Travel Biography - Week 117.

During 1998, I had three holidays, the main one to New York and Boston, then two more in the UK, a hike along the Hadrian's Wall trail, and an attempt to cycle from home to the Welsh town of Llangollen, where, 36 years earlier in 1962, I stayed in a hostel hired out to primary schools (children under 11 years of age) during the annual school two-week summer trip shortly before the end of summer term. I'll write about the attempted cycle ride to Llangollen next week.

Preparation - and delay of the Hadrian's Wall Hike, 1998.

The construction of the Wall began in AD 122 under Emperor Hadrian to form the northern border of the Roman Empire and a defence against the Caledonians. The exposed masonry is 73 miles (117.5 km) running east-west across northern England, passing over the Pennines. The trail is 84 miles long (135 km) of which we covered 67 miles (108 km) between the city centres of Carlisle and Newcastle-upon-Tyne. 

Had I been alone, I would have hiked the whole trail, starting at Bowness-on-Solway on the Irish Sea coast and heading eastward, passing through Newcastle upon Tyne to end at Wallsend, just a little way inland from the North Sea coast of Tyne-and-Wear. But I wasn't alone. Instead, I was with two other friends from our church, Tim and Daniel. It was Dan who thought up the 5-day hike but left the booking of all overnight accommodation to me.

Dan (left) and Tim.

Carlisle Castle.

Dan and Tim plan the Hike at a Roman Fort.

River Eden flows to the Irish Sea.

Tim was (and still is) an accountant who dealt with the taxation of my window-cleaning income, while Dan is a financial advisor who takes care of private pensions. Although both were - and still are - suited pen-pushers, it's a credit to them that they welcomed me as one of a group of three, perhaps due to my past experience in hiking. But as the journey commenced, it eventually became apparent that I was physically the weakest of the three. Not only that I was also the eldest, but both Tim and Dan at the time were regular players of a football team in a local league. The two also regularly played each other at squash - a racquet sport on a closed court - and I watched some of their games from the spectator's balcony. Therefore, in 1998, these two were in their prime of fitness.

The date and location of the start and finish were decided by Dan with Tim's agreement. Furthermore, the week's break was originally scheduled for early Autumn of 1997, a few weeks after I landed at Heathrow Airport from the Round-the-World trip. But on Friday, September 19th 1997, I had an accident at work. I was standing on a roofed porch over the front door of a two-storey house to clean a window directly above it. At that moment, both my feet slid over the one row of tiles made damp by recent drizzle. I fell off the roof and landed on the concrete path below. I broke my right clavicle bone, and one of my ribs, and cut the skin over my cranium, causing non-stop bleeding. I had to stay off work for two months after spending a week at Royal Berks Hospital as an in-patient after a neighbour called the ambulance.

Due to such an unforeseen incident, Dan and Tim agreed to cancel all bookings and postpone the hike until I had fully recovered. I thought that was very good of them. They could have easily proceeded without me. I couldn't return to work for the next two months and only did so after receiving clearance from the hospital consultant. But it took a further five months before I was fit enough and ready for the hike. Hence, we set off at the end of April 1998 - two months before flying off to New York in early July.

Thus, the Hadrian's Wall hiking break is the only holiday that is not in proper chronological order with this Biography as all the others - as the hike was completed before I flew out to New York to avoid the football. By contrast, the aforementioned attempted cycle ride to Llangollen was taken after returning from Boston - and it's in proper chronological order.

Tim at the Wall.

I stand at the Wall.

Dan by a Roman fort.

Further on, we arrive at another fort.

Setting Off to the Wall.

It was a short walk from my apartment to Tim's house. He was married to Sharon, and Dan to Debbie, but neither wife accompanied us. I was the unmarried one, free and single. Three young(ish) men set on an adventure. Dan arrived, and we all piled into his car. He was the leader of the group, despite that it was I who booked the accommodation - YHA Kendal, Greenhead, Once Brewed, Barrasford, and a hotel in Newcastle city centre, after discovering that the YHA Newcastle was overbooked.

