Travel Biography - Week 124.

Stella Carmel - Any Difference Since 1994?

I brought my beloved to Israel to celebrate our first wedding anniversary in 2000. After arriving at Ben Gurion Airport, we took a bus to Tiberias Bus Station. We settled in a hotel for the next three days. However, the Jewish New Year, or Rosh Hashanah, was about to begin, thus every shop closed, and every bus and sherut service ceased for the national holiday. We were also cashless due to a lack of proper foresight and planning. By the time we arrived at Haifa on our way to Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre in Isfya, Israel's third largest city was more of a ghost town.

We were then left stranded on the crest of Mt Carmel ridge, in the summit town of Merkaz Hakarmel. Thinking that the tall block of Haifa University was no more than a mile or so further along the road, from where we were, it came into view - over 7 km away, or four miles. We realised that our destination must have been twice that distance, and I was shocked about how I had grossly underestimated the route using memory from 1994, alone.

On my own, I quite likely accomplished the eight-mile hike, no matter how tired I might have been, knowing that dusk wasn't far away. But not with Alex. I would never encourage her to hike that distance while she was 18 weeks pregnant, even if the trail was mostly level and relatively easy.

We were rescued by the driver of a passing taxi. Seeing that we were cashless, he gave us some money and drove us to the centre. We were safe at last!

Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre.

A view of Isfya from Stella Carmel.

Front Porch of Stella Carmel.

At Stella Carmel, we had a twin-bedded room booked. Trevor, whom I knew from 1994, was at the reception and he assigned an upstairs room for us. Somewhat reluctantly, as we were the only guests, Margaret cooked us a meal. After that, we were left to ourselves.

Margaret, Trevor, and Andrew were three of the original seven full-time staff members who had remained at the Centre over the past six years. Margaret either noticed or somehow sensed Alex's pregnancy but there were no words spoken of congratulations. If anything, Trevor and Margaret, then a childless married couple, remained apathetic towards us, as if the disaster of 1994 still lingered in the air. However, Andrew was more talkative, as we got on well back in 1994.

There was one big change that transpired over the last six years, and that was the construction of the new D-shaped church building to accommodate the Kehliat Ha-Carmel Congregation who worshipped every Saturday. In 1994, I became familiar with this group of Messianic Jews and actually attended several of their weekly services held at the Centre itself. The only downside was that stacking away the chairs and cleaning the floor was down to us volunteers. It was tedious work. With the new building where everything remains set up, by 2000, the pressure on volunteers had been relieved.

The day after we arrived, it was a Saturday, and we participated in the service. People from all over the Haifa area gathered here, as they did in 1994. The service hadn't changed, even if the environment had. During both the songs and the sermon, both English and Hebrew were used, as the speaker spoke in Hebrew, and each sentence was translated into English by the interpreter who was next to him. After the service, we enjoyed some cold refreshments outside.

However, I was glad that our stay was at most four days, including the day we left for Jerusalem. Amidst the quietness, the oppression I felt in the air in 1994 lingered on, although Alex wasn't too aware of it. Indeed, everything they did by the rules of the Anglican Church was right. For example, co-habitants without a marriage certificate were banned from renting any rooms - even if the couple lived together for years and had children. Fair enough, perhaps, but the same couple might have been offered a double bedroom at the New Swedish Hostel in Jerusalem, and experience the sense of warm welcome from the Arab hosts, hence endearing greater respect. Here at Stella Carmel, all the staff were British, efficient, but cool of heart.

Another View from Stella Carmel

Church of the Kehliat Ha-Carmel Congregation.

Worship within the Kehliat Ha-Carmel Church.

However, two Arab youths visited Stella Carmel daily in 1994. They were Rami and Nadal, both Christian believers. Back then, they were teenagers. On one occasion, Rami singled me out from everyone else and asked if we could pray together, as he was in some form of distress. I was happy to oblige. Six years later, I tried to track them down. I found out that Rami had since moved to Tel Aviv and worked in Security at Ben Gurion Airport. But Nadal was still living at home. We approached his house, a short walk from the Centre. He was there and he greeted us warmly, remembering who I was, and invited us into his house. We were welcomed by the rest of his family as we enjoyed some refreshments.

Another Mistake.

On one of the days we spent at Stella Carmel, we decided to return to Haifa with the erroneous idea that the holidays were over and the city would be alive and bustling. On a normal Israeli working day, Haifa is a great place to be, throbbing with life and vigour. And also to visit a bank to cash a cheque or two for some much-needed money.

A taxi pulled in where the sherut normally waits, just outside the driveway entrance. Using the last of the cash given to us by the taxi driver, but were optimistic that we would quickly find a bank, we paid the last of our cash to the driver. He then dropped us off at the city centre.

Oh no! The entire city was dead, a ghost town. The holidays weren't over but carried on into the next day. No one warned us at Stella Carmel, even if told them of our intentions. Once again we were stranded in Haifa with no money for a taxi back to Isfya.

