Istanbul

We arrived in snow. It was Saturday, 23rd November, and Istanbul was colder than expected. The grass between the runways was white, and parked planes were frosted with snow. When we left the airport (which seemed very efficient) we stepped over slushy puddles to reach our hotel car. Pre-booking a car (with a fixed price) was definitely a good decision, as there were queues into the city and the journey was a long one. We crossed a long bridge over the river that divides Asia and Europe, and saw the new mosque (which is not called the new mosque) perched high on a hill overlooking the city.

The snow continued for a while, and we saw cars that had parked on the motorway so people could throw snowballs! Then it turned to rain, and by the time we reached the city everything was cold and grey and damp.

The hotel is nice, and warm and very clean. But there are no cupboards or drawers so we can’t unpack, and the light switches are confusing so every time we try to adjust the lighting one of us touches the master switch and we are plunged into darkness! We ate in the restaurant on the roof, and the food was nice but grossly overpriced. The linen had embroidered cuneiform script, which said Mesopotamia, and I felt clever for recognising it was script (not that I could read it, or even know whether it went left to right or vice versa). We found out later that some cuneiform tablets had been found here—of a receipt for a delivery of furniture. (Cuneiform script is when they pushed a wedge-shaped stick into clay to make symbols, a very early form of writing.)

Breakfast the next day was fun, as we ordered a Turkish breakfast and lots of tiny pots arrived with honey and jam, meats and cheeses and fruits and nuts. There was no room left on the table. All so pretty. I remembered this from our last visit, Turkey is a very hospitable place, with friendly people who seem to enjoy feeding you.

Our hotel is in the old town, and we walked along cobbled streets, sharing the space with motorbikes and men hauling heavy trolleys. There were tourist shops with shiny wares, colourful sweets and bright fabrics and heaps of spices. The skyline is full of minarets, there are so many mosques. We walked to the nearby spice market. It was pretty, a mass of colour and smells in a high-arched ceiling hallway. But it was very touristy, no locals seem to shop there, which made it feel rather artificial. (Though I don’t know who would buy spice when on holiday—I have never felt the urge to take home a few grams of cumin after a week away!) There were streets of stalls outside the spice market, and these felt less tidy and more authentic. Tahtakale is much nicer I think. There were pots and linens and tools and spices, with local people buying them, while men with trays of glasses of tea glided between them and cats watched from every corner. Cats are everywhere here, they are fed by the shopkeepers and stallholders, and they watch everyone and seem very content. I guess they keep the rodents in check. (New York should learn from this: people put out bowls of food and water, the cats are free to roam, and I didn’t see a single rat the entire visit.)

I was keen to buy a teapot, and found a set that is bright green, and slightly garish, and very Turkish-looking. They sell them in sets, a smaller one for tea balanced over a larger one for hot water. Turkish tea is served in fluted glasses, boiling hot and without a handle so you hold them by the rim to sip the tea. But I didn’t buy those. We spent most of our days just wandering. There is lots to see, and people seem happy enough with strangers wandering round. One area was manufacturing goods, the items put into boxes and wrapped into huge white bundles that were heaved onto small lorries or the backs of motorbikes or metal trolleys. You had to watch out for them when you walked, and take care not to fall down one of the gaping holes that plummeted to a warehouse cellar, or to trip over the various uneven paving stones or steps that were randomly on the narrow pathways. I stopped trying to look and walk at the same time, because there were too many hazards, so we stopped frequently, to notice the crumbling buildings above the modern shops, or to stare at the bright wares, or to simply look up at the hills. There are domes, and minarets, and it is all very beautiful.

I will tell you more in another blog. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Debating Assisted Dying

Posted by anneethompson

There was a debate about assisted dying in Edinburgh, so I went. It’s the first time I have done a random short trip to the university, and it was rather fun. I’m also feeling rather pleased with how brave I was (because I am not a happy single traveller).

The train to Edinburgh passes some pretty scenery.

I arrived in Edinburgh mid-afternoon. I had booked a Premier Inn near to where the debate was, so I set Google maps to ‘wheelchair access’ and pulled my suitcase through the city. (Google still took me up some incredibly steep inclines, so I’m glad I wasn’t really pushing a wheelchair!) The city is lovely in November in a new way. They are setting up the stalls for Christmas markets, and several places already had lights on, and it was very pretty and exciting.

I checked into the hotel, left my bags, and went to where the debate was going to be held—a sort of dry-run so I knew where to go and how long it would take to walk there. I suspect no other students did this, but they are probably better at finding things than me, and less embarrassed if they arrive late. People who get anxious like to be prepared. I’m glad I did, as it was in one of the lecture theatres of the medical school, and I needed to ask directions when I was in the building. The seats all faced the doorway, so arriving late would be awful!

Once my plan was sorted, I looked for somewhere to eat. The debate was at 6.30, so I ate early and braved the hotel restaurant. I sat in a completely empty restaurant, drinking red wine and eating dinner, feeling like ‘a real grown-up.’ You would be surprised how often grown-up things, like attending a conference in a city on my own, seem difficult. But they’re not really. It has taken me many decades to realise this.

The debate was excellent. I will write a separate blog about what was said, but they had speakers on both sides of the debate who made clear logical arguments. The lecture theatre was mainly full of medical students (who looked like children to me) and they were very invested in the issue. If the law changes they will be involved with administering it in a couple of years time. Which must affect them, I would think. (More on that another time!) In my nerves I had left my notebook and pen sitting on my desk, so had to make notes on my phone, which was less good. I also took a photo for my mother, who had made a comment about a flower arrangement at the front, so I wanted to show her that a university lecture theatre and a church conference hall are very different styles. (There is also less leg room in a lecture theatre, so I was very uncomfortable.)

