’, the NZ team on the other hand got ushered in a side gate through the ‘players gate’. I’m sure some of the toffs of the day will be turning in their graves that women are playing on their hallowed turf.
(Lord’s)
There was one shower that briefly interrupted Australia’s batting innings. By the 18th over I was losing the will to live from exhaustion, as the rain started tipping down at the end of the first innings we decided to make the hour-ish trek back to our Slough palace thinking the game may well be abandoned. Turned out it was only shortened and England batted well to take out the game.
Day 8 – another day, another round of chocolate Weetabix, for three of the family at least. Our youngest member was still MIA after his trip to Ickenham the day before. Turns out he’d gone nightclubbing in Watford last night and had spent the night away from our Slough palace, I don’t even know where Watford is but I’m sure he had a blast.
Murray opted for a quiet day today and was tasked with doing the family’s laundry. Kennedy and I headed into Liverpool St station to start our self-guided made-up Sunday market tour. We were heading for Spitalfields but stumbled upon Petticoat Lane on the way which became a VAE (value-added extra). Neither of us was in the market for clothes or bags so we continued on to Spitalfields where traders have been operating since around 1666, after the Great Fire of London. Undercover, this market is vast with high-quality artisan and upcycled clothing, jewellery and interesting things to buy, of which we bought none. We bought a big doughnut and coffee before heading on to Brick Lane.
Downstairs at Brick Lane was a vast array of retro clothing, and at street level was an amazing array of food to choose from. After checking out the goods on offer we took the tube to Covent Garden. After a quick browse around it was time for Kennedy and I to go our separate ways. Her to a Formula One watch party at a bar near St Pauls, and me to the Hampton Court Palace Garden Festival. My semi-trusty Google map told me there was a bus from very nearby that would take me to Waterloo where I could get a train to the palace. Alas, the road where the bus was indicated was closed due to the ASICS 10k run which had been finished earlier in the day. I followed the blue line towards the next bus stop on the route on Victoria Embankment. This is a usually busy main road which runs alongside the Thames, as I approached, it was empty other than the occasional cyclist. I spotted a marshall, easily identifiable by his fluro vest with ‘marshall’ emblazoned on the back, and had the following conversation:
Me: Can you please tell me where the nearest underground station is?
Him: (looking at the A4 map in his hand) Where do you want to go?
Me: Waterloo station
Him: (Pulling out his phone and searching on it) – easiest for you to get a bus there.
Me: Where is the bus stop, please?
Him: 48 feet from here
Me: (looking around confused) Which way?
Him: (points to the right) That way – 48 feet that way
Me: (looking at the tumbleweed blowing down the four-lane road) Isn’t this road closed right now?
Him: No, this road is open
Me: This road? Is open? Now? For buses?
Him: Yip
Me: Walks 200 feet to Embankment Tube station and took the underground to Waterloo where I changed to a train to Hampton Court.
(the road the man in fluro assured me was open and that I could catch a bus from)
After disembarking I followed the crowds and the signs directing me to the festival where I was met by my old friend Michael. Michael isn’t a big one for social media. We keep in touch by randomly sending each other a photo of a departure board whenever we are flying and asking the other to guess where we are going. It’s not been much of a challenge for Michael the past few years. It was nowhere for a long time and then Australia twice. Michael though has sent me an array of challenges as he and his partner take mini, or long, breaks to interesting parts of the globe.
We were meeting at Hampton Court as my first cousin once removed, Scott (now my favourite relative), had given me some tickets as part of his role at Tobermory Gin. What an amazing event, especially if you are into plants, food or gin. Set in the vast grounds of Hampton Court Palace, located in the London borough of Richmond, the building of the palace began in 1514 for Cardinal Thomas Wolsey, the chief minister of Henry VIII, who we walked over the other day. We spent a couple of happy hours wandering through the stalls, sampling the food and beverages and catching up on the years since we’d last met in person.
I was very grateful for the offer of a ride home rather than having to make my way back to Sough on public transport which would have taken well over an hour after I’d navigated the miles pebbly palace path in my non-practical court shoes which had already notched up nearly 10km today. By the time we met Murray at our Slough Palace for a drink in the bar, Christian had returned to base and was catching up on sleep and Kennedy arrived back after a brilliant time at the F1 cafe watching today’s race.
To finish today, a photo commentary on side luggage and another shameless plug to sign up to get my free novella https://gillianscottcreative.com/, and if you love that why not try my What Goes On Tour rom-com trilogy following a fictional tour manager in Europe in the 90’s.
(No – yes – no – hell no – no – and blurry, but still no)
‘Not here you don’t. This hotel has been closed for years,’ are not the words you want to hear when you arrive at the hotel you think you’ve got a reservation in for the next week. My first thought was we’d be somehow scammed. Had I booked on a fake Holiday Inn website? But from memory (which is unreliable at best), I didn’t think I had paid anything yet nor provided my credit card with the booking, so it would be a bit of a terrible scam if it was one. Murray, who is in charge of bringing paper copies of everything, fished the required piece of paper with the email confirmation out of his bag and we handed it to the security guard. He scanned it and quickly explained that this was for the OTHER Holiday Inn, the one that has not been turned into refugee accommodation and that it was about half an hour’s walk away from our current location.
