Travel Biography - Week 76.

As I began to settle in Singapore, I couldn't believe that such a dream could be fulfilled, to travel to the furthest point from home, to be so close to the Equator, and then only as a rest stop, and not my final destination. Until then, California held the distance record since I first crossed the Atlantic in 1977, with Los Angeles at 5,460 miles, or 8,786 km from London. Singapore is 10,870 km, or 6,754 miles from London.

First Trip to Sentosa Island.

During my five-day stay in Singapore, I visited Sentosa Island twice. On the first visit, I didn't go alone but with a couple of European young men who stayed in the same hostel, Will's Homestay. At this time of writing, I don't remember their home nationalities, but they both spoke English. Looking back, those two were either German, possibly Danish, Dutch, or even Scandinavian.

One morning, I was invited to go with them to Sentosa Island to spend a day at Fantasy Island, a water park. I packed my swimming gear in a small knapsack and accompanied them to our destination. These two seemed to know Singapore quite well, as we boarded a bus to the World Trade Centre (now known as the Harbour Front Station). This was a tower whose top floor was a stopping point for a cable car system passing through, very much like a through station on a railway line. One of the two terminals was at the summit of Mt Faber, a 94-metre high hill west of the city centre. The other end of the cable car line was at Sentosa Island itself and quite close to the theme park resort.

The Cable cars pass through the World Trade Centre Tower.

A public elevator took us to the upper floor of the tower where we boarded a gondola, which halted momentarily. The noiseless ride was smooth and gentle as the car hovered across the harbour, and looked down at Brani Island to the east of us with its coastline lined with trading vessels. We finally lowered and alighted at the Sentosa Island cable turnaround terminus.

Fantasy Island (now the Adventure Cove) consisted mainly of an outdoor pool, surrounded by flumes, or waterslides, and abundant with trees and shrubs. There was also a plunge pool and over it, a zip wire enabling riders to jump into the pool from a height of two to three metres. I believe that it was this facility that caused the pool to shut down in November 2001. When I used the zip wire and jumped into the water below, the impact brought pain to the nasal passage, and I had to pause for a while until the pain subsided. The slamming of the nostrils onto the surface of the water could have caused a serious injury. Therefore, on subsequent drops, I pinched my nose during the jump.

Zip Wire and Flumes at Fantasy Island, 1997.

There was also the Lazy River, where we floated on air rings and allowed ourselves to be carried slowly along a twisting lane that passed through tropical vegetation flourishing on both sides. We spent a good few hours at the resort before we made our way to the Merlion, a white, 37-metre-high cement statue dominating the island and offering views from the lookout on its head. 

And here, I would like to make a point. In 1997, the year of my visit to Fantasy Island, all three of us had no problem climbing into the flumes and sliding down through the tunnels without the need to wait beforehand. The same applied to the zip wire and the Lazy River. I approached the facility and used it straight away. However, while I was preparing to write this blog, I researched reviews on the website Tripadvisor, to see how the venue, now known as Adventure Cove, was faring with its visitors.

The high number of negative reviews surprised me! This was mainly due to overcrowding and the formation of long queues. Waiting to use the slide, according to the reviewers, was up to an hour long. Furthermore, the flumes were accused of being "too tame", especially by teenagers. All this goes to show how so much can change in 26 years. In my day, the flume rides were an adventure, a thrill. At present, those same rides are seen as tame and unexciting. Indeed, I would have loved to have seen King Henry VIII encouraged to have a go on one of the slides. I bet he would have shrunk back in sheer terror!

That evening, fully dry after leaving Fantasy Island, we explored the rest of Sentosa. In 1997, the centre of attraction was the Merlion. About 100-150 metres away was the Dancing Fountain, fronted by a theatre with a seating arrangement resembling an ancient Greek or Roman theatre.

We took a lift to the head of the Merlion. From the cranium overlook, we enjoyed views of Singapore and Sentosa. Beautiful ornamental gardens surrounded the statue, and as dusk drew in as the daylight faded with the setting sun, thousands of electric lamps began to dot the whole view with their illumination.

Singapore and Dancing Fountain Theatre from the Merlion.

However, my two companions wanted to watch the Dancing Fountain perform as this was their last day in Singapore. While we were still on the Merlion's head as we watched the theatre seating begin to fill. As the audience assembled, we made our way down and found some seating space right at the end of the row. Thus, we watched the performance from an angle rather than face-on. It wasn't a good choice of seating, yet the two lads seemed happy to be where they sat. Had I been on my own, I would have moved to a better position.

 

The images that illuminated the jets of water were accompanied by the coordinated movement of the nozzles, backed by music. It was a fascinating 30-minute performance which delighted the entire audience. I, for one, was impressed with the technology behind it all, perhaps all powered by a computer. The climax of the performance was the laser beam which shone out of the left eye of the Merlion to create an image across the fountains as the water spewed into the air.

