Travel Biography - Week 122.

Marriage and Travel

Alex and I had a wonderful honeymoon after we married in 1999. Furthermore, I reassessed the quality of package holidays. With some self-control from excess alcohol consumption and room for some independence (rather than fully escorted tours), this package was very enjoyable.

From Day One, I learned that marriage meant a change of plans, especially with travel. One example of this was my intention to travel around the world for the second time, possibly around 2000 or 2001. When we returned from our honeymoon, I knew that this would never be fulfilled. For a start, my beloved would never sleep in a single-gender dormitory of a hostel. As such, not only would I need to double the funding, but the price of hotel rooms is generally more expensive. In addition, currency inflation needed to be factored in.

But my love for backpacking never waned after the wedding. During our first months of marriage, we talked about future backpacking trips together. One ambition I held was - if we have children - to visit the Grand Canyon and show them the trail I hiked on, and the magnificent views seen from deep below the rims.

Corfe Castle Ruins. Stock photo.

However, there was one country Alex longed to visit, and that was the Holy Land. If we decided to go, this would be my fourth visit to the Beautiful Land after my first visit in 1976, then seventeen years later in 1993, and then as a volunteer for three months in 1994. This latest trip would be exceptional, as unlike the past three trips which I made on my own, this time it would be with my wife, and we chose to celebrate our first wedding anniversary there.

The Middle East has always been a turbulent area, especially at present when both Hamas of the Gaza Strip and Hezbollah of Lebanon are out to wipe Israel off the map, with Lebanon receiving support from Iran. Therefore, I was very thankful for the window of relative peace that followed the ceasefire in 1967, as I just mentioned already, allowing me the fortune of setting foot in Israel, particularly in Jerusalem, previously, and as Alex was proposing, again for me in 2000 which would be the first time for her. But since 1967, tensions between Israel and the Arabs simmered, with Yasser Arafat leading his Palestine Liberation Organisation in wanting to reclaim territory from Israel's domain.

In 1976 and 1994, I witnessed signs of these simmering tensions. In 1976, I had just landed at Tel Aviv Ben Gurion Airport. It was late evening and there were no buses to Jerusalem. So I took a taxi. The driver recommended what was then the Ron Hotel, but it was my choice to walk into its reception and ask if there was a room. After settling down for the night in the room offered, there was a very loud gunshot which echoed through the streets of the city. It was brought home to me that this was no holiday resort (more of this in Week 4 of this Biography). 

The other occasion took place in 1994. Outside the same hotel where I stayed in 1976, President Yitzhak Rabin was holding a meeting with the PLO leader Yasser Arafat, who wanted to make East Jerusalem a site for his PLO headquarters. While the talks were happening in the hotel, outside, crowding Zion Square, thousands of Israelis assembled in an angry protest. Palestinian flags and other banners were set alight among several TV cameras placed at strategic spots around the crowded square. And all that followed countless Orthodox Jews assembling at the plaza of the Western Wall and devoting themselves to prayer. And so, by listening, the Holy Land was, in a sense, speaking to me.

And such memories, both good and challenging, passed through my mind as Alex asked me to take her to Israel. So, during the early spring of 2000, we took a train to London and together, booked two weeks in Israel for our first anniversary. How coincidental! In 1993, the first of the seven years of Travel, I flew out to Israel after receiving a remarkable vision in 1992 while I was at work. After the 1994 flight to the Holy Land which followed the 1993 trip, I backpacked America in 1995, then Around the World in 1997. In 1998, I flew to New York to escape the international football. Then, in 1999, we had our Honeymoon. in Rhodes. Now we were about to visit Israel - the first visit for Alex.

Some weeks after the booking was made, Tim, my friend and accountant, asked if I would like a weekend camping at Corfe Castle, Dorset. Although camping was not my thing, I agreed to accompany him. While we were away, Alex agreed to spend her time with Tim's wife, Sharon.

