Riding with those who have a nose for shit

Taxiing the news

When I lived in London over 20 years ago, one good place to feel the pulse of the country was to take a ride in a traditional black cab with a slightly talkative driver who addressed you as guv and had an opinion on everything under the sun. You listen and interject every once in a while so he does not take a fright that you have suddenly keeled over and died.

Now, what you hail is an Uber, the driver could be from anywhere and their opinions are from interesting to completely outlandish, you endure it because there is no point trying to correct far gone viewpoints that would require a frontal lobotomy. You cannot in the time you have together teach enough to help them unlearn what they have as literally as street-sweepers swept off the kerb from litter to dog shit.

Relaxing the nose

Returning from Parkland after shopping at a Nigerian foodstuffs shop, the Uber driver before he arrived asked where we were going, which should rarely be the case, your fare is a lottery. In any case, I told him and asked if he was taking the journey or up to something else. He did eventually arrive as we exchanged pleasantries and he went half-masked, covering the mouth and freeing the nose.

Many, I have seen going about with their noses free like expansive and untamed protuberances masquerading like elephant trunks and you could almost feel sorry for them if their noses put Pinocchio in the shade and not one lie had been told yet.

Taxing the ears

Our driver was endeared to us as he stopped in the middle of the road just at some traffic lights because he observed a mobile phone had been left on a car boot. As luck would have it, we cannot tell for how long the phone had travelled on the boot, but he got it as was able to alert the lady to her pending loss of her mobile phone. Boy, was she thankful and grateful?

It deserved a pat on the back for the quick-minded act and presence of mind to do something. It is unlikely trying to wave her down would have elicited the necessary response to stop and see what was wrong. After that, the conversation veered into the matter of luxury cars and then African leaders. I could agree with some stuff though much else was just out there like crazy, as we alighted with sighs, we concurred he was a chatterbox in excess though Brian might learn from here too that we were fed bullshit by the shovel and the tipper truck. We suffer and smile from A to B.

South Africa: Uber despite the annoyances

Uber knows

Being in a strange city or a foreign country, apart from airport shuttles to my hotel, I have been quite confident to use the Uber taxi service to get around town.

In Johannesburg where places could be so obscure, and some addresses are at best a guess rather than a precise location, that relying on the Uber navigation aids is very useful.

However, whilst reviewing some of my journeys to and from our offices dotted around Johannesburg and the suburbs, I could not help but think I was being taken for a ride in some sort of disadvantageous collusion between Uber and the driver against me.

Uber throes

Some journeys just seemed to be twice as long in the distance without really making up for time or missing the traffic and with that an unexpected tour of the periphery of Johannesburg, the cost, no doubt outrageous.

It got to a head that I had to register a complaint with Uber about my trips, because to my mind I was being unfairly taken advantage of, either through design, some Machiavellian scheme or the quirks of technology having a mind of its own. My complaint:

I am unhappy that on a number of journeys between Randburg and Sandton, I am taken on unnecessarily long journeys via the freeway doubling the distance that would have been covered without the need for a bypass especially when there is light traffic going into Sandton.

The idea that the distance from Randburg/North Riding to Sandton should be 33km is outrageous and a total rip-off.

One would have expected Uber to provide options of the shortest and probably the most optimal journeys rather than defaulting to the longest possible marathon coverable between 2 points in Johannesburg.

I have no problems with the drivers, but between Uber and the guidance offered by your navigation systems, this customer relationship is not only badly served, but seriously fleeced too.

Please do not spam my mail box with requests for comment, just sort this matter out.

Thank you.

Uber blows

Uber eventually apologised and offered a ZAR 50 compensation that was deducted from my next journey and whilst it appears things have been a bit better, it does not half ameliorate the fact that I have been well and truly rogered and ultimately fleeced.

The additional annoyance is that for every comment I leave, I get more spam from Uber asking me to comment on my comments, I really do not have the time for more small talk, just have the service delivered with professionalism and consideration.

I guess one other thing that will not go amiss on the Uber app is giving me the list of my most recent locations and destinations as well as not generalising street names when there is a possibility that there are many occurrences of that street name in the same city.

