London Calling

Stopped by London for a couple days on the way back from Dublin, because if I'm not there at least twice a year, I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

Maybe a dozen years ago, someone asked me how many times I’d been to London, and I had no idea. It was only a handful of visits back then, but it was still enough that I had lost count. It’s probably my favourite city in the world, so I stop by whenever I’m in the area… or whenever I have an excuse to go for an event… or whenever I’m flying BA and have to change planes at Heathrow anyway… 

Basically, anytime I can find an excuse to be in London, I’m in London.

 

But that usually means I’m just popping by for a day or two in between things, with no time to do anything but meander through the Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A), eat a kebab, and sleep. So I’m pretty much confined to my usual ‘hood or whatever’s a short ride on the Tube. 

 

And the same was true this time, which included stops at the Moco, the Design & Disability exhibition at the V&A, a little shopping, and lots of walking.

 

London, like all major cities, is a collection of distinct neighbourhoods that all have their own personality. My London ‘hood is South Kensington, completely by accident. Many years ago, I got a great deal on a brand new boutique hotel there, when it was a part of the city I’d never been to before, and not only did I love the hotel, I loved the area. So even after the hotel got established and I couldn’t always afford to stay there – or when the ownership changed, making me no longer like the place -- I still find a spot to stay in South Kensington every visit. The big draw is the nearness of the V&A and Hyde Park, but I also can’t underestimate the benefit of knowing this area better than the rest of London. I’ve got certain stores I always shop in and a regular kebab shop, and I even know which lines run through the local Underground stations and where I can or can't go on them, without having to look at the map.

 

I don’t know if I'd recommend South Kensington to everyone – neighbourhoods have a personality just like people do, and everyone has to figure out for themselves what they're compatible with – but I highly recommend finding your ‘hood when you visit London. Especially if you're like me and not out doing a whole bunch of social things with friends all the time, having a place that feels quite homely* makes it as if you’re wandering around holding hands with the city itself.

 

I can't say what it is that makes a human feel like they belong in a particular place, but I have a few cities that I’ve never really lived in, that feel like home to me anyway. London’s very close to the top of that list. 

 

 

*I'm using the British meaning here, which is 'like home', not the old USian way of saying it's not very attractive.

Britpop in Dublin

So... what did you do last weekend? Oh, nothing much? Watched some TV? Well, I just took a quick little jaunt over to Dublin...

No, really, I went all the way to Ireland for less than 2 days. By the time I got settled into the hotel after my halfway-round-the-world journey Friday night, it was 8pm, and only about 38 hours until I had to catch my lift back to the airport Sunday morning. So that didn't leave me much time to do anything but go to the Robbie Williams Britpop tour stop that had brought me to town. 

I wasn't too worried about missing stuff, though; I visited Dublin back in 2016 with my ex-Scotsman, and we did all the touristy things then. We saw Dublin Castle, walked along the River Liffey and crossed a couple of its bridges (but not the famous Liffey Bridge, which we did walk past, but it was either closed or too busy... or not where we needed to cross... I don't remember), and (obviously) visited the Dublinia Viking and Medieval Museum. 

On that trip, I even dragged the man with no interest in anything more artistic than a football jersey on a trek across town to the Irish Museum of Modern Art. But once we got inside the grounds, we started noticing that most of the doors to exhibit rooms were closed and locked, and no one else was around except a few guys with tools and ladders... and it dawned on us that maybe it was not open that day, and we had just slipped in with the renovation crew. But sadly we weren't equipped to use our accidental sneak entry to pull off the world's greatest Irish art heist, so we just found our way to an exit and went on with our turismo. 

So since I already took in (pretty much) all the things I wanted to see last time, I wasn't particularly motivated to go out for anything other than food on the drizzly, muggy afternoon before the main event. 

Because as it should be, Saturday night was Robbie Williams night in Dublin. CAN YOU IMAGINE THE CRAIC?!*

I overheard a local on our walk to the gig saying that to her friend, and I had to steal it.

