England 2010: Part One: Here we go again!

Sunday, April 11, 2010


Preparing for my fifth trip to England! Having hoped to be able to do this once, I never imagined doing it five years in a row. It has been a very trying year filled with frustration, new challenges and health issues. New equipment has been purchased to supplement the old tried and true. The big question, again this year, will my bike still be there? One can only hope that for the fifth year my bike will have survived the winter and vandals. My bag this year consists of a new pair of panniers that will hold everything and stay under 50 lbs. At this point they weigh in at 41 lbs and need to be unpacked and packed again to make sure everything is inside. The last item that will be needed is a new Deuter backpack which I’ll purchase with my REI dividend and 20% off coupon.

This will allow me to carry on some of my stuff thus reducing the weight in the panniers. It may allow me some extra room to bring my Hobson bike seat. As tax season comes to an end the want to be riding my bike increases. My friend Mark will be coming over again this year for a three week stint. Tickets have been purchased costing more than any previous trip. Finding a ticket for under $800 was not to be this year. We will be flying a combination of Delta and KLM going through Detroit and for the first time landing in Heathrow. I’m thinking about taking the National bus to Salisbury as I’ve not done that in a few years and it costs less money. Money could be an issue this year, but I’ll not know that until the end of April.

Somewhere on one of my computers is an equipment list that I had intended to post this year. So I’ll have to have to head home and see if it can be found. I also just realized that I have not finished my posts from last year, especially the most exciting part. So maybe I’ll work on that tonight also.

Cottonwood, AZ

Monday, October 05, 2009

Cottonwood, AZ

Imbibing in a herbal tea and Cinn-a-bun in Old Town Cottonwood at The Orion Bread Co. I decided to stop in Cottonwood to scout out a campground for the pending Guy Camping Trip. This consists of my Son and his sons, my son-in-law and his sons, and me. Once a year we get together for a fun camping trip some place in AZ. This year the winner could be Cottonwood’s Dead Horse Campground. Happily there are really no a dead horse’s however there is the Verdi River.

Oh! Back to the Bread Company and the Cinn-a-bun which is quite good. I like thick doughy bread which this is but, not overly sweet, lots of raisins = very filling. This place even looks like a bakery! Lots of pounding of dough in the background, Flower bags lying around, even a bread cutting machine to slice the fresh baked bread. Smells of yeast, dough and baking bread waft through the air. Very restful and relaxing to set here looking out at a fairly empty street.

After Cottonwood I’ll that 89A up through Sedona to get back to Flagstaff. It is time for some mundane things such as oil change and car wash. That about as far as today is thought out. There were some other things but, they do not come to mind. No racking my brain for them for now maybe they will resurface later in the day. There are very primitive painting’s hanging on the wall that can be purchased. However, it would surprise me that anyone would pay $250 for something that looks like it was painted in kindergarten.

My bun is done, tea gone cold as I type time to find the campground then head down or rather in this case up the road. See you on the other side.

Picken In the Pines

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Flagstaff: Fort Tuthill Amphitheater

4th Annual Picken in the Pines Festival

Sitting in a booth as a volunteer for St Mary’s food bank having no clue what to do. How did I come to be here you may ask? Maria, the food bank volunteer coordinator announced at the Chamber of Commerce Ambassadors meeting that she needed people to help at the festival booth. Since I was sitting next to her at the meeting and there were no other takers the rest is history as they say. Arriving promptly at 9:30am as told I find the canopy at half mast not other volunteers seem to be present.

After raising the canopy the booth is now open for business. There is a five gallon water jug, with tickets in it, hiding behind the table. After placing in on the table two people walk up and want to enter the drawing. O.K. here are the raffle tickets how many do you want to fill out. “We’ll take the two for $5.00” says he. Oh! There is a charge for the tickets? Yep there it is on the front of the jug. So he hands me a $10.00 bill which requires change which by dumb luck I happen to have. After writing for about an hour Maria arrives and the day gets better. After a bit her boss Eric arrives and we have a nice chat.

