Have money, will travel

Travelling while middle-aged comes with its own challenges

One of the ironies of life is that when you are young you never have enough money to travel far and wide, even though that is when you have the energy to make the most of your forays away from home. In most cases, it is only when you are middle-aged that you finally have the disposable income to set out to see the world. But by then, your energy levels have depleted somewhat, your back aches, your knees creak, and exhaustion hits you faster than it ever did in your youth. 

Well, that is certainly true in my case. And in case you are in the same boat (or plane) here are some tips to make travelling a little easier on your body. 

• First off, be very judicious about choosing your flight. If there is a direct connection to your destination take it, even if it is a little more expensive. The trade-off (in terms of negotiating just two airports) will be worth it. Try and take a day time flight even if it means paying for one more hotel night. Night flights leave you weary and bleary and ruin the first day of your vacation anyway, so this makes logical sense. If you have reward points use them to upgrade yourself on long sectors; the extra comfort will make sure you start your vacation feeling rested and raring to go. 
• When planning your itinerary don’t do too many things that involve physical activity on the same day. If you are spending a couple of hours traipsing through museums and monuments then schedule something restful for the rest of the day: some time spent in a beautiful park watching the world go by; a meal in a scenic spot; or even a double decker bus ride that takes your across the city with no effort on your part at all. In other words, pace yourself. If you don’t, you run the very real risk of burning out even before the vacation is over. 
• Take comfortable shoes. I cannot stress this enough. The wrong pair of shoes can ruin your vacation, leaving you limping and in pain for the rest of your break. So forget about stylish heels and don’t even think about stilettos. Instead, choose your most broken-in pair of shoes, pack enough socks so that you have a fresh pair every day, and you will be good to go. 
• Pack a medicine kit that takes in every eventuality. In addition to antihistamines and paracetamol I always pack some antibiotics because Indian prescriptions are often not recognised by pharmacies abroad. And not to be a bore on the subject but make two bags of essential medicines. Keep one in your hand bag and the other in your check-in suitcase. That way, even if your luggage goes missing, your medicines will not. 

Once you have these basics addressed go right ahead and enjoy your holiday. You deserve every moment of joy and wonder that comes your way. God knows, you have worked long and hard for it. 

The new normal

Taking baby steps back into a post-Covid world

I may have mentioned this to you before, but I have been taking baby steps back into the world after months spent cowering from Covid in my home. It started off with a daily evening walk, though I gave up on the teeming mask-less masses of Lodi Garden in favour of the quiet, tree-lined avenues of Sunder Nursery, where visitors are few and far between. I ventured out to see my doctor; I visited a dentist’s clinic, accompanying my husband.

I even went to a couple of malls to stock up on such ‘essentials’ as my eyeliner and lipstick, though I took care to go on weekday afternoons, when the footfall was negligible. And when the electric whisk of my choice was not available online, I headed out to what used to be my daily haunt, Khan Market, to zip in and out with my purchase.

But the biggest step I took back into the world of normalcy was when I made my first restaurant reservation. For our first outing, my husband and I choose an outlet that had high ceilings, with the tables placed far apart, and where the servers were wearing both face masks and face shields. But even so, it felt rather daring to sit down on our table and take off our masks – the first time we had ever done so in public – to have our first restaurant meal, in the company of other unmasked strangers (even though they were more than the regulation six feet
apart from us).

Since that first excursion, we have ventured out to eat several times. And I must admit that with every outing, my nervousness has decreased exponentially. Now, I don’t hurriedly put on my mask when the wait staff comes by to serve us. My heart no longer skips a beat when a fellow guest saunters past our table without a mask (no, I tell myself, he can’t possible infect you in less than 30 seconds). And I don’t obsessively sanitize my hands every few minutes.

So, there’s progress, right there for you.

But that said, there are still many things that I simply don’t see myself doing for some time yet.

The first on that list is taking a flight. The very idea of negotiating an airport, putting my bags through the X-ray machine, going through security, queuing up to board a flight, and then spending a couple of hours sitting cheek-by-jowl with strangers, strikes terror in my heart. A few of my friends have done this and lived to tell the tale. One of them even took an eight-hour flight to Italy wearing full PPE (including an adult diaper so that she didn’t need to use the airline loo!) and seems none the worse for wear. But rather than encourage me to take the plunge, their experiences have, if anything, strengthened my resolve to stay on the ground, and
postpone air travel for as long as I possibly can.