After the debate there was a drinks reception. I was keen to speak to some of the panel, so I grabbed an apple juice and looked around. I found one of the speakers, but I couldn’t remember his name (of course) and as I have a problem with recognising faces, I asked him if he was ‘the philosophy chap?’ Which he coped with very well, and told me his name. Turns out he’s the Head of Philosophy at the university, so I got that bit right if not his name. We had an interesting chat as we negotiated our way passed the boy opening bottles of Prosecco by popping the corks up into the ceiling. I asked him (the head of philosophy, not the boy trying to injure us with corks) whether assisted dying should be called suicide (which one of the panel had). Given the choice, the people would choose to recover, not die, so surely they weren’t suicidal? He pointed out that philosophically, it’s the same thing, as people suffering from depressive illness would probably choose to be cured rather than die too. (Which was a good point.) Though he did allow that assisted dying was more about choosing how to die than whether to die.

As I said, it was an interesting evening, and I have lots to think about. (Especially, I question whether assisted dying should be decided by either the medics or the politicians. It’s about death, and this is a matter for theologians and philosophers I feel. When someone is about to die, I think a chaplain or counsellor would be better qualified to help than a doctor. But contemporary society doesn’t particularly value theologians or philosophers. Perhaps it should.)

It was late when I left, so I phoned Husband as I walked through the city back to my hotel (because then he would know exactly when I was murdered). Got back safely, slept badly because I couldn’t work the room thermostat.

Breakfast in a pretty Cafe Nero that had fairy lights and Christmas wreaths. Felt very pleased I had come as I walked back to the station, listening to the seagulls and looking at the lovely old city that is Edinburgh.

Thank you for reading, I hope you have a great week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
*****

A Day in Rome —Italy in August continued

Posted by anneethompson

We caught the train to Rome. Thankfully there was air conditioning on the train. Although you are probably reading this in somewhat cooler temperatures, I can assure you that Italy, in August, is almost unbearably hot. It’s not the best time to visit, but it was the only week when the whole family could meet, hence we were there, and coping.

The train to Rome took about an hour. It was a double-decker train and a screen showed which stations we were visiting, which made it very easy. We bought tickets at the bar next to the platform, and they seemed to work, so all was good.

When we arrived in Rome we looked for toilets at the station. Toilets in Rome are difficult—there are very few of them, and they are expensive and dirty. The ones at the station were hard to find, but there were some at the end of a foodcourt. The foodcourt looked good, and easy, so we ate lunch before setting off. My family always seems to do tourism at midday, which combined with the weather in August, is the absolute worst time to attempt tourism in Italy. But this is just how it works. It is impossible to motivate anyone to get up early when they are on holiday, and it always takes ages to leave the house, and after several decades, I have learned that coping with the midday sun is easier than trying to change my family.

Places to eat, and washrooms, at the main station.

We set off for the colosseum . This can be reached by the Metro, which is relatively easy to use once you have found it. It seems that my family are not the only ones who do tourism at midday, as the colosseum was very crowded. There were people everywhere! Tourists from every continent—some in designer clothes, leathery skin and musical accents, some with umbrellas for sunshades, some with baseball caps and white sneakers and loud voices—some following guides with worried expressions, some looking lost, some striding confidently and ignoring the queues. The whole world was here, and everyone was hot. But when you paused, and for a moment actually looked then the heat didn’t matter. The colosseum rose next to us, timelessly strong and dominant, ignoring mere humanity as it loomed against the sky. You could almost hear the crowds as they thronged to watch the Roman games, you realised that the same hot sun had seared their heads, and whilst the noise of cars would be replaced with chariots and shouts and horses, it would not, I think, have been so very different.

Rome does this. History in Rome forces itself into the present day. You cannot avoid it. Wherever you look, whichever path you take, you are constantly confronted by another age, another civilisation, people from another era. There are steps, worn by feet that wore leather sandals two thousand years ago, and buildings that have witnessed the best, and the worst, that humans can achieve. Modern society may have built roads, and cars that speed through the city, but the ancient spires rise above them, the bridges guarded by angels are still the only routes over the river, the crumbling walls of Caesars still emerge from the foundations.

We walked to the Trevi Fountain. Someone was playing opera, and the sound wafted through the remains of an ancient palace as we negotiated the traffic on narrow roads. The fountain was full of sunshine and tourists and traffic. We escaped for a while into the cool of McDonalds and drank bottles of water.

We tried to catch a bus to the Vatican, failed, and hailed taxis. St. Peter’s Square was no less hot, no less crowded. The snake of visitors waiting to visit the cathedral wound round one side of the square. We have all visited before, so going inside seemed like more trouble than it was worth. There was a new sculpture though—a raft carrying immigrants—over to one side. I went to look at it. Some of the sculptured people were obviously Jewish, some looked like slaves from Africa, some were clearly poor. Something with wings was hidden in the middle, and I wondered if this was a Nazi raven, something representing the holocaust. Later, I read about it online:

The sculpture is called ‘Angels Unawares’ and it is based on the book of Hebrews in the Bible (Hebrews 13:2). Timothy Schmalz wanted to sculpt a raft carrying immigrants from every age, and the wings signify that amongst them is an angel—therefore we should care for them because we might be caring for an angels, whilst being unaware. It’s a lovely work (spoiled, I thought, by the people using it for Instagram photos). I walked round it, looking at the faces, hoping that perhaps, one day, the world (us) might be kinder to people who are forced to leave their homes.

