Travel Biography - Week 15.

California Dreaming.

The name California seems to have a romantic or a paradisal ring to it. For example, the Mamas and Papas' 1965 song California Dreaming reflects the narrator's desire for the balmy climate of Los Angeles whilst enduring the cold, winter months in New York. Also, Scott McKenzie's hippy song, San Francisco (be sure to wear flowers in your hair) of 1967, and California Girls, which was a 1965 hit by the Beach Boys, along with up to a hundred other songs were related to California. These, together with dramas such as the above-mentioned Starsky & Hutch, Pulp Fiction, L.A. Story, The Graduate, Sunset Boulevard, and many others were all stories based in California.

Lombard Street, San Francisco. Stock photo.

Aside from Starsky & Hutch, was I the only one who had a strong curiosity over this "fabulous" State? Apparently not. When I was in Italy, I came across some Italian lads who became good friends, especially in Naples where I first met them. One of them, a student named Valentine, had a strong desire to visit California, with San Diego his greatest wish. In 1976, a few weeks after returning from Israel, Valentine stayed for a few days in my apartment before moving to London in readiness to fly home. After that, his father dispatched him to a family home in Walnut Creek, a small town east of San Francisco and Oakland. Once there, he invited me to where he was staying if ever I wished to visit the USA. This had given further motivation to cross the Atlantic Ocean.

The Greyhound Americruiser left the Los Angeles terminal late in the evening for a 382-mile, six-hour journey, for a morning arrival in San Francisco. However, after arrival, instead of looking for a hotel as was my norm, I managed to phone the student from the terminal. He instructed me to take a BART train to Walnut Creek. I would meet them there.

Arrival at Walnut Creek.

Back in 1977, being in America, I thought that BART was the name of a man who owned the railway or one who originally founded it. It was later that I discovered that BART stood for Bay Authority Rapid Transit, and is apparently State owned. Like the Picadilly Line on the London Underground, the BART line passes under the city and under the bay itself to emerge at Oakland, and then overground for the rest of the line heading east, just as the Picadilly Line also passes through the suburbs above ground. The journey took just over half an hour to reach Walnut Creek Station where Valentine and his host, Mrs Carson, were waiting for me. After much greeting and hugs, I climbed into their car, and Mrs Carson drove us to her house, where she offered to accommodate me for four nights. 

Whether the Carsons were childless or whether they had grown up and flown the nest, I was never told. But I was offered a bed in one of their spare rooms, where both Valentine and our host were to escort me around the city and then a day later, to Stinson Beach where I had a swim in the Pacific Ocean, and then to Muir Woods National Monument, a forest of Redwood Pine trees. Indeed, had it not been for the hospitality offered, I would have missed out on these two natural venues.

Cable Car, taken 1977.

As for the city itself, on the day I arrived, the two of us, Valentine and I visited the famed Golden Gate Bridge. Or at least, we tried. When we got there, we saw that the whole bridge was wrapped in thick fog that covered the bay and the Golden Gate inlet that connects the bay to the open ocean (and from which the bridge is named) and we both felt disappointed, and I wondered whether the bridge was permanently shrouded, or whether I had chosen an unlucky day.

Fortunately, when Mrs Carson drove us into the city the next day, the fog had cleared to reveal the splendour of such civil engineering. Valentine was teasing me, thinking that because I took delight at seeing such a well-known crossing, I was worshipping it. Rather, I felt privileged to be there, to see the structure for myself rather than just on TV or through another person's camera.

Other attractions included Lombard Street, known as "the most crooked street in the world" as it descends the rather steep Russian Hill in eight switchbacks. The inside of each curve is occupied by a small garden, thus adding aesthetics to the route. From the base of Russian Hill, as seen from the summit, the street runs dead straight as it crosses a wide panoramic view of the city.

