Live your potential

Danish delights

 
I'm sitting in Copenhagen airport after a weekend reunion with coaching colleagues from Sweden, Japan, Barcelona and London. I've had a Danish pastry in Denmark (much the same as in the UK, but how could I resist?) and a barbecue in Bjarred... I've explored Freetown Christiana, been pushed 200m up a seventeenth century observatory and eaten open sandwiches in the rain, wrapped in the cafe blankets. I've discovered that it's a 15 minute train ride from Denmark to Sweden, that the currencies are both kroner but both different, that all Scandinavians seem to speak English with ease.

Access is good. Trains have several floor height doors with ramps that come out almost to the platform. Almost. If I could safely manage backwheel balance, the six inch gap would be easy but I must ask for help. Pavements are level though there are many cobbles. All stations seem to have lifts. Copenhagen itself is an intriguing city, easy to get around, masses to do. I'll be back.

States of mind

  I suppose travelling is a state of mind. I find it deeply relaxing exploring, exploring, enjoying different places. And inevitably one's state of mind affects how you travel.

I've always been a spontaneous (disorganised?) traveller. I'm quite happy to stay in one place for a few days, another for a few hours. Yes, I check out the guidebooks to see where I should go. But I'm not attached to going to the "must-sees". Which prepares me well for wheelchair travelling: there are places I simply cannot go.

Flexibility is important too. I don't have to have an accessible room - I don't mind using the service lift and sharing it with dirty sheets. It doesn't feel undignified, and the means justifies the end of getting to my room. I can strip-wash - I don't have to be able to get into the shower. I suppose I've never been that bothered where I stay.

And thinking laterally helps too. I discover that Malta has the most extensive concentration of Neolithic temples in the world, "five of which are designated World Heritage Sites. Malta and Gozo's Neolithic remains are unparallelled and constitute the oldest free-standing man-made structures anywhere on the globe. The islands are also the source of the the world's largest and most artistically accomplished cache of Neolithic sculptures known as "the fat ladies".

I'd like to see them but I think it's unlikely I'll be able to get around. What about the National Museum of Archaeology in Valletta? And there they are: the Fat Ladies, including the Venus of Malta. They're breathtaking - very Henry Moore like, but sculpted unbelievably in 4,000 BC. I've done my culture...

Grand nights

The other thing I know about Malta is the Grand Knights, though I had no idea they were so powerful. "The Knights that ruled Malta for over 350 years were volunteer Christian crusaders who hailed from the cream of Europe's aristocracy. Each knight's family had to bequeath two-thirds of their annual income to the organisation, while the assets of individual knights were inherited by the brotherhood upon their death - which made Malta's Knights fabulously wealthy. Their lifestyles were hugely extravagant and their military might legendary".

Not that I can get to see their wealth in the flesh: access to the Grand Palace is down a flight of steps. Nor can I visit the church of St Paul's The Shipwrecked with a fragment of the saint's wrist bone and the pillar on which he was beheaded - the slope down to it has tiny steps cut into the stone. The fact that the guidebook talks of "grand fortifications", an "impenetrable Baroque capital surrounded on three sides by the sea" should have warned me of what to expect.

I'm not too bothered - my kind of tourism is wandering around looking at buildings and people.

I'm interested by the effect cafe ramps have on me: their rarity, in contrast to the vast majority of cafes (and shops) that have steep entrances, makes me almost automatically use them, even if I'm not needing sustenance. I realise that whilst I'm happy to ask for help, it gets wearying. I wonder how much trade accessible buildings get simply because of their ease.

Along with the ongoing presence of the Knights, Catholicism is everywhere, with Madonnas cut into doorways, endless statues along the roadside. "With about 350 churches - around one for every thousand inhabitants - Malta's distinction as the most devoutly Catholic country in the world is highly visible". It's the first place I've gone where air passengers cross themselves on landing, bus passengers cross themselves as they pass roadside shrines. I hope this is an indication of their faith, not their fear.