We sat in the shade for a while, and then walked to Piazza Navona, which is near to where we stayed 10 years ago when we visited Rome. It is a lovely square, with amazing fountains, but unfortunately this time they were surrounded by scaffolding. Not as atmospheric as we had hoped. We then split up, those with energy staying for more tourism, the rest of us going back to the station. It was a quick trip, and there is more in Rome than we could hope to experience in a week, never mind a day. But even a short trip reminds you of the beauty of Rome. It is an exciting city, one that needs to be revisited many times. Preferably not always in August. I have put an October visit on my wish-list, we shall see…

Thank you for reading. I hope your week goes well.

Take care.

Love Anne x

anneethompson.com
*****

Amsterdam

Posted by anneethompson

We caught the train to Amsterdam. It was an interesting day, but I don’t need to go again, I much prefer ‘s-Hertogenbosch. But in case you’re planning to visit—and because they have the best pancakes in the world (I think) you had better continue reading.

We arrived by train. When we exited the station we were faced with blue sky and a vast expanse of water, and it was instant beauty. Then I was told we had exited on the ‘wrong’ side so we went round the station, and instead saw canals, and boats, and pretty buildings—and lots and lots of people.

We decided to start with a boat tour. Everyone who has visited Amsterdam (including Husband, in 1984–so clearly an expert) recommends a boat tour. In my experience, boat tours can be very mixed, though this one wasn’t too bad. The main problem (for me) is that you tend to be lower than all the things you are urged to look at, so you either miss sights or end the tour with a crick in your neck. But I am old and grumpy, so this might not be a problem for you.

We found a pier where the boats departed from, very near to the station. An assertive young man informed us we could pay at the end of the tour, the boat would be arriving in ‘about 5 minutes’ and we should wait in line. (My general impression of Dutch people is they are polite, quietly spoken, and assertive.) We obeyed him.

After 15 minutes, the queue was fairly long, and most people seemed to have bought tickets online. We realised there was a good chance that we would not actually get onto the next boat. [*Tip: Buy your boat tickets online, before visiting Amsterdam.] It was fine, we were seated on the boat, there was a sort of bar in the middle, a young man (tall and slim—which seems to be another Dutch trait, if I may continue the unsubstantiated stereotypes) and an older man driving. We set off.

We were given bar menus, but there was no obligation to buy, which was good. The family opposite ate their packed lunch, and this seemed okay. The young man told us interesting trivia as we sailed along the canals.

Interesting facts are:

The houses were built on marsh land, so the foundations were built on wooden posts, which have started to sink, so some of the houses lean to the side.

The stairs were like ladders, which made carrying things to the higher storeys difficult, so all the buildings have a beam at the top, and a chain, for pulling things up. Due to this, they built houses that lean forwards slightly, so the stuff being hauled up doesn’t break the windows of the lower levels.

Amsterdam imported lots of spices.

There was once a tax on the width of the house and the number of windows, so people who wanted to display their wealth built very wide houses with windows made of lots of panes of glass (each pane counted as a ‘window’).

Many of the men went to sea for long periods. Therefore, to avoid accusations of inappropriate behaviour, the wives never closed the window blinds. This tradition continues today, and Dutch people (apparently) do not close their curtains. They have a saying that ‘Everyone has a naked neighbour, and if you do not, then you ARE the naked neighbour.’

(I have no idea if any of these ‘facts’ are true.)

As the boat left the harbour, the sun was shining, and I wondered whether it would be too hot. We were in an open boat, flowers (plastic ones) arranged around the edge. But then we rounded a corner in the canal, and black clouds loomed. It began to rain, quite heavily, and they distributed orange umbrellas, and headed for a bridge. For a while we stayed under the bridge, sheltering from the rain. This was less exciting than hoped—we had spent half an hour in a queue, and then half an hour under a bridge—quite a large proportion of our day in Amsterdam. But it couldn’t be helped. I’m not so sure about the quality of driving, as at one point we smashed into the edge of the bridge. The driver had enjoyed a beer during the hot morning, and I wonder how many he had enjoyed before we arrived, and whether ‘drink-driving’ laws apply to boats in Amsterdam.

After the boat trip, we walked (in the drizzle) to a restaurant. We had a quick lunch, then walked through the city, looking for a pancake shop that had been recommended. It was in a carousel—as in a fairground ride—and they served poffertjes—the tiny Dutch pancakes. I ordered some with sugar, butter and whipped cream. When they arrived, they were hot, the butter melting over them, the cream was perfect for dipping. Delicious. I think it is worth coming to Amsterdam just for the pancakes. (Maybe don’t bother with the boat trip.)

We walked back to the station, in sunshine, passing canals and squares and pretty buildings, and lots and lots of tourists. It is a pretty city, but I never felt that I found the heart of it. There are lots of cafes selling sweet waffles, and lots of coffee shops that exude the sweet smell of cannabis—and I wonder how many people came for the novelty of legalised drugs. There was something missing in what I saw, but I can’t quite define what it was. Perhaps I was just in the wrong mood. We caught the train back to the ancient town where we are staying, and I wasn’t sorry to leave. I really like the Netherlands, and there are plenty of beautiful things to see. I’m just not too sure about Amsterdam.