Uber glows

On such event was where there were two Industrial Roads in Johannesburg, the one we first arrived at was not right and in one morning I had a 66-kilometre ride on Uber for what should never have been more than 18 kilometres just because I trusted Uber to know better than I did about where I was going.

Besides all this, I will still happily use Uber, even if drivers end up on the wrong side of the road and I have to hobble across the wide and dangerous Johannesburg roads, cane in hand to join my ride.

For better for worse, Uber is here to stay, it, however, should get better at precision, direction, instruction and value.

South Africa: Hotel life at first glimpse

A wary European

It is quite unusual not to have written about my hotel life, maybe because there hasn’t been much of an event to make of things.

I did say that when the airport shuttle came to pick me up at the airport, they had mangled my name, this was after the lady I called heard me spell my name twice and she read out the letters of my name and my phone number for confirmation.

It is, however, possible that in relaying the message to the cab company, some of the message was lost in translation. The driver from the airport was quite affable and friendly, he offered to do all sorts of things, get me a SIM card, give me a tour of Johannesburg, be a stand-by chauffeur and so many other things. I think the wary European in me slightly uncomfortable at the familiarity that borders on inveigling into my life just decided, whilst he was being helpful, I just did not need to be helped that much.

It is tolerable enough

I had to wait almost 90 minutes for a room to be ready for me to occupy, it gave the impression that the hotel has a high occupancy percentage though I was a bit sceptical about that. When I booked the hotel, I saw there were charges for early check-ins and there were for late checkouts.

The room was a slight disappointment at first and I cannot understand how when a manager sees a customer about to spend 3 weeks in their establishment, they dump you in a room as if you are passing through a motel. No views, no air, no welcome home feel.

It had a twin bed, immediately, I remonstrated and the bellboy called reception to have the problem fixed. At least I was told I would be called, I never got called.

Change, it must

After two nights in the room, which also did not have a fridge and the middle-of-the-night parting of beds which had me on the verge of repeating my coconut days of falling out of bed when I was 5, I went to the reception and asked for my room to be changed.

On returning from work, I immediately asked if my request was granted and I was moved 4 rooms up the corridor were a king-size bed and fridge had been installed. With the rooms being in close proximity, I really did not need help to move my stuff. That was done in about 15 minutes and I settled into my new room which was laterally opposite to the one I left.

All teas abound

To forestall the near disaster I had at breakfast when I was at another hotel in Johannesburg, I determined to carry my supply of Earl Grey tea over from the UK. All that I forgot to pack into my bags, but the situation was saved at the duty-free shops where they stocked Fortnum & Mason’s Classic Earl Grey tea.

Then, at breakfast, I needn’t have bothered, they had some many teas to choose from and Earl Grey tea was just as prominent. I have only been to dinner once, the food was alright.

I guess I could endure the absence of more comforts at this hotel, it is, however, not bad for a 4-star hotel.

South Africa: Ever writing a better story of our own lives

Going Uber with boldness

As I grew in confidence to get around Johannesburg, I abandoned the overpriced taxi services offered by my hotel and took to the use of UberBlack which is the high-end luxury chauffeur service of Uber.

One of the inconveniences of hailing a taxi cab by Uber was that it always pointed to the address next-door and I had to edit that address every time before putting in my destination. I still feel the Android app for Uber is still in need of updating to give it a better and more intuitive user experience.

When my rides arrived, I still had to look out for the model of car, the number plate and then the identity and name of the driver. It would have been more helpful to include the colour of the vehicle too.

A memorable Uber ride

Of the many rides I had on Uber, there was one that remained quite memorable in my mind, I mostly sat in front with the driver and started off a conversation about how they were, how their day has been and then I told them I was visiting from the UK and we just talked.

On this occasion, it was a late night ride and as we began to converse, he talked of an event in his life when his fiancée left him and he thought it was the end of his life. He was sad, depressed and literally abandoned hope.

Then he came to, he thought about what might be in 10 years’ time if he did meet the lady who broke his heart again. Would she be glad that she left him? Would he be glad that she left him? Would they both be glad that they had moved on with their lives in a productive and positive manner?

That brought him to the conclusion that he had to do the best for himself and hope for another chance in love and happiness. And so he finished his studies, found a new lover, built a family and he is now as happy as he can ever be.