The music has been going on for about an hour people have been filing in filling the area by the stage that has a cover over it. Along with the people clouds have begun to float by becoming thicker and grayer. The sun keeps us warm until it is swallowed by the clouds turning it cooler. We have coffee to keep our hands warm, tap our feet to the music to keep them warm. During a walk about the grounds a fellow says to me “Think It’s going to rain?” “Seems like it’s trying real hard to do that” is my answer. He laughs then a few steps later a few drops fall followed by big drops, the hail, big hail, lots of hail.

I arrive back at the booth the dark green grass now covered with white hail. Water runs off the building around us causing puddles to form with floating hail in them. Most of the crowed has attempted to get under the covered part of the stage area. Others seek out shelter under vender canopies like ours. As the thunder rolls through the trees along with lighting strikes we can hardly hear the music. The announcer has to remind some spectators not to stand under the trees. The musicians play on as the rain lets up but, the clouds take a long time releasing the sun.

The sun returns along with its warmth. Sitting in the sun I watch people attempt to avoid walking in the puddles. It seems funny to me that sometime today they may have stood in a shower not avoiding the water at all. Now it seems to some to be avoided at any cost as if it contains some hidden danger. Some however just splash through it some seems to actually enjoy getting their feet wet especially the children. Ooops I fell in the puddle Mom really I did with a sly grin on their face. I watch Marie with a group out on the lawn playing Hakie-Sackie as she sways to the music. All is good until the sun again closes over the sun with what seems like no intention to release it again today.

Having ridden my bike here it seems a good time to head for home as the distant thunder begins to rumble. I’m thankful for my GoLite rain jacket and oil sealed hat which have kept me dry and somewhat warm. As the rain begins to fall again I’m safe inside my house. Tomorrow I’ll ride again to the fair grounds for the third day of the festival hoping that the sun, music and friendship will be warm.

Sunday, September 19, 2009

Flagstaff: County Fair Grounds

Arrived before everyone else and set up the booth and immediately began selling raffle tickets. The sun is out the sky is blue with a few drifting white clouds. There is a small crowed when the first group takes the stage. They sing several hymns which are appropriate for a Sunday morning. The bands begin to play the crowed begins to flow in. Several young women appear each carrying about 10 Hula Hoops of assorted colors and sizes. Shortly after the grass hill in from of the booth is filled with children of all ages attempting to swing the things on their hips.

There is much laughter and when the young children can’t get them to swirl around their hips they chase after them as they roll down the hill. I see an friend from long ago and wave. Deanna is a wonderfully sweet person who seems to be immune to aging. She still has the same brilliant smile youthful face as when I worked with her twelve years ago. There are several people here today that I have interacted with during my time here in Flagstaff. We wave or chat depending on the moment.

Eric the head of the food back arrives with the “bank” so I can make change then is off on errands. He tells me there are tags in the “bank” for volunteers who have not shown. If there is someone I can call they can get in for free. I call a few friends but they are not home or involved in home projects. More tickets are sold more bands play, people sway and tap their feet to the music. It is warm the sun is bright causing many people to come to North Country’s First Aid booth for suntan lotion. Several little ones are brought in with swollen, angry red bee bites.

The day goes by softly it is great to do something quite different from the usual and allow relaxation to over take me. Lunch is a cold draft with a braut with all the fixings in the shade. I’m almost lulled to sleep by the casual surroundings. Time come for me to head home because the dark clouds are filling the sky. The sun has been swallowed again giving way to a cool breeze which sends most of the crowed heading to their cars. It has been a soothing weekend I’ve made new friends, done something for the community and gotten a little exercise. This is a good thing!

