Travel Biography - Week 120.

Since 1997, I have backpacked around the world alone, followed in 1998 by hiking the Hadrian's Wall with two other friends, then flying out to New York to avoid the international football, and then attempting to cycle from my apartment in Berkshire to Chester, there was a teenager who kept her eye on me and was interested in getting together. By 1999, we were a couple, and I proposed. We were engaged to be married since the spring of that year.

But I had one more holiday before we stood at the altar. And that was divided into two halves. The first was at Stoneleigh Bible Festival at a venue near Coventry (dealt with last week). The second half was travelling across the Lake District National Park from Kendal Castle to Keswick, a total of 44 miles (71 km). The route was mostly hiking, especially from Kendal to Bowness-on-Windermere (9 miles, 14 km) and from YHA Ambleside to Keswick, I took the longer route via Lake Buttermere and High Lorton, 31 miles, 50 km. I took a boat ride on Lake Windermere for the remaining four miles between Bowness and YHA Ambleside.

Kendal Castle Ruins.

Kendal Castle Ruins

Kendal Castle Ruins

Bowness-on-Windermere.

The Lake District Hike begins.

Starting from Kendal Station, I first visited the ruins of a 12th-century castle built by the Lancaster family who were Barons of Kendal. The castle was later taken over by the Parr family, whose daughter, Catherine of Parr, was the sixth wife of King Henry VIII. By the 16th Century, the castle was already in disrepair.

I then spent the first night at the National Park at YHA Kendal, but this time, there was no spooky in the dormitory that went bump in the night. The next day, I set off, originally to the YHA Ambleside located on the lake's edge, close to the Waterhead Harbour on the northern end of the ribbon lake Windermere.

The 13-mile hike from hostel to hostel was to pass through Bowness-on-Windermere before heading north towards YHA Ambleside on Waterhead, at the northern tip of the lake. This particular route ran alongside a busy road, and it wasn't exciting but rather mundane. By the time I arrived at Bowness, the temptation to sail to my destination was enhanced by the presence of one of the cruisers preparing to leave. On the spur of the moment, I bought a one-way ticket and boarded just as it was about to depart.

The sailing was smooth and a pleasant experience. Not that this was the first time, either. In 1992, my friend Gareth and I spent two weeks hiking around the Lake District. That also included a boat sailing around Lake Windermere. Eventually, I disembarked at Headwater Harbour. But not everyone. Some of the passengers remained on the boat for a return sailing to Windermere and Bowness harbours, the other two of the three harbours along this eleven-mile-long ribbon lake.

Behind the harbour, the YHA hostel loomed. It consisted of two or three terraced houses "knocked together" into one property, hence, it was the second-largest hostel in the UK after London Rotherhithe, the Cumbrian hostel accommodating 240 beds in 1999.

After I checked in and was assigned a bed in one of the dormitories, suddenly my spirit fell. I now wished that I hiked all the way to this hostel from Kendal. By looking around the interior, I felt deep regret in boarding the cruiser. I should have carried on walking. I would have arrived at Ambleside by early evening after a 13-mile hike, in good time to put the dinner on. Not that that part of the hike was anything dramatic. I have done that stretch of the walk before. The trail was a sidewalk along a main road, and a fence ran alongside the back of the path, blocking access to the lake. Not much to see here.

Lake Grasmere.

Rydal Water with Lake Windermere beyond.

Borrowdale Valley.

River Derwent at Borrowdale Valley.

The next day, I made my way up one of the hills overlooking Lake Grassmere, Rydal Water, and even Lake Windermere in the background. Throughout the hike, I headed more towards the west rather than north, to loop through Borrowdale, around Lake Buttermere and into Lorton before swinging east towards Keswick. It was while I stood on the summit of one of the mountains overlooking Lake Buttersmere that I carried a pair of special filter spectacles. That afternoon, a partial solar eclipse darkened the whole environment, turning the mid-afternoon into dusk and cooling the air while the sun narrowed into a thin crescent as the moon obscured much of its brightness, allowing me to look straight up at the phenomenon safely through the filter. At that point, I wasn't alone, but a group of people gathered on the mountain summit to watch the spectacle. If only we had a total eclipse. From the mountain summit, this would have been even more spectacular!

In all, this walk could be referred to as fell-walking, as most of the route I walked along was on high ground. Thus, I enjoyed some fantastic views. The hostels I stayed at included YHA Kendal, Ambleside, Buttermere, and Keswick, therefore the second half of this two-week break was five days long, including much of the last day I spent in Keswick.

During our courting days, I got to know Alex well enough to realise that in no way she would ever go near a hostel where men and women slept in separate dormitories. Thus, as our wedding day was approaching, I was also aware that hostelling was about to come to an end. And what better way to end the career than in a town like Keswick.

The Last of Hostelling and a Life's Review.