The three of us had a wonderful day together, but I couldn't say that any lasting friendships had developed. Rather, that day paralleled the experience two years earlier, when I went to visit Papago Cacti Gardens in Phoenix, Arizona, with two other backpackers from the same hostel. We had fun together but afterwards, we went our separate ways, never to see each other again. The same happened here in Singapore. My two companions left for the airport and I remained at the hostel. From that day on, I spent the rest of my RTW trip on my own, as no one had stepped forward to invite me to join them, and neither had I invited anyone to accompany me. 

Singapore Metro to Chinese Gardens.

The Chinese and the adjoining Japanese Gardens were quite far from the city centre, therefore the need for a long ride on the Mass Rapid Transit, or MRT railway, equivalent to Transport for London's Underground, such as the Picadilly Line. Like the Picadilly Line which goes underground only in Central London before emerging above ground to serve stations in the suburbs, likewise, the Singapore MRT goes underground only in the central city area. The rest of the line was above ground for the greater section of the journey I took from Bugis to the Chinese Park Station.

Thus, the journey was smooth, quiet, and very clean. When I alighted from the train at the station, it was a short walk to the entrance to Chinese Gardens, which was laid on Jurong Lake, and fine Oriental architecture is seen by the lakeside and at various locations in the park.

Oriental bridges cross the lake at various points of the lake. Like at the Golden Gate Park in San Francisco, these too remind me of the design on willow plates and crockery which Mum had when I was a boy. Here in the Chinese and the Japanese parks, the emphasis for the Willow design was more on the bridges.

Bridge of Double Beauty, Japanese Gardens.

The Willow Plate of Oriental Art.

I found the two parks to provide a peaceful stroll away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Apparently, they were the favourite spots for newlyweds to have their photos taken, but much to my relief, there weren't any weddings on the day. However, there was one set of structures that impressed me the most. They were the three Chinese huts or pavilions on the east bank of Jurong Lake. Picture postcards of these pavilions were on sale all over Singapore, and I honestly thought that those three adjoining huts were on the coast. Hence my delight when I came across by chance whilst visiting an area which wasn't high on the tourist's agenda.

The Triple-Pavilion on Jurong Lake, Chinese Park.

Another feature that delighted me at Chinese Gardens was an outdoor exhibition of potted plants that were common in China. Here, rows of shrubs were lined up for display. One shrub, no more than 12 inches, or 30 cm tall, was at the time, 50 years old, several years older than I was. Most of the others were slightly younger, but I was amazed at the incredibly slow growth over the years of its life. The garden exhibition was almost devoid of visitors. I had the whole place almost to myself. Furthermore, according to Google Maps, the topography of Chinese and Japanese Gardens remained unchanged over the past 26 years, unlike that of Sentosa Island and Marine Bay.

My Opinion on Singapore.

Other locations in Singapore I visited included Clarke Quay, the Hindu Temple and also the Islamic mosque. Not that I entered these buildings, but stood outside to admire their architectural beauty. By chance, I also came across Clarke Quay by night (pic in last week's blog). The lighting gives a special cheer to the place.

Little India, Singapore.

Whilst I explored Singapore, I liked the place. However, Singapore is relatively a young country compared with other nations. Thus, with the possible exception of the Raffle's Hotel, there were no significant historical hotspots. In addition, visiting as a stopover on a journey rather than a solo or final destination wasn't unique to me. I knew several people who stopped in Singapore. This included three people who had recently stayed with relatives in the Philippines. They decided to stop at Singapore on their way back home to the UK. Another fellow I know called at Singapore whilst on his way to visit his brother-in-law who emigrated to Australia some years earlier. And browsing through a brochure offering escorted tours to Australia, Singapore was also an option for those returning home to the UK and also willing to pay extra for a stopover tour in this tropical location.

The residents of Singapore don't live in English-style homes with front and back gardens. Instead, they live in tall apartment blocks which are huddled together to maximise the use of space and land area. For example, there is a large residential estate just behind Chinese Park Station. The sheer monotony of the estate - each block looking identical to its neighbour, does not inspire tourism. Yet, the night I took off to Cairns, there was sadness in my heart. I was already missing the streets of Singapore.

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

Next Week: My Second Visit to Sentosa Island with extra pics before take-off to Cairns.

Travel Biography - Week 75.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow?

All photos here are my own, taken in 1997.

Before chronicling the 1997 flight from London Heathrow to Singapore Changi Airport, I need to express an issue I had problems with during the weeks before take-off, an issue I should have dealt with in last week's blog had I thought about it. 

When I was a boy, and especially during schooldays, I had to have short back-and-sides haircuts. However, back then, that was normal among boys of my age. This was further insisted on by my father's older brother, who was a Warrant Officer in the Royal Air Force. There were times, whenever he came around to visit when Uncle told Dad off for allowing my hair to grow a little over the military regulation. One Saturday morning in 1966, in my parent's absence, he gave me a severe telling-off for popping out to the shops without a tie during my earlier teenage years.