England 2009 - Part X

Wednesday, May 17, 2009

Salisbury

Awoke to rain, dark skies, scratchy throat, and runny nose so went back to sleep. Slept until 10am then got up had breakfast, took a shower then went back to sleep. Finally roused myself around noon to get dressed and ride into town. It looked as if the clouds were going to break up so after purchasing some bread and lunch meat when to have a relaxing lunch with the ducks. I shared my lunch with some baby ducks, and one brave Drake who eat out of my hand. It began to tinkle so PUB Time I thought and headed in that direction. I proceeded to spend the rest of the day in the Pub drinking tea with lemon and talking to people online.

Several asked where I was riding to which I answered “Nowhere.” Then felt guilty as if I were letting everyone down by not doing some adventuresome, aqueous ride on dangerous roads or wet narrow paths. Just writing about doing nothing but everyday stuff was not why they read the blog, was it? Would they not be wondering why my Blog reported the mundane? My thoughts have been wondering why also. Reviewing the reasons for my initially wanting to come to England and ride brings to the fact that they had all been accomplished. Well, all except the trip to Austria and this will be coming up shortly.

The first year was the search for the Arthurian Way so to speak, next was to find Merlyn and then the air field my Dad flew out of during the war, then to attempt to get to Austria by bike riding through part of France, and now this year touching the places my family started. All goals will have been met then what? No more rides, no more Europe, no more? This year, thanks to my new bosses, money has no plagued me as an issue. So far more has been spent this trip then any of the previous three, and probably more than the first two trips combined. What is the reason for coming back again next year?

Mark stated “You push yourself to hard. I don’t know understand why you do that.” After thinking about that the reason seemed to be answered by one word “Passion.” Now this surprised me as I have always wondered what I had a passion for if anything. So now I have a passion for riding longer and longer, further and further, and harder and harder. The exhilaration I have experienced when seeing a goal come in to sight after hours of hard riding while your brain is telling you “you are not going to make it” is hard to explain. Then get up, do it again, begin to build endurance and each time it has given me back part of myself that I lost, or had not know was there. In riding there is just me, the bike and the world. My struggle is with me to do more than before and keep doing more. The only way to find out how far you can go is to attempt to go there. Never once considered this to be passion until the question was asked. I guess I need to rethink my idea of what passion is?

I’ve had people tell me I’m passionate about things confuses me because I don’t see my idea of what is passion in myself. For many years I thought that my passion was to be the champion of those I perceived as the underdog, or to right some things I believed to be wrong. I was fooled in to believing that appreciation for my actions would follow, it did not. I found myself standing on the hill fort, which is claimed to be Camelot, looking down as I allowed my imagination see the fields full of those who were once thought to be friends. And, clearly understood what it must have felt like for Arthur’s dream to be destroyed by the jealous who wanted to take over. Arthur knew he would not rule this forever nor did he want to. He wanted to set something in place for those he cared about then let them run it. The interesting thing about this is that my goal has always been that once achieved I too wanted them to take over. But, for some that was not acceptable as what I had put together was acceptable to them, it had to be torn down, me along with it, in order for it to be constructed in their perceived better way.

People who I thought were friends turned into betrayers. In family therapy there is the Triangle which is made up of the Savior, Persecutor, and the Victim. These roles are traded from time to time and anyone who attempts to help the victim can become yet another triangle attached to the first. I have taught this over and over, yet find myself succumbing to its siren song time and time again. The savior turns into the Persecutor of the Persecutor which turns the Persecutor into the Victim and the Victim turns into the Savior. This is seen time and time again when Police answer domestic violence calls. The Police (Savior) quickly become the Persecutor, allowing the Persecutor to become the Victim, and the Victim(s) become the Savior turning on the police. A therapist not paying attention can find themselves pulled into this game very quickly. However, when the word “friend” is used CYA is not necessary right?