Then there's Fisherman's Wharf, perhaps the most famous of the kind in the world. Here, there were many stalls selling wet fish, a variety of shellfish, fruit and vegetables. Indeed, it was a very lively harbourside market with a very cheerful atmosphere. Looking north along the bay, the isolated Alcatraz Island prison stands on an isolated rock. Nicknamed The Rock by the inmates, it eventually ceased to serve as a penitentiary when the last of the inmates were transferred elsewhere in March 1963.

California's wildlife.

There was one day when both Mr and Mrs Carson were out when Valentine and I went to visit a private lido in Walnut Creek, to which he had access. As a guest, I was able to swim in the pool and relax and sunbathe on one of the sunbeds provided. Later that day, I borrowed Mr Carson's bicycle and set off on it, until Valentine yelled at me!

You're on the wrong side of the road! What are you doing?

Then I realised that this is America and over here they drive on the "wrong" side. Not to worry, in Europe they do the same. Fortunately, there was no other vehicle and I corrected my mistake, feeling strange as I rode on their correct side which is on the right of the road.

Eventually, I approached my friend who was holding a stick. 

Look, here's a tarantula.

"Where did you find that?" I asked.

On the side of the road.

The large black hairy spider was perched on the end of the stick my friend was holding. It wasn't as big as an African tarantula as it was a different species. I felt tempted to stroke its furry abdomen, but Valentine advised me not to touch it, so I didn't. Looking at it, I felt sympathetic for anyone suffering from arachnophobia - a fear of spiders. They are fast runners and one can suddenly appear unexpectedly, making someone jump. I'm not immune from being startled by one. Then again, it wouldn't feel nice to wake up one morning to find a tarantula like this one nestling between the sheets or making contact with it with your toe whilst slipping into your shoes, or in the case with my brother many years ago, seeing a big house spider nestling inside a teacup after taking it down from the shelf.

At Chinatown, San Francisco, 1977.

Should I give a false impression of being some kind of fearless Hercules or Apollo, then I much prefer to admit that I have fears of my own. Like the time I was in Singapore. I was in the hostel elevator going up when it stopped unexpectedly between floors. I was gripped by panic and punched hard at the alarm which, to my relief, got the lift moving again. I refused to use the lift thereafter. Instead, I used the stairs, as I still do at times in some buildings. Or if I have to use the railway station lift to use the platform crossover whenever I take my wife Alex out in her wheelchair. I always make sure the presence of the alarm.

On to Portland, Oregon.

Eventually, after a few days with my Italian friend and his hosts, it was time for me to move on. When I found out when the next bus for Portland, Oregon was due to leave, Mrs Carson drove Valentine and me to the San Francisco Bus terminal, where my friend and I were locked in a long embrace before leaving me alone to board the bus to my next chosen stop. After the bus pulled out of the terminal, it took the same route as when I arrived, by crossing the bay on the imposing Oakland Bay Bridge, which also passes over Yerba Buena Island, out in the middle of the bay. I was sorry to leave San Francisco and I felt that I hadn't spent enough time there. But would I ever be given another chance?

The journey to Portland was another overnighter, a ten-hour, 635-mile journey north along the Pacific coastline, exiting California and entering the State of Oregon before eventually ending back in Canada after passing through the State of Washington.

After arriving in Portland, it wasn't difficult to find another hotel where I was offered a room. All I could see was that it was a nice town, with pleasant streets and squares. But unlike the other cities I stopped at, Portland did not have the attractions which in themselves attracted touristic fame. That was one major disadvantage of being a lone backpacker. Had I known better, I would have walked to the bank of the Williamette River that flowed past the town. Back in the seventies, I wasn't aware it was there. However, one building that I have found very intriguing was an office-block edifice facing onto the main square. On its roof was a massive billboard with huge letters spelling out the words, JESUS THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 

Those words made my spirit rejoice. However, there is not a chance on Earth that I would ever see anything like this in the UK. And those were the times when it was quite common to see a poster with the verse of John 3:16 fastened on the wall at any railway station or High Street. Looking back, I'm now wondering whether political correctness, woke, or whatever crazy line of thinking had forced the banning of these posters so as not to "offend" people of different ethnicities or faiths.

