Emirates Aviation Experience: Say hello

“C’mon, let’s go in,” I said to DH, who didn’t need that much encouraging, to be honest.

We were about to ride the Emirates Air Line cable car, which crosses London’s River Thames at a vertigo-inducing altitude, when we noticed a small building housing the newly opened aviation experience.

I must have been feeling a bit homesick, because suddenly the idea of paying money (£3 each) to get a little Dubai fix seemed a good idea. It might even be air-conditioned, I reasoned (this was a few weeks ago, during the hot spell).

PicMonkey Collage2

Inside the £4m attraction, we walked round a real-size replica of the A380’s nose and a 165,000-brick Lego engine. I tried an aviation-themed interactive game and decided we didn’t need to sit in the mock economy cabin and put the headsets on to watch the TV screens, as I’ve only spent, like, a MILLION hours sitting in those seats for real. (Now, if it was business class and they were serving champagne ….)

And, I can honestly say I really enjoyed the panoramic video following a suitcase’s journey, from check-in to the plane’s hold via a system of rollercoaster-like conveyor belts.

xxxx

Luggage moves through an amazingly intricate behind-the-scenes structure, with slopes, bends and junctions. (Riding on your case would be so much fun)

But it was upstairs that DH and I had the best time. In one of the A380 simulators, where you can try your hand at flying a superjumbo (sort of).

Though nothing like what pilots actually train in (just the stick, rudder and thrust work), it allows you to take-off, manoeuvre the aircraft and land – or crash, in my case. The high-definition screen and advanced graphics simulate a flight between London Heathrow and Dubai, with weather conditions of your choosing. You could opt for drizzly rain coming into LHR, buttery sunshine in Dubai, or a starry night sky if you want to command a night flight.

My DH isn’t one to boast about what he does so as I took the controls he kept his job quiet, until the staff pretty quickly figured it out and left us to it. But let’s just say that, even with him coaching me, I’m not the most coordinated of pilots.

“Just small corrections,” DH instructed as I attempted to keep the plane on the glide path, while watching the landing lights. Half red and half white is the ideal. Nose up. Left a bit. The runway starts rushing up towards me. Those small corrections rapidly turn into clumsy lurches and I plunge the aircraft into the ground, where it bumps along noiselessly, magically passing through highly pixelated objects.

My second attempt is much the same, and I have to concede that, in the unlikely event that the entire crew of a 380 is struck down by a dodgy prawn, I’m not your hero.

After a while, I hand over to DH to watch and marvel. And then something occurs to me: “Try flying it under Tower Bridge!” Why, the worst that could happen is they’d have to reboot the software.

The simulator costs £40 for a 30-minute session. This isn’t a sponsored post. I actually did spend my birthday riding the Emirates Air Line.

The expat mum endurance test

The best thing about summer leave is, of course, seeing family and friends, and this year, more than any other, I’ve marvelled at how certain members of my tribe are becoming super fit. There’s my sister-in-law who went for a bike ride, and can now do 60 miles from London to Cambridge, and my cousin, who’s doing a triathlon this weekend.

But for us expat mummies, it’s not so easy over the summer, is it? Aside from being ‘on the road’ for 6 weeks or more escaping the Dubai heat, there’s the small matter of all that good food in your home country, the shelves of wine in the supermarket and the ‘holiday’ treats you deserve because you’re solo with the kids.

So, I’ve been having a little think, about some of the endurance contests that expat mums across the world are competing in this summer, so we can pat ourselves on the back too.

Ready, steady….GO:

Pole-position passport queuing: With a child desperate for a wee

Sprint to the toilets: Before the inevitable

The bath-book-bed triathlon: With wide-awake time travellers

The time zone leap: No napping

The sweat-athon (in a British heat wave): Where will you hide?

The cross-country: How many relatives / landmarks / toilets can you visit en-route?

Team-member down: When DH breaks away from the pack and streaks to the finish line a month before you

The last hurdle

The last hurdle

The stamina test: After 5 weeks of children’s activities, August shows up with a wry smile and a “So, how will you entertain ’em for ANOTHER FIVE WEEKS?”