That’s what Arthur thought, but it was his “friends” who destroyed him along with what he had built so they could show how much better they were then he. They succeeded because he trusted his “friends” and was left empty when he found he could not. I believe I could trust people who reported themselves to be friends and found out over time they were not. Yet I will try again with the hope that this time there will be a real friend who will stay at my side much like Mark and Gary.

I picked up the mail today

Usually my first stop upon leaving the house is to pick up my mail. I pick it up from silver sentries standing at attention beside the main road I must use to start any adventure. I peeked in and at first thought the box to be empty, but stooping a bit lower brought into view what looked like junk mail. Amids the flyer's is an envelop which at first glance look as if it came from my bank in England. However, the envelop, as it came free of the junk mail, had a neat, tight, hand written address on it. The last part of the envelop to be freed from the junk mail showed that this letter came from Austria.

"OH MY GOD!" My new family was writing to me! I looked on the back and was stunned, my mind began to create all these pictures!

Flashback:
  

Summer of 1963

I own a Forest Green 1951 Chevy convertible with a white top. The top is not longer the original canvas, but a brand new vinyl from Rayco. I have had it for three years and treat it with TLC. It gets washed every weekend then polished with Blue Coral wax and sealer, the top is about a year old. The upholstery is real leather died green to match the car. I have put new green carpet in to replace the black rubber. Twin mirrors mounted way up front, twin power aerials adorn the back fenders. The wheels are narrow white walls with silver spinner hub caps locked on.

The sun causes the paint sparkles each time it emerges from the shade as it cruses down N-9 in Upstate NY on its way to Canada. The top is down the tank is full and I am driving my grandmother and my aunt to Montreal. We are going there to visit my grandmother's sister who has just had a baby. My grandmother's sister and her husband have been in Canada about four years now having migrated there from Austria. Her name is Rosie and my uncle's name is Joe. They hope to come to America as some point, but it is now difficult to immigrate do to the new immigration laws.

My aunt Elsie is in front with me, my grandmother in the back both had donned kerchiefs to keep their hair in from blowing about. It is a warm summer day with pale blue Sky's filled with puffs of white clouds. We are driving through green pastures, broken by forest covered mountains or tiny towns. N-9 was the north - south route through NY before the NY Thruway was built. Many summer were spent traveling this road as we headed to Lake George for vacations. It is a two lane road with passing strip that are taken advantage of as much as possible.

My car is quite heavy for it's 90 horsepower straight six engine. So timing is everything as I drop back from the car I'm going to pass, see a passing strip coming up zoom forward gathering momentum to zip passed, then on down the road arm on the door, radio singing away. My Aunt Elsie is the best even if there is a 10 year age difference between us, but you'd never know it. She calls me her older brother even though I'm younger. We have spend a lot of time together over the years doing allot of talking. She is married and currently has three sons who are home with their dad, my uncle Red.

The baby is about three weeks old at this point and we are all anxious to see her. In the trunk, along with our suitcases, are gifts for her and her parents. Uncle Joe does not make much as an upholsterer and they share a two bedroom apartment with another couple. We wonder were we will all sleep upon arrival. I know we will drink Schnapps, laugh, talk, and eat allot. My grandmother will buy all the food and anything else they need. She is not rich, but is willing to give her sister what she can not afford. I think she does this out of guilt as she refuses to sponsor them for entrance into the U.S.

As a sponsor you are staring that if they can't find work you'll pay for them until they do and they will not become a burden on the state. So her sister and family stay in Canada and have only been able to visit us once. This will be my fourth trip to them, the first one as driver. My grandfather could not get off work for the week we are staying. Passing through customs is simply showing my drivers licence, my grandmother's green card, and my Aunt's birth certificate. That's about ten minuets and we're on our way. I'm surprised that no one is complaining about the top being down. So I hope they are enjoying this as much as I.