WHAT A SHOW!!! Croke Park was completely sold out -- 80,000 people -- with an amazing crowd. People always tell me that Irish audiences are the best, but I had to see it for myself. I've been to around 20 Robbie shows in various locations and never heard such loud singing along, to whole songs, not just the choruses that everyone knows. Rob said near the end that it was the best crowd he'd ever had (sincerely, not just working the audience), and I believe it. 

I have to say that the view was a bit jarring for me at first, because I got a seat this time, after being in the front standing section for the last few shows. Rob's truly the most amazing entertainer, and it doesn't matter if you're pressed up against the stage or in the very back of the stadium, you'll have a great time and feel like he's singing directly to you. But even sitting just a couple rows away from the field, I was pretty far from the stage, and it took a minute to adjust to him looking 3 inches tall, after having gotten used to watching an actual sized Robert. On the plus side, since I couldn't take that many good photos with my limited zoom anyway, it gave me a reason to keep my phone in my pocket and enjoy the moment for once.

The set list was pretty much the same as the London Britpop shows (catchup post coming on that later!), with a couple small changes. This tour's tradition of 2 surprise guests continued -- one to duet on Relight my Fire, and one with their own song -- but they were both Irish folks I didn't know anything about. I did catch that the one who got a gigantic roar of welcome from those in attendance was Garron Noone, who led a rousing singalong version of Take Me Home, Country Roads. Never thought I'd hear a John Denver song at a Robbie Williams gig, but those peanut butter cup ads are on to something: putting two things I love together made me love them both even more!

All in all, it was an incredible night, and I was totally in it, singing, dancing, and grinning, even during my I'm-so-beyond-sick-of-this-stupid-cover-please-never-play-it-again song (I won't say which one that is, but it rhymes with Bees the Fun), and had a spring in my step on the long walk back to my hotel afterward.

So I'd say the quick visit to Dublin was a success. The show was one of a kind, and we really did have the craic... far beyond anything I could have imagined.

 

*If you don't know what the craic is, look it up your own self! Kidding. It's basically Irish for super fun-ness, pronounced like crack.

Welcome Back (Globe)Trotter

 We're back, baby!

I never did get around to starting a Substack, and I'm glad I didn't, but I didn't really start posting again here either... which I'm not so glad about. 

So I'm back now (with an option to get this as a newsletter if that's your bag), picking up where I left off. And committing to keep it updated going forward.

Look, the world is ROUGH right now. Personally, socially, politically, globally, this is very much The Darkest Timeline. And while I pretty much spend all my time, and energy, and thought every day trying to make that better, sometimes I need a break. We all do. We need to take time to do something we love, to laugh, to celebrate life's small adventures. So here I am, trying to do a little of that now and then.

For the next little while, I'll be going back through a bunch of unpublished posts from the last 2 years, and sharing them until I'm all caught up.

But don't worry, there aren't that many catch-up posts out there, I'm skipping a few trips. Like both of my annual pre-Christmas visits to London and Edinburgh, the time I holed up in Stockholm with a terrible cold, and the several days I sat around Palm Springs doing nothing but reading. 

But you will get fun travel stories like this: I was all queued up to catch my flight to Edinburgh (Heathrow loves lining people up early!), when they announced a technical issue. Not boarding, no timeline. But it's the UK, so everyone just stayed in the lineup. A few minutes later, when the gate agent guy came over to give an update, he came and spoke directly to me, about 3/4 of the way back in the queue, too quietly for others to hear, and walked away... Like I was somehow the only one who needed to know. The boss of the line, I guess.

Stay Tuned...

Catching Up: Holiday Weekend in Amsterdam, Moco Museum

When the announcement came out in spring of 2024 that Robbie Williams was having his first art exhibition at the Moco museum in Amsterdam, my last few days of vacation for the rest of the year were already all committed to trips I didn't want to change, and the show's run was set to end before I'd get a new grant of time off. So I was faced with the good employee / devoted fanatic's classic conundrum: do I miss the thing and forever feel like a bad fan, take unpaid days off and lose money, or try to fit an entire trip to Amsterdam and back into the Memorial Day long weekend?