Evening lights at Clarke Quay

By the time I was 17 years old, I began to let my hair grow, despite having disputes over it with my parents. This was due to Beatlemania among teenagers slightly older than I was. Their trendsetting for the nation's young people, I guess, had led many a barber to reconsider his future. By the time I was 18, my hair was considerably long for an average male, and having reached adulthood, even Uncle had by then lost all authority over us on these matters of hair length and dress code.

And so, for my entire adult life, I always had long hair at various lengths. Sometime during the nineties, a church elder suggested tying my hair into a ponytail, an idea I had found to be advantageous enough to have my long hair in a ponytail during daylight hours to this day, especially if I'm outdoors on a windy day.

When Singapore became a republic in 1965, one of the first things their Government did was to impose a ban on all males wearing long hair. And that applied to both the indigenous and the visitor. Their explanation for this ban was that long hair was related to the hippie culture which was into illegal drugs. Their Flower Power culture was in direct conflict with the Singaporean Conscription for National Service, compulsory for all able-bodied men, whether home-born or immigrants.

The ban brought controversy between Singapore and neighbouring nations, especially with the issue of tourism. A long-haired male tourist arriving in Singapore was given a choice of two options. Either get a haircut straight away or leave the country. Despite such a controversial issue, the ban remained in force for the next thirty years.

Hence, as I was preparing for the Round-the-World travel experience, I was teased, especially by one unmarried Christian. This regular churchgoer believes that being English with their imperial past was always superior to that of any other nation, especially the Italians with their reputation of recklessness. As such, I was an ideal target for his mockery.

Therefore, one weekday, I boarded a train to London to visit the Singapore Consulate. It was here that one staff member reassured me that there was no longer a ban on long hair in Singapore. He then testified that he had long hair when he recently visited the State. Although reassured by a Singaporean staff member, the visit to the Consulate brought further mockery from some of my friends.

Take-Off to Singapore. 

My long hair has always been my genes. Therefore, no way would I have it cut so short just to make another man happy! So, the only other option was to reboard a plane at Singapore Changi Airport for Australia if the worst came to the worst.

On Tuesday, May 20th, my next-door neighbour and friend, Mark, gave me a lift in his car to the station. From there, I made my way to Earls Court to claim my bed at the YHA Earls Court. To do this, I changed trains at Richmond-on-Thames, and sitting directly opposite me on the TfL District Line train was one of my window-cleaning customers.

We chatted heartily during the stretch from Richmond to Earls Court, where I alighted. He remained on the train to take him into Central London for a business meeting. Once checked in at the hostel and leaving my rucksack leaning on the dormitory bed with my tickets, traveller's cheques, and passport locked away safely in a locker, I started a reminiscence walk from the hostel to my childhood street, St Georges Square in Pimlico. As I walked along the Embankment, I passed the annual Chelsea Flower Show, a national garden exhibition opened each year by the Queen. Thus, whenever the Flower Show opens, I always have a flashback to this day, the eve of take-off.

(Full coverage of my childhood walks along the Chelsea Embankment is detailed in Week 1 of the Biography.) 

Orchard Road.

Life at Orchard Road.

The next morning, after a wash and shave, I had breakfast in the hostel cafeteria and sat at the table opposite a friendly young Asian female. We chatted whilst I kept my eye on the time. She wished me all the best for the coming journey.

Later that morning, I sat by the window on the port side of the British Airways Boeing 747 airline, one of the largest aeroplanes to take off from Heathrow Airport. This was for a flight lasting more than twelve hours with a further eight hours ahead of the Greenwich Time Zone, which means that it was the morning of the next day when the plane landed at Changi Airport in full daylight. Incredibly, most of the seating within the plane was unoccupied, including the two other seats on my row. As we passed through the shortest night I had ever experienced, I was able to lie down across all three seats. However, once the night had drawn in, far below, lightning flashed, creating momentary bright spots in the cloud cover over the Middle East area of Asia. It was quite a spectacular sight!

Arrival at Singapore.

After landing, at the arrival customs, there were notices written in English warning us all that if illegal drugs were found, then the carrier of the drugs would be sentenced to death. It was a shocking reminder that this is a very different country to that of the UK, having a tiger economy. Once in the arrivals lounge, it was pleasantly cool as I looked for a bathroom to freshen up. However, after stepping out of the building, the reality hit me.

Under hazy sunshine, the air was hot and humid. The first thing to do was to get into the centre of town and find a bed for the next four nights, as this was more of a rest stop on the journey to Australia from the UK than a final destination. I found out that there was a cluster of backpacker's hostels in the district of Bugis, near Orchard Road, one of the main streets of the city. By asking around, I boarded a bus which would pass through Bugis, where I was to alight. 

