Travel Biography - Week 12.

Niagara Falls. 

One of the main reasons why I flew to Toronto was to visit Niagara Falls. From Toronto, it's a 90-minute journey on the Greyhound Bus covering approximately 85 miles, or 137 km. As the road skirts around the western end of Lake Ontario, from my window, the north coastline was already behind the horizon, giving the impression that we were travelling along the ocean shoreline. We passed through one central town, Hamilton, nestling on the very end of the lake. The journey ended at the resort which borders the US State of New York, with the international boundary running along the middle of Niagara River.

As I stood at the lookout with the falls almost at touching distance, I felt the ground constantly shake as the water crashed over a crest 57 metres high. Whenever the sun was out, the constant spray created a permanent rainbow within the mist. Thus, my impression of nature was a combination of the waters thundering over a rocky ledge causing the ground I was standing on to literally tremble, along with the delicate mist lingering directly in front of the falls and the rainbow seen as the sun shone through it.

Horseshoe Falls, Niagara. Taken 1977.

From time to time, the famous Maid of the Mist sailed along the River Niagara to within metres of the base of the curved waterfall. I have wondered just how well the sea of umbrellas on the deck had kept those passengers under them dry.

From where I was standing on the Canadian side, I was looking across the river to the USA. In 1977, the opposite shore lacked the facilities of a holiday resort. However, since the Horseshoe Falls which is the widest of the three waterfalls, spanning 820 metres, is on the Canadian side, I'm not too surprised that the main resort happened to be where I was. One of the other two waterfalls, the American Falls, is 290 metres wide. Finally, the narrowest of the three falls, Bridal Veil Falls, is only 17 metres wide, and it's separated from the American Falls by Luna Island. Both of these are in the USA. The promenade running alongside the Canadian side of the river passes directly opposite the two American falls, giving a fantastic view. The promenade continues on to Rainbow Bridge which crosses the river.

Within the resort, and right next to the start of the Horseshoe Falls, a visitor's centre marked the start of an underground passage that opens out right behind the thundering falls. In my day, I was able to walk almost right up to the cascade itself. Only a safety barrier stopped me from actually reaching out and touching the falls, as it was placed so that the cascade was indeed just out of my reach - as actually touching the cascade from behind might have proved fatal by its powerful suction force.

The whole manmade cave shook as the mighty falls tumbled over its mouth, creating a curtain-like phenomenon accompanied by constant thunderous noise. Like all other visitors, I was kept dry by wearing a hooded black plastic mackintosh provided at the reception upstairs at ground level.

Afterwards, I strolled along the promenade toward Rainbow Bridge. This bridge carries the main road over the Niagara River and over the border to the American side. At that end of the bridge, a checkpoint allowed traffic to cross the international border.

However, the actual border itself is in the middle of the bridge, halfway across in either direction. Along the whole length of the bridge, a barrier separated a footway from the main road. Here, it was possible to walk from Canada to the USA and back. Halfway across the bridge, two parallel lines were painted across the path, each with the letters spelling Canada and the USA. I sat on the two lines, my left leg in the US, my right leg in Canada, and facing the Horseshoe Falls, some 2 km away!

The American Falls is directly behind me.

After a while, I completed the walk across Rainbow Bridge, and I found myself standing at the US Passport Control gate. Having my passport on me with a US entry visa stamped inside, I was eligible to enter the USA legally. But at this point, I refused to go any further. After such difficulty in getting a visa in London in the first place, I was afraid that here at Niagara, having entered the States already, the visa I had would no longer allow me into Detroit early the following morning, as I was intending. Therefore, I was given a removable tag placed inside my passport bearing the words, Voluntary refused entry without prejudice. This was shown to the Canadian border control at the other end of the bridge.

It was one of those occasions when I had to exercise caution. After having gone through a bureaucratic wrangle at the US Embassy in London, at this point, I wasn't sure about the validity of the visa, and if I was refused entry into the USA at Detroit, the whole schedule would be blown to pieces. Therefore, I sauntered back into Canada in readiness to board the Greyhound Bus back to Toronto.

Entry into the States.