Dan drove us to Kendal, in Cumbria. As we neared our first destination, we admired the mountain splendour of the Lake District from a distance. Eventually, we found the hostel and we checked in.

The small dormitory was one of several bedrooms in this 300-year-old Georgian townhouse, and ours had six beds arranged as three bunk bed units. Dan and Tim each slept on the higher bed while I chose the lower bed of the third unit. The other three beds remained unoccupied. But why such details?

In the middle of the night, I woke up suddenly and let out a loud yelp. Then I fell silent as the other two apparently slept. However, as I was lying face down on the bed, I could swear that a hand was resting on my buttocks. Believing that it was Dan comforting me after the yelp, I felt relieved by the financial advisor's act of compassion. Yet, for some reason, I didn't turn around to thank him, as if kept from doing so.

The next morning, I apologised to both Tim and Dan for the disturbance. Tim slept through it and heard nothing. But Dan was woken up and acknowledged the incident. However, he denied resting his hand on my buttocks.

It was later that I read that one of the bedrooms of the Georgian townhouse was reputed to be haunted by a former resident who died there. Could I have had a paranormal encounter? If so, then why was I the catalyst, yet neither of my friends?

We headed for Carlisle. In the city centre, close to the castle, Dan parked his car, to be left there for the rest of the trip.

We followed the wall all the way to Newcastle city centre. Of the three, I was the most determined to finish. Our first overnight stop was at YHA Greenhead, a converted Methodist church. The next morning, we set off, following the Wall until we arrived at YHA Once Brewed. These walks were generally uneventful, with rolling countryside without any challenging climbs or descents. Along the Wall, there were remains of forts, each spaced about a Roman mile apart. However, there was one that could be almost classed as a town in its own right - Great Chesters, a chief military fort about 1.5 miles north of the town of Haltwhistle. It's one of the best-preserved Roman sites in the whole of the UK, including hypocausts to heat up the room or the bathhouse above it. Even the latrines are well preserved to the point that we were able to work out how such a system functioned. A constant flow of water passing under the seats washed away all defecation. The ruins showed how advanced the Romans were in both sanitary issues and plumbing.

However, it was the hypocausts that impressed me the most. A large area seemed to have heated a large hall or dining room, that is the Latin triclinium. Another heated the bathhouse or the thermae. Due to my interest in the Roman era dating back to 1973 when I visited Pompeii for the first time, and more recently here in Britain, I always held the Roman bathhouse with intrigue. The average bather first entered the changing room or the apodyterium. He may then enter the tepidarium or a moderated heated room. The hot steam room is the calidarium. He then takes a cold plunge in the frigidarium. Some of the larger suites may feature the laconicum, the dry sweating room equivalent to a sauna today. There is one major difference between a visit to the Roman thermae and today's sauna, and that is in Roman times, the bather had his skin cleansed by using a tool known as a strigil, the cleaning often carried out by a slave.

For the Roman bather, the thermae must have been a relaxing and soothing experience after a stiff workout at the palaestra or exercise yard. My distant ancestors were most likely Romans. If they visited the bathhouse during their day, little wonder that the sauna plays a major part in my pastime some two millennia later!

Great Chesters Roman Fort.

Hypocaust of a Roman Bathhouse.

Hypocaust of a large room.

Latrines, Great Chesters Roman Fort.

After spending some time at Great Chesters, the three of us continued with the hike.

The three of us stayed together as long as the Wall continued with little or no interruptions. However, even before we arrived at YHA Barrasford at the end of the fourth day, the Wall began to peter out, but the dead straight B6318 followed its course into Newcastle. However, we were still a few miles to go before we arrived at Barrasford, and seeing that the Wall was already beginning to peter out, Tim decided to call it a day and agreed to meet us at the hostel after giving hitchhiking a try.