I loved that part of the world, the Isle of Purbeck, although not an island but a peninsula, surrounded by Poole Harbour to the north, Studland, the Chalk Foreland of Ballard Down, and the resort of Swanage, all facing east towards the Isle of Wight, and to the south faces the English Channel. To the west, the land strip continues towards the holiday resort of Weymouth. A hiking trail, known as the Dorset Coastal Path, provides a dramatic but strenuous clifftop walk from Swanage to Weymouth, a 31-mile, or 50 km ramble along the Jurassic Coast. I recall completing this distance in two days in 1996, after returning from the Grand Canyon hike in 1995, but before snorkelling over the Great Barrier Reef in 1997. 

At Durlston Head, Swanage, Easter 1999.

At Dancing Ledge, Swanage, 1999.

The Jurassic Coast, like the Grand Canyon and the Great Barrier Reef, bathed in natural tranquillity, the lack of a boisterous crowd, no threat of war, and no intense commercialism make such a location a quiet retreat, even if engaged in strenuous activity. As I tackled the steep clifftop hills between Kimmerige Bay and Lulworth Cove, there was peaceful silence, even when I had to tackle Flowers Barrow, the western end of the chalk ridge stretching the whole length of the Isle of Purbeck to end at Ballard Down in Swanage, and tapering to the famous Old Harry Rocks. On the second day, I hiked the shorter, easier route into Weymouth.

That was in 1996. In the spring of 1999, during our courting days and around six months before the wedding, Alex and I went to spend a long weekend (Easter) in Swanage. Originally, we were meant to camp, as Alex always loved camping even if I didn't. Earlier, Tim lent us his tent. When I had difficulty erecting the tent, I felt my patience drain and feeling flustered, set off to a nearby hotel. That was before I bought my own tent to camp at Stoneleigh in August of that year. During that break, we went out hiking from Swanage to Chapmans Pool, then turned inland, and returned to Swanage via the Priest's Way, passing through a lovely little village of Worth Matravers, and we completed a circuit of 14 miles or 22.5 km. The photos in this week's blog are from that 1999 Easter break. 

Two Married Men on a Weekend Break.

It was a beautifully sunny Saturday morning when Tim began his drive to Corfe Castle during the Whitsun weekend in 2000. While we were on our way, Alex joined Sharon and her young children and together they spent the day at Legoland, near Windsor. Eventually, when we arrived at the campsite, I was impressed with the site which was located at Bucknowle Farm, just over a mile from the castle ruins and a half-hour walk.

We set up our tents. I remember Tim's as he set it up. It was the same tent that was lent to us a year earlier before the wedding. The tent I had was the one I bought secondhand from a customer in readiness for the Stoneleigh Bible Week the previous summer.

As our friendship went back many years, whenever he teased, I playfully wrestled him to the ground. We were no longer adult men with responsibilities, but two boys who enjoyed pitting ourselves to each other. Yet, each knew of our closeness. There was no animosity.

Although the weather was fine during the day, it was very different at night. Torrential rain fell across Dorset. The raindrops falling on my tent were amplified to a loud, continuous clatter. It wasn't long before Tim approached my tent door with a plea to share mine. The roof of his was leaking.

As we lay close to each other in a confined space, I knew why I disliked camping. The clatter of raindrops was loud, I was shivering cold and damp, even if the roof of my tent held well. I hardly slept.

On the same day we arrived, that afternoon, a Saturday, we strolled into the village, but we didn't enter the castle itself, even as it loomed on an area of high ground which was part of the chalk ridge from Ballard Down in Swanage to Flower Barrow near Lulworth Cove.

The following night was the same as the first. The lovely sunshine gave way to a thick cloud, and once again, after dark, there was a torrential downpour which lasted most of the night. Again, Tim had to share my tent, as his shelter was practically useless in wet weather. However, on one of the evenings, Tim took his car and drove me to Swanage. At one of the fish & chip bars, we enjoyed an outdoor meal as we strolled along the esplanade. As I looked around, the white cliffs of Ballard Down towards the north, and Peveril Point jutting out to sea just south of us, make for this extraordinary geological phenomenon that has not only attracted geologists from far and wide but has been so familiar to me since I was eight years old. Indeed, I was on a primary school two-week trip like the school journey made to Llangollen a year later in 1962. 