Portland, Oregon

My stay in Portland was short compared with Los Angeles or San Francisco or should I say, Walnut Creek. However, on the second day there, late in the afternoon, somehow I found myself caught in the Church of Scientology. Actually, although it calls itself a church, it was anything but a church. Rather it was a brainwashing centre where psychological trickiness meant paying them hundreds of dollars to receive mental and emotional liberation, to be set free "to be the person I meant to be, freed from the restraints imposed by society and past aches." The surprising thing about all this was I was very nearly convinced, and almost ready to pay out the huge expense for the so-called treatment, itself as quackery and as far from mainstream psychiatry as it gets. In the end, I was glad to get out of there with my funds intact. 

Relaxing in Portland.

The next day, I took a greyhound Americruiser for a day trip to Newport on the Pacific coast. Although this journey was short, just 2.5 hours each way, the Ameripass was valid for the day trip. After arriving there, I explored the quiet and deserted sandy beach but the air was cool and breezy and the grey ocean uninviting. So I didn't swim. Instead, I remained dry and I also kept my leather jacket on - a contrast to how lightly I was dressed whilst in southern California.

After returning to Portland, that evening I made plans for a six-hour overnight journey to Vancouver in Canada, some 360 miles north along the Pacific coastline.

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Due to attending a Convention, I won't be able to write next week. But in two weeks, I'm in Canada, where I begin my journey back to Toronto.

Travel Biography - Week 14.

Before starting this week's blog, I wish to send all my condolences to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, who passed away on Thursday, September 8th, 2022, at Balmoral Castle, Scotland. I wish her son, King Charles III, a long and happy reign.

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Change is inevitable.

Having visited Salt Lake City in Utah in 1977 and swam in the Great Salt Lake itself, 45 years before writing this blog, how would I feel if I were to visit the same area now? I think, pretty devastated! This was the conclusion I arrived at when I checked out the area on Google Maps before writing this blog. What I saw was that the Visitor's Centre had been demolished, along with another structure, and only the choir hall and the Temple itself remain standing. Where those buildings once stood, now, ugly crater sites are hovered over by two large cranes making up the present skyline.

However, if a couple of years from now, I returned to the city and find a couple of swish new structures that are tourist-friendly and pleasing to the eye, then there would be some justification for the redevelopment. However, a greater sense of sadness would come over me if I was to visit the lake itself. From where I stood in 1977, the water's edge would have receded as the lake shrunk, leaving the spot where I stood high and dry. Furthermore, one of the islands further out would now be the head of a peninsula.

Much of this is the fault of Man, first of all, diverting the River Jordan, one of the mountain rivers that has fed into the lake, away for industrial and domestic use. Also, the snowmelt that normally drains into the lake, is diverted for general use. Added to these, climate change is causing longer drought periods, and it's believed that the entire lake will dry out in the future unless something is done.

Likewise, Downtown Los Angeles, my next stop after a 690-mile, 10-hour overnight journey from Salt Lake City, looked different in 1995 from when it did in 1977 and 1978. New skyscrapers were added during the seventeen years that had elapsed between visits. In the seventies, there were buildings that I recognised after watching the TV cop series, Starsky & Hutch. By 1995, several other skyscrapers went up including a sky-high hotel. However, one skyscraper I recognised straightaway and has appeared on occasions in the detective cop series, the American Bank Financial Center, to me, the symbol of Downtown Los Angeles.

Downtown LA. The American Bank is on the left.

Pershing Square was another site that had changed its appearance over the years. In the seventies, it resembled an English garden with a circular fountain. By 1995, the circular fountain was dry and an ornament of some kind was built over it. It wasn't too far from here where, on a Sunday morning in 1977, I came across the First Baptist Church. I entered the church which was several floors up in what looked like an office block, but in the large auditorium, the service was good. The church might have moved to another location since then.

Disneyland, Anaheim.