Later that evening, I vacated the hotel room and made my way to the Greyhound Bus Station. After booking, I, among others, boarded the bus for a 4-hour, 233-mile, or 376 km overnight journey to Windsor, Ontario, where I would see whether my entry visa had any powers.

As the bus arrived and rode alongside the Detroit River, I was astonished at how close we were to the city skyline. In a guess, that part of the river was between 500 to 600 metres wide, perhaps equivalent to the width of the River Thames in the Greenwich area of London. The skyline was very much like Manhatten at night, city blocks rising into the sky, each sparkling with interior lighting, giving almost a Christmas tree effect. The Detroit coastline was quite a big contrast to the more sedate Canadian side.

At the US Border control, the bus parked in a bay and we were all instructed to return to the same bus for the final run into Detroit. Inside the building, we all lined up, each of us to be questioned by two tired and fed-up-looking officers sitting behind a desk. My heart began to beat faster as my anxiety rose. In front of me was a young oriental couple. As one candidate after another was given the all-clear and made his way back to the bus, it was the turn of the couple.

With the usual questioning, the pair had to produce documents that apparently didn't add up. Something to do with their marital status not conforming to their documentation. The questioning kept on longer than those who were given the all-clear. Eventually, I saw the officer shake his head and apologise.

Sorry, but your present status disallows your entry. We're sending you both back to Canada. Now please stand aside.

Indeed, the two just stood there, looking morose and downcast as my turn arrived. The officers examined my passport and checked my visa. With no further ado, I was waived through and told to return to the bus. As I moved on, feeling rushed with relief, I turned in pity to the oriental couple still standing aside. 

On the Border at Rainbow Bridge, Niagara.

With everyone checked and the bus full, it began its last leg of the journey by crossing the River Detroit on the Ambassador Bridge, the one link between Canada and the USA before the river emptied into the nearby Lake St Clair, a small in-between after the much larger Lake Huron and the next major body of water, Lake Erie, all part of St Lawrence Passage that allows a ship to sail from the Atlantic Ocean to Chicago, on the southern tip of Lake Michigan, the only lake wholly within the USA and in the heart of the continent.

Chicago - and some unexpected news.

The journey ended, after just five minutes, at Detroit Bus Terminal. Rather than remain in Detroit, I booked a seat on another bus bound for Chicago, where I would arrive by early afternoon. Then I settled at a cafeteria table for breakfast, which by then, daylight has broken.

A fellow passenger from Toronto, a young man about my age, asked if he could sit with me with his food package. I welcomed him. We talked about the strict entry requirements for the States and how unfortunate it was for that couple who had to be sent back to Canada against their will.

As my back was turned towards the entrance to the cafeteria, my new friend suddenly jumped and looked on in horror. 

The US Immigration officers, they're here and heading straight for us! He almost shouted.

WHOA-WHAT??? I cried and turned around to look. But I saw nothing significant. I turned around to see him laughing. "Why, you..." then I breathed a sigh of relief. 

We talked further. Chicago wasn't on his hit list. Instead, he was heading elsewhere.

Eventually, I boarded a Greyhound Americruiser and settled down for another four hours-plus of bus travel to the Midwest. By road, Chicago is 283 miles or 463 km from Detroit, and I should arrive there by lunchtime, having gained an hour after entering the Central Time Zone, which is six hours behind BST.

In Downtown Chicago, I alighted from the bus at the terminal and wandered through the streets, only to see a large crowd gathered with TV cameras here and there. Intrigued, I approached one in the crowd and asked him what was going on.

You have not heard? Elvis Presley died today.

Oh dear, the King of Rock - dead? What did he die of?

We think it may be from cardiovascular disease, or maybe even a drug overdose. We're not yet sure.

Checking on the records, the day of his death was Tuesday, August 16th, the day I entered the USA for the first time in my life and my arrival in Chicago. I sauntered off, feeling pensive about how life can come to a sudden end, just like that. As the Bible says, nobody knows what tomorrow will bring. I felt fortunate to be alive and well, and it's something I have learned to appreciate as I grow older.

