This blog is dedicated to the memory of Ken Kell, my partner Prue's father, who passed away aged 91 on May 7th while I was cycling in Portugal, and whose funeral took place today. It is with very deep regret that I was not back home during this sad time for Prue and her family.
Friday, May 16th, 2014
After a quick early morning breakfast, we departed our apartment in Olhāo, and headed for Faro airport. We arrived in such good time for out EasyJet flight to Gatwick, that there was plenty of time for a coffee!I didn't realise that the lattes were really "supersized" - it's no accident they are called a "galāo" (which I assume has something to do with the imperial gallon).
A two and a half hour flight and train ride later, we were on Red Hill station near London waiting for our first connection between Gatwick railway station and Dover. All seemed to be going too well at Gatwick, and we had missed the first train because the queue for a ticket was longer than the waiting time for the train. Never mind.
A short train trip brought us to Tonbridge station for another connection, and time to inspect the hundreds of commuter bikes (?) parked at the station. Could this be England's answer to Amsterdam?
Another hour train trip and we were in Dover by 4:45pm, having arrived at Gatwick from Faro at midday - not too bad really.
We walked the one kilometer from the station to the hotel, which was OK for some (luggage with wheels), but not for others (heavy luggage with straps). That's Dover castle in the background imposing itself on Dover town. And the sun was shining!
Here it is again, this time imposing itself on our 1960's Soviet style hotel. Well, that's what it looked like on the outside. On the inside it looked like a 1960's style English seaside hotel.
The view from my hotel room was also less than inpsiring, but at ￡40 per night it was considerably cheaper than the hotel in Olhāo with a similar view.
But at least Celeste, my bike, had arrived intact. In fact, it only took about half an hout to re-assemble, and I was very grateful to Steve from Bike Adventures for not repacking it into a smaller box when he had the opportunity.
We had dinner in the local Eight Bells pub and had a good night's sleep.
Postscript
Today was your father Ken's funeral. When I left Australia he had just suffered a stroke. Although neither of us discussed whether I should stay, or go, I know we were both asking ourselves that question. It's a difficult one, but apart from everything else, I think we thought Ken would pull through. He didn't, and so the decision was whether to return home for today's funeral. History will record that I did not, but I think you understand, and I hope you will forgive me for that.
I was thinking of you today, and of Ken of course. I knew at each point in time what was happening back there, and I was imagining how everyone was dealing with it. From what you say, Ken had a good farewell. I may not have been there in body, but I was there in spirit.
I know how much Ken meant to you, even though he had his imperfections.
I love you.
Rob
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