Which is why, when we decided to take a mini-break, we chose a resort on the outskirts of Delhi. The drive was just about an hour and a half, which obviated the need for any loo breaks. And even though there was a plastic partition between the driver and us, we kept our masks on for the duration of the drive. The staff at the resort was in masks and shields, which gave us a feeling a security. As did the fact
that our room was liberally strewn with bottles of hand sanitizer, disinfectant sprays and boxes of surgical masks.

On our next break, we have decided to venture a little further afield. We are currently toying with the idea of Agra or Jaipur, both of which are a comfortable car journey away. And even though the weather makes the hills an obvious choice, I have vetoed them on the grounds that the longer drive would mean using public toilets – and that’s a scary proposition in the times of Corona.

So, what’s the next step on my way back to normalcy, you ask? Well, I have tentatively scheduled a coffee meet with my girlfriends. We will meet in the open, refrain from kissing and hugging one another, and take off our masks only when we sip our cappuccinos. I can’t wait.

Bye-bye buy-buy

Don’t waste time shopping on your travels; enjoy the destination instead

The one question you are guaranteed to be asked when you come back from vacation is: “Did any shopping?” Or perhaps: “What did you buy?”

In my case, the answer is always a resounding: “Nothing at all!”

Frankly, the last thing I feel like doing on holiday is shopping. Why would I want to spend hours in some poky shop or a soulless department store or even a tony boutique when I could be pounding the streets of a new destination and getting to know it better? Why would I try on yet another linen shirt in a badly-lit changing room when I could be out there, downing a drink while getting my fill of an amazing sunset? Why would I want to browse through endless racks of shoes when there are restaurants to check out and museums to visit?

Short answer is: I wouldn’t. I have never really seen the point of shopping when I am on holiday. And now, even more so, when thanks to the homogenization of our world, no matter where you go, the same brands and labels thrust themselves in your face in city after city.

It doesn’t matter whether you are in London, Paris, Rome, Lisbon, Johannesburg or Buenos Aires, the same luxury brands – Chanel, Hermes, Louis Vuitton, Armani, Versace – crop up again and again. It is much the same story in the mid-market segment, or on the high street. Zara rubs shoulders with Marks and Spencer; H&M sits cheek by jowl with Topshop; L’Occitane chugs along nicely with Body Shop. And when it comes to liquor or perfume, the same labels are available all over the world (though the duty-free zone after you’ve checked in for your return flight is still your best bet).

So why waste time shopping on holiday when – no matter what your taste or your budget – you can buy pretty much the same stuff in your own city? In fact, some of the brands are actually cheaper back home than they are abroad – with the added bonus that you don’t have the palaver of finding space in your suitcase, and then worry about the excess baggage fees you will have to cough up at the airport.

I can see some of you shaking your heads sadly at this. Surely, you say, there is so much more to shopping in foreign parts than just clothes, bags and beauty products. There are, for instance, indigenous arts and crafts that I should be hoovering up and bringing back home to serve as mementoes of my travels. Those lovely silk cushions from Bangkok; that landscape portrait the roadside artist painted by the Seine; wooden carvings from Africa; the list goes on and on.

Well, thanks but no thanks. The truth is that there is nothing I find more dispiriting than the ‘souvenirs’ that are on display for the benefit of unsuspecting travellers in every great city of the world. More often than not, they are not even made in the place they claim to represent, having been mass produced in some factory in China. (On a recent trip to Venice I discovered that the face masks on display around St Marks Square and the glass that purported to come from Murano were actually the work of Chinese manufacturers, who can knock them off at a much cheaper price.) And while they may look nice and exotic while hanging in the shop window, they look cheap and nasty when you bring them back and grant them pride of place in your home.

The only shops I make an exception for in my travels are those that sell food and groceries. I can spend an entire afternoon in markets that sell fruits, vegetables and flowers. I revel in the colours – the bright red of the apples, the shocking orange of the tangerines, the green of the asparagus. I inhale the wonderful smells – of everything from the narcissus blooms to the heaps of dried lavender. I may not buy anything more than a few persimmons and a bunch of tulips, but just feasting my eyes on all that plenty is enough to keep me satiated.

The other places I love browsing through are the food halls at supermarkets across the world. Just looking at all the stuff on display – the endless varieties of sausages, cold meats, cheese, yoghurt, bakery products, chocolates, etc. – and watching the shoppers fill their trolleys makes me feel as if I am part of the tapestry of everyday life in the city, a local if you will, if only in my own mind.