The tallest building in the world at that time was located in Chicago. It was then known as the Sears Building, a skyscraper standing 442 metres high, and now known as the Willis Tower. I managed to take the elevator to the observation deck, at 412.4 metres, thus the highest Skydeck in the USA. From it, I had a good view of the Ogilvie/Union Canal as it splits into two just north of the tower.

The Willis Tower, formerly the Sears Building, Chicago. Stock photo.

A while later, I made my way to Lake Michigan. To do so, I paused to ask a police officer, a giant of a man in uniform and carrying a gun in his waistbelt whilst directing traffic, where I can find the coastline. He wasn't unkind when he gave me the right directions.

The lakefront of Chicago is adorned with one of the largest fountains I have ever seen. It was a good place to meditate, especially on the death of Elvis, away from the busy traffic that makes this city bustling with life. However, I decided not to look for a hotel this time, but to board a Greyhound Americruiser and head further west.

This was the plan. When booking a seat on the bus, I had to state my chosen destination. If this involves an overnight journey, then I take this to my advantage. Although I'll be the first to admit, I can't sleep well at all whilst in a sitting position, nevertheless, it does great credit to the budget. It was well into the evening when I left Chicago. I was about to settle for a long journey to Salt Lake City in Utah to see for myself another wonder of nature.

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Next Week: A Bus breaks down in Utah.

Travel Biography - Week 11.

Flight to Toronto 1977.

At the Gatwick Airport departure lounge, my flight came up on the screen on time with the words, "Boarding. Gate xx." I made my way through the corridors until I found the appropriate gate. It wasn't long before I settled into my window seat on the starboard side of the aeroplane. Shortly after taking off, I saw that the scenery was so dramatic under clear skies, I paused a passing stewardess to ask the pilot exactly where we were flying over, as the view below looked so spectacular.

In Toronto. On a ferry to Toronto Island.

The voice of one of the crew members crackled into life with the announcement that we were flying over the Scottish Highlands, just as I've unpacked the camera that was given to me by Dad, who had it for many years. It mainly was a metal contraption covered with a dappled light grey plastic jacket. It accepted a paper-backed size 120 film. Onto it, twelve square negatives were snapped, each one was 56mm by 56mm. It was this camera that accompanied me to Italy in both years 1973 and 1975, along with Israel in 1976. Now, I was using it on this American trip Part1.

But as I released the shutter to permanently record the dramatic scenery below, the mechanism made a strange noise. Looking through the lens, I saw a mechanical failure. The camera, loaded with an unused film, could no longer be used, even when I tried to release the shutter several times. My heart fell. Next to the passport, the tickets and the book of traveller's cheques, the camera was the most important item for a backpacker, even more so than all the contents in the suitcase or rucksack stashed away in the hold.

Suddenly, I felt vulnerable. I was flying to a faraway land, a different continent to Europe, and unlike the Middle East which is connected to Europe by land bridges and international borders, this one I was heading for was across a wide expanse of ocean.

When the stewardess arrived wheeling a trolley loaded with in-flight meals, I had an idea as she handed a tray to me. It contained a small bowl of soup, the main course tray, a dessert bowl, a small glass of red wine and a bread roll. An excellent serving, in my opinion, for one who flying on such a cheap economy ticket.

After the meal, would I dare to consecrate the bread and the wine into the Body and Blood of Christ? As I was doing this, I felt apprehensive, fearful even. I was aware that the Catholic Church (in which I grew up) took this sacrament so seriously that only the priest had the authority to perform the consecration. But what did God think? Would an engine explode, sending the plane into the ocean? Would I just die before touchdown at Toronto? Would something terrible happen sometime after arrival? After all, I was performing a sacrament without authority and as such, incurring the wrath of the Church. This was my worldview in 1977.

However, after praying over the two substances, I performed the sacrament, only to realise that I have done the right thing and everything would turn out fine.

As the plane approached the runway, a conversation I thought was odd occurred between two middle-aged females sitting across the aisle, and me. Just before the touchdown, one of them asked why the plane was going so fast just before landing, whilst going much slower in full flight.