We arrive in Montreal wandering the streets until we find where they live. It is not the best of neighborhoods with groups of adolescents blocking sidewalks, smoking cigarettes and talking loudly in French. However since I am dress much like them with a cigarette hanging from the corner of my mouth and a pack rolled up in my white t-shirt sleeve I'm given the accepting nod. When I pulled out my black leather motorcycle jacket they were impressed. Although it was to dam hot to ware the thing I put it on to approving looks. The only thing I did not do was pull out my comb and run it through my hair. In those days Vitalis made sure my hair did not move.

We climbed up several floors of wooding stairs attached to the outside of the building reaching the rooftop apartment. After much hugging, tears and laughter we were introduced to Elfie my grand niece. It was not cool to hold babies, but I did for a bit and wondered why anyone would name a kit Elfie. We spent the week, at time I just drove around Montreal to escape the heat and crowd in the apartment. My Aunt Rosie and Uncle Joe spoke little English and mostly German. We managed to have several conversations as they too were close to my age.

A couple of year later they came to visit us on Long Island. By then I was married, owned a home and the Green Chevy convertible was long gone replaced by a Mercury Comet with four doors. Uncle Joe and I talked about Austria as they had come to tell us of their move back. He told me I must come to visit and see the nice house they had there. There was much crying as they climbed into a borrowed car and headed home never to be seen again. There are a few letter's and cards from them to my grandmother, but no more contact. Until now!

The letter I held in my had was from Elfie. I have been reunited with my grand niece. She has written me and I will write her back. She wants to know if I'll be coming to Austria again, see blog, and come hell or high water I will return next year.

Lumping

There seems to be an idea, as shown by the flood of self-help books, that a person can write a book which will cure a specific set of ills or, for that matter all ills. All you have to do is read enough books, specifically applied to a particular problem, and a cure is sure to be effected. This leads me to the belief, there may be an assumption afoot, that it is possible to lump groups of people together under one generic cure all.

The assumption that one book can be a generic cure for all those who read it is the ultimate oppression of the individual. It seems to display just haw well the socialization process works to limit individualism and effectively destroy creativity. has the process been so successful that it has produced individual non-individuals? All of whom can be grouped together by specific symptoms, given a label for the dysfunction, and treated by one "fix you right up" cure.

England - Part XII

England 2009 – Part XII

May 18th to May 21th

So much has happened since my last post. Hopefully what has happened has stayed in my head so it can be written now. I have to back track a bit here to wake up the memories. On May 21st, using the train and tube to go from Salisbury to Stanstead Airport in order not to have to get up at 4AM on the 22nd. Most of the days between the 18th and 21st were spent in Salisbury doing the small stuff. Doing small stuff like resting, reading, riding, walking, Skyping, sleeping, and window shopping basically killing time until it was time to head to Austria.

May 20, 2009
Salisbury to London

Today is tourist day! After purchasing a train ticket it’s off to London with my bike in tow. Yesterday I purchased two tickets one for the trip from Salisbury to Gatwick, and one for my trip today. I’ve purchased a reservation for myself and my bike. It seems the train system is getting sticky about just showing up with a bike to board a train. So if you don’t have a reservation the conductor does not have to let you on the train. Now if you have a fold up bike no problem, fold it up, put it in the luggage rack, and your good to go. On this trip I’m hoping to see Parliament which is not far from London Waterloo which is at the end of this trip. I and my bike find our spots and off we go for a ride through London town.

This is one of the few trips that my ears have not be accosted by the screaming of some child. Now don’t get me wrong I like kids, however children here have a pension for screaming at the top of their lungs for no reason, or if their parents use the word “NO” which they seem not to use to often. Any way I’m in a quiet car and many of the older travelers make sure it stays quiet. You are not even allowed to talk on you cell phone. Ahhhh nice and quiet, enjoy the scenery, just a nice relaxing ride to get ready for tonight’s adventure. Tonight is Stonehenge night!

