Dragons on a Boat (again)

The green scaly one is off to the land of clogs, Grolsch and ontbijtkoek again so this blog post comes to you right out of, er, well, the car park at Harwich Parkeston Quay as me and about 20 cars wait for them to load the boat up with all the freight. Only when that is complete is the lowly "self loading freight" allowed to drive on-board and find somewhere to park between all the empty flower trucks going back for more tulips (they have a rush on as its mothers day in a couple of weeks).

So, you may be wondering, how come I'm subjecting myself to a six hour sea crossing in the middle of the night rather than just hopping on a plane, after all if I'd have gone by plane I would probably be there by now.

Simple answer is that I have grown to loathe air travel. Don't get me wrong I love flying (what with being a dragon and all) and I have my PPL to prove it and have dome my share of air mile gathering. No, what I detest is passenger travel, honestly it's got all the charm and pleasure of getting a National Express coach these days. First of all you're treated like a terrorist from the moment you get into departures anything that might possibly be a weapon or explosive is confiscated - you watch and we'll all be expected to check in our clothes for those orange GITMO boiler-suits before long - you can't take more than a teeny bag on as hand luggage which forces you to wait for hours at the other end in baggage reclaim, you have to check in hours early and then hang around expensive tat emporia waiting for your flight and then you are crammed into a metal tube with several screeching, wailing, snot ridden monsters from hell (and their children) for the next two hours, assuming you're not delayed which you always will be so that's an extra two hours spent cooling your heels in some distant holding apron whilst your plane waits for the next available slot.

Yes so I get there quicker but one hell of a lot more frazzled, being able to take three ounces of luggage and now I have to subject myself to the vagaries of public transport at the other end or hire a car to get to where I need to be because, surprise, surprise, that just happens not to be next door to Terminal 2D at Schiphol.

So with the boat I get to take my own car, as much luggage as I could ever need (and I'm taking sunday dinner to an ex-pat brit - try getting that through airport security), I get a free meal (proper one, not some reheated airline muck) and a comfy bed to sleep in where I awake refreshed with time for a cooked brekky (again included in the ticket price) and a couple of coffees before trundling off to where the black and white cows come from.

You know how much better a slow-roasted Sunday joint tastes than one you shoved in a hot oven and cooked really quickly?

Welcome to the slower, more leisurely and infinitely better way to travel.



(However that said I just found out I can get a 1.8Mb 3G signal here which makes me happy as not everything that's slower is good)