Along the coast-hugging highway, I was intrigued by how every bridge that crossed the motorway was covered with tropical vegetation. This would have made the entire environment an extra delight to the motorist, perhaps something the UK can learn from.

I alighted from the bus at Bugis, within the city. I was surrounded by modern tall skyscrapers, one of which didn't even conform to the traditional square cross-section, but instead, with its obtuse and acute angles, the building looked as if flattened. A short walk, and I saw what looked like hostel bunk beds peering through an upstairs window. Acquainted with the good old "Off-the-Street" walk-in with no previous booking, I took a lift to the third-floor reception and asked whether a bed was available. I was offered one straightaway, much to my delight and relief.

Will's Homestay was a one-floor hostel on the third floor, or should I say, the Singaporean version of an Italian pensione, a hotel with a dormitory instead of individual rooms. It had a central lounge, bathroom and a kitchen, but unlike a proper hostel, the kitchen was accessible only for breakfast. I was to spend four nights there, with the 5th night spent at Changi Airport boarding another Boeing 747, the Qantas Airline flight to Cairns, Queensland. Hence, including a morning arrival, I spent five full days in Singapore. 

One set of incidents took place at Will's Homestay. Here, on the evening of the first day after arrival, I befriended a tall, athletic Dutchman. He was taking a few days' holiday in Singapore from Holland, and the next day he was due to fly back home, I believe, at his parent's bidding. Estimating his age, I would have placed him somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties. That evening, I never realised that telling him that Singapore was a stopover on my way to Australia from the UK would stir up jealousy.

That was manifest the next morning. Just after breakfast, he entered the kitchen and spoke to me in a less friendly, more harsh tone and ordered me to keep an eye on his item whilst he was off to pack, ready for his flight home. The item left on the table in front of me was a torch or camper's lamp. After he left the room, I rose and made my exit, leaving his camper's lamp unattended on the table. Not that I wouldn't have shown a favour to anyone polite, but he was hostile as if he spent the night comparing his holiday with mine. What he didn't seem to realise was that he was in his late twenties, I was in my forties. Unless he marries soon, he has much of his life ahead to make a go in world travel.

My stay at the hostel also involved a fright one evening. After returning from a day out, I used the elevator to get to the third floor. I was alone in the lift when it stopped for no reason between floors. In a panic, I punched the alarm button. That got the lift moving again, but I arrived in our dormitory shaking a little. To this day, although I'm not phobic against elevators, I do feel wary when using them, and there are some lifts I wouldn't use at all. Fortunately, a fire escape stairwell accompanied the lift shaft. From that evening on, I used the stairs when entering and leaving the building.

As for my health, the hot and humid air caused me to feel unwell on the first day after arrival. I was walking down Orchard Road when I felt a little queasy and continuously thirsty. I came prepared. There is a compartment on my rucksack that contains Paracetamol and similar medicines. I affectionately called that compartment Auto Doc, and it served just that, keeping me well when on a journey, especially from mild ailments such as feeling feverish. But I did find the Singaporean air oppressive. It was hot and humid, and this stirred up thirst. I found myself drinking one can of soft drinks after another until I acclimatised.

The 37-metre high Merlion, Sentosa.

As I walked along Orchard Road, I began to notice that the city's shopping precinct was unlike any other Western town I had visited. The street wasn't lined with shops as with a typical British High Street. Instead, there was a row of huge shopping malls lining both sides of the street. Inside each of the air-conditioned malls were the shops. One of the malls I entered and looked around. It looked newly built, and if I remember right, this one was built with polished granite. Perhaps the English equivalent is the Oracle in Reading, but this mall in the tropics was grander, consisting of several floors, and had all the shops and restaurants one can imagine.

And so, the journey has begun. The Round-the-World trip is up and running. And it would never fade from memory.

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

A couple of corrections from last week's blog.

1. What I referred to as Clarke Bay was actually Clarke Quay, a platform a little way upstream on the Singapore River, and not the inlet itself, which is Marina Bay. I stood on Clarke Quay in 1997.

2. Fantasy Island closed down in November 2001, according to Wikipedia. But when Universal Studios opened in 2011, the old Fantasy Island was upgraded, made safe and incorporated into Universal Studios as Adventure Cove Waterpark, which is separate from the oceanarium.

I apologise for the misinformation and strive to give the most accurate biography as my abilities allow.

Next Week. Singapore attractions and Sentosa Island as they were in 1997.

Travel Biography - Week 74.

Introduction to Singapore and Sentosa Island.

During the Christmas season of 1996, that is, a couple of days after Boxing Day, I boarded a train to London specifically to arrive at Trailfinders Travel Agency to pay the final balance for the 1997 Round-the-World flight tickets. The airfare for the whole trip was only £609. I was excited. During those days, I still found the idea of setting foot in Australia unbelievable. 