Upon arriving at the London waterloo it’s off to the lift, down to the street, and over the bridge, where’s the bridge, I can’t fine the bridge. Oh there’s a bridge one works just a good as another. Having decided to go to the Tower of London first because it is further away off we go. I have a general idea of where the bridge is so heading it that general direction. After riding about ten minutes there is a bathroom in the middle of the sidewalk, well not in the middle, but the entrance is and you go down stairs to where the bathroom awaits. Now after about another five minutes I stop and think to myself I should be there by now! Oh there it is right across the street.

Now you might ask how one misses the Tower of London? Well the Tower way have been overwhelming at some point in history but now it is quite small compared to the building around us. I feel a bit prissy so I just stand in the road a bit staring at a guy in a Jag who has just beeped at me. It appears he thinks I’m taking far too long crossing the street. After glaring at each other I move out of the way and get my first look at the Castle in which the Tower of London sits. You can’t see the Tower from outside as it has been dwarfed by building added to the castle over the years. I plunk down 14 Quid to get in and stand around waiting for the Yeoman tour to start.

There is quite a lot to see at the Tower so by 5pm I’m rushing through the last few exhibits. I’ve seen the Crown Jewels, the Bloody Tower, where Ann Boyle and Mary Queen of Scotts lost their heads along with quite a few others. Then there are the different rooms that long term visitors to the Tower have need kept in. So when I’m finished it’s time to head back to Salisbury and Stonehenge. On the way, this has happened on most of my trips, I come up on a huge throng of people blocking the road way. I managed to become part of a march against the atrocities happening in Shi Lanka.

Back in Salisbury by 8 pm, have dinner, and will not get the nap I’d hoped for. Ten pm finds me waiting for the bus which will take me to the Stones. The bus does not stop, what the…, next bus come along and whizzes by. Now having read that the buses will stop at all regular stops I’m wondering why they are not stopping. Shortly I’m joined by a young couple as another bus zips by. Finally a bus picks us up, we pay our 9 pounds for a return trip in the morning and off we go. The bus stop is about ½ a mile from the entrance to the Stones which has to be walked.
We are lead across the road and on to a field which is pitch black. The sign points toward the Stone duh! It is almost possible to see the ground so I follow the people ahead of me hoping they know where they are going. On we walk toward the lights that have been set up around the Stones. Many of those lights directly face me they do nothing to light up the path, but do manage to blind me from time to time. Up a hill now down a hill someone hands me a plastic bag when passing through a gate. What am I suppose to do with this pick up cow shit? Almost there, the Stones are surrounded by lights some of which have different color lasers attache which dance on the Stones.

Reaching a check point I’m asked if I have any sharp objects on me or grass bottles. After indicated I do not I’m told to have a good time. The path to the Stones is lined with food booths offering a wide variety including vegetarian. It has the atmosphere of a carnival. I get closer to the Stones and pass through police officers who have formed a ring around the outside of the stones. I am now among the Stones, well almost. There are people everywhere who have picked out a spot of grass, thrown down their blankets and in the dark are almost impossible to see. Stepping gingerly through them I reach an opening which allows passage in to the courtyard between the Stones.

It is packed with humanity! Squeezing through until I can move forward no I’m in the center of the Stones. To my left and right are groups attempting to dance to the beat of drums which are all around me. The stones in the courtyard are covered with people some precariously perched on rounded edges. I’m holding claustrophobia at bay just barely. The fumes of marijuana float in the air as joints are passed from lip to eager lip. This is not what I had expected at all. It appears that the job tonight is to get as high or drunk as one can possibility get. Shouts go up now and then when the drums have reached some climatic pounding finally only to start a new.
I escape from through a narrow entrance in time to see someone who has managed to climb to the top of a set of Stones which is not allowed. The crowed is cheering him on has he dances to the drums and makes daring jumps from stone to stone. The police arrive and order him down and they are booed, he attempts to find a way down and the crowed begins to chant “Jump, jump.” As he inches down his legs are grabbed by the police and he is pulled to the ground which is the cause for more booing. I walk around to the other side and attempted to get into the courtyard again on that side. There are more people pushing to get in and I think that it is amazing no one has been crushed yet.

