I viewed this trip to England and Ireland with some trepidation, considering my decline in agility and my use of a cane. Surely the land of Miss Marple would be prepared for the plucky senior citizens out there who could not vault over waist high hotel bathtubs or sprint down and endless airport hall to the recorded voice telling her that in ten minutes, if you she has not reached the gate, the poor old thing's bags will be removed from the plane. That from the amazingly hostile Dublin airport.
So, it is a mixed review. London cabs are almost unbroachable without humiliating yourself, but that's O.K., because you can't flag one down anyway, and if you do, they are beyond expensive.
Hurling yourself upward and onto the jump seat can work minimally, in that you will be inside the cab when it moves forward, but barely.
Elevator options for access to places like subway platforms are at best here and there. A major tube stop will begin with an optional elevator down to the first level platform, but the next level is accessed by escalator. Great. And the next level? Steep long stairs only. Go figure. And an accessible hotel room? An elevator, of course, followed by stairs down the to the room's doorway.
Tops for grin and bear it situations are restaurant bathrooms. Of course there are stairs up to dining, since the ground floor is often the pub level. And from there to the restrooms? Often laughably narrow and steep stairs - and perhaps circular to add insult to injury - dating back a couple of centuries or more. The prize winner was in a very stylish restaurant and inn on the site of the former royal goat pasture in the heart of London. The youthful staff looked at me with such horror that they must never have had to deal with such a circumstance. But in true British fashion, they recovered nicely and followed me up and preceded me down from the loo, in case I should fall. I guess then only the help would be harmed, should I topple .
Perhaps the most culturally eye opening moment was on may way into Ireland, where the airline employees - those who weren't tongue tied by self-importance - addressed me as "Mother." Old Mother McCree, do ya think, now? Really, they need to get over it.
In spite of the reality of the inconvenience, a cane had some very self serving benefits. Beginning in Atlanta airport security, and continuing through Heathrow passport control, we were advanced to the head of every line. Whenever we were faced with a line, my husband began whispering "wave the cane,"as the open sesame. It generally worked, and "Mother" was not above playing her trump card every time.