I was fortunate enough to visit Disneyland four times in my lifetime. They were in 1977, 1978, 1995, and 1997. Even in the seventeen years between my visits in 1978 and 1995, I have seen some changes there. For example, the disappearance of the Sky Buckets - bucket-like cable cars that hovered some distance above ground as they moved quietly around the park and passed through the Matterhorn and the Space Mountain roller coaster rides, as well as the Inner Space Ride, and over the whole park in general, giving a panoramic view. Its disappearance by 1995, disappointed me. In the 1970s, the Sky Buckets were sponsored by Goodyear Tyres, as many more amenities in Disneyland were sponsored by private companies. Perhaps the withdrawal of such sponsorship might have led to the decline of that scenic, quiet flight. 

The whole park is divided into different themes. In the 1970s, Main Street USA, the central street lined with souvenir shops, candy stalls, and restaurants, gave access to Fantasyland, New Orleans Square, Bear Country, Adventureland, and Tomorrowland. When I returned in 1995, I saw that Mickey Mouse Toontown was added, along with Indiana Jones' Temple of Doom roller coaster.

The Matterhorn with Skybuckets, Disneyland. Taken 1977.

In 1977 and 1978, at the entry gates, a book of vouchers was purchased. The book contained vouchers marked A, B, C, D. and E. Voucher E was for wilder rides such as Space Mountain, the Matterhorn, the Submarine, and the Monorail. The others were for more tame rides, such as Snow White and Pinocchio. Theatres, where bears spoke and sang were covered by vouchers A and B. Attractions such as The Haunted Mansion and The Pirates of the Caribbean were entered with either C or D, along with the Sky Buckets. As expected, the stack of E-vouchers was the first to run out, but there were kiosks located here and there where fresh vouchers could be purchased. However, when I returned in 1995, I saw that the voucher system was no more. Instead, the entry fee covered everything.

At Disneyland, 1977.

It took me two days to explore Disneyland more thoroughly, although even then, I didn't see or experience all of it. Yet, I believe, this is the marvel of Travel. I see it as a kind of triunity - meditating in prayer inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, letting out a yell as the roller coaster car flies at high speed inside the starry darkness of Space Mountain, and enjoying the natural vistas offered on a hiking trail where my strength, energy and stamina are tested.

Some Superlatives.

In 1977, in Los Angeles, I stayed at the Hotel Madison. In the States, it wasn't unusual for hotels to be named after past Presidents. As budget hotels in America were close to the Greyhound Bus terminal, I have found that a plain room for the night, without opulence and without breakfast, seems to benefit my budget well, especially when most of my interstate travel was done at night. After arriving at my destination, sometimes early in the morning as was the case of L.A, after a wash-and-shave in the bathroom, I had collezione at the terminal cafeteria. This usually consisted of breakfast cereal, a large American apple, and a mug of coffee. Together, it was inexpensive and can be quite filling, plugging my appetite until later in the day. 

Also, I have placed Los Angeles on the travel record of superlatives. L.A. in Southern California is in Pacific Time Zone, eight hours behind British Summer Time, and until twenty years later in 1997, at nearly 6,000 miles, remained the furthest location I ever travelled from home. Los Angeles is on coordinates 34.05 N, and 118.24 W. However, the most southern point ever reached, in 1976, was Hebron, in the Middle East with a latitude of 31.32 N. Then two years later in 1978, I arrived at Miami Beach, which is 25.81 N.

Thus, until I flew to Singapore and then onward to Australia in 1997, the superlatives stood as L.A. remaining the furthest destination from home, Miami Beach the most southerly, and the most easterly being the Dead Sea at 35.47 E. The most Northerly venue visited is here in the UK, which is Dunnet Head, at 58.40 N, near John O'Groats on the north Scottish coast, and this record was set in 1990.

Universal Studios, Hollywood.