When I saw that both looked baffled, I explained that at this moment, the plane was moving around 200 mph (whether that was true or not) - whilst in full flight, it was doing up to 600 mph. When I saw her puzzled look, I tried to explain the parallax phenomenon.

Imagine you are walking along the street. I said, Along the sidewalk, there is a fence or a safety barrier. Across the road, there are some bushes. Now, as you walk, the fence seems to overtake the bushes, as if moving faster. But actually, neither is moving. You are moving. That's why in full flight, it appears as if we're moving more slowly than at touchdown when we're much closer to the ground.

The two were wide-eyed with astonishment!

One of them exclaimed, My word! You must be a doctor or professor!

A good ego-booster, no doubt. For someone who left school on just a wing and a prayer, one can learn a lot just by observation.

Completed 1977 route across N. America.

Arriving in Toronto.

A bus from the airport dropped me off at the city centre. The first facility to look for was a hotel. Walking along Queen Street, I came across one that didn't look too expensive. After all, it was a place to sleep, and I didn't need the opulence of Buckingham Palace. I entered and asked if there was a room. I was offered one, and taking the key offered to me, as before, made my way upstairs, and once settled in, I found it difficult to remain awake. Although it was evening in Eastern Canada, I was five hours behind British Summer Time, and my body clock still believed it was time for lights out.

However, having settled in, one of the first things to get off my mind was to buy a new camera, and a cheap one at that, as my budget didn't allow for a proper camera replacement. I found a photography shop and I managed to find a convenient tideover, a Kodak 110 Instamatic. This produced negatives only 13mm by 17mm in size, hence once the photos were enlarged, the outlines appeared as if slightly out of focus, giving a soft outline to all details. However, unlike the 120, the size 110 film came in a cartridge or cassette, it was very easy to load, and there was no need to rewind at completion.

However, although the camera was convenient, it was also cheap, an unexpected need to buy, and used for this trip as a tideover. But owning such a device, in a way had brought repercussion - if you want to call it that, with photos of the 1978 hike into the Grand Canyon turning out disastrous. For example, Riverside photos were taken at daybreak. According to my eyes, the features bathing in the semi-dark were stunning! But all the camera saw were blackened silhouettes against a pale blue sky, hence spoiling what were otherwise lifelong memories. Hence, the need to re-hike the Canyon in 1995, using a better camera.

The City's most impressive Square.

That evening, I walked along the main thoroughfare just to stay awake. Even after dark, the street was alive, bustling with people, very much like the West End of London on a Saturday evening (after all, this was a Saturday.) Shops were open, and the whole environment was welcoming, the weekend spirit not any less felt than in London.

The following morning, the street was quiet. As with Canadian and American hotels in general, they don't serve colazione, therefore, I had to find somewhere else for a coffee and bread. And so it was like this throughout all my two American trips of the 1970s - a reliance on cafeterias and coffee bars. However, I tended to avoid restaurants, simply to avoid overspending. One of the lessons learned with backpacking, and that there is a need to count the pennies (or cents in this case.) Rather than see this as soul-destroying, as tempting as that was to me, rather, I saw this as a vital lesson in economic long-haul travel as an independent.

City Hall, Toronto. Stock photo.

Even better and more economical than relying on cafeterias is hostelling, but I wasn't introduced to this until 1985, and that was when I travelled with Tim and Keith to the Isle of Wight. Thereafter, rather than relying on the cafeteria, it was the supermarket where I bought raw food to be cooked in the hostel's membership kitchen. But that is later.

Along Queen Street from the hotel is Nathan Phillips Square, perhaps the main attraction of the city. It features two curved skyscrapers, one taller than the other and facing each other as if (in my view) they're about to embrace. This is the New City Hall, actually just a pair of office blocks, but it's their unique architecture that has made these twin buildings unique and appears on the front cover of Canadian holiday brochures across the UK. A low, circular structure nestles between the two skyscrapers, and I wonder whether that is the hall itself, while the two curved structures are administrative towers. In front of the square, three arches dominate a fountain fronting the square with Queen Street, adding further aesthetics to the environment.