Non-existent in 1997 - Marina Bay Sands Hotel

An envelope containing four ticket vouchers arrived at my apartment two weeks before take-off. The first was for the flight out of London to Singapore Changi Airport. The second voucher was valid from Singapore to Cairns, Queensland. The third was for what was then the longest non-stop commercial flight registered in the Guinness Book of Records, the trans-Pacific route from Sydney to Los Angeles, and finally, the fourth voucher was for the flight from LAX to London Heathrow. Ironically, straight after the longest flight I had ever experienced, at Los Angeles, I boarded a much smaller, propellor-powered aeroplane for a thirty-minute hop to San Diego, the shortest flight I ever had. The entire duration out of the UK in 1997 was exactly ten weeks.

The date I took off from London Heathrow Airport was May 21st, 1997, a Wednesday. However, before continuing with the chronology, I wish to write some notes on Singapore. After checking the city-state on the Internet, I saw that vast changes have occurred within the last 26 years since I visited the area in 1997. And that includes Sentosa Island, just off the south coast of Singapore itself. Sentosa was a British military base until Singapore became an independent Republic in 1965 and Sentosa Island was transformed into a centre for recreation.

In the city itself, one major change was the construction of the Marina Bay Sands, a ship-like construction resting on three skyscrapers and overlooking an inlet. The grand opening of the complex was in February 2011. It has become the central feature of Singapore, attracting tourists worldwide. The three skyscrapers are hotels, each built to resemble a pack of playing cards. Also included is an infinity swimming pool (for hotel residents only), a large casino, shops and restaurants, and an art and science museum. This vast edifice didn't exist in 1997. Instead, where I stood, the inlet was named Clarke Bay surrounded by modest, British-designed buildings.

However, it was Sentosa Island that had undergone major changes in the last 26 years after I visited the area. For example, Fantasy Island was an outdoor water theme park featuring flumes, or waterslides, and a Lazy River where inflatables, either designed for one person or two (thus, resembling an inflatable figure of eight) drifted along a river which passed through tropical vegetation on both sides. There was also a zip wire, where the rider would hold on to a pair of handles as it slid downhill over a plunge pool. At the right spot, he let go and plunged two or three metres into the water below. However, whether it was the zip wire feature or something else, there were several injuries during its short, six-year life of the theme park, and a couple of fatalities. It closed down in November 2001, four years after I had swum there. At present, Universal Studios Singapore, which opened in 2011, now stands partly on the old park site.

Another feature at Sentosa was the Dancing Fountain, an outdoor theatre with a row of fountains forming a straight line as its stage. Every evening after dark, people would fill the ancient-looking Greek/Roman-style auditorium to watch the fountains perform to a magnificent light display backed by music. I found the Dancing Fountain to be an exhilarating experience. The fountain closed down in 2007 to make way for the Resorts World Sentosa, which opened in 2010. It features the Festive Walk, seven hotels, five notable restaurants, a casino, Dolphin Island, and the Adventure Cove Waterpark which is a huge indoor oceanarium and different aquariums, including one of hard and soft corals.

Along with the Dancing Fountain, the 37-metre-high Merlion of Sentosa had two viewing galleries, inside its mouth and on the top of its head, along with some gift shops. In 1997, I paid for a lift to take me to its head. The lift ended at his mouth and a set of stairs took me to its head. From there, I had a fascinating view of both Sentosa and Singapore. From its left eye, a bright laser-like beam shone directly at the Dancing Fountain at the climax of each of its evening performances. The Merlion closed permanently in 2019, to make way for a new feature, Sentosa Sensoryscape, a path that will link various points on the island, including its beaches. I believe it opened towards the end of last year (2022). 

These are some of the changes that have taken place in the 26 years between my 1997 stay in Singapore to the present day (2023) as seen on the Internet. What I found rather remarkable was how the ever-changing face of Singapore compares with the stability of the Grand Canyon. Up-to-date photos of the Canyon show that nothing had changed since my first visit in 1978, which is 45 years from then to the present. There are even two photos of me standing next to the same boulder on the edge of the Colorado River. Each was taken 17 years apart (1978-1995). The stone remains unmoved, I assume, to this day. Therefore, all the photos I took of Singapore included in this Biography will be of how the area looked while visiting in 1997. Nostalgia, pure nostalgia!

Non-Existent in 1997 - Bay Gardens, Singapore.

Getting Ready to Depart - A Social Problem.