Feeling panicky, we walked along the deserted streets. At first, I thought I saw what looked like a bank, and I made a quick dash towards it, only to find that it wasn't a bank but an administration office - and it was closed. We carried on walking, climbing the hill towards the summit of Mt Carmel. Near the Temple of Bahai were some shops - all closed except one, a pharmacy - the only shop open for trading in the whole city!

We walked in and I think the assistant saw I much in despair I was. I then explained (in English) that we were stranded in the city and we needed to get to Isfya. But we were cashless to pay the taxi fare. Would she accept a traveller's cheque? She gave me a cautious look as I produced the book and passport. She then took the countersigned cheque and gave me some cash in the equivalent currency. I felt an overwhelming relief. I soon found a taxi and paid the driver to take us back to Stella Carmel.

Preparing for Jerusalem.

The third day in Isfya was our anniversary, our first one after our wedding, and once over, it would never return. Therefore, we decided on a quiet day we could spend together. Whether it was still a national holiday or whether Israel had returned to work, it didn't matter, as we were not going further than a reasonable walking distance, and that was a stroll in the nearby forest of Mt. Carmel National Park. Here, the tranquillity of the area matched the inside of the Grand Canyon, the Dorset Coast Path and even the Great Barrier Reef. Yet, the stroll reflected the ups and downs of independent travel compared to a package holiday such as our honeymoon. The Jewish holiday is taken more seriously than in the UK. Here in England, our superstore is closed for only two days a year, Christmas and Easter. It remains open on all other Bank Holidays throughout the year. By contrast, the whole of Israel shuts down at least once a week, during the Sabbath.

As such, we hoped that on the day after our anniversary, Israel would be open to trading once again. I walked into Isfya town and found a bank - open. It was a relief to countersign a couple of cheques for some ready cash, which was a necessity for the bus fares to Jerusalem and the accommodation fees to cover us until we flew back to the UK.

We vacated our room and waited for a sherut service to Haifa Bus Station. Once we arrived, we boarded the Egged Bus service to Jerusalem. The Egged Bus is Israel's Greyhound, plying up and down the country from Acre north of Haifa to Eilat, near the border with Egypt. A domestic airline also connects Haifa and Jerusalem with Eilat.

Scene of the Mt Carmel National Park.

Forest at Mt Carmel National Park.

In Jerusalem, Alex got to grips with backpacking.

We arrived at Jerusalem. Immediately, I noticed that the Egged Bus Terminal had moved from its original site on Jaffa Street to a new site further north, but still on Jaffa Street. In 2000, Jaffa Street was still a throughway for motorised traffic. But at present, Jaffa Street is now closed to traffic as it accommodates tram lines, nonexistent in my day.

From the bus station, we made our way through Jaffa Road, crossing over Zion Square fronted by the Ron Hotel (now the Jerusalem Hostel), where I stayed in 1976, and witnessed a demonstration outside of it in 1994. Eventually, the west wall of the Old City came into view and having navigated across a busy road, we entered the enclosure via Jaffa Gate. We made our way down Souk David, so familiar to me but so new to Alex, and arrived at the New Swedish Hostel, a place of refuge and consolation after the 1994 Stella Carmel disaster.

We entered and climbed the familiar stairs to reception. At the counter, a young Arab man was ready to serve us. I asked whether there was a bedroom with a double bed, and at first, he showed us an unoccupied dormitory with single bunk beds - perhaps thinking that "double bed" refers to a bunk bed. It doesn't, therefore we refused to accept the dormitory. He then led us to the room next door to the dormitory. It was a hotel room with a proper marriage bed and other facilities, along with privacy. It was perfect for us, and paid in advance for the remainder of the holiday, the second week. It was here that Alex was to get to grips with independent backpacking. The hostel has a member's kitchen.

Just a couple of doors away from our hostel was the currency exchange office, and it was here where I cashed the remaining cheques, not all at once, but one at a time every other day for safekeeping and to avoid carrying too much cash at once. Also nearby, a minimarket kept us fed, and both breakfast and evening meals were plentiful for both of us, with Alex taking over the domestic chores of preparation. It was off-season, hence we both avoided the long wait for the stove to be freed from another user - a problem in the past unique to this hostel.

But what we loved as well was the early mornings just before we got up for the day. From a couple of blocks across the Old City - which was free from traffic noise - the melodic sound of bells chiming from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (the traditional site of Christ's crucifixion and burial) rang through the streets outside. This, combined with the Islamic call to prayer blaring aloud from the minarets dotted across the Muslim Quarter of the city, makes Jerusalem Old City the most unique location in the world. As far as my knowledge is concerned, I know of no other city where Christianity, Judaism, and Islam mingle within the tight confines of a city wall as in Jerusalem's Old City.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: How we witnessed the Jewish Yom Kippur ritual and the Feast of Tabernacles.

Travel Biography - Week 123

Preparing for Israel, 2000.

When Tim and I camped at Corfe Castle in Dorset during Whitsun of 2000, I had no idea Alex was already pregnant. Not even my beloved was yet aware. However, she was wondering about it a couple weeks after returning home. She bought a urinal test strip from the pharmacist. The next morning she took the test. The result was positive. With great excitement, I wanted to tell the world, even to shout out of the window!

I was 48 years old when I became a father for the first time at the birth of my daughter in 2001. And just four years earlier, at the time I was snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef, I honestly thought that I would grow old as a bachelor and even die alone in my apartment. I even pondered on when my body would be discovered after death, and how. How much everything had changed.

As already mentioned last week, the desire for independent backpacking wasn't killed by the wedding. The next trip overseas to celebrate our first anniversary was two weeks in Israel, mainly in Jerusalem, but I also had a wish to visit, and possibly stay for a couple of days at Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre in Isfya, near Haifa. It was here where I lived as a volunteer in 1994 and how it came to a disastrous end.* My intention for this visit six years later in 2000 was to "make peace" with the Centre and its staff. I was fortunate. When I made the phone call from my apartment, the receptionist was none other than Trevor, whom I knew well from 1994. Since my departure, he had married Margaret the cook, and she was still boss in the kitchen. Andrew, the head of maintenance, was also still there. However, the Centre's overall manager was someone who had recently taken charge, and as such, a stranger to us.

During the phone call, Trevor recognised who I was, and when I asked for a room for two, he carefully questioned my marriage status and warned that he would refuse to serve us unless we were legally married. I reassured him that we were legally married. He then offered us a twin-bedded room within the same set of rooms I used to clean out and remake the beds as a volunteer six years earlier. This time, as paying guests, it was seen by us as any other hotel. This would be very different from volunteering.

Alex in Tiberias Town, 2000.

Tiberias Esplanade.

Our Arrival in Israel.

Before setting off, we had to make sure that it was safe to fly with Alex's pregnancy. We felt relief when the medical team advised us not to fly after 24 weeks of gestation. The holiday would be between 18 and 20 weeks of gestation, hence within the safe time zone.

Our flight from London Heathrow to Tel Aviv was an overnight flight with British Airways. Together, we left our bedsit apartment to board a train for London. We had a whole afternoon to spend in London before heading out to Heathrow Airport. We made use of the time at the Natural History Museum in South Kensington.

The check-in at the airport went smoothly. I sat (as usual) by the window whilst Alex slept as she sat next to me. This was the second flight out together after our honeymoon to Rhodes. As I looked out of the window into the dark night, below was southern Germany, and being a clear night, its villages, towns, and cities glowed like clusters of illuminated diamonds surrounded by black velvet. It was quite an astonishing sight.

It was already dawn when we touched down at Ben Gurion Airport. At Passport Control, Alex passed through easily and without a hitch. But the officer stared hard at me, and with my passport in her hand, she turned to her supervisor who was busy doing something else. The senior officer turned and took one look at me, then at my passport photo, and waved me through as I was given the okay. The cause? My passport showed me wearing spectacles. At the control, I wasn't wearing them.

Outside, we took a bus to Tiberias, as I planned to show Alex the Sea of Galilee. It was quite a journey. After we arrived I found the same hotel I stayed at in 1976, and from where I hired a bicycle in 1994. There was a double-bed room available and we took it when it was offered. This was 2000, and the smartphone still didn't exist back then. Therefore, off-the-street hotel walk-ins were still possible. We spent the first day after arrival exploring the town and the lake shore. The photos posted here are from that visit.

Love by the Sea of Galilee.

Sea of Galilee.

The next day, I thought it was a brilliant idea to hire two bicycles from the hotel to cycle around the Sea of Galilee. This wasn't the first time for me. In 1994, I completed the entire 68 km (42 miles) circuit. This included the east side of the lake which was in Syria before 1967. However, the first few miles, that is, between Tiberias and Capernaum, were hilly, and involved stiff climbing. Being as I always was, I didn't consider Alex's pregnancy to be liable, as I have always known her to outrun me easily. As I said before, a fast speedboat versus an older creaking ship.

But Alex couldn't make it up the hill. Instead, she dismounted and lay on the ground to rest. I was already thinking about aborting the ride for the sake of both her and the baby when a car pulled up. The male driver suggested a visit to a hospital, but fearing any medical expenses here in Israel, we both declined, with Alex assuring him that it wasn't as bad as it looked. Reassured, the man then drove off, leaving us to return the bikes back to the hotel. This was the first of the two big mistakes we made during the first three days of the holiday.

The rest of our short stay in Tiberias was okay. From the beach and away from the beach resorts, I managed to swim in the cool freshwater lake. Again, for the baby's sake, Alex remained dry on shore.

Getting to and our arrival at Stella Carmel.

I am supposed to be an experienced traveller, yet a lack of proper pre-holiday research led us into hot water. Here, I'm referring to Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. In 2000, it fell on Friday, September 29th or the Year of the World 5761. However, by the time we found out that our arrival coincided with Rosh Hashanah, it was too late. Before the Jewish Holy Day, the town of Tiberias was alive and bustling, with the banks open. This was significant, as I had a wad of Traveller's Cheques and little cash. Cashing a cheque or two to cover the holy days would have sustained us for the next few days. But my lack of foresight led to difficulties - and it took a near-miracle to literally rescue us!

As it was still a normal working day, after three days at the lakeside town, we took a bus to Haifa from Tiberias. All was normal. We arrived at Haifa, only to find that the city was deserted, all shops closed, and even the taxis, including the Sherut, a service unique to Israel, weren't running. We were literally stranded, with a large wad of cheques but with no cash and no way to get to Stella Carmel - except, perhaps by foot.

Haifa is built on the northern slope of Mt Carmel, and normally, a single underground railway would have transported us from the city centre, which was by the harbour, to the crest of the mountain. But this too, was closed for the Jewish holiday. We had no other option but to walk, in the hope of arriving at Stella Carmel by nightfall, if possible, if I had the memory of 1994 to rely on. I also had my eye on the tall skyscraper of Haifa University, a marker indicating that our destination was not too far.

We climbed the multiple stairways that cut through the housing estate which was built on the northern slope of the mountain. We eventually arrived at the lovely town of Merkaz Hakarmel on the crest of the ridge, leaving behind a terrific panorama of the city and Harbour. This was the fulfilment of a prophetic dream I once had around 1996. I dreamt that I was at a high point looking down at Haifa Harbour. Standing beside me was a female, but unidentified in the dream.

We found the road that ran along the crest of the mountain ridge. We resumed walking. I carried the heavy rucksack which contained both Alex's and my essentials, leaving her nearly empty-handed except her handbag. We walked for a little way until I saw the University building standing tall. From Hakarmel, the University was 4.5 miles or 7km away. Then there was a further 6.5 km from the Uni to Stella Carmel. That's a total of 13.5 km or around eight miles. Far too much to cover, although on my own, sure. I might have covered that distance, even with the time I had left. But not with my wife and her unborn. I couldn't do that to her!

We hired Bikes.

A view of Haifa Harbour climbing Mt Carmel.

We came across a bench and we both sat down. I felt desperate. Alex didn't so much, as she depended on me. Somehow, we need to get to our destination. Instead, we were literally stranded next to a main road. Indeed, my thoughts were troubling me. I was an experienced traveller. I knew how to look after myself no matter where I was. How on Earth did I get into such a state, with Alex as much stranded as I was? I felt ashamed and somewhat embarrassed for not doing proper research before taking off. And then to rub salt into the wound, I could have cashed at least a cheque while I had the chance in Tiberias. That would have paid for a taxi direct to Stella Carmel - the only possible service on a national holiday in Israel, and even that was greatly reduced. 

I turned around to see a housing estate behind us. I thought about knocking on the door and literally begging the householder to give us a lift to the Centre, as my wife is pregnant. However, a continuous barrier fence separated the housing estate from the main road. There was no way to reach it.

How long we both sat there, I couldn't say. Twenty minutes, perhaps? Maybe half an hour. But just then, a car - a taxi by the looks of it, halted on the other side of the dual carriageway, heading towards Merkaz Hakarmel. The driver leaned out of the window and asked where we wanted to get to.

To Stella Carmel in Isfya! I called out. The driver then told us not to move, he'd be right back.

Indeed, he quickly returned, this time on our side of the road. He encouraged me to load the rucksack into the car trunk. I began to protest that I had little to no cash. But he told us to jump in nevertheless. We did. As we settled in the back seat, he gave us a ten-shekel note. He then explained that alongside driving a taxi, he also pastored a church in Haifa, and he was familiar with Stella Carmel. When we got there, he drove us up the driveway leading to its main entrance. After dropping us off and unloading the trunk, he then drove off, returning to where he came from.

An upstairs twin-bedded room was assigned to us and we settled in. We met Margaret, whom I have known since 1994. who seemed to have taken note of Alex's pregnancy. She cooked us a meal. We were the only guests that evening, and the whole Centre was quiet.

But our troubles weren't yet over.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For details of daily living at Stella Carmel, 1994 - it's Week 53, click here.

For details of how my role as a volunteer ended - it's Week 54, click here.

Next Week: Our Stay at Stella Carmel and another Miscalculation.

Travel Biography - Week 122.

Marriage and Travel

Alex and I had a wonderful honeymoon after we married in 1999. Furthermore, I reassessed the quality of package holidays. With some self-control from excess alcohol consumption and room for some independence (rather than fully escorted tours), this package was very enjoyable.

From Day One, I learned that marriage meant a change of plans, especially with travel. One example of this was my intention to travel around the world for the second time, possibly around 2000 or 2001. When we returned from our honeymoon, I knew that this would never be fulfilled. For a start, my beloved would never sleep in a single-gender dormitory of a hostel. As such, not only would I need to double the funding, but the price of hotel rooms is generally more expensive. In addition, currency inflation needed to be factored in.

But my love for backpacking never waned after the wedding. During our first months of marriage, we talked about future backpacking trips together. One ambition I held was - if we have children - to visit the Grand Canyon and show them the trail I hiked on, and the magnificent views seen from deep below the rims.

Corfe Castle Ruins. Stock photo.

However, there was one country Alex longed to visit, and that was the Holy Land. If we decided to go, this would be my fourth visit to the Beautiful Land after my first visit in 1976, then seventeen years later in 1993, and then as a volunteer for three months in 1994. This latest trip would be exceptional, as unlike the past three trips which I made on my own, this time it would be with my wife, and we chose to celebrate our first wedding anniversary there.

The Middle East has always been a turbulent area, especially at present when both Hamas of the Gaza Strip and Hezbollah of Lebanon are out to wipe Israel off the map, with Lebanon receiving support from Iran. Therefore, I was very thankful for the window of relative peace that followed the ceasefire in 1967, as I just mentioned already, allowing me the fortune of setting foot in Israel, particularly in Jerusalem, previously, and as Alex was proposing, again for me in 2000 which would be the first time for her. But since 1967, tensions between Israel and the Arabs simmered, with Yasser Arafat leading his Palestine Liberation Organisation in wanting to reclaim territory from Israel's domain.

In 1976 and 1994, I witnessed signs of these simmering tensions. In 1976, I had just landed at Tel Aviv Ben Gurion Airport. It was late evening and there were no buses to Jerusalem. So I took a taxi. The driver recommended what was then the Ron Hotel, but it was my choice to walk into its reception and ask if there was a room. After settling down for the night in the room offered, there was a very loud gunshot which echoed through the streets of the city. It was brought home to me that this was no holiday resort (more of this in Week 4 of this Biography). 

The other occasion took place in 1994. Outside the same hotel where I stayed in 1976, President Yitzhak Rabin was holding a meeting with the PLO leader Yasser Arafat, who wanted to make East Jerusalem a site for his PLO headquarters. While the talks were happening in the hotel, outside, crowding Zion Square, thousands of Israelis assembled in an angry protest. Palestinian flags and other banners were set alight among several TV cameras placed at strategic spots around the crowded square. And all that followed countless Orthodox Jews assembling at the plaza of the Western Wall and devoting themselves to prayer. And so, by listening, the Holy Land was, in a sense, speaking to me.

And such memories, both good and challenging, passed through my mind as Alex asked me to take her to Israel. So, during the early spring of 2000, we took a train to London and together, booked two weeks in Israel for our first anniversary. How coincidental! In 1993, the first of the seven years of Travel, I flew out to Israel after receiving a remarkable vision in 1992 while I was at work. After the 1994 flight to the Holy Land which followed the 1993 trip, I backpacked America in 1995, then Around the World in 1997. In 1998, I flew to New York to escape the international football. Then, in 1999, we had our Honeymoon. in Rhodes. Now we were about to visit Israel - the first visit for Alex.

Some weeks after the booking was made, Tim, my friend and accountant, asked if I would like a weekend camping at Corfe Castle, Dorset. Although camping was not my thing, I agreed to accompany him. While we were away, Alex agreed to spend her time with Tim's wife, Sharon.

I loved that part of the world, the Isle of Purbeck, although not an island but a peninsula, surrounded by Poole Harbour to the north, Studland, the Chalk Foreland of Ballard Down, and the resort of Swanage, all facing east towards the Isle of Wight, and to the south faces the English Channel. To the west, the land strip continues towards the holiday resort of Weymouth. A hiking trail, known as the Dorset Coastal Path, provides a dramatic but strenuous clifftop walk from Swanage to Weymouth, a 31-mile, or 50 km ramble along the Jurassic Coast. I recall completing this distance in two days in 1996, after returning from the Grand Canyon hike in 1995, but before snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef in 1997. 

At Durlston Head, Swanage, Easter 1999.

At Dancing Ledge, Swanage, 1999.

The Jurassic Coast, like the Grand Canyon and the Great Barrier Reef, bathed in natural tranquillity, the lack of a boisterous crowd, no threat of war, and no intense commercialism make such a location a quiet retreat, even if engaged in strenuous activity. As I tackled the steep clifftop hills between Kimmerige Bay and Lulworth Cove, there was peaceful silence, even when I had to tackle Flowers Barrow, the western end of the chalk ridge stretching the whole length of the Isle of Purbeck to end at Ballard Down in Swanage, and tapering to the famous Old Harry Rocks. On the second day, I hiked the shorter, easier route into Weymouth.

That was in 1996. In the spring of 1999, during our courting days and around six months before the wedding, Alex and I went to spend a long weekend (Easter) in Swanage. Originally, we were meant to camp, as Alex always loved camping even if I didn't. Earlier, Tim lent us his tent. When I had difficulty erecting the tent, I felt my patience drain and feeling flustered, set off to a nearby hotel. That was before I bought my own tent to camp at Stoneleigh in August of that year. During that break, we went out hiking from Swanage to Chapmans Pool, then turned inland, and returned to Swanage via the Priest's Way, passing through a lovely little village of Worth Matravers, and we completed a circuit of 14 miles or 22.5 km. The photos in this week's blog are from that 1999 Easter break. 

Two Married Men on a Weekend Break.

It was a beautifully sunny Saturday morning when Tim began his drive to Corfe Castle during the Whitsun weekend in 2000. While we were on our way, Alex joined Sharon and her young children and together they spent the day at Legoland, near Windsor. Eventually, when we arrived at the campsite, I was impressed with the site which was located at Bucknowle Farm, just over a mile from the castle ruins and a half-hour walk.

We set up our tents. I remember Tim's as he set it up. It was the same tent that was lent to us a year earlier before the wedding. The tent I had was the one I bought secondhand from a customer in readiness for the Stoneleigh Bible Week the previous summer.

As our friendship went back many years, whenever he teased, I playfully wrestled him to the ground. We were no longer adult men with responsibilities, but two boys who enjoyed pitting ourselves to each other. Yet, each knew of our closeness. There was no animosity.

Although the weather was fine during the day, it was very different at night. Torrential rain fell across Dorset. The raindrops falling on my tent were amplified to a loud, continuous clatter. It wasn't long before Tim approached my tent door with a plea to share mine. The roof of his was leaking.

As we lay close to each other in a confined space, I knew why I disliked camping. The clatter of raindrops was loud, I was shivering cold and damp, even if the roof of my tent held well. I hardly slept.

On the same day we arrived, that afternoon, a Saturday, we strolled into the village, but we didn't enter the castle itself, even as it loomed on an area of high ground which was part of the chalk ridge from Ballard Down in Swanage to Flower Barrow near Lulworth Cove.

The following night was the same as the first. The lovely sunshine gave way to a thick cloud, and once again, after dark, there was a torrential downpour which lasted most of the night. Again, Tim had to share my tent, as his shelter was practically useless in wet weather. However, on one of the evenings, Tim took his car and drove me to Swanage. At one of the fish & chip bars, we enjoyed an outdoor meal as we strolled along the esplanade. As I looked around, the white cliffs of Ballard Down towards the north, and Peveril Point jutting out to sea just south of us, make for this extraordinary geological phenomenon that has not only attracted geologists from far and wide but has been so familiar to me since I was eight years old. Indeed, I was on a primary school two-week trip like the school journey made to Llangollen a year later in 1962. 

On the second day, a Sunday, we went out on a coastal hike. Unfortunately, I never brought my camera with me for that holiday, therefore I cannot relate exactly where along the Dorset Coast path we hiked. But at least it was sunny once again. But since the hike took much of the day to complete, it must have been a circuit similar to the one Alex and I did the previous year. Wherever we went, I remember the stretch of the coastal path we covered both on the outward and return walks.

It was not long after the start of the hike when I saw a patch of mud and water interrupting the trail. I took a leap and cleared it while my accountant friend simply walked through. That was when a more serious conversation arose. I admitted my fear of mud patches since I was a child. In his characteristic British manner, he fobbed off my complaint as silly. I then explained that as a boy, I once watched a Western on our little monochrome TV where the villain's life ended when he sank into a patch of quicksand and was fully submerged.

Does quicksand really exist? I asked my father. He answered that quicksand does exist in real life, but never added, But not in this country. Not long after, my primary school class was taking a morning walk through Richmond Park in west London. I stepped onto a mud patch and immediately both my feet began to sink into the mud. Remembering the fate of the villain, I panicked in terror until a teacher arrived and pulled me free. This just goes to show how long-forgotten childhood fears could suddenly surface given the right circumstances, something Tim needed to realise.

Approaching Chapman's Pool.

Chapman's Pool, Dorset. Spring 1999.

The third day, Bank Holiday Monday, followed another stormy night in the tent. But as the sun once again appeared in the clear sky, I felt relieved to return home. In all, it was an enjoyable holiday. Two grown married men, both church-goers, both having competed in sports - Tim in football and rugby games while I swam, cycled, and ran in Triathlon events held across the country. Tim was a father, and I wasn't, but that didn't matter to me. After our wedding, my own perception has changed rapidly, as the saying goes, he who loves his wife loves himself.

While we were away, Alex was with Sharon and her children (now all grown up). But how the conversation went between Tim's wife and my wife, I will never know. But something was happening inside her which she didn't yet know, let alone me. While I was wrestling with Tim on the ground after a bit of teasing, little did I know that inside Alex's womb, a tiny new life was taking shape.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: The Flight to Israel. 

Travel Biography - Week 121.

An End to One's Life's Chapter.

Of the 20 photos here, two are of the wedding, the other 18 are from our honeymoon album. With 106 pics in the album, I hope that I have selected the most memorable.

My feelings were somewhat mixed. That Friday back in 1999 was to be my last day of bachelorhood. My 47th birthday had just gone. Just two years earlier, while I was backpacking around the world, I never dreamed that I would marry before the end of the decade, century, and millennium. Rather, I was pondering on what life would have been like growing old as a singleton, with loneliness my only companion.

But Alex was determined to pair up with me. As I took off to Singapore in 1997 to visit Australia, and then continue on to California, I was already in her sight and mind. And so, just over two years later, I felt nervous as I reclined in the quietness of my apartment. She spent that day at her parent's home. That afternoon, I visited our local sauna at Coral Reef Waterworld, a leisure pool and spa suite, a twenty-minute walk away from home through the back of the woods. Sitting alone in the heated cabin, I knew this was the last of everything. Or was it? 

After arriving home that evening from Coral Reef, Mum phoned. She asked whether I was sure that this was what I wanted. Later, Alex said that she too was asked by her Dad the same question.

The Big Day and the Flight out to Rhodes.

After a very anxious wait for the bride to arrive, she was escorted by her father into the church. I felt a massive sense of relief. She could have changed her mind at the very last minute, a fear I'm sure lies deep within every waiting groom sitting on the pew or standing at the altar, especially if there's a delay.

Our big day.

Our Reception.

At our Hotel, Rhodes.

Lardos Beach, Rhodes.

And so, that unforgettable morning, we were wed. The ceremony, including the signing of the Register, took an hour. The Reception followed in the church's back room a short while later. Yet, how did I really feel? On one hand, happy to finally tie the knot and my status changed from bachelor to husband, from single to married. Yet, I anticipated the future. Even at Reception, behind the smiles, I had a premonition that testing times would eventually follow, yet, I felt confident that not only our future marriage would hold, but grow strong and robust through these coming trials.

My younger brother, Robert, was the best man. He was also the escort who drove us to Gatwick Airport drop-off after the Reception had ended. After hugging my brother farewell and wishing him the best of everything, we were finally alone as we made our way to check in for our flight. This flight was only the second in my entire life shared with another person - after flying out to Spain with a college mate 27 years earlier in 1972. Thus, I felt that this was so different after taking to the air so many times on my own between those years.

I'm aware that there may be many couples who won't reveal where their honeymoon destination was, perhaps in keeping with tradition. But they seem happier to say where they went to for all other subsequent holidays. We were perhaps the exception. On our wedding day, quite a few knew where we were heading for our honeymoon. That included both family members on both sides and closest friends. There was nothing to hide. We were heading to Rhodes, one of a group of 12 Greek islands, and also the largest of the Dodecanese.

Two weeks ago, I wrote that since 1972, I never went on another package holiday until 2007. However, by the time I realised that I had forgotten about the honeymoon, it was too late to correct the error, as that week's blog had already attracted many readers. So, let me set the record straight. Our Honeymoon in 1999 was the first package holiday since 1972. However, I'll go as far as to say that had I not met and married Alex, chances were that I would never go on any package holiday until perhaps old age, if at all.

My lifelong dislike for package holidays was borne out of the 1972 package trip to Spain. To me, that was not Travel but Sunseeking. It was one way to escape the dismal British summer for a spell of warm sunshine, with sand and sea thrown in. But in 1972, rather than an escape to the sunshine, it was Sun, Sand, Sea, and Alcohol. It was something I never wanted to experience again. Yet, there we were, about to go on another package holiday. But with a big difference. It would have none of the intoxication. Hence, the only difference between our honeymoon and independent backpacking was that both the package flight and the single-venue hotel were arranged in advance for us by the travel company, Thomsons.

The Acropolis, Lindos.

The Acropolis, Lindos

Lindos Bay

Lindos' main souk.

St Paul's Bay as seen from the Acropolis, Lindos.

North entrance into St Paul's Bay.

Our Arrival at Rhodes. 

We landed at Rhodes Airport late into the night, and we had to ask for the appropriate bus to our hotel, which was quite a long ride from the airport. Eventually, we arrived at Hotel Lardos Bay, on the southwest coast of the island. Being late at night, we were shown our room, itself a short walk from the Reception across the large quadrangle that contained the sunbathing area, hotel pool, and a freestanding bar.

The holiday was two weeks long, and it gave us a chance to learn about the island, its geography, history and culture. Remembering 1972, I hardly touched any alcohol. Instead, we enjoyed viewing the night scene with perfect contentment without any intoxication spoiling the romance. But being who I always was and who I still am - one for a quest for adventure, Rhodes offered little backpacking per se. 

Fortunately, there were two activities which came close. One was diving. I was not snorkelling this time but scuba diving - breathing underwater using air tanks fixed to my back. The other activity was a one-way hike from our hotel at Lardos Beach to Lindos. With adequate preparation, Alex was willing to accompany me on this six-mile, 10 km walk along the coastal road to this beautiful historic town which boasts the restored ruins of the Acropolis and the natural lagoon formation of St Paul's Bay. The hike wasn't our first visit to Lindos. Earlier in the honeymoon, we took a bus to Lindos to explore the town more thoroughly, noting the spectacular narrow strip of a peninsula jutting into the inky-blue Mediterranean. Lindos Beach was on our side of the peninsula, and we hired a pedalo for an hour. Poor Alex became anxious for our safety as we pedalled way out to sea to some small rocky islands!

Scuba Diving at Kallithea.

Our boat is to the right.

About to have our first Dive.

The diving was booked soon after arriving at our hotel. The day was halfway through the holiday. That morning, the coach escorted us to Mandraki Harbour and Marina at the island's capital, Rhodos. At its entrance from the sea were two pillars, one on each side of the entrance. On each pillar, a deer stood, one male, the other female. These pillars marked the traditional site of the giant Statue of Colossus, erected in 280 BC, and one of the Seven Wonders of the World, and was destroyed by an earthquake in 226 BC.

The boat, with probably up to thirty people on board including the staff, sailed out of Mandraki Harbour to head directly south to Kallithea Springs, a narrow inlet between two headlands and reputed for its clear waters. Here, the boat docked at one of the two diving platforms. My group, up to ten novice divers, were the first to don our suits and dive into the sea. Unfortunately, my wedding ring shot off my finger and was lost somewhere on the rocky seabed. Thinking that the ring was easily replaceable, I still made an effort to enjoy the dive. After the dive was over, after informing one of the supervisors about my wedding ring, he dived down and retrieved it! How he found such a small yet valuable object underwater on the uneven floor was surely a miracle, yet was I relieved! I made sure that I was more careful during our second dive a couple of hours later.

Between the two dives, we were free to explore the environment. The Kallithea Thermos was in a dilapidated state in 1999, and derelict. But I heard through the grapevine that it was earmarked for full restoration. According to the photo of it on Google Maps, this was accomplished, looking more like a museum piece than an actual hot bath.

The second dive, two hours after the first one, was okay, but having lost my coordination, I needed guidance from the supervisor. This was still very new to me, and it was very different from snorkelling. However, all ended well afterwards with a desire to remain in the water for longer. But with the others, I too had to board the platform. On both dives, Alex remained dry on the platform and watched. In all, it was a good day but with a lack of experience, I still had a long way to go with scuba diving.

At the Master's Palace, Rhodos.

Hippocrates Square.

Temple of Aphrodite.

One of the souks, Rhodos.

A Visit to the Island's Capital.

The chief city of Rhodes is Rhodos. It consists of the Old Town centred on Hippocrates Square, the Palace of the Grand Masters of the Knights, and the ruined Temple of Aphrodite. The medieval Old City was the centre of our attention. It was surrounded by the city wall with several gates, the most noted was the Sea Gate which led into Hippocrates Square, a well-known tourist spot. Outside the city walls, to the east is Mandraki Harbour, to the north, the island tapers at Elli Beach, from where we enjoyed a view of the Taslica Peninsula of Turkey. The rest of the New Town is an uninteresting urban sprawl. At Rhodos, we spent most of our time within the city walls and along Mandraki Harbour.

As I saw it, there were distinct similarities between Rhodos and Jerusalem. Both have a walled medieval Old City. Both have the New City attached to the outside of the city walls, the streets of both Old Cities were narrow, and the main souks of Jerusalem were roofed over. The streets of Rhodos were all open to the sky. Yet both had that distinctive medieval feel, as I walked through history, and now the experience shared with my new love.

One of the deers at Mandraki Harbour.

Close-up of the deer.

At Platia Simis, Rhodos.

Relaxing at Mandraki Harbour.

On days when we didn't leave the hotel, we spent much time sunbathing by the irregular-shaped pool. As I mentioned earlier in this biography when writing about Arlie Beach in Australia, many hotels have irregular-shaped pools designed that way to look at rather than swim. Hence, under the hot summer sunshine, a raging thirst develops. And it's no accident that very close to the pool there is the drinks bar. Also, salty peanuts were sometimes provided in a dish and were available for the taking. Package holidays really are money-making machines!

Two weeks after our wedding, it was time to head for the airport.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: Alex and I are preparing to visit Israel. And I nearly hit the roof.

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?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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