A journey of a thousand miles

“Your visa is ready madam”, the bespectacled travel agent shuffled the papers importantly. I wrinkled my nose at the strong smell of roach repellent and stared straight ahead at the laminated partitions. I had sprained my neck badly the previous night. Staring straight ahead was the only option. Neck is probably the worst place to get a sprain. I was moving about like a badly programmed robot and was generally getting odd looks. I peered at the visa and murmured “multiple entry” to show this was not my first trip abroad and I knew all about visas. Till that moment of seeing the visa, I had thought of the UK trip, thanks to a good deal from British Airways and a gift, rather abstractedly. Now it looked like I was really going. “And where might that be?”, a cockroach quirked his antenna from behind a paper.

“Do you have any brochures?”, I asked realizing my itinerary was as blank as my stare.

“Just search for it in the internet”, he responded helpfully.

Right. Internet.

After hunting for a good map of the UK and a trip planner in the net for half an hour I gave up. There wasn’t an app to match the folded old-fashioned paper map. I spread it up and armed with a highlight pen and google search, I went to work. I plotted my route, weaved lines, highlighted areas, drew circles, put question marks and was quite proud of the research I was putting in.

The world maps one is used to, skews up the country sizes quite a bit. I knew this, but still when I actually looked at the distance it was a bit of a shock. It looked like Great Britain would fit into just four states in South India. Yet, the Brits definitely know how to promote their island. How could they possibly have so many specialty tours for such a small place.

Jane austen tour, Da vinci code tour, Cotswolds, A train ride in Scotland, Roman ruins, Medieval castles, Victorian mansions, Bronte sisters tour, Harry potter tour, Cricket tour..

A renaissance person like me (Ahem) wasnt going to get tied to one specialty tour. After an hour, quite a considerable achievement considering my sprained neck, I had a map with bright highlighter lines running criss-cross all over the country.
One minor problem. I just needed about a month and unlimited money in my bank account. I had about ten days. (I decided to worry about the money part later). Oh well, I’d have to pick and choose as I go along.

I stared at the map, folded it carefully and listened to the torrential rain pouring outside. UK here I come.

The intreprid travel planner

Diwali eve. I was as ready as I could be. I had my visa and ticket. I had a bag full of clean clothes. I had even packed my jacket.

We had had heavy rains in the last few days . Train services had been disrupted. And bombs had gone off in terrorist attacks in Delhi. It hadn’t been a good week. Things were improving slightly. The northeast monsoon that had thrashed the southern states seemed to have finally let up. And I could hear the crackers going off outside.

I hadn’t done much in preparation other than having conversations with my friends from UK and friends who have visited UK.

JW (UK) : If you are going to Bath you could also go to Cirencester. Roman ruins. Oh and York – Viking center. Wales there are a few great places to visit.

NT( UK) : Hampton court, Kensington palace, Tower of London – don’t try to repatriate the crown jewels. Chatsworth – place similar to that of Mr.Darcy’s.

CV( India): Dont go to this place called Stonehenge. Waste of time.

SRP(India) : You got to see Stonehenge.

Me : Perhaps I could do a Kipling tour, with his connections to India. Oh how about Constable country? And perhaps Wales too? Shouldn’t I be seeing Southampton, after all that’s where the East India company ships docked.

CL(UK) : Lake district. York. Try the gingerbread shop in Grasmere.

My itinerary obviously still looked jumbled. I had concluded that with all these places to visit, I should keep things flexible. So I wasn’t going to book any hotels. And it was going to be a road trip. Renting a car was the answer. SR agreed cheerfully enough to drive. So I don’t have to plan ahead about trains etc. My sprain after troubling me for three days, after multiple pain balms, had subsided into a dull throb whenever I turned side ways. At least it looked like I could turn and see the countryside pass by.

I took my much-perused map and papers scribbled full of notes, stuffed them inside the bag and decided to settle for the night. But the crackers were still going off, punctuated by boisterous drunken laughter.

CL from UK had suggested I read Bill Bryson’s ‘Notes from a small island’. I had dutifully picked it up the previous day. This I opened now. It was nearing one and I had to leave around 3:30 in the morning. It looked like they weren’t going to stop any time soon, I might as well read.

Despite my map full of yellow lines, I had managed to not touch most of the places he refers to in the book. That put the first damper. I started reading. He says right in the second paragraph – ‘If you mention in the pub that you intend to drive from, say, Surrey to Cornwall, a distance that most Americans would happily go to get a taco, your companions will puff their cheeks look knowingly at each other as if to say, “Well now, that’s a bit of a tall order”‘.

Uh-oh. Could it be they were right?