During the months leading up to take-off, my Mum fell ill with Jaundice and had to be taken into hospital, the difficult-to-get-to Wexham Park Hospital near Slough. Here, she had to undergo a major operation on her liver, one conducted by a team led by a Jewish consultant. The procedure was a success but she remained in the ward as an inpatient for several weeks afterwards. It was while she was recovering from the op that I was questioning whether I should go ahead with the RTW trip or cancel it, and postpone the trip for a later date. It needn't have worried. Mum was discharged just in time before I left the UK. Thoughts of cancelling the trip to be close to Mum whilst she was still in hospital were considered, but I held back as, on weekly visits, I saw that she was making progress. Cancelling the trip would have been an extreme last resort. 

At last, she was discharged from the hospital just days before take-off. By the time I headed for the airport, I knew that she would be okay.

Also in the early Spring of that year, not long before Mum was taken into hospital, I spent a Saturday at the Exhibition of Travel, held at the Olympia Exhibition Hall in West London. It was a great day out. But in the back of my mind, I was wondering whether a visa waiver scheme for entry into the USA was valid in Australia as well as in Britain and Europe. At one corner of the exhibition, there was an area cordoned off. There was a small audience seated and ready for the shoot. At the front, a travel expert was ready to receive questions, and next to him was a TV camera team representing a national commercial channel. Finding a vacant seat, I took my place in the audience.

During the shooting, I stood up, and noticing the camera aimed directly at my face, I explained that I was about to travel around the world, namely to Singapore, Australia, and the USA. My revelation brought gasps from both the rest of the audience and from the expert. I then asked whether the USA Visa Waiver Scheme operated in Australia as well as in Europe. He was stumped, as he couldn't answer my question. I wouldn't be at all surprised if my question was edited out from the programme before going on air. Viewers don't expect the "expert" to be stumped by a simple question that could have been answered with a mere "Yes" or "No".

The forthcoming trip also caused a sensation among the singles from local churches. It was the days when unmarried men from different churches knew each other well enough for friendships to develop, and we met together for a post-evening service social in the home of one of us, at a different venue each week. One particular Sunday, it was my turn to host the meeting in my apartment. The day of take-off was beginning to draw near.

One of the singletons was Paul, a university graduate and a keen meteorologist. He was also keen on the British Empire, and he believed that the British Empire was established by God, as he, along with Keith, believed that England was seen as "God's Country" in William Blake's 1804 poem, and wished that the old Empire could be revived and brought back to life. Back in 1995, this same Paul warned me about the "dangerous wildlife" within the Grand Canyon and tried to discourage me from attempting the hike. Sure enough, whilst at the Canyon floor near Phantom Ranch, I thought I heard a rattlesnake nearby. Perhaps Paul had a point after all, but in no way would I back down from the challenge. However, I did inform Paul, Keith and a couple of others that I may have encountered a rattlesnake while I was hiking the Canyon.

It was after I married Alex and returned from our honeymoon in Rhodes when the same Paul, in agreement with Keith after the rattlesnake incident, asked me whether I swam with sharks whilst bathing in the Mediterranean. In fact, I was asked the same question twice, each on a different week. On both occasions, I answered "No". I think they were disappointed with my answer, as Paul was ready to come down on me with his knowledge that sharks don't inhabit the Mediterranean.

Going back to mid-Spring 1997. One Sunday evening, we all met at my apartment. After serving them hot drinks of their choice, Paul looked at me, along with everyone in the room, and warned me that there would be a deep area of low pressure heading our way in just a couple of days. I could see a glint in his eyes as he said this, as if wet weather would prevent me from working, then unable to save up enough funds, hence, the coming trip would be screwed. All eyes were on me as I assured them that even if I took a couple of days off work, the trip would still go ahead, as all expenses were already paid.

I have decided to include this set of incidents in the Biography as it reveals the underlying envy felt by others of the same generation's social and marital status. Going by the experience of social life both inside and outside the church, it appears that unmarried men are less secure with themselves than married men. And here, particularly in England, for a graduate to see a non-graduate rise to the occasion, whether in academic pursuits, writing, photography, or travel experiences, they looked to have taken offence. There are times when I often feel sidelined by these graduates and watch them act as if I don't exist. Yet, many of my current friends are Christian graduates who share my age range. At that 1997 meeting in my apartment, all but one were already in their forties. The one exception was Paul himself, who was still back then in his thirties.

As the holiday grew nearer, I also became more nervous. I was ready to jump on a train to South Kensington if the airline tickets failed to arrive. But they did - in good time. I also kept in touch with the news to be reassured that there would be no industrial disputes to disrupt the schedule. So far, so good. What I didn't realise until after arriving back home, was that there was a strike among British Airways staff while I was already in Australia.

Non-Existent in 1997 - Resorts World Sentosa.

On the last Saturday before take-off, I went to spend the afternoon at my parent's home, along with my brother. I wanted to make sure that all was well before I left the UK. All was well, and Mum even encouraged me to go and don't cancel. As I watched her flit around the kitchen preparing dinner rather than remaining confined in bed, I knew that all was well. I attended church that Sunday, and I was wished all the best. On the Monday before departure, I went to Coral Reef Water World for a good sauna before finally closing my apartment door the next day, complete with all the necessary luggage and travel documents, for a lift in a friend's car to the railway station.

