Travel Biography - Week 56.

Preparing for the 1995 Flight to New York

The day before I returned home from Israel in 1994, I stood on the crest of the Mount of Olives looking west towards Jerusalem. As I pondered over my future and wondered whether I'll be returning, I had a kind of vision. This was to make another journey to the USA sometime in the following year, the third trip in my life so far. I believed this was something of a divine revelation. Exactly a year to the day after flying home from Tel Aviv on September 5th, 1994, on the same day in 1995, I was on board the plane heading west to New York.

Manhatten Skyline from Central Park, 1995.

Even while I was contemplating the trip whilst on the hill, I knew why I wanted to fly back to the States. I wanted to revisit the Grand Canyon and hike the Bright Angel Trail over again. But this time, the hike was not the end in itself, as it was previously, but this time a means to an end. On the first trip in 1978, my camera failed whilst I was deep inside the valley and next to the Colorado River. This time, I wanted to make sure that my mission was made complete - the return to the UK with a pile of photos good for an album. Photos I treasure right up to the present day.

After arriving home from Israel, one of the first things I need to find out was whether I need to return to the US Embassy in London for visa renewal. This could prove difficult, as a document of proof that I was working for a British company was required before a visa was granted. By 1995, I have been self-employed already for fifteen years. However, having held a valid visa in the seventies might have given me an advantage, on the other hand, not having an employer could have scuppered my application.

I wasn't aware that during the 1980s, our Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and US President Ronald Reagan hammered out an agreement - the Visa Waiver Scheme, which means that all that was required for entry for a maximum of three months was a green card, which was given out mid-flight and filled in by the time I arrived at the passport control at J.F. Kennedy Airport. Thus, form filling, getting official documents, extra trips to London and waiting around and wondering whether my application was successful or not, a bane for the 1977 and 1978 transatlantic trips, were all avoided, making preparation so much easier and tourism more appealing.

An excellent Travel Agent which I discovered by chance while I was at Kensington High Street, was Trailfinders, a business originally set up to help Australians working or studying here in the UK return to their homeland without the need to pay an exorbitant airline price. However, with an ever-growing market for long-haul travel already at their fingertips, it didn't take long for the business to capitalise on cheap flights to distant destinations around the world. And that includes selected cities in the United States. It was here at Trailfinders that I learned about the Visa Waiver Scheme, as long as I tell them where I'll be spending my first night.

One necessity was a pair of strong hiking boots I bought from Millets Camping Stores several months before take off. In the months preceding the hike, I had to break the boots in. This I did in the summer evenings after I'd finished a day's work. From my apartment, I set out on a long walk of three to four miles, to exercise my leg muscles as well as breaking in the boots. However, what I didn't realise was even with the training, I was already overestimating my abilities, a dangerous situation if deep inside the Canyon. I recall one female hiker who was rescued by a ranger in 1978. Her mule overtook me whilst ascending out of the gorge. Annually, up to a dozen fatalities occur within the Grand Canyon National Park.

However, I kept up the training. Although I was beginning to feel better about myself after the 1994 disaster, I was by no means over it. Anger, fear, regret, and general sadness still form an emotional vortex within my soul as I kept on wondering why all that happened to me and what were the reasons for them all.

Also purchased was a new rucksack, one of a full body length. It was designed to carry everything I need for the entire journey. Rather than hire a lightweight knapsack like I did in 1978, I was to carry this heavy load down into the Canyon. Little did I know that the left luggage lockers found in all Greyhound Bus terminals in the seventies were removed during the 1980s for security reasons. Hence, fully laden, this would have a profound effect on the hike. 

The excitement for the coming trip helped me cope with my emotional state. After my 1994 flight home, I returned to my church, back then, Ascot Baptist Church led by our former pastor, the late Barry Buckingham and his team, and managed to settle in as a regular member.

Just two weeks before take-off, my airline tickets arrived in the post along with the Greyhound Ameripass ticket valid for a full month. However, throughout the seventeen years since my last trip to the States, various changes were made. One was the Ameripass ticket itself. In the seventies, this was in a form of a book of vouchers, with each voucher torn off when boarding the bus to commence a fresh leg of the journey. In 1995, there was one single voucher which was kept on me until its expiry at the end of the holiday. Thus, the need to renew the book halfway through the month's trip became obsolete.

Turtle Pond, Central Park, 1995.

Another big change over the years was the style of accommodation. I wanted to carry the experience of hostelling into the States. Especially when it came to buying ingredients for a meal, cooking (and socialising with others in the kitchen) and enjoying the meal in the member's dining room. Indeed, this experience was meant to be quite different from the seventies, when I stayed in hotels and ate at the Greyhound Terminal restaurant.

Also, the itinerary would be different in 1995 from the seventies trip. Instead of starting and finishing at the same venue (Toronto in 1977, New York City in 1978) this time, I would begin in New York and finish in San Francisco, a one-way journey that would allow for longer stops at selected venues. 

