Travel Biography - Week 30.

The 1980s Interlude in Longhaul Travel.

There seemed to have been at least one major difference between working for a company that was guaranteeing financial security, and being self-employed, especially in a trade or calling where there was no guarantee of income security, but instead, a reliance on when the next source of income will come from. And that difference was paramount between working as a machinist at British Aircraft Corporation and working for myself as a painter/decorator, and later as a domestic window cleaner.

And this was reflected in how far I travelled from home, and for how long. Throughout the 1980s, there were no long-haul backpacking trips to Israel or across the Atlantic that enhanced the quality of life in the 70s. Instead, throughout the eighties, I was invited to be one of a team of hospital radio presenters, thanks to Tim Kingcott, a long-standing friend, the manager of a local football team, an accountant who managed my annual tax returns, and at the time, the leader of the Friday crew of a very British institution - Hospital Radio - a therapeutic broadcasting service aimed at in-patients after their visitors returned home.

Hospital Radio Presenter, 1985.

Radio Heatherwood (after the name of the hospital in Ascot, Berkshire) was not a true radio in a sense of emitting analytic radio waves, as with the case of national and local radio stations alike, but a cable connection from the studio to a small, brick-like unit featuring a tuning dial located next to the bed of each patient. The patient listened through earplugs that were connected to a nearby wall socket.

Each presenter first went out to the wards to chat with the patients and ask whether they would like a particular request played. The elderly in geriatric wards tended to gravitate towards classical music, easy listening, and often, popular hymns. The younger patients, especially in the orthopaedic wards, tended to choose pop music, along with rock and roll.

Then each one of us was assigned a time slot as a presenter, or jock, as we referred ourselves. However, one major downside was that sitting in the presenter's chair with the microphone in front of your face and two turntables right next to you, tend to inflate egos, resulting in unhealthy competition, leading to strife between team members. After a couple of over-inflated egos stormed out of the team (as we were all volunteers) the rest of us settled in our agreed slots, and the Friday Crew became one of the most popular teams, as our aim was to put the patients first, before our own egos.

I served at Radio Heatherwood for five years between 1981 and 1986. During that time, I witnessed the charity's finances taking a downturn, so I ran the Bracknell Half Marathon purposely to raise funds for them. With success. With help from my input, the station survived. In fact, it was three times I raised funds for the charity, the first being a sponsored swim at the outdoor nurses' pool during a League of Friends hospital fete, and two half marathons, each a year apart.

Italy 1982.

It was during those early days as a voluntary hospital radio presenter, along with my self-employment, when on one particular day, I met Derek by chance in the High Street. We talked about my 1981 trip to Italy where I spent the last couple of days in his Milan apartment whilst out on a work contract. He was keen to accommodate me a year later if I was to book another Italian holiday for 1982.

I did not hesitate. That day, in his presence, I booked a three-week return trip to Milan on the boat train from London Victoria, passing through Folkstone, a cross-Channel ferry crossing to Boulogne-sur-Mer, Lille, Metz, Mulhouse, Basel, Luzern, and Milan. However, in addition, I was able to buy a go-as-you-please pass ticket for any train in Italy, valid for three weeks. However, I first had to validate the ticket at any entry station. In this case, it was at Milan Central Terminus. However, this time I avoided Turin, much to Mum's annoyance after returning home!

Throughout the 1980s, I had a strong compulsion to fly yet again across the Atlantic Ocean to re-visit the Grand Canyon. This was after discovering that my pics didn't come out well whilst I was by the Colorado River in 1978. My fascination with the Canyon became almost an obsession. But I knew then, whilst building up my handyman business, there was no way I could afford the trip. Although I was determined that one day I shall return to Arizona, however, I was curious about visiting Italy south of Naples. So far, Neapolitan Bay with Pompeii and Mt Vesuvio was the furthest south I ever reached on this peninsula. The island of Sicily looked to be promising, and I had set my sights to set foot there.

The day of departure arrived. The Milan train out of London Victoria pulled out in the afternoon, unlike the morning departure of the Paris-bound train. Therefore, after arriving in London, I made my way to Pimlico, the site of my childhood home, and walked to Churchill Gardens, where I sat on the swing in the adventure playground I visited so often when I was a boy. The castle was still there, along with all the original apparatus, and across the River Thames, the four smokestacks of Battersea Power Station loomed majestically.

Childhood memories. Home. That is, what I call my original home, and not so much Bracknell, where I lived since 1963.

The train pulled out of Victoria Station on time. Another adventure was about to begin.

The boat train was an overnighter, and it was already dark by the time I arrived at Lille. This was before Eurostar Gare de Europe was built. Therefore, I was surprised when the train pulled out in the reverse direction from when it pulled in. Lille had an original terminus station, Lille-Flandres.

Lake Como. Stock photo.