Surprisingly I find a free spot under one the Saracens put down my plastic bag and sit with my back to the stone. I meet Hanna and friends who are well on their way to a great high. I now look around me and find that I am very close to the Alter stone which is covered with people hanging on to each other so as not to fall off into the crowd. People are swaying to the beat of drums plastic bottles of cider and other mixes are passed to friends. People stumble by who are in so credibly intoxicated I have to wonder how they can still walk. There are the young, middle aged, and very old pushing to get in to the center if only for a short stay.

These people are dressed in a variety of outfits. Long black robes, long white robes, summer flowery dresses, shoes have long disappeared, and jeans, and dress pants, business suits for both men and women, some just shorts. A few have baby buggies with babies in the pushing through to get to the center of the courtyard. The children stare open mouthed at the pulsating course of humanity that surrounds them. A woman lies across me then gets up and tells me how we are all as blades of grass. I wonder what grass she is talking about. She sits on my lap awhile looking for a specific paper to roll her joint in. After achieving her goal of rolling the best joint ever she sucks it down in about three minutes.

She is off in search of her mate who has the rest of her stash. A woman sits across from me protecting something wrapped in a blanket. After awhile her son of about five wakes up and wants to go home so they pack and leave. Guards wander through the throngs to protect the stones, the there is not much they can do. Another man has climbed to the top of a stone to sway to the beat of the drums. Some stand on stones and dive in to the crowd who catch them and float them across to the other side. The noise of people shouting is continuous as is the beating of the drums. From time to time the area I’m sitting in becomes packet with people attempting to enter the courtyard and leave it.

Now a young man in a military or school marching band outfit stands about me rap-a-tapping on his snare drum. He beats out something from a football game and the people are aroused by it. Another girl sits on the ground by my legs them falls backward over the snoring contently. Her legs stick out into the “path” and people are tripping and stepping on her. I attempt to pull her out of the way, but she is a dead weight. Guards come by and ask me if she belongs to me? I tell them she does not and they drag her upright then guide her away. Time and time again she attempts to sink to the ground to sleep. The sky is becoming lighter to the cheers of the masses. Sunrise cannot be far off the reason we are all here to see the Summer Solstice, the rays of the sun aliening with the great stones on the longest day of the year.

May 21, 2009
Salisbury to Stansted Airport

After packing what I’d be taking with me in one pannier and dropping off the rest of my stuff with Wendy and Nigel it was off to the train station. My bike was chained to the post next to Mark’s prior to climbing aboard for a pleasant ride to good old Clampton Junction the busiest station in England. From there, after switching trains, it was off to a station I had never been to before called Vauxhall where I was to catch the “tube” to Tottenham, then back on the train to Stansted. The whole trip went off without one problem which was amazing. For those of you in Phoenix think old terminal one, New York think McArthur, California think Ontario in the 80’s that is Stansted Airport. At Stansted it took a bit of doing to find the shuttle bus for the Holiday Inn Express where I’d spend the night. It was a pleasant enough place, nice rooms, free WiFi, free breakfast, and a good, but rather pricey dinner.

Off to the airport to board Ryan Air to Graz, Austria. Confronted with a long line makes me glad I’ve arrived early. Check in was easy this is too good to be true. Then things got interesting! I was quickly reminded of flying Southwest Airlines in the early days and why I don’t use them any longer. I had paid 6 pounds to be one of the first on board, no assigned seating, my first clue that this was to be a bare bones trip. The gate opened and the “Priority” passengers were check in and sent down the galley way, which I thought would lead to a waiting plane, it did not. I led to a closed door behind which we waited for the aircraft to arrive. There was no air-conditioner and very little moving air, but I’d be the third person on the plane.