The other venue I spent the day in 1977 was Universal Studios in Hollywood. This local bus trip included a stroll along Hollywood Boulevard, made famous by the handprints of well-known celebrities set permanently in cement. Admission into the studios includes a circuit ride in the Glamour Tram, and the props for such movies as The Ten Commandments, the Bridge of the River Kwai, Jaws and many others, including Westerns and city-based dramas, were all shown to us as the tram glided noiselessly through. Buildings that remain permanently uninhabited and used only for outdoor shooting, although a person can be filmed entering or exiting the same prop, as all indoor filming is done elsewhere. The whole setup, in my opinion, is very clever indeed, the filming of the world-of-make-believe where the viewer would never guess that the actor talking inside a room is not in the same building he walked into a moment earlier.

Props at Universal Studios, Hollywood.

The whole set-up was rather amusing - if only! Supposing the movie Ben Hur, a Roman drama, based on the time of Christ, of two former friends turned enemies, a Roman commander named Messala and a rich Jew named Ben Hur and includes the famous chariot race where Hur defeats Messala. And across the arena, a 1977 horseless Glamour Tram passes by, unnoticed by the film crew.

The Glamour Tram at the Red Sea prop.

Furthermore, I wondered whether the Glamour Tram would ever be unintentionally shot while the film was being made. The same applies to westerns or war films. Two rivals in a western settlement draw their guns for a shootout, when in the background, a tram, full of tourists, can be seen gliding silently behind a gap in the props. If only. Indeed, if only. I'm sure the world would be a more amusing place to live!

The Bridge of the River Kwai prop.

Los Angeles was the apex of the whole holiday, even if it's a massive urban sprawl. The original idea of setting foot in the USA was to be in the same city where my 1970s heroes, Starsky & Hutch were filmed. I knew perfectly well that I would never see those two detectives in the flesh. I had never expected to. Yet, the whole trip has given me the satisfaction of setting foot in their territory, seeing for myself the very sights these two were so familiar with. Also, becoming familiar with the city centre itself, especially around Pershing Square and Broadway nearby, with a walk into one of the covered markets alive with sellers and buyers. As for the coast, in 1977, I didn't make it. Not that I couldn't, but I was already intrigued - and very privileged - to walk the streets of Downtown Los Angeles, Disneyland and Hollywood. But as we shall see, Both Long Beach and Santa Monica were on the table.

That evening, after vacating my room, I boarded the Greyhound Americruiser for another overnight journey, this time to San Francisco.

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Next Week, I meet an Italian friend in Northern California.

Travel Biography - Week 13, extra pics.

 A Quote from a Backpacker's Bible?

I believe that most churchgoers are familiar with what Jesus said about Worry, recorded in Matthew 6:25-34. But if I were to quote from a Traveller's Bible, I may read words such as these:

Consider the Arctic Tern. He doesn't need passports or visas, and nor does he buy airline tickets or carry a rucksack on his back. Neither does it need a camera, as he knows every area of his convoluted route. Yet, each year, he flies from Pole to Pole, crossing the Equator as he does so. In a single year, he's able to cover up to 44,100 miles or 70,900 km. Yet, your Heavenly Father feeds and guides him. If he's so concerned about the birds in the air, how much more is he concerned about you, oh ye of little faith? 

The Arctic Tern. Stock Photo.

Perhaps, we Homo Sapiens need to learn a thing or two from this fascinating bird. Why is such a humble bird able to fly around the globe so freely whilst I tend to tie myself up in knots in an attempt just to fly across the Atlantic Ocean at a fraction of the distance? Especially where visas are concerned. As I have already noted, whilst waiting in line, I watched a man dressed in a business suit storm out of the American Embassy in London with his passport in his hand and a look of frustration on his face. I didn't have to make any effort to realise that his application for a visa was refused for reasons only he knew.

Meanwhile, the Arctic Tern flies overhead, and if his instincts lead him to make a pit stop in the States whilst on its way to Antarctica, then not a single human would even notice, let alone take any action! I suppose this scenario makes me wonder just how accurate evolutionists are when they say that we Homo Sapiens are the most advanced in Evolution, especially for the white race of Nazi understanding. 

