Travel Biography - Week 100.

For one who loves Travel, something weird dominated the newspapers this past week. This was the case of Magaluf in the Spanish Balearic Islands. Magaluf is a major resort located on the west of the Mediterranean island of Mallorca. Its main street is Carrer Punta Ballena, better known as the Strip, a venue for bars, clubs, and all-night partying. Report after report tells of young British holidaymakers abusing alcohol and drugs, of vomit polluting the sidewalks, fights breaking out, and the siren of police cars. Now, the authorities have imposed new laws - bars shutting before 10.00 pm each evening being one of them. Of course, the tourists resent this. How dare they tell them what to do or not do as guests in a foreign land! What a wonderful freedom it was for them to travel overseas without their parents' domestic watchfulness and restrictions. Furthermore, didn't Britain rule over a quarter of the world just a century earlier?

At the Old Town Heritage Park, 1997.

Main Street, San Diego Old Town.

At the Bazaar, San Diego Old Town.

Another view of the Old Town.

What I did find amazing was that this overnight partying wasn't confined to the working class, according to the newspaper. Reports of undergrads were in these alcohol-fuelled parties too, as they paraded noisily through the street in the small hours, totally uncharacteristic of the sober, quiet, self-reserved student from the English county of Surrey, and just out of school uniform.

Echoes of my own past?

Indeed. How could I ever forget 1972, its long arms of memory reaching to this day? In Week 3 of this Biography, I related in detail about a booking made to Tossa-de-Mar on the Spanish Costa Brava. The break-up with my first girlfriend earlier that year sent my emotions into turmoil, and therefore, in Spain, I suffered from alcohol abuse, leading to situations very much the same as in present-day Magaluf.

As already narrated in Week 3, my 1972 conversion to the Christian faith from atheism also changed me from a Sunseeker to backpacking - a wonderful travel transformation in itself. In leisure travel, both sun-seeking and backpacking are triune in themselves, with fun underlying both. According to my own experience as well as in present-day Magaluf, sun-seeking among the late teens and early twenties often involves Fun, Intoxication, and Violence. On the other hand, I could make backpacking a triune of Fun, Adventure, and Education.

Having read the papers this week, I thought how such a wonderful, noble adventure of overseas travel had degraded, along with the price, to intoxication, together with street fights between rival groups, with no interest in local culture and sights. Hence, the above review. And nothing new. As a teenager myself, I was no less guilty.

Forget Tossa-de-Mar! Forget Magaluf! The world of backpacking has always been healthy, edifying, educational, and adventurous. And yes, from my experience, I can write this biography. I have now reached the hundredth week. If I was asked to write about the life of a Sunseeker, I doubt that I would have covered more than a week, perhaps two weeks if lucky. And so, I bring this up to date, in 1997.

View of a marina from SeaWorld.

One of the screaming seals, SeaWorld.

San Diego Attractions re-visited - The Old Town.

Incredibly enough, although 1997, I spent eleven days in San Diego, I never suffered a moment's boredom. And despite having spent my initial five days two years earlier in 1995 after a two-day hike into the Grand Canyon, re-visiting some of these places brought back good memories. Two of these, the Old Town and SeaWorld, along with Mission Beach, revived memories of 1995. One difference was the number of people at these venues, as these 1997 visits peaked in the summer. However, La Jolla, Santa Barbara with Rattlesnake Canyon, St Lois Obispo with Avila Beach, and Malibu were Californian venues unique to 1997.

One afternoon, I boarded a bus for the Old Town. After arriving, I saw no change between 1995 and 1997. The street typifies the Wild West, featured in many Hollywood Western movies. Wooden shacks lined the street. There were also workshop exhibitions, even a wagon. But the central attraction was the bazaar, a garden market along with stalls stocked with souvenir trinkets and other goodies.

I recall two years earlier the stall specifying garden fountains. Perhaps the market demand was already diminishing, as I couldn't see any more of these fountains stocked. That was a pity. I remember the enjoyment I had by just watching one of those fountains on display, demonstrating its function to the potential buyer. (For full details of what is featured in the Old Town, it's in Week 65.) 

Like in 1995, I decided to walk back to the hostel rather than wait for a bus that might not arrive. As I headed towards the city, I approached the souvenir shop I stopped at two years earlier. I walked in and browsed the shelves. To my surprise, everything was as they were in 1995, including the rows of named mugs. Back then, I bought a mug with my name on it. Just as well. This time, I couldn't find my name on any that were in stock. Fortunately, I still have the cup I bought to this day. We don't put it in utility use. Instead, it's on display on one of our lounge shelves.