Ever writing a better story

What struck me about this was that without him knowing, he had already written a better story about his own life, as we all try to write our own versions of a fairy tale that has the final line of ‘they lived happily ever after.’

As I have written many times before, our lives are stories, we can decide how we want those stories written by the way we face the issues and life and hopefully find that strength to come through adversity to a better place.

Sadly, many never get to write a continuing story with a happier ending for all sorts of reasons and it does not make their story less a human story, but in sharing our own stories in our own voice, we might just be the voice and the encouragement that gives the other person, the faith, the hope and the support they need to see beyond the hills, see beyond the clouds and press on to a brighter day.

South Africa: On leaving and the goodbyes I sadly didn't get to make

As much and much else

Much as there is still much to write about my just under 2-week visit to South Africa and much as there is a lot of making up to do when I get back home, I have commenced my return leg back home.

The return journey will be from Johannesburg to Cape Town to The Netherlands and then to England, to be completed in just about 30 hours.

Much as I accomplished much of what I came here to do and much as I hardly had a social life for the duration of my stay apart from a moments I caught with friends that I was unable to make happen again. I regret not being able to make time for more engagement, it was just lots of hectic days that at the end of the day your returned and crashed out.

Face up

On checking out at the hotel, I still had credit left that was given to me as change, the clerk at the desk had such as glum disposition that appeared to add insult to injury after all that I had endured in the first week of my stay, I was not disposed to rewarding such sullenness with any generosity and she probably deprived her other colleagues of something too.

The hospitality business is one where being able to man a desk is the first of many qualifications and the unquantifiable parts are a welcoming, smiling, appearing to be helpful, considerate and engaging personality. Get those wrong and having lost the opportunity to make a good first impression, any other impression will be graded on the scale of the failed first attempt that only the extraordinary can attempt at redemption.

I will be visiting this hotel where I stayed for 13 nights on Trip Advisor, I know I will not return to this hotel or any under this chain, nor will I recommend it to anyone visiting Johannesburg, it was my lesson in tolerable endurance.

Thank you

To get to the airport, I had one of three choices, to allow the hotel book one of their exorbitantly priced taxis, get the shuttle to the Gautrain station where I could board the high-speed train to O R Tambo International Airport or hail UberBlack on my phone and have that service get me to the airport. After very little consideration, I went for the third option and had a pleasant ride to the airport.

As I bid Johannesburg farewell and consequently South Africa and Africa at large, this was an experience I was not particularly looking forward to, but when I leant in, it was one I will always remember. Some of the people I met will become great friends, people who made time and space for me welcoming me as guest with honour and respect, I owe much gratitude I cannot fully pay.

I might return to South Africa, I do not know, but my hope and wish for South Africa is and remains with all that I saw - 'Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika'.

Thought Picnic: Don't leave your youth behind

Riding through life

Being a passenger in a taxi cab is becoming a story of life and experiences seen through the keyhole of conversations that could last anything from 10 minutes to 30 minutes. I have heard of a death, a graduation, two operations, holidays, a retirement and many other tales of interesting careers before they took up driving.

The other day, I was picked up by a completely new driver from the firm that offers the service and in the process I found myself going through recollecting episodes and remembering names of the many others who have picked me up.

To think that I got to ten was quite revealing and yet from teacher to tearaway, policeman to cricketer and any other profession, I have found people who are everyday lovely and interesting people.

The end of one venture

On Friday, I bookended the taxi driving career of a man who had retired at 55, took to being a chauffeur and taxi cab driver and just 6 weeks after he turned 65, he decided his hackney carriage licence which comes up for renewal today should expire. He is going on to other interests you take up in retirement – going on holidays with his wife.

Whilst I somewhat lamented the change and the fact that the interaction with many strangers will end, he recalled his first job where he picked up two young ladies, how memorable that was and how for the conversations we used to have, my being his last passenger before he returns the car and waves goodbye to a decade of driving will be memorable too.

Embracing youth

What fascinated me is the way many people who are much older embrace change and sometimes embrace change faster, enthusiastically and better than the youth. The couple I bought my apartment in Amsterdam from, some over 13 years ago were in their late 70s, they had bought that apartment off a plan uncompleted after 25 years of living in Eindhoven in their early 70s and spent 3 wonderful years in Amsterdam.