Maltesers

 
Malta. I know nothing about it other than it was important during World War II. Now I'm here courtesy of Air Miles and it's a very strange place. It's a mix of Marrakech with its sandstone buildings, Venice with its old waterfront, Jaipur with its timber-enclosed balconies and cacophonous buses... Cars drive on the left. There are three point plugs. The radio switches from English to Maltese which has smatterings of Italian, Arabic, French. I'm confused and thrilled.

The friend who was due to come with me had to cancel so I'm travelling alone for the first time in years. No children, no obligations, no structure. No idea about access, although I did let the airline and hotel know in advance. That was it. I checked how to get around last night, sorted my money during the day, got a guidebook from the library... And now it's time for spontaneity.

I miss my children, but I'm not sure they would have enjoyed the three hours of bus exploration getting from the airport to the hotel (at 50 cents, 25 times cheaper than more direct taxi). In some ways, I feel my earlier life has prepared me for life in a wheelchair, especially the necessary quality of patience. In Malta, only the modern buses are accessible and no one can tell you when they will arrive. So you must wait and watch, savour the bustle of the bus station and eventually a modern bus arrives.

But I don't enjoy travelling alone as much as I used to. Before I got married, I used to travel with my diary and random strangers I encountered on my journeys. That was enough. Not any more. Not because it's harder now that I'm in a chair, more because I've discovered how a shared experience is so much more powerful.

And yet it is harder now I'm wheeling. I'm glad I'm managing to keep my spontaneity. In theory, I should plan - find out what's accessible before I arrive. But I've never been a planner. I'd rather travel as the spirit and mood takes me and if there are places I can't get to, well, so be it. People always seem willing to help so the near vertical kerbs in Malta become manageable, the steep drops less scary.

I suppose that's the biggest change in the way I travel. Being in a chair forces me to interact with strangers. I have less of a choice now (unless I take the "I won't accept support" approach, which is too limiting for me). It brings out the best in people: today the bus reached its final destination before I'd realised where to get out. Rather than letting me push my way around the steep hills of St Paul's Bay, the driver took me on a tour to find the hotel and dropped me off at the entrance. Before my flight, I was going to indulge in a glass of champagne (as one does). With the bar too high, there was only one, occupied, table. "Would you like to sit here with us?" They were off to the Monaco Grand Prix and enjoying a bottle of champagne - which they shared with me. And two waiters at the Rosy Restaurant (with its "guilt-headed bream") pushed me up the long hard slope back to my room after a delicious supper. "Yes", says the hotel manager when I mention these kindnesses, "the Maltese are very helpful and generous". They are indeed.

Eating at a great height

I went to Skylon last week. "Located within the Royal Festival Hall, Skylon offers a spectacular panorama of London's skyline with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the River Thames. A destination restaurant and a relaxed, informal grill centre around a raised bar serving classic and contemporary cocktails, perfect for day and night".

It lives up to its description. The meal was one of the best I've had for a long time, especially the chervil and goat's cheese soup, an unusual and delicious combination. The fish was perfectly cooked, the sorbets wonderfully cleansing, service immaculate. The table height was good and the floor wonderfully level. So far, so good.

However, getting to the restaurant was a different matter entirely. We started from the riverside entrance and caught the wheelchair lift up to the first floor. Well, what we thought was the first floor, except it turned out to be a kind of waiting area with steps up to the main lifts. Back down to another lift which went to the third floor, the entrance for Skylon. However, there were steps down to the restaurant. So back down to the first floor and push across to another lift. This one seemed to go to the third floor and the section we need. But no, it doesn't stop at the third floor, only the right-hand lift does. And that wasn't working. The service lift was locked. This whole process has taken at least ten minutes so far and my frustration is rising. Finally, we see another service lift with a staff member inside. We squash in and finally, finally get to the same level as the Skylon entrance. What an appalling start. Surely it would not be that difficult to label lifts so that this situation is avoided? The only information on the restaurant's own website is "Step-free access to Skylon is available from the Royal Festival Hall Foyer". I don't think so.