Of course I chose the holiday weekend option, resulting in my most unhinged travel plan to date.

I left on Friday night, and since I usually avoid the amateur travel times (ie holiday long weekends), I have never dealt with a more packed airport or longer security lines. They only had one pre-check line open at SeaTac, and it snaked all through the winding ropes and faaaaaaaaaar beyond, out through the hallway and down past two entire check-in sections. It couldn't have been less than 60 minutes wait, probably closer to 90. When I found the end of the line, there was a member of airport staff placed there to direct the bewildered into queue, so I asked if the first class lineup was shorter, and he pointed me to a premium checkpoint where I didn't get pre-check, but only had to wait about 15 minutes. But even that felt like an inordinate amount of hassle, so the whole experience made me immediately sign up for Clear to jump all security lines in the future, and vow to never fly on a holiday weekend again.

I might be a bit of a spoiled traveller. Shrug, not sorry.

To try to make the trip slightly less tiring, I took a direct flight that arrived in rainy Amsterdam early Saturday afternoon, and went straight to standing in more long lines at passport control. Which is where I was able to confirm that the A Black Lady Sketch Show character who is the world's greatest spy, staying completely invisible by just being a regular-looking woman, is 100% possible.

The passport area of Schipol that they herded us into had no electronic gates, just two booths where everyone in the giant queue had to speak to a person. As I got close to the front, I could see that they were asking every non-Dutch citizen for a whole bunch of details about their stay, requiring them to show a return ticket and hotel confirmation. Which was taking FOREVER as person after person approached the desk looking completely befuddled by the need to have all their travel documents organized and available to show. So, pro jetsetter that I am, when I got up to the desk and handed him my passport, I was ready with all my booking apps open in my phone, as well as my museum ticket, because what could spur more suspicion than going to the other side of the world for barely 48 hours? 

The border guy who'd asked every other person ahead of me no less than 28 questions, quickly scanned my passport and disinterestedly asked where I was going. 

"Well, I'm going to the Moco Museum..."

"I mean, are you in transit to somewhere?"

"No, just here for two days and back home."

[Stamping and handing back the passport] "Have a nice day."

So yeah, sometimes it's beneficial to be an invisible regular-looking middle-aged woman.

Anyway. My museum ticket was for Sunday -- my only full day in Amsterdam -- so getting there was my one goal for the day. The museum itself is pretty small, and I'm never that stand and stare at the art for an hour person regardless, so my visit was relatively quick. There wasn't a lot in Rob's section that he hadn't already posted online, but it was cool to see it at full scale on the walls, and take part in the overall experience they'd created around the show.

The museum has a lot of other Modern & Contemporary art (MoCo, get it?), so I walked through the whole place and loved it. Except the small room of Warhols packed wall to wall with people... I rolled my eyes and walked away from that one, but I did spend a minute nerding out in front of the Basquiats. I also spent WAY too much in the gift shop on Williams, Basquiat, and Banksy swag that you can't get anywhere else (however much you think I spent, double it and you'll be closer), and left very satisfied.

With rain non-stop during my brief visit, and really just one reason for going anyway, all I had the time and desire to do was see the museum and go for a couple walks when it wasn't too damp out. Amsterdam is one of those places that has always felt relaxing and homey to me, so I don't much feel like tourist-ing when I go there, anyway.

I then spent all day Monday getting the long-haul flight home, and was back at work Tuesday morning, exhausted, the weekend a blur.

But still, I'm glad I went. All the sleep deprivation and travel crowd chaos was worth it in this case, but would I ever do it again? 

I mean... yeah, if I had a reason. A good fan's work is never done...

Catching Up: Tina and Amy Live in Portland

Once upon a time... well... once upon late 2023, my friend Steve learned that Tina Fey and Amy Poehler were taking a comedy show (the Restless Leg Tour) on the road, and as the good fans that we are, we had to go! But at that point, they were only stopping in a few cities, and Seattle wasn't one of them... but Portland was. So we excitedly got our tickets and planned a quick road trip.

