Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Why I’ll never be much of a traveller.

I originally started off with some drivel about picking hotels,  and how I didn’t much like it,  but in fairly short order I realised that I had blathered on about this once before.  Let’s not go there.

I’m looking forward to our little jaunt on the weekend.  Really.  But there are parts of the process that I’m still not keen on.   Plus,  as much as I’m sure she’ll enjoy herself,  I sometimes feel like it would be far less painful to just drag Travelling Companion behind a tractor at the end of a length of chain.   The knee pain is somewhat cumulative.  There might be a certain amount of sitting around,  which would be more or less what I’m doing at this very moment. 

So let’s see now.  Travel by train three hours (sitting) to then wander around Salzburg until I can see by the colour of her cheeks that T.C. has had enough,  to then continue sitting.  Sounds like a plan.

I even went over to the train station today to kind of scope out the situation with Westbahn,  but the 12:35 train had left,  and I didn’t feel like hanging around for a hour to check out the next one. 

See,  this is one of my issues with travelling,  especially when it comes to public transportation.  I need to have an idea ahead of time what is expected.   Try as I might,  I couldn’t find anything remotely like an office,  since I had just one question about ordering tickets online,  and that was,  how do I actually get the tickets?   Tickets can be purchased on the train,  but there was something to do with a Miles and More reward thingy on the website.  I guess I won’t be getting any of those miles.   Probably was all of about five.

Anyway,  that’s a rather long-winded way of explaining just how I ended up with a picture of this guy:


It’s not immediately clear just what’s going on there, but if you look closely,  you’ll see that he’s carrying the legs of a mannequin in his backpack.

Now I don’t know about you,  or how you would go about carrying the legs of a mannequin,  but speaking for myself,  I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have them sticking out like that. 

You could pokes somebody’s eye out. 


I suppose if I had approached him and asked if I might take a picture of him and his plastic legs,  I could have got a better picture.  Then again,  he might have said “no”.  It’s a little dicey taking pictures at airports and train stations,  since technically it is private property.  Don’t fool yourself,  the public may come and go,  but the space being occupied is definitely not public. 


Moving on..


I got a little chuckle this morning when I checked for the mail. 

I suppose I should give a little background information here,  or the whole thing will make very little sense. 

Once upon a time,  back in the 70s I believe it was,  there was a show on Canadian Television (probably CBC judging by just how lame it was)  called King of Kensington.   And yes,  if you click on that Wiki link,  it indeed was CBC.  Kensington Market,  is an area in Toronto.   You can go to the article there to read to your hearts content.   It’s now a “National Historic Site of Canada”.   Really?  OK,  better not upset any of the Toronto folks.   I’m sure it’s just wonderful.

There’s something not quite right with the embed code,  so you’ll have to go to the YouTube link to watch the intro to the show.  It’s only about a minute.   I’ll wait right here.


So what happened was,  back in the spring when one of my sisters-in-law was here for a visit,  on at least one occasion, she thought she’d accompany me down the street for a little walk.  It’s the usual walk that I do most every morning,  and for her it was certainly nothing,  since she’s a walker.  In bold letters.  AND,  she’s my age,  which is even more troubling for me. 

It just so happened that there were at least four or five people who were,  at that precise moment, on their way to work,  or whatever,  to whom I would normally say “Guten Morgen” .  Well, Grüß Gott would have been more like it,  as that is the custom in these parts,  but let’s not split hairs.

These people are all strangers really,  but still people that I may or may not see most every day.  It just appeared as if I knew every fifth person on the street. 

So after greeting one of the owners of the cafe,  the lady from next door, the paper boy, and being warmly greeted at the bakery,  my sister-in-law said,  “It’s like you’re King of Schottenfeldgasse”,   knowing full well that I’d get the reference.

So this was on the outside of the card she sent:




I’m chuckling again just looking at it. 


She very kindly wrote me a nice little note for my birthday,  but on the other side of the card was something else I thought I’d like to share. 

When you read this,  and this would be no different than picking the card off the rack in the store and reading it,  I think you’ll begin to nod your head in agreement. 

Click on the pic:




I have to say I’m perfectly happy to take any birthday greetings as they come along.  The important part being having actually made it another year,  but I did appreciate the little “guide”.   Food for thought. 

And thankfully,  nobody sent me a note on “College ruled binder paper”.  *phew*.


Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.


Thanks for looking in.





  1. LOL yup I can always count on you for a daily smile :) thanks King Schottenfeldgasse-

  2. Bob, these days we should be grateful we can hear or see any greeting at all. If I get an actual greeting card, I'm impressed and touched, and then I have to wonder what to do with it.

  3. You have such a wonderful sense of humor. I always enjoy looking at events through your eyes. I wonder if TC thinks the same as I...hehe

  4. So, how do you rule the paper on one of these comment forms?? Just kidding....

  5. We always greet everyone we pass in Mexico, day after day, same people. So friendly.


Well, I've been getting too many spam comments showing up. Just a drag, so we'll go another route and hope that helps. So, we won't be hearing anything more from Mr. Nony Moose.
I guess I'll just have to do without that Gucci purse.