Hitting the wall: How long until the noisy / messy / hazardous things our offspring do to fill their days get too much?

14-hour cycle: Two weeks to go and too tired to go anywhere, the 14-hour cycle of front garden, back garden, side garden kicks in

The home straight: Just THE PACKING still to do [shudders]

Crossing the finish: And time to play beat-the-body-clock again

Good luck everyone – bonus points for putting petrol in yourself.

Watching the world go by

So, I’ve just got back from London’s Heathrow airport, seeing DH who was on a flying visit from Dubai and who I miss terribly during the summer.

I never thought of Heathrow as romantic, but places can surprise you. Plus, when you’re not staring down the barrel of 8 hours in a metal tube with small children, airports can actually be fun – not least because you can watch the travelling public, fresh off the plane from far-flung corners of the world.

Missing you, DH!

So good to see you, DH!

Today, among the crowds, there was the blonde Virgin flight attendant in pillar-box red, who’d climbed onto the highest scarlet heels I’ve ever seen and must have decided her regulation skirt didn’t offer enough leg room (fabulous legs, though, so the short skirt was forgivable).

And a little Japanese boy banging away to his heart’s content on one of the pianos dotted around the airport as part of its ‘Play me, I’m Yours’ scheme. (What were they thinking?)

Funny, though, how when it’s your kid bashing away at a piano, you hear it with your teeth, but when it’s someone else’s child it doesn’t grate so much.

My people-watching reached new heights of hilarity, however, on the airport bus back to my parents’ town. It was a National Express coach service and stopped at Terminal 5, where it was boarded by a lady who actually needed the underground, and a man who hopped on and asked: “I’ve got a car booked with National. Can you help?”

“That’ll be the car rental office you need,” replied the bus driver (who must field dumb questions every day). “Over there.”

I felt kind of sorry for him (intrepid, he wasn’t) and heaven help him when he’s flung into orbit on the M25 motorway.

You might also like: The Six People You Meet in Travel Hell

Silent Sunday: Garden safari

I really hope everyone’s having a lovely summer. We’re heading back to the desert soon and so I’m making the most of all the greenery before we leave. Here are a few of my snaps, including some details from my green-fingered mother’s garden. In a week’s time, I’ll feel like I’ve landed on another planet!

Note: Big white bird included on the request of Son1 who seems to have invented a new game, Angry Swans.

PicMonkey Collage

Edited using Picfx for iPhone and the photo collage website PicMonkey

Our world … and their world

“LOOK out the window!”

I don’t know how many times we’ve said this to our children in the car, and in how many different countries, but however amazing the view, it falls on deaf ears.

Kids! You're missing so much by not looking out the window... it's boring.com to them

Boring.com to my children. But, kids, you’re missing so much by not looking out the window!

I’ve long since learnt that if someone pipes up, “Sheep!”, they’re not looking at a flock of fluffy animals grazing on grassy meadows outside the window. There’ll be a pixelated sheep swimming across the small screen in whatever world they happen to be inhabiting on Minecraft.

And, another thing, the vast swathes of life that took place in our BC (before children) world? No interest to them. Whatsoever.

In Florida, we drove by the apartment we used to rent when DH and I were newlyweds. “Look, boys, that’s where mummy and daddy lived before you were born!” I said, pointing excitedly at the grey-timber building, nestled in lush landscaping.

There was a flicker of interest, a brief glance out the window, with one eye still on the square-headed sheep.

Then Son1 says, nonchalantly: “C’mon, let’s go! You don’t live there anymore!”

And returns to his electronic stimulation.

If my eyebrows had risen any further, they would have shot past the atmosphere.

133535_600

Instagram: A celebrity ‘Like’

I’ve descended into a new addiction this holiday: Instagram.

If you’re not exactly sure what it is, it turns any average Joe, like myself, into a fake photographer. The premise is simple: take a photo (on your iPhone or Android); add a quirky filter, then share it.

You can follow people, and be followed yourself; you can post photos of plates of food and cute animals; snap a #selfie without eye bags; and view the world in squares.

xxx

#O2Arena

How it’s taken me this long to discover it, I have no idea.