On the second day, a Sunday, we went out on a coastal hike. Unfortunately, I never brought my camera with me for that holiday, therefore I cannot relate exactly where along the Dorset Coast path we hiked. But at least it was sunny once again. But since the hike took much of the day to complete, it must have been a circuit similar to the one Alex and I did the previous year. Wherever we went, I remember the stretch of the coastal path we covered both on the outward and return walks.

It was not long after the start of the hike when I saw a patch of mud and water interrupting the trail. I took a leap and cleared it while my accountant friend simply walked through. That was when a more serious conversation arose. I admitted my fear of mud patches since I was a child. In his characteristic British manner, he fobbed off my complaint as silly. I then explained that as a boy, I once watched a Western on our little monochrome TV where the villain's life ended when he sank into a patch of quicksand and was fully submerged.

Does quicksand really exist? I asked my father. He answered that quicksand does exist in real life, but never added, But not in this country. Not long after, my primary school class was taking a morning walk through Richmond Park in west London. I stepped onto a mud patch and immediately both my feet began to sink into the mud. Remembering the fate of the villain, I panicked in terror until a teacher arrived and pulled me free. This just goes to show how long-forgotten childhood fears could suddenly surface given the right circumstances, something Tim needed to realise.

Approaching Chapman's Pool.

Chapman's Pool, Dorset. Spring 1999.

The third day, Bank Holiday Monday, followed another stormy night in the tent. But as the sun once again appeared in the clear sky, I felt relieved to return home. In all, it was an enjoyable holiday. Two grown married men, both church-goers, both having competed in sports - Tim in football and rugby games while I swam, cycled, and ran in Triathlon events held across the country. Tim was a father, and I wasn't, but that didn't matter to me. After our wedding, my own perception has changed rapidly, as the saying goes, he who loves his wife loves himself.

While we were away, Alex was with Sharon and her children (now all grown up). But how the conversation went between Tim's wife and my wife, I will never know. But something was happening inside her which she didn't yet know, let alone me. While I was wrestling with Tim on the ground after a bit of teasing, little did I know that inside Alex's womb, a tiny new life was taking shape.

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Next Week: The Flight to Israel. 

Travel Biography - Week 46.

Note: All the photos displayed here were taken on the 1991 holiday. No stock photos.

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Our 1990 End-to-End bicycle ride through the length of Great Britain was a success. The ride, starting from John O'Groats to Lands End, was accomplished with one other person, a long-standing friend, Gareth Philips, with whom I still keep in touch to this day.

The 1991 Coastal Cycle Ride from Lulworth Cove to Dover.

As one who always loved being independent, it would have been natural to love travelling on my own. However, when I had to go through a period of a more restricting budget, there were options to experience travel, both overseas and at home, accompanied by one or more friends. And such characterised the late eighties into the nineties. With four other people, namely Keith White, Paul Hunt, Gareth Philips, and Tim Kingcott, I have completed a couple of cycling circuits through Holland, Belgium and Germany. This was followed by a cycle ride in 1989 along the French coast from Cherbourg to Paimpol and back in a week. Like the End-to-End cycle ride a year later, I shared this particular holiday only with Gareth.

At the Fossil Forest, Dorset, 1991.

However, in this blog, I would like to concentrate on the one solo cycle ride here in England. It was 1991 and for the first time since 1985, I took a week off work to first cycle the 105 miles from my apartment in Bracknell to Lulworth Cove in Dorset. Setting off at 6.00 in the morning, I arrived at Lulworth Cove around four in the afternoon. From Lulworth Cove, I then cycled the approx 230 miles from Lulworth Cove, which is near the Dorset ferry port and seaside resort of Weymouth, to the ferry port of Dover in Kent. Although I completed the ride on my own, there were three unusual features on this ride.