Thanks for reading. Have a good day and take care.
Love, Anne x

One of the ‘forward-leaning’ houses next to a river.

anneethompson.com
*****

Visiting ‘s-Hertogenbosch

Posted by anneethompson

We left home at 4am (not my planning) in a taxi to St. Pancras. We were there too early (what a surprise) so sat at a sticky table opposite a coffee shop and watched all the young people with heavy back-packs, and the hassled parents with fretful children. Then we joined the line of people snaking round the barriers, towards the check-in point. (Why do I always notice the people who skip the queue, rudely pushing to near the front? It makes very little difference to me, but it irritates me intensely!)

Once we had scanned our tickets, we put our bags through the scanners. Liquids and computers were allowed in the bags, but we did have to lift them—which I wouldn’t have managed alone. Then we passed through the metal detector (which must be set quite high, because usually I set them off—I assume due to the metal holding my skull together). We emerged into the ‘departure lounge’ which was every bit as unpleasant as at an airport. Everything felt overused and stale. But it was very easy — I didn’t find it as stressful as flying.

When our train platform was announced, we followed the crowd, up a moving walkway, to the platform. There was a high step up into the train—which again, would have been too high for me to lift my suitcase. Catching the train with a suitcase involves a strong back, so take a man.

We found our seats, and settled down for the ride to Amsterdam. Very smooth. There was a buffet car (not bad) and toilets (not too horrid) and it was much nicer than flying (in my opinion). I tried to read, and Husband tried to chat, and we managed to arrive without killing each other. As we entered the Netherlands, there was a windmill, exactly like the kind in picture books. (It probably had a mouse wearing clogs, but we passed too quickly to see.)

At Amsterdam station, we followed the crowds to the exit. There was what I assumed was another moving walkway down from the platform—realised too late that it was an escalator, and nearly killed several people by almost dropping my suitcase on their heads. Managed to hold onto it, precariously perched, with worried Husband trying to help. Survived.

We were travelling to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (which people call ‘Den Bosch’) for an Old Testament conference. We had no idea how to get to ‘s-Hertogenbosch (and couldn’t even pronounce it!) so went in search of an Information Office. There was a very helpful person, who spoke excellent English, and was un-phased by our massacre of her language, who told us the train and platform number, and suggested we time the journey and looked for the station after about an hour. When the train arrived, it was a double-decker, so more lifting of cases onto the train, and then down a few steps so we could sit downstairs. It was very busy, but we found somewhere for our luggage, and seats together and it was fun to watch the countryside whiz past the window while Husband tried to teach me about reclaimed land and dikes. The water in the rivers we passed was higher than the railway, which was interesting.

We arrived. Found a lift to leave the platform. Put the Airbnb house into Google maps, and set off. It was very hot. The town is pretty, with rivers, and old buildings with their stepped roofs next to modern ones. The traffic stops at zebra crossings (you can never be sure when in a new country) and there were lots of bikes, and it was clean.

The house is okay. We have never actually been scammed by Airbnb houses—so they always exist when we arrive, but the quality and comfort varies hugely (because Airbnb don’t actually visit to check). This one was in a great position, but was slightly worn out, and not very well equipped. It also had a funny sign in the bathroom, telling us to only use the downstairs toilet!

Husband needed an emergency Big Mac, so we left bags and returned to McDonald’s. Then we shopped in a supermarket we had passed, and used Google translate to decipher that the Dutch for ‘orange juice’ looks like ‘apppel juice’ and ‘roombotercake’ means ‘butter cake’ and is actually Madeira cake. We paid, and then couldn’t leave because the barrier didn’t open—watched another customer scan her receipt to exit and copied. Good system.

We ate in an Italian restaurant because it was easy, then walked round the town. We saw sculptures commemorating the Dutch resistance in the war, and one to Jewish school children who were all expelled from schools in 1940, and lots of unusual sculptures which I believe are based on the paintings of Hieronymus Bosch (who was born here in the 1500s).

Went to bed very tired. Didn’t sleep.

I will tell you more in another post. Thanks for reading. Have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Lindisfarne, The Holy Island

Posted by anneethompson

22/6/2024
We decided to visit Lindisfarne (Holy Island) which has a causeway we could drive across at low tide. The island is home to a castle (lots of historic fighting of the Scots) and a monastery (where St. Cuthbert lived for a while). I sorely needed a break from Meg, so we checked the timings worked, gave her some exercise before we left and she had a morning in her crate in the house.

The island was lovely, a truly peaceful place. There were lots of dogs, all very well-behaved, and I was glad I had left my adolescent monster at home. We met a couple with a Malinois, and I stopped to speak to them. (Although a German Shepherd Dog, Meg looks very like a Malinois. But not as tall and slim.) Apparently this one had been a working dog, but was now a pet. The owners talked about her unending energy, and her active brain, and hyper personality—and assured me that in time, Meg would be easier. When I told them that Meg chases traffic, they suggested that I make her sit next to a road, until she loses the impulse. They said it would be hard, and at first she might only manage a few seconds, but gradually it should improve. I will try this when I get home (I could tell that they understood my battles, and knew about training a similar breed of dog).

The monastery was very peaceful. It was a forerunner to Durham cathedral (where St. Cuthbert was eventually buried) and it has a magnificent arch, high over the ruins. You could easily imagine the monks, hurrying to prayer, their gowns flapping in the wind, their bare legs and leather sandals, the beauty and harshness of the environment directing their thoughts to God.

There were also toilets (clean) and a shop selling ice cream (delicious). We bought salted-caramel waffle cones, and walked through the sunshine to the beach, looking at the castle in the distance. It was perfect. I was very glad we had left Meg at home. It’s easier to cope if I have breaks from her.

