Welcome to my first ever blog. I felt compelled...
On the flight
Well, I was just settling into watching my Ryan Gosling
and [who cares] movie, when something about a doctor is needed comes over
intercom. I get up and ask the guy next
to me to move so I can get out. He
didn’t hear announcement (admittedly, it did come across in the dulcet tones of
a phone sex companion), mishears me saying I am a doctor nd need to get
out. He fairly lopes out of his chair
saying, “Oh, they need a doctor, I’m a doctor!”, whilst wondering how I know
he’s a doctor!!
Turns out he’s a paeditrician and the patient was 68...
and in any case he didn’t have a medical ID on him. So. A woman who is generally healthy suddenly
and briefly blacks out, wets herself and wakes up vomiting... Errrrmmmm, my
brain is going “when did you have your last pap smear... do you have any
vaginal bleeding... how long have you had your pelvic pain... how far pregnant
are you”, ploughing through all my currently usual gynae/obs questions. Took a moment to squint those 6th
year geriatrics notes into focus. Anyways,
sorted her out and thank god no further incidents. Got herd of frequent flyer miles for my
efforts. Awesome, since I use Turkish
Airlines so often! Not. My colleague is
a paediatrician in Tel Aviv. Good thing,
as he seemingly has 5 children...
Change into comfy PJ pants to aid sleeping in
flight. They don’t. Ain’t no amount of flannel gonna extend the
non-existant leg room. So, next morning,
we land sooner than I expcted, so no time to change back int jeans! So ask flight poppie if I can quickly change
into my jeans once everyone’s off. I
reckoned that there would be plenty of time- they stillhave to clean plane
etc... She is most accommodating. About
30 sec later, I hear a knock on the door.
The plane poppie. Ghurry
yup! Zhey are vaiting for yuuou! So have
you ever tried to change into jeans in a plane bathroom with the pressure of an
entire crew of flight staff waiting for you??
Istanbul airport
Everyone here has taken the masterclass in passive
aggressive unfriendliness. Even at the
info desk. Will never decry SA passive
aggression again. At least there I can
destabilise them in my own language. 3h
stopover. Buy wifi access for €10. It is too congested to connect.
Love how everyone so considerate as to not spread out over 3 whole
chairs in waiting area. Buy stodgy pastry I don’t want just to be able to sit
somewhere. Eat it crumb by crumb for 2
hours. Flight to Prague leaves late.
Prague
Day 1
Fetched by tiny mouse of a woman who insists of lugging my not
lightly packed luggage to and into car. Hotel
is... perfunctory/sparse/ generic/ unimaginative/ “cosy”. NO extras. Soap dispenser bolted to wall. No free samples. Nary a cotton bud in sight. There must be a war on. Staff are... not the friendliest. What do you expect when you work in the
“Lesser Quarter”. This part of town is... industrial. Ok, not quite. It’s just not the postcard shot., I clean up, and discover that recently
sprained ankle is 3 x normal size after flights. Go out to find a sim card. End up in a shopping centre, which could have
been transplanted straight from the UK, what with the Tesco’s and M &
S. Spend a whooooole lot more time in
the centre than I should. Find a street
side coffee shop and watch the trams go by.
Supper is from M & S. Then,
to slee...zzzzzzzzz.
The L'Oreal building across road from hotel. As my friend Greg says- amazing how they have managed to make a luxury brand building look like a plumbing factory...
The L'Oreal building across road from hotel. As my friend Greg says- amazing how they have managed to make a luxury brand building look like a plumbing factory...
The extremely large cupboard
Day 2
First day of conference.
All I can do to draaaag myself out of bed. Breakfast is Cocoa Pops (yay!) with a side
order of more passive aggression- the sugar dispenser thing isn’t working. Ask waitress for another one. “They on
tables” she says, back to me. But I’m
sitting at a table where there is NOT one.
Point this out. She saunters off
into kitchen, allowing the saloon door to flap viciously, and bursts back in,
saunters to my table and plonks it down at the furthest possible edge to
me. Internal monologue is screaming to
pick my battles in this life...
