faaaark United

I'm hoping that my ticket from LHR to BOS was actually, you know, ticketed? Will have to call them this morning to check; I can't seem to see it online.

Also, chest cough is growing more pronounced, not at all assisted by catching a steam train yesterday... At least I have more antibiotics thx to the parental habit of squirrelling them away.

In a very nice old Scottish hotel dating back to 1877, but unable to sleep due to travel stress. Also, cat stress: parental pet Dara is not doing well in Sydney, and B1 is dealing with vet visits and medical updates. Which means parentals will also be stressed.

Have a giant post on Days 2-5 in Istanbul, but haven't posted it yet.

Istanbul 2022 - Days 2-5

Warning, this is LOOOONG.

I'm presently in Scotland, trying to sort out the next leg of the trip heading to the US/Canada, and steeling myself for the last couple of days with the parentals. Which is great, but...boy, they don't stop, not really.

SATURDAY UPDATE: we stopped! Have done nothing since 2:30pm when we found our apartment. Well, we went out to get something to eat. That was it. We're not planning to have dinner, and my stepdad has encouraged mum to rest. Which is very necessary right now. Also necessary for me.



( bit of an infodump about Istanbul )

Then I went to bed and woke up at 3:45am to travel to Inverness over the next 18 hours.

freaking ticketing

So, I was correct: LHR -> BOS never got ticketed. I'd have turned up tomorrow at LHR and discovered I had no onward flight.

I called Lufthansa again (they're the ones the RTW ticket went through) and managed to persuade them to reroute me from London to Toronto. I have a flight that was originally Boston->Toronto, then Toronto->Ottawa, and should be able to make the Toronto->Ottawa section of that flight. *crosses fingers*

However. The flight from LHR to Toronto is at 9am, and I only reach LHR at 3pm on Sunday. So. I'm spending a day in London after all. But losing my day in Boston. Also: losing the hotel booking I was looking forward to relaxing in when I reached Boston...

On the other hand, the alternative was being stranded in LHR tomorrow, unprepared, and having to throw a tantrum or something.

So I have Sunday evening in London. Have booked a teeny tiny hotel room in Paddington because I can go direct to Heathrow from there. People are telling me to go out and do things, but all I'm thinking is that I really want to hole up and sleep.

Frankly, I think the 'fixes' for this trip have outweighed the initial round-the-world ticket price at this stage.

I checked my itinerary this evening and, yes, the flight is there...at least for the moment. *sigh* We'll see how it is when I turn up at LHR tomorrow because I haven't received an email yet, and I'm definitely going to check that before I leave the airport.

goodbye Dara

Dara the cat was put to sleep this morning, UK time. (Saturday PM in Australia.)



She was 19 years old, ancient and beloved, a grand old dame of cats in stately black and white. Petted and fussed over, with nothing too good for her as she grew old and arthritic and crotchety.

This was a cat with absolute chill. She took foreign beasts and vet visits with cool lassaiz-faire, and would sit on the back ledge of the stepdad's car as he drove her to the vet, surveying the traffic with interest.

We once piled cookbooks on her, and she just lay there - the ultimate 'dolly-cat' - and stared at us when they came off as though to ask "what was all that about"? She was known to have a certain feline cunning when food or favoured seating places were an option: once, she chased her companion, Kira, off the most comfy seat in the house by licking her until Kira couldn't take it anymore and moved. Then Dara came and seated herself on the already-warmed space.

She had a distinctive yowl - not plaintive, but a demand. "Where's my food?" Or "where's my pats?" "What are you doing?" She enjoyed scritches around the ruff of her neck, and would sometimes lick your fingers, but hated what my sisters and I call the "kiss onna head".

The stepdad doted on her in myriad ways, although she was technically my stepbrother's cat. But when A moved out, Dara stayed, and the stepdad took her on and became her favourite person. He'll probably miss her most, although we'll all find ourselves pausing a moment to look for the familiar black-and-white lump parked in the middle of the floor, as though she has every right to be there.

RIP Dara. You were unflappable and we loved you.