In the afternoon, we took Meg to Low Newton-by-the-Sea in the hope the beach would be less busy. It was, but only slightly. We found a coastal path that avoided going onto the busy sandy beach, and it dipped down in a few places so we could walk on the rocks. It was incredibly hot. When we reached Football Hole cove, we managed to persuade Meg to go into the sea to cool down a little. Then we returned to the car, without incident. I still have no confidence about controlling her, so she was often on the lead, which is a shame. I feel we have gone backwards quite a long way, but perhaps it will be better when some of her hormones have settled down.

24/6/2024
We attempted the same walk again. Meg was super-hyper the moment she got out of the car, and walking the short walk to the footpath was very difficult. I voted for abandoning the walk and just going home, but we persevered and made it to the coastal path.

When we reached the cove, I walked along, throwing stones into the water for Meg to dive for. She was enjoying the game, and it was good to see her cooling off. But then I mis-timed it, and as I reached for a pebble, Meg tried to grab it at the same moment. She caught my finger in her teeth, tearing the skin and bruising the flesh. Ouch. I sucked it clean, and found a plaster in my bag—there was a lot of blood. It rather ruined the afternoon, so we went home. I feel cross with myself when things like this happen. Meg was not, in any way, being vicious, she was just full of impulse with no restraint, and wanted to grab the stone. I should have been more aware, I should have told her to sit while I selected the pebbles. But I didn’t, and I was hurt. Again. She is such a challenge. The finger will mend. I will try to learn from the experience.

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a good day and manage to avoid troubles.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
*****

Meg in Scotland

Posted by anneethompson

We grabbed a sandwich next to New College, Edinburgh University, and then drove north, to a cottage near Fordoun. It’s basically in the middle of countryside. Disappointingly, the ‘fully fenced’ garden was a lie. There were a few small plants indicating the boundary of the garden, but no fence at all. Which means I cannot let Meg outside unless she’s on the lead, especially as there are lambs in the field next to the house. We had a stake and a line we can attach her to, but as she has a tendency to dig when bored, I dare not leave her outside for long. Shame. (We often use Airbnb, this one was disappointing–usually they’re great! The owner had not exactly lied, but had certainly been less than honest.)

The cottage is tiny. It may have been a double garage in a previous existence, with a conservatory added. The owner seems to have gone to the local garden centre and bought all sorts of statues and pictures and cute house decorations, but then not known where to put them. There are random things everywhere, and it just looks crowded. It is also well-equipped, but again, everything crammed onto every worksurface and stuffed into every cupboard, so there is nowhere to put our own things. It is a little odd, and not very comfortable. But it’s warm, and there are beautiful views from the window, so it’ll be okay. We’re here for 6 days.

We’re trying to teach Meg that she is only allowed in the kitchen area, and not down the step into the sitting area. It’s stressful. She clearly understands, and clearly disagrees, so has started a game of throwing things into the banned area and then barking at them until we return them—and then throwing them down again. I am not enjoying this game. It’s hard to ignore her high-pitched yap, but we’re trying.

14/6/2024
We started the day with a trip to a supermarket in Laurencekirk. Husband stayed outside with Meg, and I nipped in to do the shopping. We didn’t need much, but it still took ages—always a hassle shopping in an unfamiliar supermarket. Meg was very good, and was sitting outside when I emerged, looking very professional (Meg, not me—I probably looked rather stressed!)

We stayed round the cottage for the morning. Meg alternated between the kitchen (trying to stop her walking down the steps to the sitting area) and her cage (when I needed a break) and the garden, where she is fastened to the long line. She’s good in the garden, and watches the birds. There’s a nest somewhere, and house martins swoop near her, and she sits, bolt upright, watching them. But I don’t leave her too long— a bored Meg is a bad Meg.

After lunch we drove to St. Cyrus beach. The car park was down the cliff, and we had to drive along a very narrow, very steep lane, with no passing places and lots of bends. Luckily we didn’t meet anyone. The car park is part of the nature reserve, and it was fairly full even on a rainy Friday afternoon.

We followed the signs, staying on the footpaths and not trespassing on all the nesting birds (lots of warning signs) over a narrow wooden bridge, up a sand dune, and then—wow! A beach, long and wide, and completely deserted. Does no one in the North go to beaches? Maybe the rain puts them off. We loved it. Husband has hurt his back, and the sand was very soft, so he stayed near the dunes, while Meg and I strode across the beach. Our feet sank into the soft sand, leaving deep footprints. It was good exercise. For a while Husband and I alternated calling Meg, and she sped between us, burning off energy as she bounced across the sand. But then she got tired and lost interest, so I called her to me and she stayed close, sniffing the pebbles and dried crabs and bits of bright green seaweed. There were trees that had washed up as driftwood—whole trees, like the skeletons of whales, stark against the dark sky. I wondered where they had come from, and why the had washed up there, all of them, like a prearranged meeting place for drowned trees. It rained on us, and the wind blew against us, and the sea thundered next to us, and it was wonderful.

We put the dog—and quite a lot of the sand—into the boot, and drove back to the cottage. I made tea while Husband checked what time the football started, and Meg snored, very loudly, in her crate.

We ate at The Anchor in Johnshaven. They have the best seafood—lobsters, and fresh haddock, with rhubarb crumble or banana fritters for pudding. (They even have a doggy menu! We (not Meg) shared the soup to start, and tasted each other’s dinners while we ate, and I drank red wine, and it was a lovely end to a rainy day.

Thanks for reading. Have a great day and take care.