We are allowed out to cross the tarmac, then climb up a rolling stairway to get on the plane. The plane is full the weather in Austria is not good so we sit. When the plane takes off it is about an hour and a half late, but we are on the way. Now if you have flown Southwest Airlines, it has been quite a while for me, and understands what “no frills airline” means. Let me tell you that they have nothing on Ryan Air. Everything is extra, oh yes they offer cheap fares, but make up for it in charging you for anything extra. I asked for a coke and paid about $2.00 for a 4oz can that was just north of warm. I glanced at the “in flight menu” gagged at the prices which were right up there with upscale restaurants. We landed in Graz, Austria, well bounced into the airport would be more like it. Down the stairs, across the tarmac, then on to customs which consists of a 8 x 8 booth with two men inside.

I step up to the window and hand over my passport to a young man who says nothing. He looked at my passport swiped, looked typed, looked swiped, then finally smiled and said “Welcome to Austria.” Now there is a line behind me as I reach for my passport he says to me “Do you know how to search for relatives in the U.S.?” He seems not to care that there are half a plane of people behind me, but I became quite aware of their presents. I answered affirmatively and told him to start with the Latter Day Saints website, then Ancestry.com. He did not understand so I hurriedly wrote them down on a piece of paper handed it to him and move on to collect my bag. While waiting for the bag I thought there was more I could give him why didn’t him one of my cards. I pull out one of my cards, walked back to the booth, walked in front of the next person and handed him my card. “Email me and I help you find your family.” When back and collected my bag, entered the Airport proper to wandering back and forth for a bit trying to figure out where the railroad was.

I knew there was a rail station very near the airport just not how far or where. As I wandered who should I run into but the customs person. We talked and he wrote down his email address and asked what I was going to do in Graz’s. I explained that my trip to Austria was to find family which I had located, somewhat, through internet searches. Then explained that Graz was a starting off place, but would be heading further west. “A place to stay” he asked? “No, looking for a hostel which is supposed to be in Graz or to pitch a tent.” He walked me to the information booth, they spoke a while, she typed on a keyboard, out popped a paper which she handed to him. He pulled out is cell and began to call a number on the sheet. They had spoken in Austrian so I had no idea what he was doing.

What he was doing was make me a reservation at the hostel which was not far from the train station in Graz. He writes on the paper, hands it to me and explains that I have a reservation at the hostel and how to get there from the train station. He then says I’ll take you to the train station. We talk some more and I discover he is actually a Police Office and was currently stationed at the airport. We walk to a garage get in his car and drive to the train station. He takes my bags out of the car and carries them up the stairs to the platform. Then he buys my ticket to get from the airport to Graz and we stand a chat until the train arrives. He tells me that the next time I am welcome to stay with him and his family so he can show me around Graz. He asks when I’m returning and I tell him Friday, “Ah I don’t work Friday so I will not be able to see you.”

There have been many times in my life that during something I’m experiencing I must step out of myself and look as if a camera recording the action. This was one of those times! I am amazed to watch myself in a foreign country befriended by a policeman who has just gone amazingly out of his way for me. I have been off the plane for less than an hour and I have a new friend who talks to me as if he’s known me all his life. Safely on the train, headed to a safe place to sleep and eat do to the unselfish act of this man. It feels as if this was some fantasy, daydream and I’ll soon wake up as this just does not happen. I’m happy and know that this trip was the right choice at this point in time.

I exit the Bahnhof, train station, and find myself in a plaza filled with buses and trolley cars. I knew there was a bike rental shop in the train station but decided to bus instead. A short bus ride later I was checked into the hostel, private room, and had met my third Hanna of the trip. Before leaving the train station I’d been given a print out of bus service to Gussing the town of my grandparents. In the morning I’d bus to the town and see what could be found. All in all a good day, and great start for this adventure. The hostel has free WiFi so I hook up talk to a few people, write for my blog then head to bed, Oh but first a sample of Austrian beer.