The walk from the Old Town to the hostel was a tag longer than the four-mile trek completed in 1995, as our present hostel at Market Street was further away than the old Broadway site. Had I known better, I would soon find out, at the Old Town, that the trolley tram line has a terminus station nearby, although the mainline carried on to Los Angeles. Nowadays, the light railway has been extended to La Jolla, although that was already on the planning table in 1997.

Second Visit to SeaWorld.

On the morning of another day, I bussed to the SeaWorld for another visit. However, this time, I made every effort to stay dry, and not allow the two marine mammals, the dolphin and the Orca, to soak me as before. If I wanted to watch their performances, I chose to sit right at the back, out of the splash zone.

And yet, although I thoroughly enjoyed the day at San Diego Zoo, I felt more enhanced by the sight of marine life than with land animals. The reason for that is simple. We are air-breathing land-dwelling beings who share the same environment with all land animals, whether mammals, reptiles, or birds. True enough, there are air-breathing full marine creatures too, known as the Cetaceans, and they too are classified as mammals. These include the whale, the dolphin, and its close relative, the porpoise. Then there are the seals, sea lions, and walruses, known as the Pinnipedia, that are classified as marine, yet they are amphibians, as they can spend as much time on the beach as in the sea. At the SeaWorld, I watched a group of seals literally screaming as if wanting food. Not believing that any form of cruelty exists in the theme park, I assumed that those screams were the natural behaviour of these creatures. However, I couldn't help but feel some pity for them. After all, they didn't exist for a life in captivity.

Yet, it's the fish species that intrigued me the most, whichever form it takes. For example, I could stand outside the moray eel tank and watch these fascinating creatures relax as their heads protrude out of the purposely designed holes in the submerged rock, thus imitating a real sea environment. From where I was standing, gentle instrumental music was constantly playing, the sound from nearby speakers blending nicely with the environment and behaviour of the eels. Another tank was the home of starfish and sea anemones. Other tanks held more active fish, such as groupers, swimming around as if not a care in the world. At this point of writing, I'm wondering whether there was a coral tank, like at Townsville in Queensland. Unfortunately, there seem to be no photos of coral at SeaWorld in my albums. Either there weren't any, which would have been surprising for a scientific-oriented theme park such as this one, or I simply missed it, a common mistake anyone could make.

Like in 1995, I watched both the dolphin and the orca shows. An occasional splash is hard to avoid completely, but on both occasions, I left the theatre in a drier state than I did two years previously. 

Moray Eels at SeaWorld.

Tropical Palms at the Bazaar.

I stayed at SeaWorld until it got dark and the park closed for the night. I made my way to the bus stop, and to my horror, I found out that the last bus of the day had already gone. I thought that was odd, as I'm sure that there would be those without a car in need to get home. Or wasn't it worth the time and effort to send empty buses to SeaWorld to collect the last of the visitors?

I looked around. Hitch-hike? I'm aware that was already illegal, but a short lift into town? It wasn't that I wanted to hitchhike across the USA. Just a lift back into town.

Pulling out of the car park was a car containing a couple leaving the aquatic zoo. On it was a distinct outline symbol of a fish on the windscreen, and I took this as a sign that they were committed Christians. Maybe they can help. So I approached their car to make a polite request. But as I drew near, the wife screamed, and the car pulled away with a screech.

That shocking incident has opened my eyes to the American life. It had all come together. The need for identification when buying an alcoholic drink. Even when on one occasion, walking through a residential estate, there were homes with a sign posted on their front door saying that they had a gun, so strangers beware! Now this. What a difference to the Old Wild West movies put out by Hollywood.

A walked along the deserted road in pitch darkness. I was heading east. The city was to the south, and across fields, I was able to see the lights of the city lighting the sky above the horizon. I kept on walking along the deserted road, hoping to see a sign pointing to the city.

Presently, a cyclist was passing by, going the other way. I called out, asking the way back to the city. Instead of pedalling off in frightened fury, the cyclist actually stopped and indicated a turning just a few metres ahead, and I'm to take it. After arriving at the junction, I turned, and not far off was the trolley tram standing at Old Town terminus station. I quickly bought a ticket and boarded.

Cooking supper in the hostel member's kitchen was such a relieving task.

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Next Week: I journey on to Santa Barbara.