Team PeckhamDulwich borders go Stansted for vacation 2012.
Team Leaders Chrisnmark taxi over the water through Shoreditch to a pavement on Bishopsgate near Liverpool Street Station then wait for the Express. In truth, a tad disappointed that Stansted Express does not warrant a nice smart terminal in central London, like the old BEA terminal in Victoria or the BOAC building with an early concrete ramp in Cromwell Road. Not even a counter with a clerk behind a glass screen nor even a booth like a hot dog stand, all we got was a lone post planted in the pavement and no shelter from the weather.
But the Express arrived and departed, and crawled along past the cool new builds of Whitechapel and through the trendy IT tech area of Old Street and down the narrow shopping high streets of Bow, down the Roman Road area and through Tower Hamlets and Newham. In Stratford, floribundant with hanging baskets in pink and fuchsia and giant hoardings of our glrious sporting heroes, we saw the smiling crowds pouring over the footbridge to Westfield to see the final day of competition in the ParaOlympics 2012.
We beheld the wondrous plexiwood torch, icon of our times and were inspired by the excellent stadium and the prestige swimming centre. We won Platinum for Punctuality, Aluminium for Luggage Relay, but only Tin for speed on the M11. Then onward past the green fields and industrial estates of Essex to reach our destinatiopn.
Priority Speedy Boarding is pretty much like any other boarding – how can all passengers have priority? Napoli taxi to the port, buy two ferry tickets and wait on harbour for ferry ships to disgorge cars and foot travellers and it is dark by now and legs and high heels and smoking and hanging around and chatting with the harbour guys and gesticulating we are in Italy. Then Ischia boat arrives. Lots of families and small children and smoking on all decks and dad sleeping while the women watch over the youth.
No restaurant or cafeteria but Chris buys a couple of mozzarella and tomato sandwiches made of Mothers Pride would you believe, ring the hotel who will meet us at Ischia harbour. Alberto is there and helps us into the minibus. Some pasta at 11.00pm and fresh fish and fruit and a coffee and to bed.
One thought on “Grandparents’ picaresque Italian island-hopping odyssey goes wrong. Air tickets void, laptop vanishes, car hire cancelled, lost passports, holiday house in a derelict suburb of scrap dealers metal mountains, building depots, container lots & plant hire yards. Will the pitiful narcissistic hedonism of the Baby Boomers, never cease? How could anyone be so foolish? What did they expect?”
Have enjoyed your hols so far. Lots more from paralympic grandparents please!