My Late Father's Hopelessness in Family Holidays.
Before I was born in 1952, my future mother had left her Italian hometown of Turin and found accommodation in London. Not that there was any dispute with her parents or siblings. During this post-War period, all agreed that she might find better opportunities here in the UK. As such, there were rivers of tears when she boarded the Paris-bound train at the city's Porta Nuova Station.
It was here that she met her future husband at an Italian community in the Barbican area of London. I was born a year after their wedding in 1951. However, throughout my childhood years, and including the birth of my brother six years later, Mum always kept close to her parents in Italy. At first, she corresponded solely by letter-writing. It was several years later that international phone calls became available. These were made via an operator, and the lines were connected after a delay, perhaps up to an hour. Hence, these international calls were a special occasion, despite Dad's anxiety about paying the phone bills.
By the 1960s, Dad had passed his driving test and had bought his first second-hand car, a Ford Popular. After using it locally and taking day trips to the seaside, which was at Brighton, the nearest Channel resort to London, Mum's longing for her reunion with her parents was strong. Hence, during my boyhood, Dad drove us all the way to Italy twice during the sixties, with the final third trip made in 1971, when I was 18, and dating my first girlfriend, Sandra.
The only exciting moment of these holidays was the Channel crossings. It took three days to cover the 770-mile distance, with two nights spent sleeping in the car. We had to face the truth. Dad was hopeless with hotel bookings, and as for "off the street" walk-ins, it wasn't that he lacked confidence. Rather, these holidays were governed by a tight budget. Sleeping in a parked car was his solution to a holiday abroad that my parents couldn't really afford.
My maternal grandparents (Italian: Nonni) lived on the top floor of an apartment block, the standard of Italian housing. Every apartment had two balconies, and the upper floor offered interesting views, especially from the rear balcony, which overlooked a children's swing park. Thank goodness for the swing park!
If it wasn't for the swing park, I would have gone mad with sheer boredom! My grandparents couldn't speak English; in turn, I couldn't understand Italian. Therefore, at age 13, I was locked out of all conversations. My apparent apathy towards the extended family earned a hard smack across the cheek from Dad, and a loud telling off from my grandfather, whose endless torrent of unintelligible words landed on deaf ears. Turin is an inland city, no seaside, no amusements, no stroll in any beautiful environment. An industrial town with its urbanisation, and with little historic significance, to my mind.
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| 1966, aged 13. Dad drove us to Italy to see Nonni. |
However, it was during the 1971 trip to Italy that I enjoyed some independence, although still staying at our maternal grandparents'. Avoiding their unintelligible chatter, I, alone, took the tram to the city centre, and I discovered that Turin did have something to offer the tourist, although there were no Roman archaeological sites. The River Po passes through the east of the city, and with the hills in the background, making a pleasing environment.
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| Dad's first car was a second-hand Ford Popular. |
Independent Travel? It's in my Genes.
The Costa Brava on the Mediterranean coast of Spain, just south of the Pyrenees, was my first holiday abroad with a college friend and without my parents. It was 1972, and I was approaching the end of my teenage years. However, I still wasn't a Christian believer, and by natural instincts, this was a time for unrestricted hedonism, to "let it all out" after my boyhood constraints at my grandparents' apartment. This led to alcohol intoxication during the night, even spent the small hours of one night sleeping in the hotel bathtub amidst vomit.
Spain 1972 was a package holiday with the travel firm Cosmos. A package is a trip for which both the airline flight and hotel accommodation were made under a single booking. The hotel also serves as a base for excursions, a day spent on an escorted tour. In this one, we boarded a coach for a day trip to Barcelona, taking a boat cruise around the harbour, followed by an afternoon spent watching a traditional Spanish bullfight.
I became a Christian believer in December 1972. This conversion had changed my mode of travel entirely. A change from family get-togethers and then package hedonism to solo backpacking. And this was to be my mode of travel until our honeymoon in 1999, where we had a package to the Greek island of Rhodes.