I also walk South towards Lake Ontario, perhaps along University Avenue. Nearby stands the Canadian National (CN) Tower, a structure over 533 metres high, with an indoor observation deck 346 metres high - 102 metres higher than the observation deck of the Shard, London, which is 244 metres high. During my three-day stay in Toronto, I took the elevator to the lookout at the CN Tower and spent some time there, absorbing the spectacular panorama of the city still dominated by the twin office blocks of the City Hall.

I eventually arrive at the harbour, where a boat ferried me to the Toronto Islands, enclosing a lagoon separating the islands from the mainland. It featured a permanent amusement park, including a water log flume and a sky chair. Okay, at the log flume, I got wet, but what the heck? I was on holiday, and if getting unexpectedly wet whilst enjoying myself, to me, it's all part of the fun. By contrast, the slow-moving, relaxing and noiseless sky chair in full flight offered lovely views of the park as well as the lake and the city skyline.

Under one of the arches, City Hall.

I quite liked Toronto, and to my opinion, this Canadian city in Ontario might have been considered better and more handsome than Downtown Los Angeles, if it wasn't for the balmier Californian climate, Hollywood Studios, Disneyland, its coastal features such as Long Beach, Santa Monaco, and its abundance of palm trees. However, Toronto is on the northern coast of the rather ribbon-like Lake Ontario, with its southern coastline within New York State. The lake is around 76 metres above sea level, and it's fed via Niagara Falls from Lake Eire, which is 174 metres above sea level.

Log Flume, Toronto Island.

And my third and last full day in Ontario was spent at the Niagara Falls resort. The main reason for my visit to Toronto was originally meant as a consolation for my inability to visit California before I managed to receive a US entry visa. Instead, my visit to the Falls turned out to be one of the greatest experiences I ever had, and I have no regrets.

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Next Week: A day at Niagara Falls is followed by my entry into the USA - to coincide with the premature death of a world-famous pop icon.

Travel Biography - Week 10.

Some Figures:

Here, I would like to give some facts and figures about my whole life on the move so far, that is, up to when this was written.

The total number of weeks spent travelling alone around Italy - all of them surface journeys, without flights: up to 10 weeks. This includes 1973, 1975, 1981, and 1982.

Israel: 23 weeks, including 1976, 1993, 1994, and with Alex in 2000. 

North America: Canada - 2 weeks in 1977, USA - a total of 16 weeks, including 1977, 1978, 1995, 1997, and 1998.

Singapore: 5 days, a stopover on my way to Australia, 1997.

Australia: 40 days, 1997. Part of the Round-the-World backpacking trip.

In addition, there were several shorter breaks to France, Holland, Belgium and Germany. These tended to span the 1980s, particularly between 1983 and 1989. Some of these breaks were indeed on my own but others were with friends. Those were the days when we as committed Christians were single adult men who were yet to marry our future wives. They included Tim Kingcott, Keith White, Gareth Philips, and Paul Hunt. On one occasion, we loaded our bicycles on board the train at London Liverpool Street to ferry to the Hook of Holland, and then to cycle around these three European countries. But more on that later.

I cycled with friends in the mid-80s.

Cologne, Germany 1985

1977: Knocking on US Ambassador's Door...

Going back to 1977, and after watching the TV detective series Starsky and Hutch based in Los Angeles, I felt intrigued by this pair of casually-dressed cops tracking down dangerous criminals and either ending their lives in a shoot-out or taken to Court to face justice, I developed a desire to visit this Californian dream city to see for myself.

But, having suffered a disappointment when my application for a US entry visa was rejected, instead, I bought a four-week return flight to Toronto with a travel company, Jetsave, a rival of Freddy Laker's budget transatlantic airline. The main purpose of this coming trip was to visit Niagara Falls, a consolation after missing out on Los Angeles due solely to visa bureaucracy. Unlike the USA during the 1970s, no visa was required for entry into Canada for British visitors.

But having bought the flight tickets, I couldn't calm the desire to push ahead in getting a USA entry visa. And so, having asked my employer to write a more affirming letter assuring that I worked full time for them without any hint of a future closure, this time, I would visit the embassy in person with the correct documentation.