A bird can fly multiple thousands of miles - and land at the precise spot where he was the previous year. Yet, among the human race, there is, on one end of the scale, the mentally retarded who can't leave the house on his own without supervision. On the other end of the human spectrum is the high-ranking scientist whose research may call for business world travel. Yet, not even he has the global navigation powers of this fascinating bird. Instead, he has to depend on the skills of a trained pilot.

As for me, I have considered myself very fortunate to find myself travelling Westwards from Chicago to Salt Lake City, and like the scientist, I too had to depend on someone else for navigation - first the airline pilot, and then the bus driver. The Greyhound Americruiser is a long-distance bus whose network covers the whole of the United States and also the Canadian Highway. Not to be confused with escorted coach tours. With the Greyhound Ameripass, I have enjoyed as much independence travelling on my own as if I hired a car. Indeed, the FlyDrive scheme became very popular among British tourists visiting the States, especially throughout the nineties.

But, due to not holding a Driving Licence, I couldn't hire a car whilst I was in the States. Not that I wanted to, either. One of the conditions of hiring a car is the Collision Waiver Fee, an extra expense for which without this extra payment, the user would be responsible for the cost of the vehicle, either repairs or even a replacement, should a collision occur. Such a heavy responsibility I don't need whilst on my travels. The Greyhound Americruiser was ideal for me. However, there were disadvantages.  

This included missing out on various national parks such as Yellowstone with its Old Faithfull geyser, Yosemite, Crater Lake, Bryce Canyon, Arches National Park - and the Grand Canyon National Park - the one I felt was the most important attraction. Greyhound Buses linked city to city and as far as I was aware, those buses did not call at these national parks. Hence the big advantage of hiring a car, and that despite the heavy responsibility of looking after it, along with all the paperwork attached.

Another example was the big difference between downtown Chicago and the Old City of Jerusalem, both across eight time zones apart. Such a cultural difference between the compact, pedestrian-only Medieval streets in the Middle East where pedestrians stroll at a leisurely pace accompanied by Eastern music, and that of a modern bustling city where a police officer had to direct busy traffic filling the wide street with constant car-engine noise and horn blasts. Maybe this was why I didn't book a hotel in Chicago. Instead, after several hours spent in the city, I decided to move on.

View from the Willis Tower, Chicago.

City Rapid Transit, Chicago.

At Chicago Fountain

Near the shore of L. Michigan, Chicago.

The bus journey from Chicago to Salt Lake City took about 22 hours, including at least two major stops, each an hour long. These were service stops, first at Omaha in Nebraska, and then at Cheyenne in Wyoming. The purpose of these stops was refuelling, oil check, tyre pressure gauging, and general maintenance of the bus to avoid any possibility of breakdowns. It was during these stops that I ate in the terminal cafeteria, including breakfast at Omaha during daybreak, along with a quick exploration of the town itself. Shorter breaks, those lasting only twenty minutes, were for refreshments. These included Des Moines in Iowa and Rock Springs which is also in Wyoming. After a journey of nearly 1,400 miles, the bus eventually pulled into the Salt Lake City terminal in Utah for an hour's stop before proceeding to Los Angeles. At Salt Lake City, I alighted to look for a hotel, as I planned to spend a few days here.

I have gained another hour as I was already in Mountain Time Zone, seven hours behind BST. I saw a reasonably priced hotel not far from the bus station. After checking in at the reception, I climbed the stairs into my assigned room, slumped onto the bed and quickly fell asleep.

I must have slept for up to three hours, as it was already evening when I woke up. I had a stroll around the streets and inquired about a reliable venue where I can board a bus to see the Great Salt Lake for myself.

The next morning, I arose, had breakfast at the Greyhound terminal cafeteria, and then made my way to the pick-up point to board a local bus (for which I had to pay the fare - the Ameripass wasn't valid for local buses.) To my surprise, there was a crowd of people all waiting to board the same bus. I got by word of mouth that they wanted to see the open-cast copper mines, and the Great Salt Lake was a stop on the journey.

