Pink Sneakers on the Go

Stairs, stares and stairs!!

Posted by Nora K ,

Stairs. They’re everywhere. It’s like I’ve never even noticed. The. Dreaded. Stairs. It’s only when schlepping wheelbarrows of over-loaded luggage onto planes and trains (no automobiles, only buses) does the issue of staircases present quite the problematic conundrum, throwing a wrench into sprinting efficiently from Point A to Point B. And let’s not even get into the other type of stares that are frequently thrown my way, a few glares and snares, snickers and giggles from gaggles on onlookers doubled over in hysterics at the sight of a middle-aged Auntie huffing and puffing, lugging a truck-load of baggage along the cobblestone rues and avenues, a trail of socks and shawls haphazardly spilling along the way.

The other half of my luggage ran away on a train

YIPPEE!! Escalator!!

Schlepping!! The picture says it all!

If you must know, my misery commences several minutes before the locomotive pulls into the station, my knapsacks and suitcases meticulously lined up by the exit door, so as to quicker facilitate kicking my luggage to the curb (down the steps actually) and exit the train lickety-split. In reality however, woe is I, for obstacles and hurdles await, as an inevitable struggle ensues - with pink sneakers versus baggage in a showdown to beat the clock and extricate said bags from the train - all within a two minute time frame! European trains are notoriously punctual and wait for no one, not even you know who, to quickly extrapolate all belongings from the carriage; and it pains me to reveal that on more than one occasion I’ve watched in stunned disbelief as my luggage journeys off without me to destinations unknown. Sad-but true. On the bright side, at least that’s one less piece of baggage to lug!! Yikes!!

Baggage lined up by the door, ready to be kicked to the curb!!

Wait! Wait! There go my bags!!

The. Dreaded. Stairs.

Having now successfully circumvented the first hurdle, a second one anxiously waits in the wings, eager to challenge my resolve and trip me up. A mantra of please let there be no stairs, please let there be no stairs plays incessantly over and over in my mind, silently pleading with the deities to spare me from having to endure a Mount Kilimanjaro trek onward and upwards upon arrival at my rented digs. And so here I stood, in the lobby of my hotel in picture perfect Delft, mouth agape, staring at what could only be accurately described as the staircase from hell. Numbering at least 15 steps, the stairway to heaven was narrow and steep, the only way of entrance to the attic and my bunk, located somewhere in the upper stratosphere of the inn.

This is the second staircase! Almost at the top!

Short of having to resort to the tedious and time-consuming task of unpacking in the hotel lobby, unglamorously carting fistfuls of clothing up and down the stairs for hours on end, my options were limited, leaving me no choice but to valiantly attempt to forge on and scale that impassible mountain range, one pink sneaker at a time.

Now, to be perfectly honest, the hotel brochure had specifically stated that the steps were treacherous and steep, cautioning one to tread carefully, as the ascent could prove to be a tad challenging for the faint of heart. And, since we’re on the subject of coming clean, I had absentmindedly skimmed over the fine print when booking my accommodation, jubilant at scoring a four star hotel for the price of a one star, paying scant attention to the warning at hand.

After all, time was not to be squandered on figuring out on how to navigate a vertical ladder that doubled as stairs, as there were other more pressing issues at hand – vino to be appreciated, bistros to be frequented and boutiques to be visited. Oh, and let’s not forget about the museums.

Bistro dining in postcard perfect Delft

Vino, anyone?

Cheese, anyone?

Shopping!!

Back in the day, with space at a premium, the medieval edifices were taxed based upon their width, so in order to avoid having to pay even a fraction more of the exorbitant tax, the most logical and ingenious solution was to build tall and narrow skinny houses. Hence, those treacherous staircases! It’s no wonder then that the Dutch word for stairs is literally “trap”!! Like, trip? Trap? Trip?

Come climb steps upon steps upon endless steps…one, two, three and four and five. Six. Seven. Eight and so on and so on – the undeniable charm of Delft’s canal houses – Nine, ten and eleven. Yikes. Still climbing!!

Next post – In two weeks!! Stay tuned for more of the fabulous adventures of cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora in the Netherlands. What next? Windmills, perhaps?

Catch up on Wed, Feb 18^th!!

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To market, to market or Not!! Piglet on the Run in picture perfect Delft.

Posted by Nora K ,

To market, to market, to market…were the first words that popped into my head, when I witnessed, first hand, a rosy, posy squealing piglet lope along the dimly lit avenue, crashing into chairs, tables and pedestrians on a marathon sprint across town. I must say, that it’s not everyday that one has the misfortune or should I instead say, fortune (?), of running smack dab into a real live tub of lard on the run.

Just hanging out in picture perfect Delft

So, here I was on a brisk October eve, envelopped within folds of wool and cashmere, sipping vino on the quaintest of outdoor patios in Delft, when out of the blue, the flash of pink barrelled on by. Musing that perhaps I had indulged in one too many libations, my eyes bugged in disbelief when, lo and behold, I realized that a determined little piglet was bounding down the path. Hell-bent on squirming his way out of Tuesday night dinner, lest he inadvertently find himself roasting on a spit, Piglet on the Run had loftier ambitions than hamming it up with a bunch of ravenous carnivores.