She, the wife was the chairperson of the resident’s / owner’s association in a block of 63 apartments in a 19-storey apartment block. They left Amsterdam for an idyllic riverside serviced convalescence apartment in Arnhem. A place they bought off the proceeds of selling their Amsterdam apartment to me.

A state of the mind

What struck me was the youth adventure of doing something new and living happily in the present, unburdened by their past whilst lacking any apprehension for the future. Youthfulness is rarely a function of the chronological age, it is more a state of the mind.

That, I think is the wonder of youthfulness and it is infectious at any age if you allow yourself that freedom.

“Youth is a wonderful thing. What a crime to waste it on children.” George Bernard Shaw and as it happens, I did visit his house at Ayot St Lawrence in the 1990s. He died in 1950 at the age of 94.

The above quote is a better version than the more commonly quoted, “Youth is wasted on the young,” and I saw it on one of the boards outside the Bachelor Inn in Dublin, last year.

Thought Picnic: A taxi ride and the things money cannot buy

Not for all the money

The taxi ride from the station to my place of work is not a long one, maybe about 10 minutes. I have gravitated towards a company that appears to live up to its name, but that is beside the point.

Now, farmers who own their own land in England are in a different class, they are somewhat in a way the residue of what we nostalgically refer to as the English or more broadly British values. This taxi firm belongs to a farming family.

This matter is quite a difficult subject for some of my friends and much as I understand the push towards a more egalitarian society, there is some things in which we will never be equal. Those things come down to things money will not and cannot buy, as manners, morals, respect, character, common sense, trust, patience, class, integrity and love. [Found on Facebook and littered around the Internet.]

Front seat interaction

The people who pick me up are all retired professionals, people who have had interesting and varied careers before they settled down to occasional chauffeur duties on call, yet not full time.

Regretfully, one of such gentlemen, and there are ladies too, who had picked me up and few times and even taken me on longer journeys died on Christmas Day, he was Geoff Pullar. I did not know much about his career, but there is enough in the conversations we had to know that he had had a very interesting life.

Suffice it to say that if the cab is a saloon car, there are drivers with whom it is best to sit in the back seat and there are others with whom there is a lot to learn sitting in the front seat.

Of drivers at this company, the front seat was always the place for conversation with former academics, sportsmen, services personnel, bankers, doctors and many of that cadre. Knowledgeable, well-spoken, dignified and funny, many a story told and an intelligent conversation had.

A different mindset

In many ways, these drivers were not in it for the money, whilst the money might be handy, there was a greater air of bearing and comportment about them. Every once in a while, I was regaled with stories of meeting up with old colleagues or being invited to functions where for work or activities they have done before meant they were honoured and revered guests, understated, yet exuding class, is all I could say about them.

I noticed one such division when as I got off the train, a fellow passenger found that his previously booked taxi had not arrived, my driver was helpful in trying to find out what might have happened to the booking whilst at the same time, without restraint one of the cab drivers waiting in the ranks was about the poach the passenger.

A values proposition

Much as it would have been convenient for the passenger, it was very bad behaviour on the part of that driver. Immediately, my driver told him off whilst threatening to report him too.

Obviously, I cannot fail to notice the differences between these drivers in dressing and attitude too, that the ones I felt most comfortable with, looked the most professional, formally dressed and rarely quibbled about competition and costs.

Yes, they were slightly more expensive, but for the pleasure of the ride, their company, the conversation and good old-fashioned values that money cannot buy, they were worth every penny and more. Never miss the opportunity to ride in a taxi with someone whose life’s experiences will enrich yours considerably, it is about the person, not about the job they do. I guess money may sometimes buy you access to good conversation, it is however, not guaranteed.

After this phlebotomy, I am still unshaken

So, the day, it came,
Not to be left so lame,
Seen this many so tame,
Called Uber and got in the frame.

Two things he had to do,
Unsure if to use the loo,
The bloods for the brew,
And to the pharmacy too.

He handed in prescriptions,
Then asked for directions,
Waited for instructions,
A queue ten deep for reflections.

So old were the tools of phlebotomy,
A sheer piercing into his anatomy,
Not a time for bonhomie,
9 vials out of little old me.