First, I was joined by Tim Kingcott at YHA Swanage on the third evening after leaving home. This was after he asked me if he could ride the Isle of Wight leg of the journey with me before boarding the train for home at Portsmouth. Secondly, my first full day in Swanage was taken up by the Swanage Triathlon, an annual sea swim event corresponding to the Swanage Summer Festival. That year, I competed in the triathlon. Tim arrived at Swanage in the evening after I had completed the triple-mode sport. Thirdly, after spending a night at YHA Dover, I boarded a cross-channel ferry to Calais to complete a cycling circuit from the French port to the small town of Ardres, 16 miles inland.

Stair Hole.

Here is a list of overnight stops I made during this short break, all at YHA hostels:

Lulworth Cove

Swanage - 2 nights

Totland Bay

Arundel

Eastbourne

Dover 

With Tim Kingcott:

2nd night at Swanage

Totland Bay.

I saw Tim off at Portsmouth Harbour Station whilst I continued eastwards to Arundel.

Approximate total miles cycled: 

My apartment - Lulworth Cove: 105 miles.

Triathlon cycle route - 12 miles.

Lulworth Cove - Dover: 230 miles.

In France, Calais - Ardres: 32 miles round trip.

Total miles ridden on two wheels: approx 380 miles, 614 km.

After arriving back at Dover from the cross-Channel crossing, I boarded a train at Dover Priory Station for the homebound train on the Charing Cross line to Waterloo East Station, where I changed trains at Waterloo Main Line. I didn't have either the energy or the mood to cycle homeward. 

So, why I have included this short break in this Travel Biography? Mainly to centre on the Dorset Coast with its dramatic cliff formation, along with participation in a sporting event.

Stair Hole with Lulworth Cove in the background.

In the world of Geology, the hard and resistant Portland Stone on this stretch of coastline was eventually breached by the sea, exposing and then eroding the softer rock layers behind. These softer rocks include the Purbeck Beds, with the Wealden Beds further inland. Behind the Wealden Beds, the Chalk landscape continues inland. There are three stages of erosion, each represented by three different locations, making this part of the Dorset coastline so spectacular. Stair Hole is the youth stage, where the sea had "recently" breached the Portland stone to form two arches under the cliff. The middle age is Lulworth Cove itself, where the erosion of all four rock layers had formed an oval bay penetrating inland. At the east end of the cove, a ledge protrudes from the cliff, on it are the remains of circular burrs surrounding what used to be antediluvian trees. This area is known as the Fossil Forest. It is reached by a short flight of steps.

The old age of coastal erosion is at Durdle Door, a famous arch a mile west of Lulworth Cove, which is a 61-metre-high bridge of limestone that still bear remains of an ancient forest. I have visited this natural wonder several times and actually completed a circuit swim passing under the arch. Unfortunately, during the heat of the summer, there have been serious injuries occurring at the site by those tombstoning into the sea from the crest of the arch.

At Stair Hole.

The Swanage Triathlon 1991.

After arriving at the hostel from my hometown of Bracknell, I spent that night at YHA Lulworth Cove, which is part of a school, and therefore with restricted opening times. It's quite a walk to get to it from the coast. But with the rolling hills plunging into the sea and with such dramatic cliff formations, it looks to me like this is one of the wonders of Great Britain.

It was the next day after I arrived that I explored the coastline, including a visit to Fossil Forest. By late afternoon, I began the ten-mile ride to Swanage and checked into the YHA hostel there, a large country house that's open throughout most of the year. That night, I spent alone. However, the next morning, a Sunday, I assigned my bike to one of the pegs reserved for me. A crowd of nervous athletes were gathering on the beach. Yet, the air was electric.

Here we were, all dressed in a lycra tri-suit, a one-piece, tight-fitting garment that's compatible with swimming, cycling, and running. I was in my late thirties by this time, and I was at the peak of my fitness.