 

But when the show weekend in mid-January 2024 rolled around, the weather had other ideas, with ice, heavy snow, and high winds predicted. Of course that wasn't going to deter us from seeing our favourite funny folk, but we did decide it probably wouldn't be safe to drive and took the train instead, arriving for the show Friday afternoon in very cold winds, but nary a snowflake to be seen.

After settling in at the hotel (and having dinner with plenty of wine), we walked the couple blocks over to the show, which was at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall.* When I grew up near Portland, everyone called it The Schnitz, and I don't know if anyone still uses that nickname, but I like it -- it sounds like a cross between a schnitzel and a snitch -- so I'm sticking with it.

When we arrived at the Schnitz, they informed us of the rules for the performance, which specified that phones had to be completely turned off, and no heckling would be allowed. I've been to a number of these kind of comedy tours over the years, and they all have the anti-phone policy. I get it, if you're a big-name comic, you don't want your bits leaked online before you can officially release them in your TV special. But heckling? I've never witnessed a heckler even once in all the gigs I've seen. So why call that out?  

Later on, I realized why. There was an improv section where the crowd was asked to shout out suggestions... and then they kept shouting things, unsolicited, for the rest of the show. Evidently, once people get permission to yell at the performers, they don't think they have to stop. I know this makes me sound like I'm 185 years old, but... Does no one know how to behave in public anymore? 

Also, maybe 5-10 minutes before showtime, I glanced at my phone (still on, because we were 5-10 minutes before starting, but locked because I was just checking the time) and some usher-type guy leaned over and menacingly said, "TURN YOUR PHONE OFF. I WILL kick you out!" I was so shocked by the outsized reaction to me looking at a clock for 1.3 seconds that my only response was to give him a WTF! Roid-rage much? face while I hit the power button. Steve's reaction to the guy's rudeness was a bit stronger, so luckily Mr Phone Cop walked away before my protective friend had a chance to chew him out (and probably get us removed from our seats).

Anyway. The show was fantastic, super funny, including Zarna Garg's opening set. Tina and Amy told stories, did both planned skits and improv, tried their hands at separate stand-up sets, read the 'news', even answered audience questions, and it was all hilarious. But even as great as it all was, Maya Rudolph's guest appearance (as the ghost of Whitney Houston) stole the show. I was laughing through the entire performance, but Maya's Whitney was almost painful, it was so funny. I guess different cities got different guests, but I feel pretty certain that ours was the best. 

Afterward, we went back to our hotel and hung out drinking more wine in the lobby bar, where we chatted with the other guests, laughed about the show, and Steve occasionally exclaimed, "I got to see Minnie Riperton's daughter!" 

Which is not a weird thing to say... for him.

The next morning we woke up for our late morning train home, to find ourselves surrounded by nonstop snow, freezing temperatures, high winds, and Amtrak extremely delayed. After waiting around the hotel for a while, we headed down the road to the station to wait there and cross our fingers that the train would leave before too long. That few blocks was the only bad part of the trip, with icy feet in the snow, wind gusts nearly knocking us over, frozen snowflakes stinging our faces, and Steve's poor service dog so badly sliding and blowing around the sidewalk that he couldn't do his primary job of (much needed in that weather) stability support.

We finally got on the train around 2pm (the time it was originally supposed to get us home), and arrived over 4 hours late, to no sign of a winter storm up in our 'hood.

Two weeks later, Tina & Amy announced their tour was coming to Seattle. Because of course.

*Interesting (or not so much?) side note about this particular theatre: despite growing up in the area, the Tina and Amy show was only my third occasion to go to the Schnitz. One was when I performed there -- I don't remember why my dance group had this gig -- and the other was seeing Sinéad O'Connor in 1990, when my friends and I were in the actual very last row, with nothing but a wall behind our seats. So after the extremes of being on stage, and as far from the stage as possible, this was my first normal, floor seat visit.