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

Next Week: The flight to Singapore and the beginning of the stay.

Travel Biography - Week 73.

Travel Success and Failure.

The 1995 backpacking trip across the USA was indeed a life-changing experience! Not only were new adventures sought, but it has proven to be therapeutic. Although Travel does have a lasting positive effect on someone like me who was in his forties and still single, after watching his friends and even schoolmates marry and raise a family, Travel itself has its downsides. As I see it, Travel is not a tanning factory at the Spanish Costa but a combined adventure consisting of a learning experience, a mind-opener, and a physical benefit. For example, some belly fat was dumped during the hike at the Grand Canyon National Park.

The trail approaches Swanage. Stock photo.

By checking the online dictionary, Travel is defined as going from one place to another, particularly over a long distance. But how the distance was covered determined success or failure, along with whether the journey was finished or not. Both the 1978 and the 1995 Grand Canyon hikes were deemed a success. True enough, during the ascent of the 1995 hike, I went down with hyponatremia - the diluting of the blood salt content by drinking excess water without the corresponding intake of salt or electrolytes. The result was severe leg cramps which literally immobilised me. Fortunately, two passing hikers offered to carry my rucksack a little way up to the mile-and-a-half rest station where I spent the rest of the night. Yet the whole hike was a success. All 23 miles of it.

The success was based on walking the entire distance from start to finish. Even over the short distance uphill where my luggage was carried by someone else, I still walked, pushing myself up the switchback despite the severe pain. There was no locomotive assistance, whether riding on a mule or motor vehicle.

However, if the reader gets the impression that everything I touch turns to gold where Travel is concerned, that's far from the case. If anything, I believe that failure plays a role in character-building as well as experience. I'm sure that nobody wants to admit to failure. And I confess my feeling of embarrassment if I had to admit failure. But in this Biography, admitting failure makes the narrative honest and complete. If I admit failure, then any success will look more genuine. It also shows that I, too, am fully human. 

After arriving home from San Francisco, the following Christmas season (that is, Christmas 1995), I felt empty and despondent. I was reflecting on Christmas 1994. Two days after Boxing Day of that year, I took a train into London to book a flight to New York for September 5th, 1995, exactly a year to the day after landing at London Gatwick Airport from the disastrous trip to Israel in the previous year. This time, during the Yule season of 1995, I spent a day in London, but my spirits were low as I stayed away from Kensington High Street where I made the initial booking.

But the idea of travelling to Australia stayed with me ever since meeting that Aussie in San Diego. And he wasn't even the first one. Back in the late eighties, I knew an Aussie who took up temporary membership of the triathlon club of which I too was a member. These two, one a sleek athlete, the other a bearded bricklayer, both had an impact. But it was the builder who shared my hostel bedroom in the subtropics of the southern Californian city who turned a dream into a possible reality.

Into 1996. Winter turned to Spring and once again I visited Trailfinders in Kensington. But that was to collect its magazine, free for the taking, after browsing through one of them. This particular issue had the main feature - various Round-the-World independent trips as a result of a deal signed between British Airways and Qantas, the Australian Airline. I was amazed! The timing of the publication couldn't have been more appropriate.

The magazine featured several RTW offers, including via South Africa, Oceania, New Zealand, and the simplest and least expensive - from London to Singapore, to Cairns in Queensland, from Sydney to Los Angeles, then back home from Los Angeles. The only surface travel resembling the USA was between Cairns and Sydney. And like America, Australia has its own Greyhound Bus that allows several forms of passes, each according to the area covered, its duration of validity, and expense. I could have bought the all-Australian pass for quite an expensive tariff. Or I could buy a restricted Indo-Pacific route pass for a cheaper price, but I would be restricted to the East Coast. Yet, that would be okay for me.

For one who was a freelance window cleaner with no trade qualifications or a university degree, I saw such RTW travel as a wonderful, even a daring privilege. But I also knew that I wasn't able to take off until well into 1997, the following year. Until then, I need to work hard and save up. I have always been the one to avoid credit card purchases. I made sure that the holiday was already paid for before take-off and not to return home to a stack of credit card bills lying on the floor. However, that leaves 1996 with nothing. This was when a short UK break would be ideal. 

The Dorset Coast near Lulworth Cove. Stock photo.

Fresh from hiking the Grand Canyon, I wanted to challenge myself to a Bournemouth-to-Exeter hike on the Southwest Coast Path, a trail that begins at Studland Bay in Dorset and ends at Minehead, Somerset. The section I had in mind was only a short stretch of the 630-mile trail, but altogether, the week-long hike would be well over a hundred miles along the Dorset and Devon coastline. With its proper start at Shell Bay Beach near the ferry port, this length of the trail is the only section that is unbroken until arriving at Exmouth, where a ferry operates across the River Exe Estuary from Exmouth to Starcross, on the way to Dawlish. After Dawlish, there are several other estuary and river mouth breaks, including the River Teign, River Dart, Salcombe Harbour, River Avon, and others. 