Responsibly ask the hotel desk how to get to the Conference
Centre. It’s tram number 10 or 7, to
“Pavlova stop, and then geilsurglsakjfp’wrehy49prty93ur0uq23ihr”. Pardon?
geilsurglsakjfp’wrehy49prty93ur0uq23ihr.
Um. Ok, how hard can it be. He’s given me a map... And things must be
clearly labelled along the way, right? I
am told to buy ticket at tobacconist at tram stop. Spend a few minutes in the only building I
can see at tram stop. Scour it for cigarettes, but can only see flowers. Wonder whether they could perhaps be hidden
behind her counter? Eventually realise
that this is a florist, and the tobacconist is in fact across the road. Go in
there, and ask again for directions.
This guy says it’s tram 10 or 16, and then hco4wg3;bcwuefhwlrdon’t speak
English. I leave, maddened, and try to find appropriate tram. Try to ask people waiting at station. None speak English. Try to ask the kindly-looking tram driver,
who slams his lil’ door in my face with more about not speaking English. Remarkable how well he says this phrase,
however. Decide to commit to this tram and hope for the best. Can’t access conference website, since
yesterday’s sim card has not yet been activated. Thrilled to recognise the
Pavlova stop, so get off. However, this
is actually NOT it- realised later the announcement had actually said that
Pavlova was next.
Nothing is open. Tumbleweed
veritably rolls across the street. All
alone. Internally weeping. Vaguely aware of how spectaular the surrounding architecture is. Why didn’t I check the website last
night??!! But, hey, ok, never mind, I’ll
just use my handy phrasebook to tell a passer by that I am lost and need to get
to the CC. Except that the phrasebook is
not in my backpack. It is, in fact, on
my bed. In Cape Town... Ask several people how to get to the CC. None of them have ever heard of it, at least
not the way I say it. Almost find myself
speaking louder to try and translate...
Eventually, Michael Douglas’s long lost twin takes pity, manages to
understand my desperate semaphore, and helps me. Back on tram to the actual Pavlova station,
where he shows me to disembark, and where to go down to the subway, with the
name of the station I need to get off at.
Consider throwing myself at his feet.
I don’t. Can’t even say thank you in Czech.
Now frantic, since my workshop starts in 10 min, and I have no
idea how long the train journey will take, nor how long the walk to the CC will
be, nor exactly where the workshop is.
Journey is quick. Manage to get
into CC with just enough time to get to wshop.
Rush to registration desk to get nametag and the usual conference
bag. Am told that I have not paid and
must therefore wait in long not getting to your workshop this century queue at
cashier. WHAT?! I HAVE paid!!! But computer says no... So, dejected, I go to
cashier. While waiting in queue, my
research supervisor finds me and comes over to chat. I vomit out the day’s experiences to far, and
rant about being late for my 8:45 workshop. She considers me for a moment. Then laughs.
I had changed my watch to 1h ahead in Turkey, but Prague is in same zone
as SA. So I am in fact an hour EARLY for
the wshop!!! Phhhhheeeeew! The amount I have not paid is for the mousy car transfer... which I was told I would pay at the hotel! €55 for the transport!!!
Anyway. Wshop is good,
except for the overbearing outback Aussie and ex-SA Israeli who dominate the
small group conversation and are not moderated by moderator! I make a new friend named Antonia, originally
from Berlin, but now a junior psychiatrist in Bern. I decide to go to the Charles Bridge after
the wshop, and she joins me. One end has
Medieval Torture Instrument Museum!
Bridge is breath-taking. Finally
feel I am actually in this amazing city that everyone raves about. We have a snack at a little restaurant that
just happens to be attached to the little hotel Ads and I will be staying in
when he arrives. It’s in the heart of
old Prague, at one end of the Bridge.
Get back, to discover that ankle seems to have sprouted a balloon
animal in it during the course of the day.
Elevate it while preparing my conference talk on laptop. Not wanting to hobble around anymore, I call
down for the 24h snack menu, thinking they would bring something up for
me. I am told to come down for it. No room service! Anyway, my trip down is fortuitous- manage to
get some ice to put on ankle. And so, to bed.
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