Were it possible, I could faint,
The nectar darkened as paint,
In a room so quaint,
I fed a vampire and bathed a saint.

The pharmacy had readied my pills,
And the same Uber saved me from the chills,
Heard a tale of clinical ills,
Hopefully no time to pen some wills.

At home, some rest was taken,
The first time this much was forsaken,
I know I am not mistaken,
I will remain unshaken.

First impressions of another English hospital

Reporting for duty?

My treatment has travelled as much as I have travelled through the hands of many doctors from when I was in Amsterdam, worked in Wales, returned to London and now in Manchester.

My handlers in London’s East End of Whitechapel and I decided that trips down from Manchester for check-ups and replenishing my medications limited my options for closer monitoring of my health, that it was better for my whole treatment regime to be moved up near my new residence.

I had an invitation in December that I could not attend and my calling up to reschedule the appointment simply put me back in the queue for another appointment that came 6 weeks later.

The quality of English letter writing does shock me at times, the part where I was informed of the new appointment said I should report to the outpatient’s department. ‘Report to’ is the kind of phrase used by law enforcement, the courts, for formal arrangements or when instructed to go to see the headmaster in school if you have been in trouble. I would have thought a milder, ‘Please attend the clinic at the outpatient’s department’ would have been a more convivial use of the lingua franca.

Uber and out

In any case, I was not going to be late for my appointment so, for the first time I launched my Uber app to get a taxi to the hospital in the north of Manchester. I had hardly finished when a call came in from the cab driver that he had arrived, I literally rushed out precariously crossing the street when usually I cross at zebra-crossings, traffic lights or Belisha beacons.

From the thick accent of the driver, I realised he was Nigerian. We engaged in general small talk about work, living in Europe and then after I confirmed he was Nigerian and from the east, we began on Nigerian politics. He sounded informed by the sensational rather than the researched, which meant it was better I was circumspect than talkative.

I betrayed no confidences and whilst he got me to the hospital and I tried to get him to drop me at the main entrance, he insisted he normally drops people at the entrance of Accident and Emergency – I was neither in an accident nor in need of emergency observation – I let him do what he intended and got better directions of where I was supposed to go from the A&E reception.

Open-minded to options

Strangely, the reception at the main entrance was not manned, but there were good enough signposts all around the hospital that I did not have to ask again where I had to go.

At the outpatient’s reception, I was registered with the insistence that I be addressed by my simple name rather than my full name - I dread hearing my full name call out, because it reminds me of being in trouble, especially with my mum. Since I rarely like to be pigeon-holed by ethnicity, I chose the option of 'Black – Other Background' and decidedly refused to fill in the box for religion. I will follow the best medical advice I can get for my condition than allow beliefs to deprive me of well-regarded expertise.

It means I will take blood transfusions if needed and as long as any other treatment is not detrimental to my well-being, I will be ready to consider the option, as long as I am fully briefed and informed about the options available.

Retrieving histories of hospital life

My file was empty and the papers the consultant needed to review my case were not available because his secretary was away. It looked like we were off to be bad start. They apologised and I was palmed off to a junior doctor to have a chat.

Sometimes, I am unaware of the amount of knowledge I have of my condition, dates, diagnoses, treatments, side-effects, experiences – he filled in two pages of notes by the time I had finished.

He opined that he rarely meets anyone who has as much informed of their treatment history without referring to notes. Yet, I was apologising for not bringing in more journals of the bloods and readings that I had accumulated over the years.

I then went to be weighed and have my blood pressure taken, where the banter between the nurses and I revolved around weight and how my clothes had added about 1.6kg to the reading I took at home in the morning. I offered to strip off they could provide the music, the risqué things we get up to.

More introductions and a conclusion

Returning to the doctor, he had a chat to the consultant who came round to introduce himself, offering encouragement and assurances that all issues presented will be dealt with, though after a battery of tests to help determine what course of treatment is best for me.

He gave me his card because I told him I had already dredged the Internet for information about him and found that all references to him used just his initials and surname, which made me wonder what his first name was. He told me and we laughed.

As he left, he asked what I did for a living and then said I was so well dressed, I put them all to shame. On this visit, I obtained a new prescription, the order to have some blood tests done, and some other slightly intrusive tests. Comparing this engagement with the friendly engagements I used to have with my treatment consultant in the Netherlands, I think I will be happy with this new assignation.