Catching Up: Brandi Carlile and Friends at the Hollywood Bowl

I love Brandi Carlile, and have since the early 2000s demo CD days. I also hate going to the Gorge, and have since... I don't know... birth. So because the Gorge Amphitheatre in George is always Brandi's closest tour spot these days, I only ever see her play if I jet off someplace, and I'm always on the lookout for destination shows. Which meant that I couldn't pass up the opportunity in the fall of 2023 to go check out Brandi and a mystery set of 'Friends' at the legendary Hollywood Bowl.

I flew to Los Angeles on Friday the 13th, which cursed me with a very long and hassle-filled process to get an Uber at LAX, and then opening my luggage at the hotel to find that my shampoo had come unsealed and leaked all over my toiletry bag. Oh wait... That's not Friday the 13th, that's just a normal travel day.

The show was on Saturday night, and since I was staying just down the road from the Hollywood Bowl, I had the whole day free before it was time to walk over. But I lost all interest in LA tourist activities roughly 3 seconds after Debbie Reynolds lost her hopes of opening a Hollywood costume museum, so I spent the day sitting in my hotel room watching sports. All three of my preferred teams won their games (New Zealand in the Rugby World Cup quarterfinals, University of Washington football, and Montréal in the NHL), so as I headed out the door for Brandi and friends, I was ready for a winning night as well. 

I was correct, sir!

The Hollywood Bowl is amazing visually, and sonically, but -- at least down in the lower bowl where I was -- the setup was unexpected. That section is broken into little 4-seat boxes with fold-away tables, and most people were set up with meals and full sized bottles of wine, sitting facing away from the stage like they'd just come down for a nice dinner al fresco, rather than a rock 'n' roll extravaganza. Weird. At least they all packed up their pic-a-nic baskets and turned their chairs around when the music got started.

Anyway. There was no opening act, so when the time came, we got straight into Brandi and the band for a few songs, then they started bringing on the aforementioned friends, one at a time. As each guest artist came on stage, they'd do a song or two of their own with Brandi Carlile Band backing them up, then join in to support the next act. Not all of the guests were people I was dying to see, but I was really happy for Allison Russell (who sang my favourite of her songs, Requiem), Wendy & Lisa (friends of Prince!), Annie Lennox (Mon Scotland!) and JONI EFFING MITCHELL, who was the queen of the encore, seated center stage in her throne while doing three of her songs with the entire previous group.

 

It was a couple hours of joy, but seemed to go by in a flash. At the end, we all sang Joni Happy Birthday, for her upcoming 80th, and then I wandered back down the road to my hotel, completely in awe of the night I'd just experienced.

I had also planned to go see Samantha Bee's menopause-themed one woman show in Hollywood on Sunday night, which -- along with my canned rosé while enjoying Brandi's show -- might've garnered me the award for Most Middle Aged Lady Long Weekend Ever, but it ended up being cancelled. Oh well, I was tired of all the winning anyway. It was still a great time, and way more than worth the trip.

Catching Up: Rugby on the French Riviera

Fun fact about me (or sometimes not so fun, depending on their results): I've been a Scotland rugby supporter since the late 1990s, long before I ever visited and fell in love with Scotland, or got engaged and then un-engaged to one of its citizens, or made Edinburgh my second home. And as part of that fandom, I've gone to watch Scotland (along with a couple other teams) in every men's Rugby World Cup since 2011.

So for RWC 2023 in France, I followed the same routine as every previous tournament and booked tickets to a few games over a couple weeks, strategically placed to allow me to travel around a bunch of different parts of the country. But because I had to do all this ticket planning 1.5 - 2 years in advance, by the time the tournament came around, I'd realized that my travel stamina had greatly reduced during lockdown... I can now only stand 7-8 days on the road, max. After that, no matter where I am, or what I'm doing, or how attractive I find the guys in the sporting event I'm watching, I'm perpetually cranky. I don't want to be anywhere in the world but at home with my cats. So I decided to nix the fortnight of games and concentrate my trip on a part of France I hadn't been to before, sold all the tickets I'd bought except Scotland v Tonga in Nice, and set out to enjoy several days on the French Riviera.

