Travlers Tales.

[aliantha]

Looks like it's 7 years in NM.

You wanna talk driver's license renewal bonanzas? Wait 'til Real ID goes into effect everywhere in the US. Sooo many people will have to do the extra paperwork to be able to use their driver's license to fly. Glad I went through the rigamarole when I first moved out here two years ago.

[Damelon]

I got the Real ID last year when I renewed. Since I have a passport it was easier. I had to wait a few days for the id to be mailed to me, they couldn’t be issued onsite.

Having a passport meant that I also really didn’t need a real ID. But, what the heck.

Though for my old job I’d occasionally have to bring my passport with me, if I was visiting a company that did defense work. I could probably use a real ID for that now.

[aliantha]

Now that I think about it, probably Real ID is mandated everywhere if you want to use your driver's license to fly. Virginia was grandfathered in until something like October 2020, but I was in NM by then.

[Damelon]

Real ID supposed to be in effect a couple of years ago but they extended the deadline to sometime next year because of the pandemic. Illinois was one of the last 5 states to become compliant.

[Avatar]

Well, a chance comment by Peter in a different thread triggered an amusing memory for me.

I spent many a happy hour during my stays in London trawling through charity shops such as Oxfam and the like, (which seemed ubiquitous), (fairly) indiscriminately buying cheap books. And wandering the tiny dingy 2nd hand book stores, tucked away in side streets, where the carpet-slippered proprietor would grunt at you over the top of his cloth-bound copy of Lamb's Tales, and probably his half-moon spectacles, as you picked your way gingerly between towering stacks of books, never knowing what you might find. Great times for a voracious reader, but with the concomitant problem for the semi-hoarder 10,000km from home, that they take up a lot of space, and are heavy.

(Any savings such cheap books provided were probably eaten up in the long run, when after my 3rd stay in that country, I was forced to sea-freight several cases of books back to SA. )

This particular tale however, concerns my first such sojourn, and by the time I was about to leave, I had filled this weird expanding travelling kitbag I had, (think of a small square kitbag on wheels, about a foot to a side, that when unzipped sufficiently, would accordion up to about waist high) (it was burgundy, with a yellow chevron. *shrug* ) with about 30kg of books, already exceeding my luggage allowance before even thinking about my actual suitcase etc.

This only became apparent the night before my departure of course, (because that's when I packed) (of course), and was quickly swept from thought by the traditional going-away party.

Everybody attended. We were a true cross-section of the stereotypical London melting pot, gutter-snipes and old money, immigrants, graduates and school leavers...brought together in a way probably only made possible by the democratising influence of moderate to considerable amounts of recreational drugs.

Among others, there was the giant public school boy with a heart of gold, the grimly black-humoured workaholic Polish immigrant, the gaunt Cornish chef, who worked 18 hour days and lived in a bedsit in Earl's Court, (and in whose parents stately manor home I'd stayed while spending 2 idyllic weeks wandering the Cornish countryside, high out of my mind ). There was the tiny mad cockney geezer, whose salary was garnisheed by the boss every month to cover his inevitable disappearances for 3-day benders on the company money, and the taciturn chap from the Costwolds, (oldest of us all at 30 or so), who never went anywhere (even in the square mile) without a border collie trotting at his heels. (He was inevitably called "Shep" (I never knew his actual name) and it transpired one day that the inconspicuous gold signet he wore was the crest of his family, who owned a fifth of Gloucestershire or something ridiculous. )

Suffice it to say, that by 6am the next morning when I was bundled into the van for the drive to Heathrow, I had only the vaguest idea of what an aeroplane was, let alone what I was supposed to be doing with it, and why I was dragging 30kg of books around with me.

Arriving at the check-in desk in the nick of time, (though things were much more relaxed in those days, as we're about to see), I had the great good fortune of doing so even as a couple of planes on the runway were involved in a minor collision. Nothing serious, one lost a wheel as I recollect, and in the confusion, I was pointed in the direction of my boarding gate without the proper procedure.

I duly arrived on the trot at the gate, only to be asked why the hell I still had all my luggage. Barely compos, I managed to say that they'd just told me to hustle in this direction, and clearly annoyed, the airline guy told me to chuck my bags through one of those holes in the wall that are curtained with old conveyor belts, and get myself onto the plane.