August 1996 arrived. One Saturday, I boarded a train to London and made my way to South Kensington. After ensuring that my passport carried a valid Australian visa, I paid the deposit for a British Airways flight to Singapore, Qantas Airlines to Australia and Los Angeles, and British Airways back to London, with take-off for Singapore from London Heathrow on Wednesday, May 21st, 1997.

As I sat on the train on my way home from London carrying a bag containing the deposit receipt and reservation documents, even then I couldn't believe what I had done! Am I really going to set foot Down Under?

The Southwest Coast Hike Begins.

A couple of days later, I vacated my apartment to board a train to Bournemouth via Reading. After I arrived at the Dorset seaside resort, I started the hike straightaway. My first overnight stop would be YHA Swanage, then YHA Lulworth Cove, a hotel in Weymouth, then YHA Litton Cheney, a hotel in Lyme Regis, YHA Beer, and YHA Topsham (now closed down). At Exeter, I stopped for a few hours in the city before boarding the train at Exeter St David Station for the journey home.

At first, all was well. I hiked to Swanage Hostel from Bournemouth Station for the first night. Then I trekked the strenuous hilly trail from Swanage to Lulworth Cove. Despite the draining of energy, at that point, I was feeling fine. On the third day, as I began the next leg to Weymouth, I began to feel unwell. I recognised the symptoms. It was the flu. I began to sweat as my temperature rose. I finally made it to the hotel. However, despite how feverish I felt, I spent the evening checking out the town and harbour.

And here lies the great advantage of the former "off-the-street" hotel and hostel walk-ins over advanced bookings. I could have spent a day in a hotel bed and paid for an extra night. Then, after recovering to a safe level, I continued with the hike and arrived at the next overnight stop a day, or maybe two days later than I originally planned. And all the following consecutive stops would have been one or two days later than planned. Yet, I would see the whole hike as a success. That would have been the way I travelled ten years earlier, with all accommodation approached at the front door without prior booking. An extra night or two spent ill in bed would have contributed to the adventure. But not any more.

By the mid-nineties, advanced hostel and hotel bookings were becoming a necessity for ensuring a bed was waiting at the other end, especially while I was on a long hike. Whether in the hostelling world, doing away with the morning duty actually brought a rise in client numbers, may be debatable, nevertheless, gone were the days when one approached the hostel that was closed during the day, filled in a card, and posted it through the front door. And a bed for the coming night was guaranteed. A similar system with bed-and-breakfast hotels. All I needed to do was look for the Vacancies displayed outside the door and avoid those with a No Vacancies sign. Whether it was after a delay brought on by searching around, or success first try, I always found a bed.

Feeling unwell, I made my way to my room and retired to bed. The next morning, I was still feeling unwell and with a temperature. I had it in mind to get up, have breakfast and carry on with the hike. But instead, I paid for another night at the hotel. That means a no-show at Litton Cheney despite having already booked.

For me to arrive at the next stop, Lyme Regis, I had no other option but to board a bus to arrive at the resort in time for the booked hotel. The bus ride had replaced the Weymouth-Litton-Lyme Regis legs of the hike. Hence, I saw the whole hike as a failure, a shame that hung over my head for years to come. Although some readers may think that I had made the right choice, if I could turn back the clock, I would have told myself to pull together, vacate the room and carry on with the hike. To this day, I still wish that I had made that decision.

End of the hike. Exeter, taken in 2023.

As a friend kept saying, You must be getting soft in your old age! Maybe there is some truth in that statement, even if spoken tongue-in-cheek. As I got older, the desire for some assurance of bed security was becoming more of a need. Around three years ago, when we found ourselves stuck in London late at night after Alex needed treatment for a mild back injury, we asked a hospital receptionist whether there was a hotel in the vicinity. He told me that no hotel would take us "off the street". A pre-booking was mandatory. Having no smartphone on me, it was left for the receptionist to make the booking for us at a Traveller's Lodge a short taxi ride away.

From Lyme Regis, I resumed the hike towards Exeter. Despite my efforts, it didn't feel the same. The hike was already a failure but I kept going anyway. The next stop was at Beer, then towards Exmouth, and then I swung north before arriving at the River Exe Estuary. At Topsham, I spent the last night at Exeter Youth Hostel before the final leg into the city the next day.

This could have been a fascinating hike if I hadn't fallen ill and made the wrong decision at Weymouth. As I boarded the Great Western train to return home, well, that's life.

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

Next Week, I prepare for the biggie, the RTW backpacking trip.