Also, a couple of weeks before take off, I dialled New York in an attempt to reserve a bed at one of the city's hostels. There were quite a number of them. What a shock it was when I was told by the receptionist that on that particular date (the evening of September 5th, 1995) all the beds were taken. I felt very discouraged. However, when I asked, realising the season was coming to an end and whether beds should have freed up once the summer vacationers had returned home, I was told that September saw a peak in the backpacker population, as many of them had ended their summer work contracts and were roaming across the country as tourists before returning home or to college. Therefore, I was left to the old hotel bed-hunting tactics after arrival. 

Arrival in New York.

September 5th 1995 arrived at last. Unlike in 1978, there were no industrial disputes affecting flights, and mine took off from London Heathrow on time. The transatlantic flight was smooth and itself a pleasant experience, and also therapeutic. It was exactly a year to the day after boarding a plane at Tel Aviv Airport for a flight home while feeling in a wretched and broken state. Also, it's worth noting that spending a night in London was very beneficial when it came to arriving at the airport in good time. In 1994, I spent a night at YHA St Pauls, in the heart of the City. In 1995, I also arrived in London a day earlier and spent the night at YHA Earls Court. I was surprised by how long the Piccadilly Line Underground journey took to transport me from Earls Court Station to Terminal 3 of Heathrow Airport. But with a morning take-off, I couldn't afford the risk of a journey to the airport direct from Bracknell.

The plane finally landed in New York after over five hours of an airborne journey. Some distance to my left (hence, to the south) another airline was also flying from London to New York, and it kept up with us. The other airline landed first, then us. As a result, after alighting, I found myself at the back of a slow-moving queue for passport control, with two planeloads of passengers, each waiting to have his passport stamped.

At the arrivals lounge, the first thing I need to do, after arriving in Manhatten, was to look for a bed. Therefore, with the help of an American Hostel guide I had on me, I arrived at a couple of backpacker hostels. Both of them turned me away, with the explanation that all the beds were taken. It was at the second hostel that the receptionist asked me if I had made a booking. When I admitted that I didn't, he was apologetic but not unkind in saying that he was unable to offer me a bed, as if he saw me as an ideal customer, yet had to be turned away for someone less desirable.

I knew that there was just one place left, a seedy-looking hotel on the corner of 8th Avenue and West 44th Street. This was the same hotel I stayed at seventeen years earlier in 1978, also straight after arriving in New York at the start of the holiday. I recall the cockroach city in my room, and it was either put up or walked out. My memory of where to find the hotel must have been good, as I had no trouble finding it. I took the chance and inquired at Reception.

I was served by an Afro-Caribbean like I was before and given the keys to the same room I occupied in 1978. This time, there weren't many cockroaches scurrying across the room, but I still saw one or two. Like in 1978, once I settled in, I was too tired to go back outside. That part of New York was quiet, almost deserted, quite unlike the night in 1978 when a fire at a city building created chaos, keeping the city alive and noisy well into the night.

The tiredness I felt was due to the five-hour time-lapse during the flight. Although I was now behind British Summer Time by five hours, my body clock was telling me it was bedtime. But I couldn't sleep. Instead, I was able to open the window and lean out towards the street outside. Directly in front of me were several shops, all closed and the shutters down. Nearest the corner of 44th Street was a liquor shop, or what we would call an off-license. Next to it was a pharmacy. And the third shop was Goldilocks Deli. It was at the latter that I cracked a smile. I realised that this was America. And I jokingly found it hard to believe that the average New Yorker can pronounce the rather fragile word, Delicatessen fluently. So it was cut short - Deli. I even laughed. If only I realised back then that the pharmacy was in the right place. Whether suffering a hangover from the alcoholic drinks sold at the off-license or suffering indigestion after scoffing at the product sold at the deli, the pharmacy had a cure for both!

However, later that night, a large group of young Afro-Carribeans arrived near the hotel and the late evening guffaws eventually deteriorated into a street brawl, with angry swear words shouted along the street crossing. Although the noise was disturbing, at least there was no sign of entry into the hotel. It was at this point that I stayed away from the window and crawled into bed. I didn't want any of them to notice my presence.

Weight gain since 1978, at Central Park, 1995.

The next morning, I arose and after a shower, vacated the hotel. Fully loaded with a heavy rucksack on my back, I made my way to Fifth Avenue and in one of its lofty banks, I cashed a Traveller's Cheque. Further on, I arrived at the British Consulate (not to be confused with the British Embassy in Washington DC). As I stood outside the Consulate, directly across the road and bang opposite, was Tie Rack, a British business. Typical, I thought. Along 5th Avenue, I continued walking, until A arrived at Central Park. It was here where I spent the next few hours. The Lung of New York. The peaceful serenity of Central Park was a recluse from the traffic noise and the city din of street life. Turtle Pond, with its quaint footbridge nearby, offered a scene as contrasting from Manhatten as any parkland could be.

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Next Week. The Journey to the Grand Canyon.