The route I took approached Keswick east from Lorton, passing just north of Lake Derwentwater, perhaps the loveliest lake in the whole park, according to some. Although I didn't hike past it this time, I remember Lake Ullswater. Surrounded by higher mountains than those encircling Lake Windermere, when Gareth and I stood by that lake in 1992, I was impressed with the sheer wilderness of its environment.

Lake Buttermere.

At YHA Buttermere.

Lake Buttermere.

Lake Buttermere with Crummock Water beyond.

My one-night stay at the YHA Keswick in 1999 was to be the last I would ever spend in a single-sex hostel of any kind - that is when it came to sleeping in a single-gender dormitory. Even to this day, at the time of this writing, I had not bedded down in a single-gender dormitory since. And this particular week, we celebrated our silver wedding anniversary - 25 years of love together, through thick and thin. Fortunately, our wedding day in 1999 didn't end Travel, as we shall see. Instead, among other things, our wedding vows changed our method of travel. However, with a backpacking mentality within my chromosomes, remnants of independent travel drove us on, with my beloved getting to grips with backpacking - with both highs and lows - throughout our marriage. The travel bug may sleep but it would never die.

But that night at Keswick was to be my last in a single-sex dorm. Aware of this, my mind flashed back to the spring of 1985. That was when Tim introduced hostelling to me. We stayed at the YHA Totland Bay, West Wight. Indeed, with the mandatory duty performed by all hostellers to keep costs down, I wasn't impressed with this idea of overnight accommodation. Also, sleeping in a male dormitory reminded me of schooldays, such as the aforementioned 1962 school trip to Llangollen in North Wales. Not to mention the one who snores loudly.

But I also wanted to give hostelling the benefit of the doubt. So I tried a few other hostels around the UK. But the biggest change was when I, along with Tim, Gareth, and Keith completed a cycling tour across Holland, Belgium and Germany during the late 1980s. On the Continent, the compulsory duty has long disappeared, leaving only the UK still under this obligation - even after Hostelling New Zealand has announced boldly that there were no duties, and Australia introduced the Dollar-or-Duty scheme.

How all this had evolved from my early days of both domestic and overseas travel. In those early days, walking into a hotel reception hall from outside and asking whether there was a room available was the norm. Not only did I do that in the UK, but across Europe, especially in France and Italy, along with Israel in 1976, and all across North America in 1977 and 1978. Even in Israel in 1993, 1994, and as late as 2000, I still walked in and asked if there was a room or bed available. The same applied to Singapore and parts of Australia in 1997. Indeed, Video might have killed the Radio Star, and so, the rise of the smartphone has killed the real freedom of independent travel. This came to light when Alex and I were stranded in London after a visit to a hospital A&E and in need of finding a hotel room. Fortunately, a kind member of the hospital reception staff allowed me to book a hotel room on his smartphone. Without the booking, no London hotel would have handed over the room key, so I was told. How times have changed!

As I lay on the bed in Keswick, I kept on looking back at my hostelling days. The best hostel I ever stayed at was at the YMCA building in the heart of downtown San Diego in 1995. No other hostel around the world could ever eclipse that one. The hostel had a floor hired from the YMCA, in a 100-year-old building once owned by the US military, and it was open 24/7, with a kitchen giving 24-hour access, no duties, and it had a swimming pool and a sauna suite in the basement. I made friends there, and by sharing a bedroom with an Australian backpacker, the idea of travelling to Australia was conceived. 

I even compared the YHA Keswick with that YMCA building. Despite its friendly and hospitable air, it could never match the old San Diego counterpart. Yet, as I lay there, I knew that this would be the end. Alex would have none of it.

Buttermere just before the partial solar eclipse.

Lake Derwentwater.

Keswick Town.

I spent the final day in Keswick, checking out the town and visiting the nearby Lake Derwentwater. By late afternoon, I was on board a National Express bus to London. It was the British equivalent of the Greyhound buses that plied across the American continent and Australia. Sure, I could have caught a train from Penrith Station after a 17-mile bus ride from Keswick, but not only was it more expensive, but the need to change from the bus to the train. And since many Glasgow-London trains don't stop at Penrith, I probably had to board a local train and change elsewhere, perhaps in Warrington. In short, the train was too much of a hassle. The National Express would offer a comfy ride to London Victoria, and from there, take the train home.

Back at my apartment, my cheerful fiancee was already there, waiting for me. Over the door leading into the bedsit from the corridor was a large, homemade sign which read: Welcome Home, Traveller.

Solo backpacking has come to an end. Thus, I could have ended my biography here. However, after the wedding, there was the honeymoon. Since this is a travel biography, I will concentrate on the beautiful historic places visited rather than on us. And there was the year 2000. The year I took Alex, my pregnant wife on an independent backpacking trip to Israel. And it was worth asking: In Israel in the year 2000, did we experience a miracle?

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Next Week: The Day that Changed our Lives - Forever.