It started, innocently enough, when I admired a friend’s photos on Facebook, then someone asked me if I Instagrammed (like Googling and Tweeting, it’s become a verb). Then I discovered Picfx (best app ever!) and, before I knew it, I was hooked.

My boys, who I have the privilege of following in real life, are my main subject matter, but you suddenly find yourself drawn to all sorts of scenes that you might not otherwise notice, like innocuous objects (a frothy coffee, perhaps), spheres, spirals and geometric patterns.

And this explains why I found myself at London’s O2 arena the other day, peering up at a reflection in the glass at the top of the tube station, and feeling an inexplicable urge to point my iPhone at it.

I posted my faux photo (pictured above) to Instagram, and thought nothing more of it. Then a ‘Like’ popped up – from a world-famous band that exploded onto the scene in the early 80s.

Iron Maiden!

It just so happened they were playing the O2 arena that night, and probably assumed I was attending the gig. The truth was, I was on my way home to give the kids a bath.

Rock-and-Roll, that’s me!

xxxx

#London’s South Bank  #Bubbles

A walk on the wild side

I’ve already posted about Orlando’s theme parks – including the fact I got over my allergy to Disney – but I don’t want to leave the impression that Florida is all about mass development. Because, the truth is, it’s a supremely wild place.

Follow me, if you dare!

Follow me, if you dare!

When we lived in the Sunshine State, in an apartment complex snuggled in swampland, with a sparkling pool and carpets of thick-bladed grass all around us, a new warning sign was staked into the ground one day. Right by our mailbox.

BEWARE OF ALLIGATORS, it said. And it wasn’t a joke. They’d found a baby gator nearby.

For me, a city girl from London, this served as a reminder that I was now living in a subtropical paradise where alligators turn up in neighbourhood swimming pools and roam the golf courses. It was the first time in my life that getting eaten was actually a possibility.

This time around, on holiday with our boys, I talked up the gators. “Look out for the alligators,” I told them, every time we were near swampy water. “They especially luurrvvve naughty boys.”

We came across a pool of baby gators you could feed small children to at a crazy golf course in Daytona Beach, and spent a long time peering at a head-like rock in the crystal-clear waters at Blue Springs State Park. But, our one and only up-close sighting came at a rather surprising place.

On a bus tour round the Kennedy Space Centre.

Remarkably, there’s a pristine wildlife refuge right by the rockets with 500 different species, including sea turtles who heave their huge bodies onshore to lay eggs just a short distance from the launch pads.

For my boys, the alligator made their day – and was upstaged only by the black-spotted snake and giant spider’s web we encountered on a walk in the woods.

Who says holidays with children can’t be wild?

xxxx

The wonderful wetlands of central Florida: Not somewhere to dip your toe in

Fessing up to being a space nerd

Can you remember what you wanted to be when you “grew up”?

Until I was about 15 and had to start filling in careers advisory forms, I dreamt about being an astronaut [laughs head off now].

It might have been because my mum sat me in front of the 1972 moon landing when I was a baby, but whatever the reason, being something of a space nerd definitely played a big role in knowing my husband was the one.

Excuse me while I digress and remember the moment: On a date (in a light aircraft), he flew us at a low altitude down the 4.5km-long runway at Nasa’s Cape Canaveral. ‘Wow, this is what you see when you return from a mission,” I thought to myself, amazed.

xxxxxx

With 33 space flights under its belt, and still covered in space dust, the Atlantis will spend its retirement ‘wowing’ visitors to the Kennedy Space Centre.

(It was the closest I’d ever get to being an astronaut, because, the truth is, I wouldn’t last five minutes in space with all that bird-legged bouncing around, zero-gravity puffiness and endless freeze-dried food.) And, obviously, if we attempted to fly low over the space shuttle landing facility now, we’d be shot down. Pronto.

But my fascination with space is still there and bubbled over on a visit to the Kennedy Space Centre on holiday. My most memorable moment of the entire trip took place when the doors to the new $100m Space Shuttle Atlantis exhibit opened.

