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Travel Tales by Deborah
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Living in England, and being employed at a business travel magazine (I'm a picture editor), I am fortunate to be in a position that allows occasional and brief visits to new and exciting destinations. My wanderings usually take the form of press junkets, which are pretty tightly organized and rarely leave much free time for sight-seeing. However, the organizers (chiefly public relations firms and marketing agencies for hoteliers and airlines) usually build in some sort of guided city tour, which is just as good. Although our visits tend to be short and exhausting, they help break up the months and keep job blues at bay. I am not one of the key reporters at our magazine, so my trips are nowhere near as long -- or exotic -- as those of the editors. But I have been lucky enough to visit, however briefly, such places as Manchester (England), Gleneagles Hotel & Golf Resort, Perthshire, and Edinburgh (Scotland), Dublin (Republic of Ireland), New York (U.S.), Barcelona (Spain), Calais, Boulougne, Nice and Paris (France), Rome (Italy), Istanbul (Turkey), Johannesburg (South Africa) and Negril and Ocho Rios (Jamaica). In November I spent a couple of days in Vienna (Austria), Frankfurt (Germany) and Budapest (Hungary), then later that month, Barry and I took Finn for a weekend in Brussels (Belgium) on the Eurostar train. I have a pretty crummy camera though, so there arent many good shots. Here are a few of the best from the places we (or I) have visited.
I thought it might be cheesy and seedy, but in fact it was great fun and very creative, with dangerous acrobatic stunts being carried out directly over our heads. And there's me in front of the famous Ritz Hotel.... Yes, THE hotel from which Princess Diana was being driven on the night she was killed. It was here that she enjoyed her last-ever meal.
Deb spends an eventful week at Gleneagles Hotel & Golf Resort, Perthshire, Scotland, March 2000. I tried my hand at archery, off-road driving in the Highlands, clay-pigeon shooting, fly-fishing (I stood by and watched; I couldn't really kill an animal, though I've often fantasized about ridding the world of a tourist or two when late for work!), air rifle shooting (I was shit-hot at that!) and that ancient sport of kings, falconry. Some of the others took up scurry-driving (a scurry is a type of horse-drawn carriage) as well, but curiously, I found a facial and body massage followed by a restorative dip in the outdoor Jacuzzi and heated lap pool much more to my taste.
Deb & Barry, in March 1999, spending a gloriously lazy, well-fed week at two of SuperClubs' Grand Lido resorts: Negril and Sans Souci, in Negril and Ocho Rios, Jamaica, respectively. Even our flights were enjoyable: Air Jamaica upgraded us to first class both ways. On the outbound leg, two of the flight attendants asked Barry if he was a film star. They didn't believe his denials and kept giggling and stealing glances at him throughout our journey!
This was my first-ever visit to the East Coast. I went to New York to attend my company's awards ceremony, which is held annually at The Plaza hotel. I stayed at two properties during my stay. The first was the Inter-Continental Central Park. It was quirky and elegant, with a massive pano view over the south end of Central Park. I then stayed two nights at a furnished apartment on 49th Street. I did all the usual tourist stuff in New York - Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center (saw the Christmas tree being lit), Liberty ferry and 5th Avenue. I didn't think I'd like New York, but I did and would love to go back sometime. Barry didn't get to accompany me on this visit, but he came with friends to New York a number of years ago and really enjoyed it.
Deb visits Istanbul in August 1998. Female visitors to the mosques must wear scarves over bare arms.
Below is a view of our host hotel, the Ciragan Kempinski, from a cruiser on the Bosphorus.
Below is Sidmouth town center in Devon, England. Okay, okay, so it's not exactly The Arc d'Triomphe or some other cultural wonder (unless you count its inhabitants), but it was Bank Holiday Monday (early May), and a trip to the English seaside provided us a well-earned change of scenery. Finn dipped his darling little toes in the chilly English Channel, then joined Mommy and Daddy in threwing rocks in the water. Until the late afternoon, the weather had been quite sunny, so by the time we arrived on the promenade, all the sun-worshippers had claimed the deckchairs that were set up by merchants who charge visitors a flat rate for using them.
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