Planes, Trains and Orthotics: A Middle-Age Woman's Guide to Travel

After leaving our shorts and tee shirts behind in New Jersey, Mary, Bob and I flew via Toronto, to St. John’s, the capital of Newfoundland. We knew that it would be much colder here and were armed with sweaters, gloves and hats (At least those of us with Type A personalities).  While inside the airport, we called an Uber, opened the airport door (No electronic doors here—this airport is no JFK) and as the cold wind smacked the three of us in our faces, we all yelled at the same time, “OH MY GOD!” We jumped into the Uber as fast as was possible for three middle aged people, and met our first friendly Newfoundlander, who happened to be from the Sudan.  Before he even put on his seatbelt, Bob asked him how he got to Newfoundland from Sudan and he said, “Well, I first came to Toronto,” which hardly cleared up that question for us. As the wind whipped around our car, we then asked if this was normal weather for this time of year and he said—much to our chagrin—that this was really ...

Right from the beginning, I have to confess that Newfoundland was never on my travel bucket list.  In fact, up until a few years ago, while I knew that it was a Canadian province, I couldn’t have pointed it out on a map of Canada. For all I knew, it could have been located right next to the western province of Saskatchewan, which I also do not think I could identify with any certainty.  But geography aside, none of that seemed to matter after seeing the Broadway musical,  “Come from Away.” Soon after seeing the show twice and reading the book, “The Day The World Came to Town,” I got out a map of Canada.  If you haven’t seen it, the musical is based on the events taking place in Gander, Newfoundland, during the week immediately following the September 11th attacks, when planes carrying about 6,500 passengers were ordered to land at the very large Gander International Airport and stay there until the skies were safe again.  While the circumstances were unimaginabl...

 The problem with being slightly beyond middle-age and in relatively good health, is that you think you can do a lot more than you really can…particularly if you are a man.  Case in point, kissing the Blarney Stone. Legend has it that if you kiss the stone, you will become filled with both eloquence and confidence. For those who have never experienced “this privilege,” I can tell you that Rick Steves described the event as having hundreds of people each day leaving  “spit and lipstick” all over it. As if that wouldn’t be enough for anyone with half a brain to be dissuaded from moving forward, the calisthenics that have to take place to achieve the goal includes lying on your back, hanging upside down, holding on to two bars while suspended in thin air. Twenty years ago, Bob and I both did it, clearly not having read Rick Steves take on it.  But we were a lot agile back then and the “A” word (arthritis) only applied to our parents’ medical woes, not ours. Those days o...

Traveling becomes a lot harder as you get older.  When you’re planning a trip, you really want to see and do everything but sometimes, you fall short of the plan.  Take for example, our plan to listen to traditional Irish music.  Our first few days were jam-packed with activities, including climbing the Cliffs of Moher (truth be told, there is a clearly marked path, but it is all uphill!), hiking to the top of Dun Aengus, an ancient fort located on a steep mountain on Inishmore, one of the Aran Islands, and running in and out of the rain while visiting the towns of Dingle and Cobh. Those first few nights, we could barely get through our dinners because we were so tired—made even sleepier after a few glasses of wine. The idea of going to a pub, ordering more to drink and then waiting until 9:00 PM for the music to start, was simply out of the question.  But in Kinsale, where traditional Irish music can be found in nearly every drinking establishment, we decided, after...

 Our flight to the West Coast of Ireland was wonderfully uneventful.  As soon as I had my dinner, I placed my complimentary eye mask on and went to sleep. Before I knew it, Bob woke me up to tell me to put my seat “in the upright position” because we would be landing soon.  Whether it was the trade winds or a pilot who was putting his peddle to the metal (or whatever pilots do to go faster), we arrived nearly an hour early.  The small hiccup was that our early arrival meant that the flight attendants had no time to serve breakfast…or coffee!  When you’ve had to wake up after sleeping in an airline seat for two hours before 5 am local time, it is cruel not to hand out a cups of coffee to each passenger as they leave the plane! Our next hiccup was waiting for us at the Hertz counter.  A few months before we left, Mark was responsible for renting the car for the trip and as the two men were staying extra days in Ireland to golf, the big quandary was whether th...

 I don’t know if I have ever mentioned this, but unless my grandparents’ boats from Naples and Sicily cruised by Ireland on their way to America, I personally have no ancestral connection with the island. Nor do United or Aer Lingus Airlines offer me deep discounts on flights…ever.  I write this because it would appear that I must have some tie to the country because I seem to visit—a lot.  It is true that my husband is of Irish descent, but he does not strongly embrace his heritage and in fact, I usually have to remind him where his mother’s “people” are from. (FYI, Galway, Bob.) Also, my sister’s husband’s family has owned a house on the West Coast for decades and I have visited it many time with my sister—but still, that connection is not my own.  The fact is, I just love everything about this country…except when it rains a lot.  Because I have been lucky enough to visit Ireland so many times, I am convinced that I am going to be an Irish travel guide in my n...