It was however late, so I will have to return to the hospital at a later date to do the bloods and refill my prescription. We have an appointment set for just under 3 months hence.

That matter of identity again

Returning home by Uber again, I was picked up by someone with a familiar background as myself, a third-culture kid whose parents were from Pakistan or British India as it was then known when his parents came to the United Kingdom. The familiar story of being told what your identity is supposed to be rather than who you think you are, was a constant refrain.

In the last 50 or so years, the issue of identity has become too fluid to be matched to race, religion, culture, and language, place of origin or ethnicity. Global travel has made identity become more a function of experiences rather than lineage.

People have multiple influences that become part of what is their identity and rather than repudiate one for another to identify with some subset of humanity, many of us are fully embracing every aspect of these influences and proudly identify being comfortable in all the places that have impacted our lives.

On the whole, I felt quite refreshed by both the hospital visit and the Uber taxi rides, I look forward to my next appointment.

Thought Picnic: What a trip

Navigating to Jupiter

I arrived at my hotel this evening first being worried about something I might have misplaced with the hope of finding in a day or two but worse still was the 10 mile journey from Chester.

Usually, when I get a taxi, the driver has a good idea of where to go and only once before have I had to give the driver the post code because he needed the aid of the satellite navigator (SatNav) to get to our destination.

By now, I have a good idea of the route and if I keep aware of my surroundings, I can tell if we are somewhat off-course.

So, I told the driver where I was going and he asked for the post code which I had to call the hotel for, he keyed it into his SatNav as it is called for short and there began this amazing journey.

Strange turns in wild places

I noticed he took an unusual turn and then he turned back because he had missed a turn, he said he was following the shortest route according to the SatNav, I wasn’t impressed, as I said he could easily have taken the dual carriageway and turned off – I was about to grab the edge of my seat.

At a T-Junction he drove on the right to turn right and then before we knew it, we were on a dirt road, forded a stream, passed between a walled avenue with barely enough space the cab to pass through, bumpy and disconcerting, I could only wonder if I had gotten into a cab to some eerie place never to return to civilisation again.

This was not helped by the fact that it was dark, cold, remote, quiet and we were strangers, it was not one of situations where you would have shouted out to the driver, “Stop! Already, or I’ll call the police.”

Not short by half

Between the urge to panic with hysteric abandon and the adventure of navigating the Welsh back roads to oblivion and beyond, I kept my cool until the side road came out unto a road more familiar to me – I knew, that even in the broadest daylight, it wasn’t something I would have ventured.

Anyway, we arrived at the hotel and though the route might have been shorter according to the SatNav, it still came to the same price – it made no difference.

The driver came to open the door almost too aware of my unexpressed displeasure when he offered a reduction from the metered price, I was not about to take the generosity without an opinion.

Who are these people?

So, I told him, the last time I had a back road safari like that in the dark was probably too far gone in my memory to remember, my nerves frayed already as if I could do with a stiff drink, I stepped out took my bags into the hotel to be met with new faces everywhere – Hotel California?

No, Mother’s Day had more staff hired and it so happens that the regulars were away or off duty, it was not until my bags in storage were brought to my room before I saw a familiar face – if I learnt anything, you cannot live in a parallel universe, the difference will be too disconcerting to be healthy or peaceful.

I’ll rather stick to the usual route no matter how long it is and see the people I am most familiar with in a hotel that I have stayed in for the past 8 weeks.

Novotel St. Pan Crap

Service before edifice

The moment a hotel fails to realise that is it the service rather than the edifice that makes for returning customers, they have lost the plot and are on to a monumental failure.

Generally, I use hotels in the Accor Group which range from the upmarket Sofitel through Novotel, Mercure & Pullman to the budget Ibis and bargain basement Etap or Formule1. I use the Radisson group of hotels where the Accor brand is either unsuitable or not available, for instance in terms of location, accessibility, service and quality, I would stay at the Radisson rather than the Ibis in Antwerp.

Where hotels and service have been worthy of commendation and praise, I have almost been effusive, the Riu Hotel Maspalomas stands out as an excellent hotel with the most exquisite service, in my mind.