27 years of solo backpacking. On two different occasions, I was referred to as brave. It was a lovely compliment. Yet, I was surprised. I never equated backpacking with fighting in a war, or rescuing someone from a housefire, or a drowning person from deep water. However, from a Christian point of view, I was rather unique. Why was this?
My experience with church people of my age bracket seldom ventured abroad on their own. They had their own travel firm, Oak Hall, a company specialising in Christian packages. There was even a posh version, Intersun, now Richmond Travel, for Christians who wish to holiday with the elite. But solo backpacking? Within the 27 years of independent travel, I have never encountered another backpacker of the faith. Indeed, I knew of one believer who flew across the Atlantic Ocean to attend a conference in Washington DC. Another flew out to attend a church revival in Florida. But backpacking - to travel from one destination to another, each with its own accommodation- I'm still waiting for someone to testify.
But believing that God will care for me at all times has encouraged me to venture out. One example of this was Israel in 1976. This was after three years of Bible study. Since almost the entire Bible is centred on Jerusalem, and the city of the Crucifixion, Burial, and the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, God incarnate, this was one place I wanted to visit for myself. So, with a Bible packed in my luggage, I set off alone, unlike any other Christian I knew, and having arrived, I walked into a hotel to ask if there was a room available. That is independent travel.
The 1977 and 1978 trips to Canada and the USA followed the same pattern. With a Bible in my luggage, I travelled from town to town, from one tourist venue to another, always walking into a hotel or hostel from the street, and being offered a room or a dormitory bed.
Long-haul travel ceased temporarily after the 1978 trip to the States. This was due to a change of occupation, from a machinist at the British Aircraft Corporation, to a year of unemployment, to becoming self-employed in 1980.
As mentioned last week, it was October 1992 when I received something like a vision while I was up on a ladder and cleaning a bedroom window. The vision was about my second trip to the Holy Land, specifically to pray for Jerusalem. The fulfilment of the vision took place ten months later in 1993, thus proving its genuine authenticity. This was to open a new era of long-haul travel as an independent backpacker. This time, I carried a rucksack on my shoulders, freeing my arms, making me a "proper" backpacker. Before then, I hauled a suitcase. This second era of backpacking lasted eight years between 1993 and 2000 inclusive, the year we went for our final visit to the Holy Land before the birth of our first daughter. Except for our honeymoon in 1999, which was a package, in 2000, we walked into two different hostels, and we were offered a room in each. The independent way.
Although I boast about my mode of travel over the years, I fully realise that all of it was linked to my faith in Jesus Christ as Saviour and Guide. Take-off was, as I remember, preceded by prayer and entrusting myself to God's care. By recognising the need for his Guidance, I ventured out without fear or trepidation. Travel experience peaked in 1997. After hiking the Grand Canyon in 1995, the climax was backpacking in Australia. In 1997, I was able to gaze at the Southern Cross constellation in the night sky, streaked with the Milky Way, and look through goggles at the corals making up the Great Barrier Reef while snorkelling.
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| Cream of backpacking: hiking the Grand Canyon, 1995. |
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| Cream of backpacking: the Great Barrier Reef, 1997. |
On this Blogger page, I have written a detailed Biography of my travels. This was the result of the wishes of my readers, who also suggested writing a book. Feeling shy of approaching publishers, I have posted it here. It's quite long, all 129 weeks. Therefore, I have created an Index to the Biography, splitting it into sections. To access the section that interests you, first, click here for the Index. Then click the appropriate section you are interested in. Many sections have several blogs. After finishing the first, click "Newer Blog" which is found at the foot of the page.
Also proved to be even more popular are the travel photos. These consist of 58 weeks. However, there is no separate index for the photo section. To reach it, again, click on the Index, and click on "Newer Post". This brings you to the start of the photo album.
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Next Week, one man stood up. The theatre audience fell into a panic. And how that affected me.
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