A flash of Piglet on the Run

Huffing and puffing quite the un-elegant trudge, on a mission to outrun the butchers and gastronomes, on a desperate relay to dodge the bayonets of chefs gone wild, this lone porker was heading to the hills, to safer refuge where bacon-free menus ruled the day.

Virtually stalling traffic (bicyclers and curious onlookers, actually) in its tracks, this little piggy was causing quite the ruckus; a stray piglet whose instinct for self-preservation had inadvertently led him to wrong-turn onto a bustling bistro lined square. Fortunate for swine on the run, his mal-odorous sense of direction had unwittingly led him down a path of no return, leaving him sequestered amongst a bevy of revellers and curiosity mongers eager to post a selfie or two of said fugitive on the run.

Piggy on the Run aka Celebrity of the Day

Piglet du Jour hoofed it out of town just as quickly as he had lumbered on in, his fleeting presence allowing me pause for reflection and a hasty re-think of tonight’s dinner. No longer licking my chops in anticipation of a delectable pork loin feast, as the vision of roast piggy rotating on a spit was too unbearable to stomach, I frantically begged the waiter to cancel my order lickety-split. Humming and hawing over the gastronomic choices, even coq au vin was eventually nixed, a parade of clucking hens and chicks yet another chiding vision.

With my appetite for fowl now quashed and with pork chops definitely off the menu, I opted for the next best thing – a pizza Margherita, washed down with a couple of carafes of vino tinto. Hic.

Just another evening in postcard perfect Delft.

Nothing like hanging out with piglet on the loose, boar on the run and hogs gone wild on a casual Tuesday eve in Delft, when all you want to do is indulge in a bit of vino and contemplate life in appreciative wonder of this canal-lined town - but, non, along barrels Piggy, trudging and snorting, who inadvertently becomes the Celebrity of the Day in this week’s blog post.

Stay tuned!! In 2 weeks...... just 14 days or so, depending upon your respective time zone!!

Next blog will be posted on Wednesday, February 4^th. Stay tuned for more fabulous adventures of cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora in the Netherlands and Belgium.

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Pink Sneakers versus the bicycles in Delft

Posted by Nora K ,

Spinning, spiralling and whizzing, spokes racing towards me, I could only pray that the impending impact be swift, painless and blood-free. After all, I hadn’t banked on spending the first hour of my long-anticipated overseas vacation bandaged from head to toe in the most unflattering of mummified attire, killing time in a foreign hospital, all because I had foolishly placed my pink-sneaker clad tootsies directly in the path of an oncoming deluge of bicycles. Yes. Bicycles. You know, those oh so dangerous two-wheeled contraptions of the stay out of my way or risk injury type of kind.

Where's my bicycle?

Meandering along the picturesque canal-lined rues of Delft, oohing and awing at the postcard scenery and hell-bent on procuring that million dollar digital snapshot, my thoughts were in the clouds, a zillion miles away from the more pressing issues of potential calamity and peril located just mere inches from my feet.

Ever so diligent about not leaning on the wrought iron railings that separated the banks of the canals from the cobblestone streets, lest I inadvertently topple on over and tumble head-first into the murky aqua below, I made certain to keep clear of the rails and thus avoid the potential embarrassment of floundering like a fish out of water, a crazed woman bawling and screeching hysterically for her rubber dingy and water wings.

It’s quite the shame then, that so focused was I on not swimming with the sharks (in the canals?) that I had neglected to watch my back and should have paid a tad more attention to the ruckus that was going on behind me. In my zeal to capture that highly coveted one of a kind image worthy of National Geographic status and one that could possibly garner a potential bidding war from travel magazines worldwide, I inadvertently stepped backwards - directly into the path of a cavalcade of speeding bikes!

Now, let’s be perfectly clear, as being mowed down by denizens of racing cyclists had not been on my “Top 10 things to see and do while in the Netherlands” agenda, but alas, this was now my reality, a mash and gnash brawl between flesh and spokes, a bloody altercation of the most unpleasant kind. Caught in a showdown between the King of the Road (aka The Bicycle) and a clued-out flash happy stumbling dingbat of a tourist (who, me??), it was left to the fates to decide on ultimate victory.

As luck would have it, the Lady herself was in quite the upbeat mood, granting this ol’ Auntie a much-needed break, convulsing in fits of laughter as my pink-sneaker clad feet scrambled their way to safety. Hugging the curb, and with just a few minor scrapes and gashes, I could only thank my lucky stars for my good fortune, vowing never ever again to get in a duel with Le dreaded bike. After all, there were 14 more days of potential calamity and misadventure lurking in the wings, eager to spring into action and throw a bit of havoc my way.

Crisis averted. Lesson learned. Or, should I instead say, lesson learned?

And, speaking of adventure, where exactly was that “Bicycles for Hire” shop located?