After we negotiated with the train station staff that we could re-enter, traverse and re-exit on the other side we quickly decided that we would rather eat our own heads than walk 30 mins more with our backpacks. Less than a £10 taxi ride later we were in what felt like the middle of nowhere outside the Holiday Inn Slough/Windsor, checked into our rooms and flopped on our beds feeling as flat as flounders.
We had a meeting locked in for 6pm tonight in Leicester Square so at 3.30pm we headed back in a taxi to the Slough train station to work out our best option for our transport in and out. It was then that we found two crucial pieces of information that would have saved us $100NZ if we’d done some forward-thinking earlier;
1/ An off-peak travel card costs £16.90 and if we’d bought one of these at Paddington we wouldn’t have needed to buy one now, we could have used it to get out, back in and home again.
2/ If we buy the four cards together as a group they come down to under £12 each.
Travel cards in hand we headed into Tottenham Court Road and meandered via Murray’s favourite sports store, Lilywhites, and on to Leicester Square where we met up with friends we’ve picked up along the way from various parts of our lives. It was great to see Deb and Mark and Clare who were friends from our Contiki days and Granger and Krissie from the cricket side of our lives. We had a great few hours at The Moon Underwater chewing the fat before the youngins went in search of a younger crowd, and happy hour cocktails, and the Contiki oldies kept our fluids up to lubricate the conversation.
Day 6 – as we pulled the curtains back this morning bright daylight flooded into our spacious room, illuminating our two queen-sized beds, long desk with a TV, comfy armchair with a side table, luggage and wardrobe space and large bathroom. Looking out the window, we could see the grandeur of Windsor Castle and we decided the hotel, which cost less for two rooms than one room at the Royal National would have cost, that we didn’t know would become our home for a week was not so bad. The offspring were keen to venture off by themselves and do some shopping so Murray and I made a plan to stay local. After a family picnic breakfast of chocolate weetabix (who knew that would taste good), we went our separate ways.
(view from our hotel room)
Murray and I headed off walking towards Windsor. The first 10 minutes or so of the stroll were pretty grim through industrial buildings and along main roads, but once we found the walking track it improved immensely. We strolled down dirt tracks surrounded by local flora and fauna including blackberry bushes as we navigated the country paths before arriving into the grounds, specifically the golf course, of Eton College. With fees of £15,432 per each of the three terms (just under $96000 NZD per year) and a requirement to register three years before the boy starts, this exclusive school has educated the likes of George Orwell, David Cameron, Boris Johnson and Prince’s William and Harry. The grounds and the village itself were stunningly picturesque as was the rest of the walk to Windsor.
Once in Windsor, we stopped at a cafe in the old train station which has been repurposed as an eating precinct. Caffeinated and ready to go we joined the short queue at the palace entry, handed over £30 each and headed into the grounds of the castle that I’d previously only seen on TV for the likes of Hazza and Meg’s wedding and the Queen’s funeral. Included in the entry is an audio guide which we collected and began exploring.
Windsor Castle was built in the 11th century, after the Norman invasion of England by William the Conqueror, who, if my ancestry research is accurate Murray is descended from. As I always say, never let the truth get in the way of a good story, so even if my research is not good, I’m sticking with the story. The castle has been the home of 40 monarchs including one King who imported royal traditions that Louis XIV, the Sun King of France was a fan of. These included having invited guests to watch him get out of bed in the morning and into bed a night. It was also quite an honour to be invited to watch him on the chamber pot. Good times. Murray and I agreed his bedroom, where these marvellous rituals took place, was our favourite part of the castle alongside the final resting place of Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip laid to rest in an alcove of St George’s Chapel. They are not the only royals interred in the grand gothic building, there are also Edward IV, Henry VI, Charles I, Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, George V and Queen Mary and Henry VIII and Jane Seymour who we inadvertently walked over.
We were fortunate to catch a changing of the guard ceremony due to my penchant for gift shop browsing. Once that was complete we made our way to Windsor train station and travelled to Hayes and Harrington Station where we met the kids and waited for our friendly local cricket guy Krissie, to pick us up.
Ickenham Cricket Club is also probably not on the tourist map of London, but maybe we can change that too. North Shore Cricket Club (where I previously worked) has a long association with ICC with players from NZ coming to it for an overseas experience and players from ICC coming to Devonport for summers playing at the Devonport Domain and coaching local kids. There have been a few marriages, and children, that have come out of the clubs’ relationship and it works for both institutions to keep the relationship strong. The recent NZ summer Krissie and his friend Luke and been in NZ and we’d gotten to know them. They have returned (for now) and have been joined by Sam and Finn from NSCC who are spending the English summer coaching and playing cricket.
Krissie drove us to the ground in time for the start of a local U19 T20 derby. What an absolute pleasure to sit literally on the boundary of this beautiful club ground, meet some of the locals and reconnect with players whom I have met at NSCC in years gone by, all while enjoying an icy cold Carling and a burger off the cricket club grill. Unfortunately, despite keeping our hopes alive until near the end of the game, the local side lost by about 14 runs.
Add Ickenham Cricket Club to your next London itinerary if you haven’t already.
Speaking of things you should do if you haven’t already… sign up to my mail list and get my novella, ‘A Brief Tale’ for FREE, straight to your inbox. Go to my website home page and add your email address.
Gillian Scott Creative 