Going AWOL
I am conscious that I haven’t blogged for absolutely ages. Covid had a major effect on many things over the past couple of years – travel being one of them, albeit a very minor one in the overall scheme of the way that it ravaged so many people’s lifes. And from a personal perspective, there’s been a few non-Covid medical ‘knocks’ over the last wee while that have made me stay closer to home than I might otherwise have chosen to. But, we do only have the one life, and navel gazing does get very boring eventually, (even though I’m still to find out how such a small, insignificant tummy crater can accumulate fluff), so I’m back.
Madeira
In the middle of last year we had a fantastic week in Madeira. I’d always written Madeira off before as being too hilly for a wheelchair user, and only being for old people. Well…I decided it’s pointless waiting for it to be less bloody hilly; and, on the second point, given I’m now 54 I’ve become an ‘old’ person and therefore eligible to visit. I am so glad we did.
Madeira is the undisputed Garden of Eden slapped down into the Atlantic Ocean. We stopped in the Funchal area and it’s curiously endearing. Yes, it’s hilly; too hilly for my fat ass squeezed into a manual wheelchair. But apparently not for international wheelchair athletes – the Brazilian and Swedish teams were two of the teams I saw fair weather training. Those buggers move fast even when they’re going slow. But as I’m now a permanent powerchair user, (one of my medical ‘knocks’ and reality checks), the hills become surmountable in a tank. Unfortunately, it was the flight that was starting ringing the alarm bells, that in retrospect I’d been turning a deaf ear to for the last few years.
Our First Cruise
A couple of months later and we were massively lucky to find ourselves on an Eastern Mediterranean cruise with Royal Caribbean. This was a fly cruise, (listen to me with the jargon), flying from Manchester, sailing from Ravenna and calling at some amazing destinations, including Dubrovnik, Split and Santorini. The cruise was a concession to Lisa who was – quite rightly – demanding some luxuries after ‘roughing’ it with me on the numerous city breaks, ticking off the entries from my bucket list. And although I might do all of the planning for our trips, that’s the extent of my ‘roughing’ it; the grunt work has always been done by Lisa. I’ll always do what I can, however while I might be a reputed mental giant, I’m also an undisputed physical light weight. My pack horse, (Lisa), has seen our luggage grow exponentially with all that’s become necessary to deal with my stoma, my catheter and the other paraphernalia associated with my disabilities – my drugs alone are starting to look like a picnic with Pablo Escobar. And although most of it goes in one suitcase, (OK, two), it’s Lisa who ends up lugging them around from A to B. Long story short, the cruise was lovely. Yes, there are some wheelchair issues – you can’t get off at a tendered port unless you can climb the stairs and step into and out of the tender, all unaided. Unfortunately, if that’s not you – it’s not me – you stop aboard the ship when everyone else goes ashore. It’s hardly a third world problem, so I’m not really moaning. Boo hoo! It’s just something to be aware of when you’re considering where to book. Everything is stated in the cruise literature so nobody’s trying to pull a fast one.
As I may have said before, Lisa’s been longing to go on a cruise for FOREVER, and certainly since we were chatting with a load of wheelchair users in Venice airport in 2018. I was the resistant, (read ‘miserly’), one. But it is an amazing way for a wheelchair user to travel. There are issues, but they’re minor ones. For example, waiting for a lift, (all of them, and there are lots of them on board) can take an age before they arrive, and inevitably when they do they’re full of able bodied’s who skip merrily out of the lift complaining of how long they’ve had to wait for said lift to arrive. It’s usually when they’re heading into/coming out of the dining rooms, complaining about how much weight they’re putting on while they’re on the cruise, that they’re at their most vocal. The irony of course is that right in-front of the lifts, not hidden behind any doors, are whopping great stairways. One can’t help thinking that their expanding waistlines would be less of an issue for them if they took the stairs once in a while, using the working legs they have the good fortune to have. Before everybody jumps down my throat, I’m more than aware that not every disability is visible, and of course I’m empathetic to anyone with problems, but honestly…every one of them…? Apart from such minor gripes, cruise holidays are ace when you’re in a wheelchair.
An Easy Decision Born of a Tough Journey
The issue for me with the cruise, as some of you might have already guessed, were the flights getting to and from the departure port. The return flight was the killer, the one that made me reappraise my bucket list – drastically reappraise it.
We arrived back at Ravenna airport three hours before we were due to fly back to Manchester, and despite the flight being on time, the trials and tribulations of boarding me onto the plane, meant that we eventually taxied down the runway one hour after our allotted flight slot had passed. We sailed through security and rocked up at the Gate one hour before our departure time. In fact, we were the first ones on our flight to arrive at the Gate; and what a blessing this was. Everybody on our flight knew that I was on time. They saw I was waiting to be boarded as they trotted past me when they were boarding. They knew I wasn’t dicking about in the airport, oblivious of time. I good naturedly shrugged my shoulders and smiled every time they asked the “Have they not boarded you yet?” question.