Love, Anne x

Meg at Gleneagles

Posted by anneethompson

11/6/2024
We continued our journey north. After packing up the Northumberland cottage, we drove back to Cresswell for some exercise before our next long drive. This time the beach was full, lots of people and dogs, everyone out for their morning walk. We let Meg run free, but every time she started to run towards another dog, I called her back and waved a stick or kicked a pebble, and she stayed near to us the whole time, ignoring the other dogs. Some dogs ran up to her, and she was friendly, but always followed us as we walked on. She is very sociable for a German Shepherd—let’s hope it continues.

We stopped a couple of times during the journey, and Meg was very good—we were still on the A1, but it was quieter, and the stops were more peaceful. Early afternoon, we arrived at the Gleneagles Hotel, where Husband had a work conference.

The hotel is big, and beautiful, and it allows dogs (and horses, if you want to take your horse on holiday!) We could have taken Meg into our room (with an additional cleaning charge) but we thought it would be easier to book her into the kennels. I am cautious about kennelling a young dog—it doesn’t take many bad experiences to change a character, and I would hate for Meg to be kennelled next to an aggressive dog. However, this was fine. The kennels were more a room in a separate block, with individual locks, and beds and bowls provided. We were responsible for feeding and exercising Meg, and taking her out so she could toilet. She was the only dog inside, so no danger of being threatened by a dog-bully. Outside, were the hotel’s working Labradors, who barked every time we passed, but that was okay. The staff were friendly, and said how beautiful and friendly Meg is (I suspect they say this to all owners). They lock the kennels at 10 pm, so we needed to toilet her before then, and they unlock at 8am, and take her out so that guests can enjoy breakfast before taking over. That is longer than Meg is usually left at night, so I hoped she would be okay. We exercised her, and then went to prepare for dinner.

Dinner at Gleneagles is an event. They have two Michelin stars, and honestly, it is the most delicious dinner I have ever eaten. We sat at large round tables, with candles and flowers all around, and the waiters brought trolley after trolley, offering Champagne, then wine, carving a beef wellington, adding caviar to a cod steak, explaining the taste of various cheeses, preparing crepe suzettes with flavours and flames. I ate and drank far too much, but I only had to walk upstairs, so it was fine. (Husband kindly did the last Meg shift.)

Our room was very luxurious, though was quite a long walk from reception (I don’t think it was one of their better rooms!) It had a desk and two easy chairs, and a huge telly. There was a cabinet offering free tea and coffee, bottles of water, and shortbread biscuits—and a cupboard displaying over-priced snacks that we could buy. The bathroom had double sinks, and a shower, and a huge free-standing claw-footed bath. The loo was in a separate room. There were toiletries, and dressing gowns and slippers, and—most importantly—plenty of plug sockets for phones and computers. Unfortunately, the pillows were very fat, but I had brought my nice flat pillow in the car (because hotels always seem to have very fat pillows).

12/6/2024
I didn’t sleep much—probably due to too much food and drink. I showered (marvellous shower—the water pressure wasn’t painful, but there was so much water a deluge of it, soaking me instantly). Went down for breakfast. Gleneagles has the best food. There was everything. We were offered fresh orange juice, and coffee, and I ordered buttermilk pancakes with smoked almonds and maple syrup. While waiting, we visited the buffet: displays of fresh fruit, and pastries, yogurts, cereals, every kind of cooked breakfast food, various breads and cakes. I filled a bowl with fresh strawberries (perfectly ripe) and Greek yogurt (perfectly creamy) and waited for my pancakes. Husband, who usually eats everything, restricted himself to sourdough bread with smoked salmon and poached egg, and another slice with bacon and mushrooms (proper mushrooms—hotels often use the nasty tinned variety). The coffee arrived in a silver pot, and we sat in a light conservatory filled with flower arrangements. Such a treat.

Husband then went off to work, and I returned to the room and was slightly ill (due to unusual food and too many nerves—because even though I can control my outside with lots of prayer and self-control, my insides get stupidly anxious when we travel. I tell you this in case you can relate—we like to hide our imperfections, but everyone has them, even in the near-perfection that is Gleneagles. You might think you are alone with your problems, but you are not.) I then prepared for the next day, and went to check Meg.

Meg seemed fine. I spoke to the kennel staff, who said she had been clean and dry when they arrived, and was pleased to see them. She commented that Meg is very quiet, which pleased me. We try hard not to respond whenever Meg barks, trying to teach her that barking does not result in whatever it is that she wants, training her to be quiet. (So if she wants to go outside, she sits quietly next to the door and looks at me… Occasionally… On a good day… Mostly she bounces at it, bounces at me, bounces at the door again, and then sits and looks at me. Work in progress.)

I took Meg for a walk around the grounds, avoiding all the golf areas, and then, because I had been told that I could, I took her into the hotel. Meg walked beside me, over thick carpets, past all the guests waiting to check-in. We then walked along corridors lined with little shops selling expensive watches and jewellery and the sort of clothes that other, richer, people wear. The lights were dim, and the air was perfumed, and Meg plodded quietly next to me. I didn’t attempt the stairs, because we haven’t learnt stairs yet and I worried she might leap down them and pull me crashing behind her (which would cause quite a stir amongst the smart guests and the attentive staff!) We had a hiccup when we left, because a man had a Labrador next to the entrance, and Meg has obviously now decided that Labradors should be barked at (because that is what the hunting dogs in the pens outside her kennels do). So we walked quietly through the door, and then had a loop-out when we saw the dog. I calmed her, and managed to get her attention, and we left—not looking quite as professional as I hoped.