In fact, it is only in food shops that I relax my no-shopping-on-holiday rule. There is a special pleasure in coming back to your hotel, laden with local, ready-to-eat delicacies, and fashioning an impromptu picnic in your room. And sometimes these treats are so delicious that you can’t resist buying a few more to bring back home, so that the taste of the holiday lingers in your life for just a little bit longer.

The Sachertorte from Vienna; the musk melon from Bangkok; the chorizo from Barcelona; the egg tart from Lisbon; a tiny truffle from Piedmont. 

Now these are things it is worth making space in your suitcase for. Tourist tat? Designer brands? Perfume and liquor? Not so much.

  

Plane speaking

My love of travel is exceeded only by my hatred of airports and airplanes

I don't know about you but I have stopped taking flights while wearing boots, no matter how cold the climate. I have learnt the hard way that boots and airport security does not go well together. After being humiliated time and again in the security queue -- struggling to take off my boots while impatient passengers tut-tut behind me and then struggling to put them on after they have journeyed through the X-ray machine -- I shifted to ballet flats while navigating airports. So, I would sail through smugly while other people wobbled from one foot to another to take off their shoes.

But, as the saying goes, pride comes before a fall. And this time, transiting through Heathrow, I got my comeuppance. No, I wasn't asked to put my shoes through the X-ray machine. But as I went past the security scanner, the lady at the other end indicated that I should place my feet on a small stool so that she could swab my shoes. She then took the swab and ran it through a curious contraption placed on the side. I looked closer and was horrified to read the words "Explosives scanner" written on it.

Never have a few seconds passed so slowly. I gazed anxiously at the machine, willing it to hurry up. And finally, there it was: a negative test result.

Phew!

I don't what it is about security queues at airports but you can't help feeling a bit guilty even if you haven't done anything wrong.

But the authorities weren't done with me as yet. As I walked up to collect my cabin baggage, I realized that it had been pulled aside as well. The gentlemen at security asked if I could open it. I dutifully did so, he rummaged though it. I thought I had passed and went to pick it up. But no, wait, he needed a run an "Explosives check" on my bag as well.

By now I was probably looking as guilty as I felt -- these damn security queues will do that to me every single time -- but this test came up "Negative" as well.

So, I calmed my beating heart, collected my stuff and scuttled off wondering what exactly had triggered this completely 'random' check. Was it the colour of my skin? Was it my Middle-Eastern eyebrows? Was it the long black overcoat that could pass off as an abaya? Or was it just 'random' bad luck?

I don't really know what it was this particular time but I have lost count of the number of body searches I have been subjected to at airports across the world. Some of them are so thorough that they could pass off as full body Swedish massages (in fact, I am often sorely tempted to tip the security agent a few dollars for doing such a good job). And some have been so 'intimate' that they have to be conducted in tiny airless rooms on the side, far away from prying eyes to preserve my modesty.

Is it any wonder then that I am becoming increasingly disenchanted by this whole business of flying? Quite honestly, if I could indulge my love for travel in any other way I would give up on airports and airplanes altogether.

Because the torture doesn't end the moment you board your flight, does it? On the contrary, it starts all over again, and this time it can last for anything from two to 12 hours.

I know this is the moment when you expect me to start moaning about all those incessantly crying children, the toddlers running up and down the aisles, and the kids who spend their entire timekicking the back of your seat.

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint but those are not the (or at least, not the only) things that get my goat. It's the behavior of the adults -- who really should know better -- that gets me all worked up. Here's just a random sampling of grown-up bad behavior that I have gritted my teeth through on some recent flights.

There was the lady seated in front of me who inclined her seat all the way down even before we took off and refused to straighten it during the meal service making it impossible for me to eat lunch. When the stewardess explained the situation to her, she grudgingly took her seat up, but the moment the tray was served, down went the seat again, sending my glass of water flying. Charming.

There was the couple who conducted a long, loud, convoluted marital argument at the top of their voices on a night flight, completely oblivious of the fact that the rest of us were trying to catch some shut-eye. When some passengers remonstrated, they were met with implacable rudeness. And when the cabin in-charge tried to intervene, a full-blown row erupted, waking up everyone who had managed to fall asleep despite the noise.

But the ones I hate the most are those who spring up from their seats even before the plane has come to a complete standstill and rush to get their bags out of the overhead bins, invariably dropping them on the heads of the passengers seated below. Every time I see one of these people in action I hope and pray that they get picked out for a 'random' check at security at the next airport they transit through.

If anyone deserves a full-on body massage, they do.