Update:

I sent Skylon an email following my delicious meal with disappointing access:

Dear Skylon

I came last Friday (7^th August) to the Skylon restaurant for a pre-theatre meal. It was exquisite. The food was superb (especially the perfect chervil and goat’s cheese soup), the service excellent and the price reasonable. I was delighted with the happy birthday plate I had requested. However, getting to the restaurant was a different matter entirely. I’m paralysed and a wheelchair user. I had warned staff in advance. However, it must have taken me at least ten extremely frustrating minutes to get to Skylon from the riverside entrance of the RFH. The first lift took us to the third floor but one with steps down to the restaurant. The second lift didn’t stop at the third floor. The adjoining lift, which did stop there, wasn’t working. The service lift was locked. We finally managed to get to our destination (late) by cramming in to another service lift with a staff member.

The same situation happened in reverse when we left. We asked to be directed to the QEH artists’ entrance and were told we would be met by a staff member. No one met us. Following the directions given at the restaurant took us to the main entrance of the QEH. We then had to be escorted round to the artists’ entrance. This meant that we were ten minutes late in reaching our seats and the show had to be held up especailly for us. It was a sour end to a fabulous evening.

Please can you let me know what you inted to do to make any future visit more pleasant? At present, whilst I would love to sample the food once more, I feel no inclination to struggle against the lifts to reach the restaurant.

I look forward to hearing from you.

I received the following impressive response from Simon King, the general manager:

I was recently given your email and although it was nice to hear how you enjoyed your birthday with us at Skylon I feel very embarrassed with how difficult you found both arriving and departing from our restaurant. I’m so sorry that you had this inconvenience, we are somewhat misfortunate that Skylon being on level 3 has no direct accessible access other than this one lift that was not working.

We do have an agreement with the Royal Festival Hall that a ramp is to be fitted to the adjacent stairs to allow guest direct access to the restaurant from another lift, which we sometimes use for large wheelchairs do not fit in the main lift. I have spoken to the Royal Festival Hall about this matter and they now know if the lift on the riverside entrance is out of order other arrangements must be made to maintain constant access. Fortunately these lift are pretty reliable and rarely are out of action for very long, however this experience has reminded us that we need to react when things go wrong and I have informed my staff of the necessary procedure.

Thank you so much for taking the time in giving us your valuable feedback, I do hope you still managed to enjoy your birthday. I would like to reassure you that the access to Skylon is usually very good and it should not deter you from future visits. I do hope that we will see you again at Skylon, please do hesitate to contact me directly and I will take care of the reservation myself

Best regards

Simon

Adieu

We're off to France for our first family holiday since my accident in 2006. Exciting! It will be a time of non-electronica, so unless I manage to find an internet cafe in rural Brittany, I won't be posting for a week or so. We return next Saturday, 30 May. Stay well till then, tout le monde!

Less fear of flying

Back in May last year, I flew to Brazil on my first plane trip since my accident. I was nervous. I didn't know what to expect and wrote about it here. And I wasn't too reassured by an article in Disability Now in October which read "A wheelchair user was denied the right to fly by herself by an airline that claimed new EU legislation meant she must be accompanied by a carer...The new legislation says that anyone unable to fasten their seat-belt, leave their seat and reach an emergency exit unaided should in most cases be accompanied".

I'm therefore reassured that the Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC) have published guidance for air travellers. They say:

"Last July, a new EU law came into force which means that anyone who is disabled or has difficulty moving around can now ask for the right service when they need it – from the travel agent or tour operator, airline or airport, for example help finding you the most suitable seat on your flight or help when you board the plane.

"You do not need to be permanently or physically disabled to benefit from this service. In fact, anyone who has difficulty moving around, for example, because of their disability, age or a temporary injury such as a broken leg, can receive help when they fly".

The EHRC have also published a "free easy-to-use guide - 'Your rights to fly' - explaining all about the services available to you". You can find out more on their website.

(I wonder what Liz Carr thinks about this. I read a great article about her experiences of flying on the BBC Ouch site).