By taking an unpaid day off work, I boarded a train to London with my passport and required documentation. However, as soon as I alighted and made my exit at Marble Arch Station, the heavens opened, and I was drenched to the skin as a heavy shower fell over the city. Undeterred, I made my way to the imposing building facing east onto Grosvenor Square, in the heart of Mayfair.

The US Embassy in London was the largest of the kind in the UK, possibly in the world, before it closed in December 2017 to be relocated to Vauxhall, on the south bank of the Thames. From the visitor's entrance at the South Wing, a long queue snaked out to the street, and I knew that I had a long wait before I would be seen. But at least the rain stopped. During the wait, I saw at least one smartly-dressed gentleman exit the embassy with his passport in his hand and a frustrated look on his face. I felt cautious about what to expect.

Aerial view of the old US Embassy, London.

The staff member took my passport and appropriate documentation and told me to return later in the afternoon. I left empty-handed but with a greater sense of expectation. I spent the rest of the day browsing the stock at one of Oxford Street's largest department stores, Selfridges. It was during those days when those Pong retro tennis, soccer and squash could be played on the TV, the forerunner of the PlayStation. On one shelf was a whole row of video games with two or three fully functioning for a demonstration display. I stopped to take a closer look at one of them, this one was selling for only £17.00. A staff member in his thirties, his clean white shirt complete with a black bow tie and a look of dislike on his face, approached and turned off the machine in front of me.

How pathetic! I thought. If I can afford a holiday setting me back several hundred pounds, then surely this gadget was well within my budget if I wanted to buy it. I now wished I did, merely to put this smart Alek in his place. Instead, I just sauntered off to have lunch at a cafeteria in another department store further along the street.

It's incidences such as this one at Selfridges that have got me to wonder how exactly tourists think of Londoners. As all he knew, I could have arrived from the Continent, or even from the Middle East, or from any part of the world, only to be treated with such rudeness by a smartly-dressed store employee. This was not the only occasion. In the past, I have seen other customers receiving unkind remarks from inpatient shopkeepers, especially in London. But at least one issue was in my favour. I was alone on the top floor which was empty of other visitors. Hence there was no feeling of embarrassment of being humiliated in front of such onlookers. However, my evaluation of the average Londoner was put to the test - quite a contrast to my childhood experience described in Week 1 of this Biography.

 

Around tea-time, I approached the US Embassy and walked straight in. There was no queue this time. After giving my identification, the passport was handed back to me. I was nervous as I opened the old blue/black document. Inside was a beautiful-looking coloured stamp taking up a large proportion of the page. I've got it! Uncle Sam has, at last, opened a door to me! I was excited! Let the posh salesman keep his precious games console for all I care. I had something far, far better!

Hence, the plan for 1977 was to be rearranged. Now I can visit both Niagara Falls and Los Angeles on the same trip. Actually, by first refusing to issue a visa, Uncle Sam did me a favour. My initial plan was to fly to Los Angeles, spend some time there, and then fly back home. Instead, my plane will land in Toronto and take off from there a month later. I had four weeks to travel around the continent.

In this Biography, I detail two trips across the Atlantic Ocean during the 1970s. This one I like to call America Part 1. The following trip, a year later in 1978, will be America Part 2, as both were so similar that the two complement each other. 

To find out about interior transportation, I called the Travel Agent where I bought the airline tickets. I was given the Greyhound Bus route map that covered both Canada and the United States. And the availability of the Greyhound Ameripass, a book of vouchers. Whenever I need to board a Greyhound bus, the driver tore off a voucher. Furthermore, if the book runs out of vouchers before the time, a new book is issued il gratis at any one of its terminals by showing both the old book cover and passport. The Ameripass has the value of one week, two weeks or one month. I bought the month's value.

North America Part 1.