Tim didn't wait long at the roadside before a car halted to let the accountant in. When we were told of the short wait at the hostel, I was surprised. This is the north. It was a far cry from life in the south of England, especially in and around the London area. Down south, a hitchhiker standing by the roadside is more likely to have the police car stop and arrested for vagrancy.

Dan and I continued with the hike. Part of the route was a path that was once a railway route before the car-fanatic Lord Richard Beeching closed many railway branches across the country to promote the use of the car. The disused track-now-footpath gave us a smooth, flat walk towards the hostel, cutting through any mounds and low hills that characterised the surrounding countryside.

Dan and I joined Tim who was waiting for us at the hostel.

Dan and I at Great Chesters.

At the City Welcome Sign.

The Hike ends at the gate of Newcastle.

Newcastle City Centre.

The next morning, Tim decided to stay for a while at Barrasford before boarding the train for a return trip to Carlisle. Dan was ready to accompany him. But I wasn't. My aim was to finish the hike properly. So Dan decided to stay with me rather than return with Tim. We split. Dan and I made for the trail while Tim remained at the hostel.

The last twenty-plus miles were long, boring, and tiring, but I was determined to see the castle surrounded by the city and named after it. After all, the castle was built more recently on one of the Roman forts along the Wall, hence its name. We walked along the long, straight B6318, a single-carriageway relatively free of traffic as it cuts through fields. By early evening, we saw the sign: City of Newcastle upon Tyne. But we still had a long way to go before we arrived at the city centre, with the hike ending at the castle gate itself by nightfall.

We found the hostel nearby. But when we found out that it was overbooked, the receptionist recommended a hotel whose owner he knew. He then made a booking for us at the hotel and showed us where it was. It was good to have our own rooms.

On the next and final day, the two of us made our way to Newcastle Station. Here, Dan took charge and told me to wait while he looked to where to catch the train to Carlisle. He needn't have bothered, as I saw the departure board above. 

Dan! I called out. Our train leaves from platform 6. Quick! We don't have long!

We raced to the waiting train and boarded shortly before it pulled out for Carlisle.

We met Tim waiting for us at Dan's car. After a walk around town to pay a quick visit to Carlisle Castle, we then returned home.

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Next Week: I could have been killed!

Travel Biography - Week 116.

The 1998 visit to the eastern United States couldn't have been more contrasting. On the one hand, I was walking along Broadway through the bustling city of Manhattan. On the other hand, I was on board a boat out at sea, whale-watching over an area of Stellwagen Bank in the Atlantic Ocean, an underwater plateau on the continental shelf around 25-30 miles, or 40-48 km off the Boston coastline.

The Aquarium Visit.

And so, on the morning of another day with fine weather, I decided to visit the New England Aquarium, hoping to revive memories of the Great Barrier Reef. I arrived at the ticket kiosk, which in 1998, was outside the doors of the indoor facility. There was for sale a choice of either a ticket for the aquarium only, a ticket for the whale-watching cruise, or a combined ticket for both, as the cruise leaves the harbour during the afternoon. That morning, I bought the combination ticket.

Unfortunately, I didn't take any inspiring photos of the exhibits, as the whole facility looked tired at the time. (I believe the facility had a series of revamps since then.) Therefore, I have included some stock photos of both the exterior and the interior details of the aquarium. These pics are recent, indicating that they were taken after the revamp, and may not be exactly as I saw them in 1998.

New England Aquarium, Boston. Stock photo.

The main Tank, Stock photo.

Sea Life. Stock photo.

Sea Life. Stock photo.

The building rests on one of the piers of the Boston Wharf and houses marine life mainly from the Atlantic. Therefore, I was somewhat disappointed not to see any real coral cultivated, but what appeared at the time to be tired artificial replicas (although a real coral reef from the Caribbean now thrives in one of the larger tanks). Yet, marine life often associated with coral seemed to be thriving. The tropical aquarium at the time didn't hold a candle to the Great Barrier Reef Aquarium in Townsville, in the Australian State of Queensland, where I visited just a year earlier.