Off the road

Feel like I've been away for ages. Friday botox in Salisbury then drive to Stoke Mandeville (thank heavens for the sat nav god. Would never have found the Olympic Lodge otherwise, down a dark side road). Intense and draining weekend of mentoring training. Drive to London Sunday night. Meet two friends for more intense conversations (a pattern here?) on Monday. Drive home Monday night. Tuesday full day of skating and childcare. Today I can stop, unpack the car, wash all my clothes, have a shave... It's just like the old days when I returned from a weekend walking and camping in the Lake District: slowly sorting out the chaos and returning to normality.

Eco eating

Back in the Big Smoke for a spot of culture and epicurean pleasure. Sitting in the wonderfully accessible Sadlers Wells, about to see my favourite theatre director, Robert Lepage, try his hand at a new skill: dancing, with Sylvie Guillem in Eonnagata. Going to head home straight after the show rather than spend an expensive night at a hotel so I've brought the car. I'm impressed by Sadler's free, gated and guarded car park one minute's wheel away from the theatre.

Replete after a delicious lunch with a friend in Acorn House, according to Giles Coren over at the Times "the most important restaurant to open in London in the past 200 years". Important I suppose because of its green credentials: it's "London’s first truly environmentally sustainable restaurant". According to Mr Coren, Acorn House is "built from organic and recycled materials, composts or recycles 100 per cent of its waste, demands positive animal husbandry, avoids industrial farming, uses green electricity, buys Fairtrade where it can, and pledges never to use airfreight."

But I'm more delighted by the perfect height tables, accessible loo and level entrance (though you need to go round the back). Mouth wateringly delicious cuttlefish and unusually flavoured chili pasta. To finish, fresh leaves of verbena and peppermint. It's on Swinton Street just behind King's Cross with blue badge parking nearby. A magical oasis in what can be a bit of a gastronomic wasteland. I will be returning to quench...

Disappointment

It's lovely being surrounded by deep snow at home. I've just been snowball fighting with the kids and now resemble a snowman. I'm probably just as cold as one, but one benefit (and danger) of spinal cord injury is that I have absolutely no sensation of temperature below my armpits. So I feel fine, though I may well not be.

Yet I wish I was in Colorado. I want to learn how to ski so that I can take the children. I want a break. I've not had a holiday since July 2006 - my accident - unless you call fourteen months of hospital stay a holiday. I want to go somewhere I've never been before. I want to get fit and feel completely shattered every day for two weeks. I want to be free of my wheelchair. I had a wonderful experience of this when I went sailing on a day trip from hospital: no wheelchair, alone in a trimaran, racing across Portsmouth Harbour. I felt so liberated. And apparently skiing gives the same feeling.

Back-Up say "Back-Up ski courses are not holidays. They are intensive courses designed to promote individual learning and independence through activity. We hope that the course will be an enjoyable and positive learning experience." And they have fantastic objectives:

• to integrate through participation
• to offer the opportunity to regain motivation, inspiration and independence
• to encourage people to discover their abilities
• to encourage personal discovery and rediscovery
• to promote an open minded approach
• to offer a challenge to people who thought their days of an active outdoors lifestyle were over
• to overcome fears leading to personal development
• to develop skills which are transferable back to everyday life
• to have fun.

To be honest, I want to have fun and learn to ski when paralysed. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I'm fortunate enough to already feel integrated, motivated and aware of my abilities. I know I can do masses in a wheelchair. I know I can do more if I'm taught how. I'm not afraid of much (probably not such a great thing for my personal safety. Though I wouldn't like to learn to ski by myself). I don't need to be given challenges: I take them. No, I want to have fun and learn a new skill. I was planning to ski hard all day. The programme is: start at 9.30, ski till 1pm, have an hour for lunch - during which I'd be laying my head on a table to sleep - then ski from 2 to 4.30pm. Then sleep. Four days of this alone with a dedicated instructor, one day off (which would have been today, and I was going to go dog sledging), then another four days of skiing. Extraordinary.

Well, I'm just going to have to wait. Back-Up only go to Winter Park once a year and for £100 more than Sweden, I'd rather go to the States. I 'll be doing my full-time PGCE course in February 2010. I think I may just have to go outside for a while...