We all plunged into the sea from the moment the starter's gun fired. It must have been quite a spectacular sight - a crowd of athletes literally running into the sea and throwing themselves forward to a front crawl stroke. With hundreds of arms swinging in and out of the water all around me, I kept my eyes on the Ballard Down chalk cliff directly ahead whilst on this 400-metre swim. Eventually, we neared a buoy placed there to turn us around as we headed back to the beach.

Back at the beach, it was a dash across the road to the bike park. After slipping on some footwear and a mandatory helmet, I was off. No messing about with a towel or having a shower or a coffee break. In a triathlon, the transition would make all the difference between you holding up the winner's trophy or watching somebody else lift it.

The twelve-mile (20k) bicycle leg was fast but very demanding, as the terrain was very hilly. The 6-mile (10k) run that followed included a very steep climb up Ballard Down, then a downhill fast run into Studland Bay. Then its route passed through a gap in the hills before winding through the town to finish by the beach. In all, I probably completed the whole event in around one hour and fifty minutes.

Durdle Door, Dorset.

The Coastal Ride Resumes.

That evening, after most of the athletes had gone home, I was greeted by Tim as he checked into the hostel. The next day, we decided to walk along the cliffs to Old Harry Rocks, a series of chalk stacks at the tip of the Foreland Point, the angle of the mainland where Studland Bay begins, and on a clear day, it's clearly seen across 15 miles of sea from the Isle of Wight. After returning to our bikes, we both made off for Totland Bay on West Wight, the very same hostel where Tim first introduced me to this shared form of accommodation six years earlier in 1985.

Lulworth Cove.

The next day we hugged the south coast of the Isle of Wight as we made our way from Totland Bay to Ryde Pier, one of the very few piers in Britain that carries a railway, the Island Line from Ryde Pierhead Station to Shanklin, where the line ends, although it once carried on further to Ventnor.

We crossed the Solent back to the mainland again by ferry, just as we did the evening before when we used the Lymington-Yarmouth ferry. At Portsmouth Harbour Station, I saw Tim off as he boarded a train for home. Alone once again, I carried on the ride for an overnight stop at Arundel. The next morning, from Arundel, I made my way to Eastbourne, stopping at Brighton on the way.

The YHA Eastbourne is a couple of miles out of town, as the hostel actually serves hikers using the South Downs Way, a hiking trail from Eastbourne to Winchester. Therefore, I arrived at the hostel before reaching the resort. But once at the hostel, I stayed there rather than wander into town. 

The Pinnacles, Swanage.

By the next day, a strong westerly started blowing. This gave me a great advantage. For example, the road from Hastings to Rye, then on to Folkstone, was flat and very fast! Indeed, fast enough to overtake a lorry, after making sure that the oncoming lane was clear and safe enough for me to make the manoeuvre. It was exhilarating! Had I ridden that fast at the Swanage Triathlon, indeed, I wonder whether I might have won overall?

At the YHA in Dover, I wasn't too impressed with the member's kitchen. It looked more like a corridor than a proper room. However, like at all other hostels, I managed to prepare a decent meal to refuel all my energy.

The next morning, after checking out of the hostel, I made my way to the docks and bought a return ticket to board the ferry to Calais. This wasn't spontaneous, rather, it was planned, as I had my passport on me in readiness. I boarded the ferry and parked my bike in the car hold without a hitch. This was one of the benefits of membership in the European Union. The freedom of movement such membership offered made it so easy and effortless for a cyclist to cross the Channel.

At Calais, I turned off the motorway that took traffic to Paris and rode on a quiet, traffic-free road. I eventually arrived in the small town of Ardres.

The most famous Old Harry Rocks, Swanage. 1991.

There I was, across the English Channel on my own for the first time since 1985. Will I revert to travelling overseas solo like I did before? 

That was when I had as if a divine vision of standing on the Mount of Olives in Israel, and looking down towards Jerusalem. That occurred in October 1992, after turning 40. That vision I had whilst at work, and it was proved to be a Morning of Destiny. Little did I know that this very vision opened up what I call the explosive climax of world travel, covering seven years before I married Alex.

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Next Week: On the Throne of England and more about the vision.