However, in other tanks, big fish such as the reef shark and the grouper swam around as they showed off to the viewing public, along with jellyfish, sea horses, moray eel, turtles and so on. In all, despite my own prejudice in favour of coral reefs, I still grade the Aquarium as excellent and worth the time and money. Given a choice between a zoo and an aquarium, I would always choose to visit an aquarium.

Whale-Watching.

I spent two to three hours in the aquarium before having lunch and preparing to board a boat for Stellwagen Bank.

The cruiser was moored on the same pier as the Aquarium, as the cruise was organised by the Aquarium. These trips were seasonal, lasting from May to October, thus during midseason, we should get some results. The remaining photos shown here are my own.

Stellwagen Bank, a submerged plateau, is a National Marine Sanctuary. That means commercial fishing in the area is banned. The surface of the plateau is between 30-40 metres below sea level and rises from the surrounding sea floor between 90 metres to the west of the plateau, and up to 200 metres to the east. It could be classed as a squat, flat-topped seamount, with its north/south length of 19 miles, and up to six miles from east to west (31x10 km.) The water above it is rich in plankton, and this is the main source of nutrition for the humpback whales, as well as being at the base of the food chain. A pod is said to be inhabiting the area during the time I was there.

The plateau is also rich with other marine life, including bass, tuna, cod, hake, and flounder. The great white shark also makes a call in the area, along with sperm whales, blue whales, orcas, and various dolphins and seals. But the most prominent is the humpback whales.

The boat leaves Boston for Stellwagen Bank.

A Tailfin of a Humpback Whale.

On a Whale-Watch.

The Whales are getting closer to us.

The boat pulled out from its moorings and set sail onto the open sea, again passing the islands making up the Boston Islands National Park. As the boat cruised along the calm sea, as before, the city skyline receded towards the horizon and vanished. Sometime later, we seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, except surrounded by a calm ocean, the boat drew to a halt, and we all leaned on the parapet and waited.

In next to no time, the upper backs of humpback whales momentarily appeared above the surface and dived back under. Although I hadn't seen anyone attempting to take photographs, I didn't hesitate in my attempt. With a fresh film in my camera, I had up to 36 tries. As expected, attempting to take snapshots of fast-moving creatures which appear only momentarily and at an unpredictable spot was tricky. It was rather like the Whack-a-Mole table at a fun fair. Of the 36 tries, only six or seven came out well enough for album retention. But that is the world of photography. I have seen professional photographers at work, especially at weddings, and I have wondered how many snapshots make it to the wedding album from the multitude that are discarded.

We didn't just remain stationary in the sea for five minutes, but for a good while, possibly an hour. As the evening was beginning to draw in, the announcement came for the return to the city and the cruiser set sail westbound while the sun was preparing to set ahead. After the boat eventually docked at the pier where the Aquarium was built, the thought of preparing dinner back at the hostel was so welcoming.

To Conclude.

It was difficult to decide which of the two cities I had any preference for. New York or Boston. Each is simply different and each has its positives. Yet, it was in Boston where I learned more about the American history of Independence from British colonial rule, which must have been heavy-handed, hence the Boston Tea Party, and the Revolution the Party had initiated, which would eventually lead to having its first president, George Washington. Coming to think of it, my preference might have been for Boston. It's a smaller city than Manhattan, more sedate and generally its streets safer. And it offered more history as well as the aquarium and even a trip out to sea for a spell of whale-watching. With the latter, this activity takes place in the whale's natural environment as opposed to the rigid confinement characteristic of SeaWorld in San Diego, and other similar theme parks and zoos.

In all, 1998 was a great trip, yet the primary reason why I took off for New York in the first place was to avoid the FIFA World Cup Final should England be playing in it. It didn't. Instead, it was knocked out in the Quarter-Finals. But by then, it was too late. The flight and hostel reservation were both booked and the air ticket was already paid for. It was while I was in New York that I found out that the Final was won by France after defeating Brazil, and I felt relief that the trophy never crossed the Channel.