The grounds are beautiful. There is a vintage Rolls Royce parked in the driveway, and neat lawns with chairs next to an outside bar. Stone steps link various terraces, and low walls divide the lawns. There are mature trees and lakes with fountains and beds filled with lavender and poppies. In the valley is the golf course, and behind the hotel are tennis courts. An area to one side houses the kennels, and a caged ferret and birds of prey. Beyond the grounds are hills covered in heather and trees.

13/6/2024
We collected Meg from her kennel for the final time. It was noteworthy that she ate a lot last night—up until now she has eaten very little and ignored her chew. I guess she didn’t want to eat until things were familiar and she relaxed a little.

I have been very pleased with her. The kennel staff all commented on how friendly she was. Whenever we walk past the working Labs, they fling themselves at the cage wall and bark. Meg has managed to walk past them, not barking back (mostly) and concentrating on me and where we’re going. She has also been clean/dry for the long hours (10pm-8am) that she was locked inside. We put Meg into the car, and she fell asleep almost immediately.

Thanks for reading. I will tell you what happened next in another blog. Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week.
Take care.
Love, Anne

anneethompson.com
*****

Meg’s Diary: Trip to Scotland

Posted by anneethompson

10/6/2024
Today was very long, but very satisfying. It started early, with a trip to the vet with cat-with-swollen-eye, then we finished packing the car, shoved Meg into her crate in the boot, and set off. Meg had woken antsy (some days she does—I haven’t discovered why) so she hadn’t eaten anything. But given her car sickness of the past, I decided this might be good.

Meg is always very good in the car. We ignore her—because I don’t want to encourage a ‘conversation’ whereby she barks to let me know she wants to stop. I am pretending that we cannot hear each other, and whether it’s due to that or just because she happens to like travelling, she is always silent and seems happy. However, I didn’t want to risk changing this happy equilibrium, so I requested that we never drove for more than 2 hours without stopping for a brief walk and a drink.

We drove up the M11 to the A1, and on to Northumberland. We stopped briefly at services, and Meg was excellent each time. She especially excelled at one, particularly busy service station, as it allowed dogs into the main concourse (most had signs saying guide dogs only). I therefore decided to walk her through the crowds (good dog training exercise). We walked through the sliding doors, following crowds of people, past various eateries with noise and smells, edging past legs of people waiting in line, past the entrance to the washrooms (more smells, and people) past a casino area, with noisy slot machines and teenaged boys shouting, and out the sliding door of the exit. Meg was brilliant! She walked closely by my side, alert but not jumpy or barking, noticing but not distracted. We walked through the area twice. I was so pleased with her. I also took her to areas of grass where she could toilet, but she was much too interested in all the smells and cars moving, and didn’t toilet once the whole journey. I hoped it wouldn’t be unhealthy (not much more I could do really).

We arrived at a little cottage in Ulgham that we had booked to break the journey. It had a tiny garden which was gravel—Meg likes to toilet on grass, so she still didn’t pee. (I am not usually interested in the toilet habits of my animals, but it is rather a feature of travel with a dog.) I tried walking her in the lane, but the cottage backed onto a railway, right next to the crossing, and there were fast trains from Edinburgh speeding to London every 10 minutes, so even though there was grass, Meg was much too intent on lurching towards trains. (Not so perfect.)

As there was a coast 5 minutes away, we put her back in the car and drove to Cresswell. Parked next to the road and walked through sand dunes to the beach. It was beautiful. The sky was heavy with rain, and no one else was on the beach. Sand stretched in both direction, huge waves billowed towards the beach, the grass on the dunes hissed in the wind. Most importantly, Meg made use of the facilities! Yaay! Back to the cottage.

The cottage was beautiful. It had obviously been recently renovated, and the owners had taken such care, and been very generous with what they provided. There was coffee and tea and biscuits, with fresh milk in the fridge, and bowls of chocolates, plus all the soaps/tissues/linen that we could need. The furniture was comfy, and there were warm throws and fat cushions and careful decorations. It was lovely. The proximity to the railway could have been annoying if Meg had decided to bark every time a train passed—and the trains did wake me in the night—but we sort of got used to them, and as long as they were out of sight, Meg ignored them. She ate and drank, and seemed very calm (well, as calm as she ever is).

We ate at the Widdrington Inn. It was actually quite nice (I was worried because we sat opposite the kitchen door, and I could see several floppy-haired young men preparing the food, which rang all sorts of food hygiene alarm bells!) But other than the sticky table, all seemed clean, and we had a nice meal. We had left Meg in her crate, in the cottage, because it’s never relaxing trying to eat when she is with us, even though we are trying to take her more often.

After dinner we collected Meg and drove back to the beach. This time we found a car park, and the tide was further out, so there was more sand. We still only saw a couple of people, so it was wonderfully relaxing, and we strode along the sand for an hour while Meg danced alongside us, investigating seaweed and rocks and the taste of seawater. The sea was stormy and the sky was huge, and all felt right with the world.

It wasn’t a great night’s sleep, because I woke when the trains whooshed past, and it was lighter than at home, and I was cold. But Meg was quiet all night, and seemed fine in the morning when I let her out of her crate.

Next stop Gleneagles. Husband has a work conference, me and Meg tagging along. I’ll tell you about it next week. Thanks for reading.
Have a great day.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

****

anneethompson.com
****

Instow with Meg

Posted by anneethompson

Thursday 4^th April

After a quick burst in the garden, I put Meg back into her crate and we went for a run. We’re very near an entrance to the disused railway line, so we joined all the other joggers, bikers, and dog-walkers, and ran away from town, level with the coast. It’s a lovely place to run. While Husband showered, I decided to cool down by walking in the opposite direction with Meg. I kept her on the ‘lead of shame’* (the slip-lead with a nose noose, which is loose when she walks beside me but turns her head if she tries to pull, giving me complete control. She hates it, but it keeps us both safe). I tried jogging with her, and it was fine, so I might take her with us tomorrow.