Visiting the New World was just as big a contrast from the Middle East as chalk is from cheese! With the Holy Land the centre hub of the three Abrahamic faiths - Judaism, Islam and Christianity, the region so steeped in ancient history - with plenty of ancient remains and present-day features to both delight and educate the visitor, North America, especially the USA, is all modern. With many freeways and wide streets accommodating long, endless lines of motorised traffic, most cities are built in a symmetrical grid layout, each town looking very much alike. As Simon & Garfunkel noted in their song, Homeward Bound, their lyrics narrate the wandering soul, suitcase and guitar in hand, searching for his destiny, and passing through one town after another, all of them, to him, looking the same.

Therefore, after spending so much time admiring the historic and religious centres of Italy and Israel, what has America have to offer? What was it that stirred my desire to step into the New World? Well, celebrity worship was one motive, with my admiration for Starsky and Hutch being the initiators. Of course, I had no expectation of meeting them in the flesh whilst I was there. I knew much better than that! It was just the case of being in the same location. Add to this the romance attached to California - featuring in movies and popular songs. Maybe the album of the Mamas and Papas, California Dreaming, just about sums it up. Also, the home of Hollywood studios which can be visited by the public, the famous Disneyland has appeared in holiday brochures, and that too had stirred my curiosity, indeed, bringing out the boy in the man.

Pong Retro Tennis Video Game of the 1970s.

It was when my maternal grandparents were staying at Mum's house when the time for departure came around. whether deliberately planned by my parents or just a mere coincidence, the day I took off for Canada happened to be on the same day my grandparents were flying home to Turin, Italy, and from the same airport, Gatwick. Thus, I felt it was silly to turn down a free lift, and like with Israel the previous year, Dad and I embraced before checking in, and I asked him to wish me good luck.

After check-in, which was much more straightforward than the previous year's version for the Middle East, once again I was on my own as I waited in the airport departure lounge - after my grandparents were already called to their boarding gate.

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Next Week: America Part 1 gets underway.

Travel Biography - Week 9. Pictorial.

1976 Holiday in Israel - final conclusions.

Having returned to Jerusalem from Tiberias, once again, I arrived at the Spihu household in Silwan, East Jerusalem. During those couple of days, I did little but amble along the souks of the Old City and soak in the Middle East atmosphere once more. This was followed by a day and two nights in Tel Aviv. This was to spend the whole day at the Mediterranean beach, the only part of my trip I could call a "beach holiday".

Having thanked my hosts and said goodbye to them, I then made my way into the New City to board an Egged Bus to Tel Aviv. After arriving, it wasn't long before I found a modestly priced hotel, and having stepped through its doors, asked the receptionist if there was a room available for two nights. I was offered one, and having accepted, I was handed the key. I write this to show the ease it was for an "off the street" hotel enquiry before the advance of the smartphone. As with the hotels in Italy, along with the Ron Hotel in West Jerusalem and the Aviv Hotel in Tiberias, this one too was so straightforward to merely ask if a room was available. And the two American trips to come, "off-the-street" hotel check-ins were just as without hassle.

My last full day in Israel was spent at the beach, reminiscent of the Spanish holiday in 1972, but without alcoholic intoxication. I felt that this was an excellent way to end my Middle East travel experience. 

Early next morning, I made my way to the airport for the flight home. I was rather shocked at the security before check-in. After a thorough search through my belongings, the officer found the two ancient pieces of pottery I bought from Abed, and he explained that the oil lamp in particular was Government property. It was then taken to a department away from the security check. After a few minutes, it was returned with the explanation that since I had purchased the item legally, I was allowed to keep it. Was I relieved! The flight back to London Heathrow was smooth and uneventful.

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Here are some photos, all either taken by me or by someone of me. They include the four taken before 1976. I apologise if these pics look a little amateurish. Due to the withdrawal of Boots photo scanners in my hometown of Bracknell, I did this by "taking a picture of a picture" from a photo album. Also to be considered is that they are around 46-52 years old!

Yes, as a teenager, dressing up was not unusual.

A Street in Pompei, Italy 1973.

Amphitheatre, Pompei 1973.

Italy, 1973, then aged 21.

Arab children playing outside the Spihu's home.

At the Rockefeller Museum, East Jerusalem

Deep inside Hezekiah's Tunnel

Further on, also known as the Siloam Tunnel.

At the Tell of Jericho

At the Tomb of the Patriarchs, Hebron.