Yet, the holiday was far more than trying to escape from the football mania. It was a learning curve, not only about the history of America, but a window into my soul as well. The meeting with Sarah while on the return ferry to Boston from Cape Cod has shone a light on what has been concealed for the previous four years - the deep loneliness felt as a singleton approaching middle age, along with an anticipation of the future if I remain unmarried into old age. Therefore, I tended to feel a lack of inclusion, especially when church culture is generally geared toward families, with marriage, the home, and children high up on the seminar agenda. It's little wonder that the highest percentage of dropouts from the Christian faith, I believe, are adult singles.

Hence, whether consciously or subconsciously, I resorted to world travel, which has given me some of the brightest times of my life, the spirit of adventure, to get out there and explore the far-flung corners of the world, especially to see natural wonders that don't occur in the UK, not to say that Britain is deprived of natural beauty. By the Autumn of 1998, I was set against marriage, and I was determined to remain single, so I could carry on with travel. Indeed, I have found a way to deal with lifelong loneliness. With another Round-the-World, including South Africa next on the agenda, I knew that I had to work hard, save up, and travel without getting myself into debt. I still had an ambition to visit Victoria Falls, but how to go about with that, I have to wait and see. That is where Trailfinders comes in.

Photographing whales was difficult.

They're getting closer!

It got as close as it gets.

The day arrived and I had to check out of the hostel by a certain time of the day. However, since my flight to London Gatwick was late in the evening, the hostel agreed to store my rucksack until I was ready to head for Logan Airport, which is quite near to the city.

Like all other times, this flight was to be an overnighter across the Atlantic. Logan Airport was easy to get to from the city. I took a short ride on the Boston subway, the Blue Line to the airport station. Once arrived, it was straightforward to check-in. Yet, as I waited at the departure lounge, little did I know that this would be the last transatlantic flight so far to this day. This was my fifth visit to the United States, and I have to be honest with myself: Travelling to the USA was already becoming stale. It was losing its magic, its novelty. In other words, I was getting fed up with it! If I were to set out on another Round-the-World trip like the one in 1997, I would be happy not to land in California from Australia or even New Zealand. Instead, to land in either South or Central America on my way back to London would have been ideal. 

Not unless I revisited the Grand Canyon. Another hike, this time down the South Kaibab Trail, a new trail for me and different vistas. Exciting enough to fill another photo album. Or in Australia, revisit the Great Barrier Reef. Like the Canyon, the Reef is a big place. I could visit another cay, or a fringe reef on another continental island. Or even have a shot at the Outer Reef. Or all three. It would take me a long time to tire of the Great Barrier Reef.

Yet, as the plane soared into the night sky, it never crossed my mind that this was my final long-haul flight ever, or at least so far. But then, what defines long-haul, and how is that distinct from short-haul? Although this was my last transatlantic flight, my travel days are far from over. The future from that point in time still held more for me.  For example, snorkelling was not over. There's still more to come. Only it would be different.

Sunset as we head back to town.

By the time the south coast of England appeared beneath me, it was already daylight, with the sky clear of clouds. As I sat by the window (as usual), I watched as the south coast of Cornwall, then Devon, followed by the Dorset Coastline. As we flew over Dorset, I recognised Swanage, the Old Harry Rocks, and Bournemouth, along with the Isle of Wight south of Hampshire, before the plane turned inland to descend towards Gatwick Airport.

Like at other times, when I arrived home, I was greeted by an empty apartment bathed in silence. However, this time, I didn't sink low with post-holiday blues, like I did after the end of the 1997 Round-the-World. Rather, I was relieved that the FIFA World Cup football tournament was over, and our TV channels, especially the BBC, had returned to the normal programme schedule.

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Next Week: What Happens Next?