It didn't occur to me to question this, and disguising as much as possible the toll that hoisting my book bag through a chest-high hole in the wall exerted on me in my delicate state, I consigned my luggage to the system, unchecked, un-x-rayed, and crucially, unweighed.

(And if you think you know where this is going, it's already gone...everything arrived in perfect order on the other side with me, and I have most of those books to this day. )

--A

[peter]

Could never happen now Av!

I knew an oil rig diver who used to travel the world this work. A burly northern fellow, he lived in Cornwall with his wife, mother and around 30 horses, dogs and cats. They ran a riding stables and trekking centre (or the mother and wife did) and when an A30 Road widening project acquired their land by compulsory purchase, they all upped sticks and moved to rural France. I should note here that Stewart's mother was a formidable looking woman, as brawny and boorish in appearance as her son.

Stu did most of the moving by ferrying their stuff from Cornwall France in their horse transport lorry and it took him a few trips which he undertook on his own. On one occasion just outside Dover, preparing for customs, he discovered he'd picked up his mother's passport instead of his own, but thought what the hell, and went for it anyway.

When recalling the tale to me before they finally left for good, Stewart assured me that he used that passport at every point where he was asked for his documents in order to continue his journey, on each occasion they looked at it, and on each occasion they let him!

[Avatar]

I guess he really resembled his mother. )Reminds me of the story of somebody from down here who travelled through multiple countries on a novelty "Republic of Knysna" passport.)

Could never happen now Av!

Damn right. They would have ended up in Tasmania or somewhere.

--A

[peter]

I was intrigued by your saying that you still had the books Av.

You must have a sh*t ton of books by now, given the rate you read at and the passage of time since your recollection, if you keep them all?

I'm forced to continuously prune my collection just to keep it from ballooning out of control. Not to mention that the collection I made for the first 35 years of my life was damaged beyond repair when I put it into storage for a period, not realising it would be subject to damp in the manner which occurred. Funny thing was, I'd looked forward to getting it back onto the shelves for ages, but when I opened up the crates and it was ruined beyond repair by mould, I felt surprisingly little loss. It made me far less concerned about culling dead weight from my collection than I had previously been, to the point where now I'm pretty ruthless.

In fact as we speak I'm doing just that, randomly taking books out that I just know I'll never reach for again. I've unloaded 100 or so in the last couple of weeks and still have a couple of hundred or so to loose. (I have 50 plus unread waiting to go onto the shelves, and piles that I've no shelf space for that I've read or started reading.)

Ridiculous!

[Avatar]

You must have a sh*t ton of books by now, given the rate you read at and the passage of time since your recollection, if you keep them all?

Yes Peter, yes I do. In fact, a shit-ton does not begin to describe it. (Several thousand the last time I made any attempt to count them.)

I too should be rigorously culling them, but...some sort of hoarding behaviour clearly. If I ever get around to sorting my garage out, I'll post a pic of the...30 or so...boxes stacked against the wall that contain the books I have no room for on shelves etc. (Some additional shelves will go up at some point, but that will barely dent the problem.

--A

[peter]

Hey Av, went down to Glendurgan the other day - over near Mawnan Smith.

Isn't that an area of Cornwall you have some familiarity with (or possibly even connection to)?

The Trust gardens there are beautiful at this time of year, the maze and everything, and the weather was beautiful. As close to heaven as you'll get on this earth, and that's a guarantee.

I know you aren't a National Trust fan (and neither, really, am I), but at Glendurgan, I believe the family remains in situ in the house, so I suppose they get some benefit from it. It was certainly lovely to be able to walk the gardens as a visitor.

[Avatar]

Hey Av, went down to Glendurgan the other day - over near Mawnan Smith.

Indeed, when I stayed in Cornwall at that friend's place, the address was literally "Near Mawnan Smith."

And yes, in that particular case, the "arrangement" was that the National Trust would take over the home on the death of his father, which they did, and then they failed to maintain it until it had to be rented out. (Initially as a residence, but it's now a wedding venue I see.)

(I'm not opposed to the NT in principal, but that particular case stuck in my craw...the family could have just carried on living there for all the difference it made...)

--A