We all boarded the bus. The driver then gave a commentary on the journey ahead. The final destination was Kennecott Copper Mines, west of Great Salt Lake, which is open to the public. Then the driver asked,

Does anyone here wish to alight at the lake itself?

I raised my hand as if this was a school trip. Much to my surprise, mine was the only hand that went up amongst the people filling the bus. But as the driver tried to start the engine, all it gave was an unhealthy whine and the vehicle refused to move. Further attempts to start the bus also failed, and we all had to alight as the driver phoned for help.

Shortly afterwards, another bus arrived from the same depot and we all boarded. Then the driver called me over to his cab for a briefing, instructing me on when and where to wait for its return to take me back to the city.

Having a high saline content, the Great Salt Lake can be compared to the Dead Sea in the Middle East, but the Salt Sea's salination wasn't nearly as intense. Furthermore, while the Dead Sea was a totally lifeless lake some 430 metres below sea level, the Great Salt Lake had an average of 1,283 metres above sea level, although this varies slightly due to the intensity or lack of rainfall. At this moment, drought, along with the use of snowmelt, is causing the lake to shrink further, and there is a future threat of the lake drying out completely. Also, unlike the Dead Sea, this lake supports countless numbers of brine shrimp.

In a way, I felt sad that this was once part of a much larger body of water which covered much of Western Utah, also covering a little of Idaho and the eastern fringe of Nevada. This was Lake Bonneville, formed during the melting of the last Ice Age. However, it's believed by geologists that an earthquake had breached a dam containing the lake, and the water escaped through Red Rock Pass in Idaho, resulting in the Bonneville Flood, eventually leaving the present salt lake as a remnant.

Having stripped down to my bathing trunks, I managed to wade into the lake. The beach sloped very gradually into the water as the shrimp swarmed around my feet without touching the skin itself, and I was far out before I managed to float. Eventually, a few other people arrived by car to enjoy the lake.

Posing on the beach of the Great Salt Lake, Utah.

View of Salt Lake City from Twin Peaks.

The next day, I decided to climb the western slopes of Twin Peaks, on the eastern side of the city, for a splendid panoramic view. Although I never realised it back then, where the city is located, it would have been underwater of that once great lake with the mountain forming the east coast.

The last two days in Salt Lake City I spent in the city itself, which to me, has a very interesting historical legacy. It's what I call, "The Vatican of the Mormon Faith." Although not a follower of Mormonism, nevertheless, its headquarters has a history that contrasts sharply with the headquarters of the Watchtower Society - the latter just a large block of offices and printing press - that once stood in Brooklyn, New York. Here in Salt Lake City, the main building is the Temple, the original and the oldest Temple of its kind in the world, but not open to the public. Nearby, the Visitor's Center is a museum of Mormon history, with many exhibits displaying Bible verses (and hardly any from the Book of Mormon) along with short films on its history and its theology.

I liked the place, and it has a relaxing atmosphere where I can just sit and meditate, although it was very unlikely that I'll end up as a member of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. However, I was intrigued by how they take the Story of Joseph Smith, the founder of their faith, so seriously and as a historical fact of finding a pile of golden plates buried on a hill outside New York City, and with the text written in "Reformed Egyptian", he was able to translate the text into English using oversized spectacles named Urim and Thummim, to produce The Book of Mormon, before the plates were supernaturally taken up to heaven.

And so, this city was built on a story that was, I believe, borrowed from a fiction novel, yet taken seriously as essential to the faith of every Mormon. Yet, on arrival at the Center, I was obliged to give my name and address, as all visitors had to, to give them a huge master list for future proselyting.

And indeed, a few weeks after arriving home to my apartment, there was a knock on the door.

Going back to Salt Lake City, on the next day, I vacated my hotel room to continue the journey further west to Los Angeles.

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Next Week: Arrival in LA and I head straight to Disneyland.