I have to say that the Jet2 Check-in staff were great and just as confused as I was with the way the ground crew were dealing with matters. Anyhow, when everyone else had boarded and the plane was already 10 minutes beyond our allocated departure slot, the befuddled ground crew started to argue amongst themselves over the ‘me’ problem. The choice part came when they accused me of trying to fly home with a different chair to the one I’d flown in on seven days before!
However, it was when I was on the ambulift at the plane door that the real fun started. I know I’m not the smallest of blokes. Ordinarily I do have sympathy, and consequently some good banter, with the ground crew moving me. These two were the exception – they were rude and unhelpful. Thankfully we’re grown ups; we can both take it. But this was at a level we’d not experienced before. The challenges they now faced with boarding me last, finally became apparent to them when we’d got me over the plane’s threshold and I was sat in the plane’s aisle wheelchair to the side of the Cockpit door. Why the penny only dropped then I still don’t know; the check-in staff had been conversing with them about it for the last hour. Anyways, as the reality slowly dawned on them they saw they now had to get a large, immobile Englishman down 26 rows of a jam packed 737 and the shoe-horn him into the last available seat on the plane – a window seat. Yes, that’s correct…the window seat, not the aisle seat. It’s what the flight protocol is, and I get why it is, but CAA rules or not, the reality of getting into that seat when you have very limited mobility is stark. But first, there’s the entree – my journey down the aisle. To help you guys visualise it, I’m sat in a wheelchair that’s a little like a cartoon “Tom & Jerry” bathchair, that’s slightly narrower than the plane’s aisle, with my arms crossed over my chest so they don’t impede the journey. My feet are perched precariously on the World’s smallest footrest and consequently slide off the footrest with every obstacle we catch and bump over – that’s each of the 26 armrests at the head of each row because they slightly protrude into the aisle. Every time my feet bump off the footrest, I am unable to lift my legs up to get my feet back into place: firstly, this is because I can no longer move my legs of their own accord; and, secondly because I can’t move my arms to lift my legs, (remember my arms are crossed over my chest, out of harms way and hemmed in by the 26 rows of armrests – 52 when you consider the armrests are to the left and right of the aisle.
The ‘wheels’ on this wheelchair are about the size of those on a Porter’s trolley, and the action used to manoeuvre it is the same as a Porter with his trolley – you’re dragged along. Every few drags down the aisle, the heel of either of my shoes – remember my feet are more off than on the footrest – snags on the carpet and is pulled off either of my immobile and spastic feet. I don’t know whether the member of the ground crew team has seen this shoe comedy before or not, or whether he’s now so pissed off with his lot in life that he can’t be arsed helping the smiley faced Englishman with his footwear. So, now I’m being followed down the plane by a sole bent-over stewardess, who after making one attempt to get the shoe back on my foot, realises the futility, stands up – still holding my shoe – and still smiling carries it to my seat, like a wedding ring on the ring bearers cushion. But, she’s been so focused on my left leg that she’s missed the shoe that’s fallen off my right foot and that’s now all on its lonesome, taking centre place in the aisle, a good five rows behind her; thanks for the observant passenger, “Miss…excuse me, miss…his shoe’s fallen off.” Back to me, and the friction’s now pulling my socks over my heels. Oh what joy. The other passengers – except the ones chunnering because we’ve missed our take-off slot a good 45 minutes a go – don’t know whether to laugh with me or cry, or they’re puzzling how they can stop their kids pointing at the fat man who’s now being oiked into his seat with scant regard for his clothing, comfort or dignity. Me, I want to stop being the side show, be given the chance to rearrange all of my clothes and given a whisky, a very large whisky. That’s all Folks!
What’s Next for our Holidays?
So, the fate of our future holidays was decided on that very short plane journey. Rather disappointingly, the curtain was brought down on my travel aspirations by the much delayed flight from Ravenna to Manchester on 28th August 2022. I’m not flying again. At least not until I can roll onto the plane in my own wheelchair, that is. And that’s unlikely to happen any time soon. Aargh!
What this now means, is that all our future foreign holidays, and my revised bucket list destinations, will be on cruises doing a round trip journey from Southampton. And in practical terms, an internet search tells me this means just P&O Cruises, unless we want to solely cruise the Mediterranean. Please don’t get me wrong; it’s a massively ‘first world problem’ to have. I just wanted to share the experience.
We tested the new world order, my new thinking, in December 2022. We went on an “In Search of the Northern Lights” cruise around Norway – one off Lisa’s bucket list, not mine (who says I’m not caring). Generally, twelve days at minus 3-10 degrees with three days in the Arctic Circle at minus 20 degrees and most of it in the Polar night. And the Northern Lights came out to play on four of the twelve nights. Verdict? It was amazing.
P&O from Southampton is now our way forward, the saviours of our foreign holidays. I can still drive there and back in my ace wheelchair accessible van. But my MS has progressed; now I have to be hoisted in and out of bed. Yet, as we’re sailing from Southampton, there are no luggage restrictions, so my growing pile of ‘effects’, including my hoist, is dumped at the disembarkation point for the porters to handball on to the ship while I park the van and Lisa has a Gin & Tonic. An hour or so later everything is delivered to our cabin. Bish, bash, bosh.
“Anyone for deck quoits?” Ta ta for now.