Destroying habits

I am also a creature of habit; I rarely change what I am used to and would probably return to the same hotel until they mess up big time.

I remember an instance in Berlin where the Mercure Hotel near Templeton oversubscribed the hotel and I having booked my room almost three week before was about to be bumped off around hotels for nights before I could settle in the one I booked.

I refused to sleep around hotels like a prostitute and demanded as a holder of an Accor Favourite Guest Card holder – which comes with guarantees – to be put in another hotel of similar of better standard for the duration of my stay at no extra cost.

They met that requirement, but having been a customer of that hotel for over 3 years, I have not returned, no, not for another night, it is black listed and that is the end of that story – all because the service as offered by the staff was rotten.

When in London

In London, I stay at the Novotel St. Pancras which until the St. Pancras International railway station was opened was Novotel Euston, I might have stayed here up to 15 times.

A tall imposing 15 storey building beside the British Library with views all around London, it would not been lost on regular customers that since the name change, the prices have gone up but the service and quality has deteriorated.

With the change of staff especially at the reception has come a bearable tolerance for the convenience of the location of that hotel.

The staff at the breakfast restaurant are quite good, friendly and generally efficient in the circumstances, however, my room bookings end up in debate either because I am not getting what I paid for or something is not working in the room.

This time, I had to get them to sort out my television, I could have changed rooms but if you have done 6 hours of travel, the last thing you want is to move around rooms like the chambermaid.

A taxing case for taxis

Usually, when I check out I am able to inform the concierge that I need a taxi to Paddington Station and he goes out and hails one – it is the least one can expect from a 4-star hotel that caters to business clientele even though the rooms have diminished to perfunctory status without flair or sophistication in style – Gosh! I have stayed in better 4-star business hotels, also belonging to the Accor group.

This time, the receptionist tried to call up a taxi, and when he learnt that it might take 10 to 15 minutes he said there were no taxis, when he could have managed the information better by asking if I did have 15 minutes to wait.

However, I brought the issue of the concierge going out to hail a taxi and he said there was no concierge employed in the hotel anymore, which was strange because I have seen people man that concierge desk during my stay.

Not if I could help it

Besides, there were 4 people at the reception, it was not busy and seeing that I also use a cane he could have asked one of his colleagues to hail one – no, in the end, I had to drag my luggage out onto the street and cross the road to hail one.

That hotel has lost a customer just because they had allowed poor customer service personified in their staff to destroy confidence, interest and loyalty.

It is very likely, I would not return to that hotel; if they ever get the opportunity for me to review this blog radically. I am for now done with Novotel St. Pan Crap.

The end of Europe

Bought this, sold that

Sometimes I wonder about the what we have bought and what we are sold; whilst in Lisbon on one of my tourist jaunts I took a taxi to a prominent monument that meant using the 25^th of April suspension bridge.

Taxi fares are usually properly advertised with surcharges for heavy goods, extra passengers, out of town travel and so on.

The bridge has a toll charge system, but I do not think that applies to taxis, however, when I got to my destination, the driver gave me a figure quite different from that on the meter indicating he had to pay a toll.

I really had no time for an argument but I am sure I should have insisted on the meter price and stood my ground – you really do not want to visit a religious place feeling serious pissed off, so I lived and let live.

Filling in the time

Still on the matter of bought and sold, I returned to town without a bridge surcharge in a taxi and bought a tour to Sintra – to be covered in another blog.

We spent the best part of 90 minutes in the palace and then I realised they had to fill in about 2 to 3 hours to justify the cost of the tour.

We got onto the long and windy roads that reminded me of the trip into the Gran Canarian hinterland and finally ended up at Cabo da Roca [1] or Cape Roca which is supposed to be the westernmost point of both mainland Europe and mainland Portugal.

The end of Europe

It was quite windy and even through we are at height of just 140 metres above sea level we were above a good few low-lying clouds.

The clouds we could see above were moving at speed such that if people visited in the olden days they would be moved with awe and almost definitely have an apparition of something to confirm their dread of the supernatural.

Suffice it to say that I saw the end of Europe as we know it and was almost impressed though quite fascinated all the same.

The slideshow and details appear soonest as well as that of my visit to the fossil cliffs and beach of Costa Caparica.

Source

[1] Cabo da Roca - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia