Travel Does Have Its Underbellies...

At last! a lift of some of the restrictions of the Coronavirus lockdown. Pubs are re-opening, as with some shops selling non-essentials, which means a man can walk into the barbers for a trim or a shave but any woman who wishes to have her fingernails manicured, well - tough. Those nail bars remain shut. Did our medical scientists announce that the virus thrives under the female thumbnail? Who knows. No wonder we were told to constantly wash or sanitise our hands whenever we went out.

Alas! Our gyms and swimming pools remain stubbornly shut as well. Never mind that the chlorine in the pool actually kills the virus. And who knows. The rate of infection might have slowed down among swimmers or even grind to a halt altogether. As for sea bathing, I'm aware that bacteria are not particularly fond of the sea, but the virus? Well, despite a mass gathering of sunbathers to the beaches of Brighton and Bournemouth on a hot midweek day, so far, there has not been a nationwide rise in the rate of infection, unless, of course, that everyone who crowded those beaches happen to live in Leicester.

Bournemouth Beach during the lockdown, May 2020.

And among all those who can trade again, the tourist industry is, at last, trying to awake from its slumber. International agreements were made for "air bridges" to be established where our lot can visit countries which has a low infection rate and likewise allow visitors from these countries to land on UK soil without having to face quarantine at either end for two weeks after landing. As for the USA, President Donald Trump has closed all borders from both British and European visitors alike. That means if I wanted to take Alex to see the Grand Canyon for herself...er, nope. Sorry. Not that she's keen to visit the National Park anyway. Alex my beloved has a strong phobia of cliff edges.

Thus at present, the US international borders remain closed to all outsiders. It's a vast contrast to those wonderful days of the 1990s when all I had to do was walk into an agency to buy a return air ticket and hey presto, I was able to board a plane as easily as boarding a train without any ado - at least before the 9/11 disasters. Thanks to the Visa Waiver Scheme set up by an agreement made between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan during the eighties.

Since 9/11, to visit the USA as a tourist, in addition to a valid passport, I now need to get an Electronic System of Travel Authorisation (ESTA) - something I didn't require before that dreadful day in 2001, those glorious days when I backpacked the US during 1995, 1997 and in 1998 with such unrestricted freedom. An ESTA application has a charge - $14 or currently £9.00, but chances are that ESTA is far easier to get than those wretched visas which were a hindrance back in 1977 when preparing for my first ever trip to the States.

It was the era when the TV cop series Starsky & Hutch was all the rage in family entertainment. One evening during late 1976 or early 1977, some young single people in our church gathered together for a social at the home of one of our deacons. We all watched Starsky & Hutch and I saw how all the girls swooned at David Soul who played LA detective Ken Hutchingson, along with his partner David Starsky (Paul Glaser). Immediately I felt envious of Hutch in particular, not only for his casual dress which attracted the girls and sent them all swooning - but also for their location in Southern California. 

The city of Los Angeles is backed by the San Gabriel Mountains which can be seen from the city on a clear day, with Mt San Antonio peaking at 3,069 metres, more than three times higher than England's highest peak, Scafell Pike at 978 metres. Oh well, at least Scotland's Ben Nevis reaches 1,345 metres into the sky, therefore at least it can be called a proper mountain, the highest in the UK.  

Having travelled already to Israel in 1976, from that evening onwards I knew that I wanted to visit California and Los Angeles in particular. I had the money, I had the time, and I also had a valid passport. But with the USA, during the seventies, all visitors must carry a visa stamped in the passport. Although issued gratis, the extreme fussiness in applying for one had not only frustrated my plans, but it was actually a blessing in disguise.

Within applying, in addition to all personal information, I had to give details of my current employment, demonstrating to the US Embassy officials that I intend to return to my job here in the UK after my visit. Since my firm where I worked was due to close down and move to Plymouth later that year, the enclosed employer's letter sent with the application form and passport was unconvincing. About a week to ten days later, the package returned. The relevant page in the passport was still blank, and as for the application form, it returned to me with the whole page struck through, as if done with anger.

Starsky left, and Hutch - 1970s Television Icons.

Thus, with the USA out of my reach, instead, I settled for Canada, with Toronto being my first choice. To some whom I knew, Toronto was a lousy swop compared to Los Angeles, and they said so. My original intention in Canada was to spend the whole of my time in the region with a chance to explore the Great Lakes. As such, I bought a return air ticket for Toronto.

But the temptation to have another go with applying for a US visa couldn't be resisted. This time I asked my employer for an official, stamped letter saying that I am employed by them and my employment will continue after my return. Rather than posting the fresh app form as I did the first time, I took a day off work for a trip to London to visit the embassy itself.

After a long wait in the queue, I finally handed all relevant documents to the official at the desk. I was told to return several hours later that afternoon. When I did, I was happy when I walked out looking at the rather huge and colourful multiple-entry visa stamped inside my passport. Thus my plans changed entirely. When my original intention was to fly direct to LA from London, instead, I bought a Greyhound Bus Ameripass ticket, a book of vouchers which enabled me to travel freely and without limit across the whole of the North American Continent, both Canada and the USA alike. That meant a day spent at the powerful Niagara Falls, a treasured memory I would never have made if the visa was granted the first time around.

In fact, the outer urban LA area did not have much to boast about. Some of the Starsky & Hutch car-chasing action looks as if it might have been shot around the East 7th Street area, which isn't that touristy at all, although I walked through that particular area to get to the Greyhound Bus Terminal which, by 1995, had relocated there from Downtown, where it was in the seventies. Instead, in 1977, I concentrated on visiting Hollywood Universal Studios, Long Beach and Disneyland. And no, throughout my stay there I was unable to see any of the peaks of San Gabriel Mountains, thanks to the smog. Indeed, it turned out that Toronto and its environs can be a better place for visiting, especially being on the shores of Lake Ontario and nearby Niagara Falls.

Lone backpacking travel can leave me in a bit of a pickle and I recall a couple of scary experiences, both due to lack of proper planning or lack of foresight. One hair-raising experience happened in France in the early eighties. I was staying at a hotel in Rouen, a city between Dieppe/Le Havre on the north coast, and Paris. On one occasion, I decided to board a train for a day in Dieppe. I just took enough cash with me for a return ticket, leaving my wallet of credit and debit cards safely in the bedside cabinet drawer. I recall the train passing through a tunnel just before pulling into Dieppe terminus. That evening I boarded the train destined for Paris, as all trains stopping at Rouen then went on to Paris.

As the train gathered speed, shooting through one station after another, I suddenly realised that this train did not pass through the tunnel as before. I began to panic. What if I ended up in Paris via a different route? I'll be literally stranded with no fare money to retrace the journey and with nowhere to stay. Literally stuck in Paris completely penniless. And as the train shot through each station, this was becoming more of a reality.

A ticket inspector checked my ticket but he was clueless about what I should do as he walked away. Fortunately, I was not alone in the carriage. At the next seats were a group of boys, chatting happily and looking to be in their teens. I asked them in broken French if this train stopped at Rouen. One answered no, I must change at Serqueux. Even such an answer gave me a rush of relief as the train travelled full speed. One of the boys even gave me a sweet to help calm my nerves.

When the train eventually slowed down to stop at Serqueux, I was glad to alight, thanking the boys. Although I had to endure a ninety-minute wait before the connecting train from Amiens arrived, the very sight of the forecourt interior of Rouen Station made me want to dance with joy.

This was one very big lesson for me. Never again would I ever leave the house or hotel room without my wallet of banking cards. As for the Dieppe-Serqueux line, you won't find it anymore on Google Maps or Google Earth. That section of the line closed down in 2009, but Serqueux Station is still served by the route from Amiens.

Or what about the time when my 18-week pregnant wife and I were stranded along the highway on the summit ridge of Mount Carmel in Northern Israel, back in the year 2000? After alighting at Haifa Bus Station from Tiberias, we found the city deserted and like a ghost town. How lacking in foresight on my part had left us unprepared for the Jewish Rosh Hashannah which is a national holiday lasting several days? With not a single shop open, penniless despite having a thick book of Traveller's Cheques, and thinking that our final destination, Stella Carmel Christian Conference Centre in Ishfya, was just a climb up the mountain away, we made our way up the hill through a long series of steps separating each street.

By the time we reached the summit, we then realised that our destination was much further away than we thought. Laden with heavy backpacks, we were stranded in the middle of nowhere. That is until we were spotted by the driver of a passing car. He turned out to be the pastor of a church in Haifa and has offered us a lift to the centre. Furthermore, he gave us a ten shekel note to set us on our way.*

Indeed, I would love to think of myself as an experienced traveller, but poor planning or lacking foresight is just the weakness required for God to intervene, as he had done in those last three cases. To some reading this, how could I complain about my travel failures if millions around the world live in starvation-level poverty? Or even here in England, many just manage to scrape through on benefits? A day trip to Bognor may be considered a luxury treat to them. And here I am, unable to get a US visa, stuck inside a runaway train in France and stranded in the middle of nowhere in Israel.

At Niagara Falls, Summer 1977.

I'm pretty sure that I'm comparing myself to many a graduate, who tends to take a gap year to backpack or even work overseas. And many of such graduates fill our church pews. Therefore I tend to compare myself to them rather than to the poor.

And God sees my weaknesses and for such weaknesses, he sent his Son to die and atone for us. And no matter what situation any of us might be in, God is willing and able to rescue us from a dire situation. 

But best of all, by having faith in the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth and thus proving to be the Christ, the Son of God, indeed we are rescued from eternal death, have all our sins forgiven, imputed with the righteousness of Christ, and to become fellow heirs of glory along with Him, is the best journey anyone can take, which is free.

No tickets or visas required!

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*For a more thorough detail of our experience on the summit of Mount Carmel, plus the benefits of travelling with friends, click here.