Nice

With a sore back from 20+ hours of travel, a 9pm arrival at the hotel the night before, and a forecast including thunderstorms and apocalyptic rain, my first full day in Nice was mostly spent in the hotel, in bed, watching a bunch of Golden Girls episodes for about the 745th time. Ah, well... the middle aged traveler's heart wants what the middle aged traveler's heart wants. Luckily I mustered a little youthful vigor for the next two days, and spent them both out exploring the town. The first day, I just took a wander out to see what was near the hotel with no agenda, and ended up walking in circles, passing by the path that would have taken me back multiple times, completely losing my sense of direction, for hours. Welp. At least I got outdoors.

The second day, I made a real plan and went downtown on a tram. The trams and downtown streets were pretty easy to navigate, so I didn't get lost this time, but also didn't stay there long because it was sunny and sweaty out, and I didn't find anything that was all that appealing to me. I saw a big church and did some random shopping, but mostly just meandered around wondering why Nice is such a sought after luxury destination that sites kept offering me private jets as an option when I looked for flights. Never seen that before! I mean, downtown Nice was fine. It was like any other generic western European city, reminded me a bit of Milan, but with palm trees... that grew there naturally and didn't cause a giant controversy when placed there by an American corporation. Maybe the problem is that I'm much more of a city person than a beach person, and cities aren't really the point on the Riviera. Or given my other travel experiences, maybe I'm just not the right audience for... well, France.

But never mind that! Day four in Nice was rugby day! I'd purposely chosen a hotel away from downtown because it was easy to catch a quick 15 minute tram to the game, but that didn't make it a less busy or annoyingly crowded experience. I enjoyed singing Flower of Scotland, and was surprised to see the Tongans do a haka-like war dance before the game, but loved it nonetheless. I looked it up later, and found out it's called the Sipi Tau, and the current version was written in 1994.

Anyway. Scotland won 45-17 despite their elite ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory, even in games where they're the favourite. Tonga's a fun team to watch. And I'm not a sports reporter, so that's pretty much all you're gonna get.

Side note: It occurred to me at some point on this day of rugby that I probably don't understand as much French as I think I do. I'm too out of practice speaking it to put a sentence together, but I can still understand a fair bit when it's spoken (unless it's in a Montréal accent - qu'est-ce que c'est?!), and I get even more when I'm reading and have time to process. So when in France, I always believe that I'm catching enough to know what's going on around me, but realistically... I probably have no idea.

Oh, also, I got asked for directions twice on my first day out wandering in Nice... when I was completely lost and had no business giving anyone directions. This has always happened to me, everywhere I go. The more things change, etc...

Monte Carlo

I used my last full day on the Riviera to take a brief trip over to Monte Carlo, since Monaco was right next door and all. It was much prettier than Nice, and waaaaaaaaaaaay snazzier, but I struggled to find things to occupy the short time I spent there. I'm not much of a gambler, so skipped the famous (or infamous?) casino scene, and I'm not a millionaire, so all the store fronts I passed featuring luxury goods and sports cars were regrettably out of my price range. A Lambo wouldn't fit in my luggage anyway. 

I'm normally happy to just wander and enjoy the scenery, but on the particular (very hot) day I chose to visit, Monte Carlo was hosting a big yacht show that closed off and blocked much of the waterfront. So this photo is a good example of pretty much all the scenery I got to take in. It did make me realize why fancy expensive flights to Nice are such a thing, though -- it's the closest airport to Monaco, which is where all the fancy people actually want to go. 

But as only a wannabe member of the Fancy People Club, after a couple hours in Monte Carlo, not buying a yacht, I had to hop on the hot, crowded train back to Nice, and fly home commercial the day after that. No vie fabuleuse for moi, just la vie avec les chats. 

And honestly? I'm not that mad about it.