“Is it real?” I gasped, eyes wide as I walked slowly up to the black-and-white space shuttle. Presented as though it’s in mid-flight, the Atlantis still bears all its scuffs, scorch marks and space dust from her last mission. “Yes, it’s real,” confirmed DH (who used to see the shuttle zoom past while buzzing around Florida airspace years ago).

In awe, and so close I could almost touch it, it was as much as I could do to not start clapping.

What to read Wednesday

I love a good book recommendation, and if anyone’s reading something they’re really enjoying, do tell. Here’s my holiday reading list – I’m still working my way through it, but there’s some goodies on here.

Louise-Doughty-Apple-Tree-Yard-e1370855754378-150x150Apple Tree Yard, by Louise Doughty
(*My top pick*)
This courageously written, gripping novel leads readers into dark territory as a woman realises she’s in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong man. If you’re a budding novelist, this is a must: it’s amazingly well-constructed and full of suspense.

The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared, by Jonas Jonasson
9781743311271As the title suggests, it’s about an elderly man who can’t face his hundredth birthday party and embarks on an unlikely adventure. Most interesting, however – and I did find myself speed reading to get to these parts – is the parallel narrative about his earlier life, in which he helped to make the atom bomb and meets Stalin, Harry Truman, Russian tyrants, and Chinese leaders.

sunshine-soup-cover-72Sunshine Soup: Nourishing the Global Soul, by Jo Parfitt
*Top expat pick*
A first-timer, lifer and love immigrant living in an expat bubble experience the darker side of life in Dubai, as culture shock, loss of identity, depression, temptation and grief set in. A brilliant read.

No-One Ever Has XXX on a Tuesday, by Tracy Bloom
I had to self-censor there to deter unsavoury blog visitors. About a one-night stand that leads to chaos, this book made great, light-hearted, easy airplane reading.

Me and Mr Jones, by Lucy Diamond
Three grown-up boys and their lives, wives and problems. It appealed to me because I enjoy reading about boy-families (especially those brave enough to have more than two), and I found myself happily swept along by the lives of the three Jones’ partners.

Still to go:

Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson
Perfect, by Rachel Joyce

Anymore to add to this list?

Florida parklife (and breaking the rules)

Of all the many fun-filled, wallet-emptying attractions that Orlando has to offer, there were two my boys really wanted to visit: Legoland and Titanic: The Experience.

The latter was unsinkably brilliant, and I really recommend it; the former, we didn’t do, because they’d literally just been to Legoland in Windsor. But, kids, they have a short memory, don’t they?

Obviously, you can’t bring children to Florida and not take them to Disneyland, so we knocked out Animal Kingdom, and, because we used to live near Orlando and always enjoyed SeaWorld, we spent a day there, too. And it was here that Son1 experienced his first white-knuckle rollercoaster – completely by accident.

SeaWorld was heaving with visitors, and after deciding we didn’t fancy waiting 90 minutes to see some penguins (albeit in a whirly saucer thingy), we bankrupted ourselves further by purchasing two fast-passes.

"It's only gentle. Really!"

“It’s only gentle. Really!”

We wandered over to the famous Kraken rollercoaster (guess what? No queue anyway! You should have seen DH’s face) and went to the fast-pass entrance, where we were told there was a short delay as the ride was experiencing a technical fault.

The staff were distracted. All no more than college age, they were busy testing the floorless, sea serpent coaster and not paying the waiting visitors much attention. So, when it was ready to go again, Son1 and I walked on and took our seats.

For a panic-stricken moment, I felt like the worst parent ever, because just as the ride was unleashed, Son1 decided he wanted to get off. “You can’t,” I hissed, imagining the scene I’d have to create to stop the ride mid-roll. “It’s very gentle,” I lied.

He went quiet, and the rollercoaster hurtled round at break-neck speed, flinging us down a 144-foot drop, through two loops, a dive loop, a zero-G roll, a cobra roll and a corkscrew.

“You okay?” I asked as we clamboured off, clutching each other’s hand and wondering which way was up.

“Yesssss!” he replied, eyes shining. “Can we go again, pleeeeeease!”

A little later, DH took him back, only to reappear shortly afterwards with a disappointed Son1 – who, this time, had been turned away by more-attentive staff for being quite a bit too short.

Ooops.