All went well until we came to a short tunnel. Meg had walked under a couple of bridges, but she absolutely refused to walk through the tunnel. She put on the brakes about 10 feet from the entrance, and refused to move. I tried to reassure her, stroked her, tried walking away and then approaching it again—no luck. A family walked past, and I asked if their dog went through the tunnel. They assured me it did, and suggested we walk with them. I tagged along behind them—same result. We were not going through the tunnel. I decided to come back another time, with Husband, and see whether if I go in first, she will follow me.

Another walker stopped to ask whether Meg is a Malinois. This seems to happen a lot. She’s not as tall as a Malinois, but while she’s going through her leggy stage she does look similar. The man was walking his own dog, and asked if he could give Meg a treat. She sat very politely while he fed her, but his own poor dog was most unhappy!

We decided to attempt a cafe with Meg. John’s Cafe often has dogs, and they have their own entrance, away from the grocery part of the shop. Husband secured a table and then let us in. I had a large chew with me, and hoped she would settle under the table and gnaw the chew while we had breakfast. Meg was wearing the lead of shame, so walking through the café was fine, and I put her in the corner. She was very antsy, trying to see what was happening in the café, so I switched places (not the seat—I remained on the seat and she remained on the floor! But I sat in the corner, and she sat under the table where she could see everything). After a few minutes she settled, and gnawed the chew while watching as other customers came and went. Other than replying when another dog barked, she was very good. Another first.

I messaged Sue, who leads the puppy class, to ask for advice re. the tunnel. She said not to attempt to call Meg through off the lead, as she might freak and run away. Nor should I force her through, as it would just make the fear permanent. Instead, I should make it into a game, approaching the tunnel with a treat, then turning and moving away from it, repeating until we were in the tunnel. We did this—Husband stood near the entrance with a treat, we ran up to ‘find Husband’, took the treat then turned and retreated. Gradually Husband stood nearer and nearer the tunnel, until he was inside, then moved further back. We managed to enter the tunnel, with Meg on the lead but moving on her own volition. Then we walked the rest of the way, to the other side. On the return trip, she hesitated at the entrance, we showed her a treat, and she walked through. Another success.

Friday

We tried taking Meg on the run this morning. It was definitely more effort, and we had to stop every time a bike or another dog was in range. But I’m hoping that in the future this will be a thing, and part of her daily exercise can naturally overlap with mine.

After a shower, we went to John’s Cafe again for brunch. They seem to only serve very large portions of food, so it’s not possible to have a single croissant and coffee. I brought home the extra croissant. It’s a shame, because our country seems to be getting gradually fatter/less healthy, which is bad for all of us. (And it’s not easy to limit what we eat when we have delicious food put in front of us—better to be only served a sensible portion, in my view.) Meg was mostly good, and lay under the table with a chew. She did find it necessary to bark when other dogs arrived, which was annoying. However, she coped with being in a cafe, with lots of people arriving and leaving, and young children swinging their legs and making a noise—so mostly I was pleased with her.

Walking along the street is still a challenge, as she reacts to every car that passes us. I can easily restrain her with the lead of shame, but it will be good when she stops reacting. There was a fun moment when I stopped to look at the beach, and she jumped up to see over the wall too. Mostly, she is a nice dog. David has re-named her ‘Nutmeg’. I am hoping this is because she is dark brown.

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely week, and take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.
anneethompson.com
*****

The lead of shame is a lead recommended by my puppy class teacher. It’s made by Gencon, and available from Amazon. The nose loop stops her pulling hard, so even though she is stronger than me, I can safely walk her next to roads. (As naughty Meg has learnt how to wriggle out of it when it’s loose, I also attach another lead to her harness, just in case.)

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Gencon-Headcollar-Lead-Black-Handed/dp/B00T6IEAZ8/ref=sr_1_5?crid=32MM1PVGPBZAM&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.6TXmzMwiAG3dLjefzyoPjEiKKgio1kPf5yps26825oHeAOzOh0GGNXbXdkxNlYngJGpYQTXQZcYk-H3nhvlx5edT6-7z2LSJs-UuAs_qO711HcxdC5h3VTSwUq0rNluEEZDlLOU-ud9Yi2pXN_j87fm2UkrrBCUIHa6OjUpAXtFnKsN4WHNt-bz8q6rSmh5e7CwU4s8ijTL2pXE61aT94HneAgOTlWLeB34nqeaN-Ce81xVYUEEX3Il8fTbI_ykStQwk53NgXsJyDAVOBIA2SqEL7hJQ7R1bDB3yuLa9zDk.V3ednoE5IXBi5OK7tN_E30_mbEBOG8VCmJUuywZMfEQ&dib_tag=se&keywords=gencon+figure+of+8+dog+lead+anti+pull&qid=1713186052&sprefix=gencon%2Caps%2C81&sr=8-5

Anne E Thompson

Author

travel

Istanbul

Debating Assisted Dying

A Day in Rome —Italy in August continued

Amsterdam

Visiting ‘s-Hertogenbosch

Lindisfarne, The Holy Island

Meg in Scotland

Meg at Gleneagles

Meg’s Diary: Trip to Scotland

Instow with Meg

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