If you can’t beat them, might as well join them.

Come traipse, oops, meant to say, bicycle along the canal-lined paths of picture-postcard Delft, on the lookout for somewhat clueless pedestrians, as I balance precariously on two wheels, camera in one hand and vino tinto in the other, scribbling my way around the world.

Next post – In two weeks!! Wednesday, January 21^st!!

Stay tuned for more on cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora’s escapades in northern Europe in the middle of October, in somewhat undesirable weather, caught in a hailstorm or two.

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And the nearest park bench is where??

Posted by Nora K ,

Once again, full-blown panic had settled on in, with Miss Kid and Grocery Gal literally locked out, frantically ringing the bell at the front door of their Lisbon hotel. Like, seriously, how many unwelcome calamities can two teenage girls have to endure in the course of one day?? It was now past 1:00am and the duo were no where closer to being curled up snug as a bug in a rug, safe and sound, sequestered from both the elements and the advances of undesirable vagrants lurking about the nooks and crannies of deserted corners. Non. Instead, the pair were outside in the pouring rain, miserable, drenched and freezing, pounding relentlessly on the door of their conveniently located hotel, caught in a torrential downpour of the totally unexpected kind.

In hindsight, perhaps they should have paid a tad more attention to the fine print, which clearly stated, that if one arrives past a certain hour, one must advise the hotel in advance, of one’s expected arrival time, or risk being locked out. It’s quite the pity then, that a series of unforeseen events collectively conspired against the gals, from the antics of those mischievous gremlins of baggage gone missing to the unwelcome catcalls of a World Cup victorious crowd gone wild. It’s not their fault that they had to traipse for what seemed like hours on end in search of a hotel that just did not want to be found. And then there was the meltdown of the century on a deserted Lisbon avenue, most likely You Tubed, now vaulted in the internet archives for all of posterity to see. Yikes!!

Resigning themselves to being homeless on the very first night of their long-anticipated overseas sojourn sans cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora and parents, Le Niece and pal were despondent beyond dejected, confronted with the reality of possibly having to spend the remainder of the night shivering on the nearest park bench. That, and having to scrap with the birds for droplets of premium bath water, added just an extra element of misery to their oh so unfortunate predicament.

As luck would have it, the incessant buzzing and clamouring eventually paid off, with the front door of the hotel clicking open at just the right time, a welcoming haven of warmth ushering the gals on in. Ecstatic beyond belief that their fate had just taken a drastic turn for the better, Miss Kid and side-kick were in their glory, jubilant with the anticipation of catching up on their zees on pillow-top mattresses of the oh so comfortable kind. Or so they foolishly thought. For you see, an encounter with a finicky and rickety old elevator of the oh so claustrophobic kind was waiting in the wings, eager to throw yet another wrench into their not so well laid travel plans.

It’s a good thing that Miss Kid and Bestie had arrived at the hotel luggage-less, as having to stuff their over-sized bags into the teensiest of tiniest of closet like elevators would have been a task of insurmountable proportions. Cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora would have freaked and gone insane and would have had quite the undignified middle-aged breakdown, adamantly refusing to place a pink-sneakered tootsie into the smaller than small confining lift, choosing instead to spend the remainder of her holiday camped out in the hotel lobby. Sad. But true.

The saga continues. And like seriously, will it never end? They say that truth is stranger than fiction and in this case, it’s more like a movie trailer gone bad…very, very, very bad.

What else could possibly go wrong? You think there’s more??

Come traipse the world with Miss Kid and Grocery Gal, and navigate the murky waters of travel glitches gone bad, with planes delayed, baggage gone missing and hotel nowhere to be found. And, that’s just on Day One of circumventing the globe!!

As “luck” would have it, the gals’ luggage was ever so promptly and efficiently delivered to their Lisbon hotel the morning that they were scheduled to depart for home. Like, seriously? Yep. Nothing like having to schlepp your baggage back to the airport, especially when you’ve by now grown accustomed to travelling with just the shirt on your back. And, in case you're wondering, the remainder of the trip went off without a hitch, with Day One in Lisbon a mere hiccup in the grand scheme of travel.

And to think, had Miss Niece not been the unfortunate recipient of the antics of those mischievous gremlins of travel upheaval, what, pray tell, would her cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora have to scribble about?

Next post – Wed Jan 7^th – Stay tuned for the hilarious escapades of cuckoo ol’ Auntie Nora in the Netherlands and Belgium – not soaking up the sun but drenched by torrential downpours for days on end, with a golf-ball sized hail storm thrown in for good measure…oh, and dodging the bicycles in Amsterdam. The adventures continue....

Pink Sneakers on the Go will be taking a bit of an extended holiday break and will be back to regular bi-weekly blogging on Wednesday, January 7th.

Wishing you, my dear readers, Happy Holidays and a very Happy New Year!! A very heartfelt thanks to all for reading and laughing with the Kid and I on our crazy ol' sojourns, on our clueless journey of continual learning and discovering....and then learning some more....