I was surprised by how daylight it already was by the time the train pulled into Basel, just within the Swiss border from France. The route towards Luzerne, then onward towards Como and Milan, was one of the most spectacular train rides I had ever experienced! Maybe that was because, by the time I reached Basel, it was already daylight. I recall how dark it was when the Paris-Turin train stopped at Modane, on the French border from Italy. Therefore, on that route, I missed out on the majestic splendour of the surrounding mountains. But on this route, the mountains and lakes were all in full view.

Trying to take pictures of the dramatic scenery was difficult. This was due to the many tunnels our line passed through. There were times when only a few seconds of the journey were exposed to the scenery before suddenly entering one tunnel after another. Just as well I wasn't a professional photographer for a travel journal or a newspaper. In this environment, I would have felt very frustrated!

However, having said that, I did manage to take a couple of pics of the scenery before the train entered another tunnel. Unfortunately, again I used a slide film for this holiday too, and therefore, at this moment, unable to publish them here. However, while I'm writing this, I'm considering buying a slide viewer. That means I'm hoping to take digital copies of these slide images and copy them here. Therefore, I encourage you all to keep reading these blogs, for in due course, I hope to publish the best of my slides covering the 1978 trip to the States, the 1981 trip to Italy, and the photos of these 1982 holiday scenes. Indeed, I can only keep my fingers crossed at the moment.

Arriving in Milan.

After such a spectacular ride across Switzerland, the train pulled into Milan Central, its journey, having begun at Boulogne-sur-Mer, now ends at the buffers in Milan. Having booked the journey together back in Bracknell, Derek knew when the train I was on was due, and there he was, waiting for me. He then drove me back to his apartment, the same address I was at the previous year.

At his apartment, Derek served me some lunch, but I couldn't talk much, as I felt my eyes swimming to and fro as I tried to concentrate. My friend seemed to have understood the state I was in, and encouraged me to rest on his bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep for two to three hours.

During the evening, the two of us made our way in his car to a pizzeria. The streets of Milan seem to be full of such restaurants, and there was one never far away. It was whilst we were eating that I opened up to him, discussing the train journey I had earlier experienced, and particularly about the dramatic Swiss mountainous scenery. I also told him of my plans in the days to come, including taking a train from Milan to Naples, then crossing the peninsula to spend some time in Brindisi, on the Adriatic coast, before travelling along the coastal "foot" of Italy to cross the Messina Strait from Reggio Calabria to the Sicilian port of Messina.

The next day was a Sunday (having boarded the train at London Victoria on a Friday afternoon) and Derek and I agreed to a drive to one of the lakes, Punta Spartivento, a viewing point on Lake Como where Lake Lecco joins Lake Como, giving an inverted Y shape. However, on our way back, I was wondering whether Derek will drive me to the same church where I was taken the previous year, the charismatic, Gospel-preaching fellowship which met in the basement of a secular building. When I mentioned this to him, there was no response.

Therefore, I never got to know whether the fellowship no longer exists, whether my host had a dispute with them since the summer of 1981, or simply decided not to go that week. Instead, we spent that evening at his apartment, as he was due to return to work that Monday morning.

A Day in Como.

After arriving in Milan, I spent three nights at his place. Hence, that Monday morning, Derek felt that it would have been unkind had he left me at his apartment after he had gone to work. So he gave me a lift into town and dropped me off near the Central Station. From there, I boarded a train to Como.

I checked out the town before starting to ascend one of the mountains. However, whilst I was still in the town, there was a boat hire platform, and I hired a rowing boat for an hour on Lake Como. The sky was cloudless, and the scene was fantastic, and this was a perfect opportunity to indulge in one of my favourite exercises, rowing. But this was much more dramatic than the Serpentine in London's Hyde Park, or on the River Thames at Windsor or Henley. This was lake Como, hemmed in by mountains, and therefore known for its striking beauty.

Being an experienced rower - a trait inherited from Dad by the way - I manoeuvred quite a distance north along the lake, taking care to keep track of the time and not to go too far out. It was amazing how far thirty minutes of rowing can take me, even rounding a bend of the lake around the Fontane di Villa Geno, a stub of a peninsula jutting out from the east coast. However, I made sure that I returned the boat to its owners in time, or else I might end up paying for the extra time.

I ran to raise funds, in 1985.

After the rowing boat hire, I began to make my way up a mountain overlooking Como. When I reached the summit, there was a small village of Brunate, with the viewing point looking directly over Como town and the Italian Alps all around me, but especially towards the north, where the peaks were higher. Oh, how much I enjoy such dramatic beauty, where human endeavour in building a settlement blends well with the wilderness of nature.

Later, I boarded a train at Como that left Munich in Germany some time ago to arrive safely in Milan. Then I phoned Derek to collect me.