Alone at the Synagogue, Capernaum.

St Peter's House, Capernaum, as it was in 1976.

Fishing boats moored at the Sea of Galilee.

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Preparations for North America 1977.

The 1976 three-week solo trip to Israel changed my travel habits forever. I have come to realise that there is far, far more to this fascinating world of travel than throwing up after consuming alcohol at a Spanish Costa. And there are escorted tours where a group of people pay to be led to different, usually historical locations, by an escort or ranger. The vast majority of British churchgoers, for example, visiting the Holy Land, seem to prefer to be in a large escorted group. I have two good friends who, at different times, visited Israel in an escorted tour group. I also have another friend, a PhD degree holder, who visited the Neapolitan area of Italy, including an ascent up Mt Vesuvio, a visit to Pompei and Ercolano excavations, catacombs, and the lovely clifftop resort of Sorrento. All with a Christian group Oak Hall, in 2020.

But, wonderful experiences these trips were for my friends, such holidays would never suit me. However, one advantage of them is to be well taken care of, to be looked after, and immunity from any potential danger. But the main disadvantage would be the pressing schedule, the feeling of being rushed to move on when you want to spend more time at a particular location. For example, I would never recommend a visit to the Grand Canyon with a tour group where you may not be allowed more than an hour on a scheduled stop. Such a location would require at least a full day, if not more. Yet, fifty minutes spent gazing into the Canyon and taking many photos from the South Rim may be enough for some.

And so, it was during the mid-seventies that while I was visiting some young singles of our Baptist Church (the forerunner of the Kerith Centre in Bracknell) in the home of our late deacon, David Prior, that we found ourselves watching Starsky and Hutch on his television, an American detective series based in Los Angeles. The series starred Paul Glaser as Dave Starsky, and David Soul as Kenneth Hutchinson, or Hutch for short. It was my admiration for these two which sparked an interest in cross-Atlantic travel. As 1976 gave way to 1977, my interest in the USA, especially Los Angeles, began to grow. Not only were Starsky and Hutch filmed there, but the city was also the home of Hollywood Studios and Disneyland.

Starsky (right) and Hutch inspired American Travel.

And I was fortunate. Very. It was in 1977 when British airline entrepreneur Alfred Laker launched his budget flight from London to New York for a payment which was within reach of us commoners - eleven years after setting up his airline business in 1966. Unfortunately, Laker Airlines went the way of Court Line with its two holiday companies, Clarksons and Horizon. Like them, Laker went bankrupt on February 5th, 1982.

That means I could have flown to New York as early as 1977, being one of the first generations of economy travellers crossing the Atlantic. But during the 1970s, a visa was required to enter the States, even for an hour or two as a passing tourist. Even with escorted Canadian tours, if the itinerary crossed briefly into the USA, then an American Visa was required before booking the entire Canadian holiday. And the Embassy staff will ask for proof of permanent employment in our home country before issuing is even considered. 

And that was when I hit a problem whilst applying for a US visa. The company I was working for was about to close its Bracknell factory and move to a new site near Plymouth in Devon. Therefore, when I asked for proof of employment from the firm's office, a letter was handed to me that yes, I did work for this company but it's due to close soon. No wonder the US embassy returned my application form, along with my unstamped passport, through the post. I was then shocked to see my application form struck right across the page with a biro as if done with anger!

Refusing to be defeated by a bunch of American men dressed in a suit, I approached a travel agency and picked up a brochure from Laker's rival, Jetsave. This company offers flights to both Canada and the USA at prices that were compatible with Freddy Laker's offers. Jetsave also offers ranger-led escorted tours across the American continent for those who prefer them.

Feeling disappointed that I won't be able to set foot in Los Angeles, I sought some consolation with Toronto in Canada instead. With no entry visa required, I would have a chance to visit Niagara Falls. And so, I bought a return flight ticket for Toronto from London Gatwick. This holiday would be four weeks long, and I would have to find a way to travel around Canada if it's interesting enough. 

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Next Week. How the US Embassy in London had done me a great favour when it refused to issue me an entry visa.