Travel Biography - Week 107.

Please note: This week's blog contains pics of the Great Barrier Reef, and is not directly related to the content of the article.

Santa Monica - the final day.

As all good things must end, the 1997 Round-the-World would follow suit. While I was checking out Malibu, waves of sadness came and went, as I had one more night at the AYH Santa Monica. The next day, I didn't have to check out immediately, as the British Airways flight would take off in the late evening. I would land at London Heathrow by midmorning on Wednesday, August 2nd, 1997. Only then, would the Round-the-World be complete, as the name indicates, I finished where I started.

During the 1997 stop at Santa Monica, I didn't take many photos of the area. I was more camera-happy two years earlier on my first visit in 1995. Instead, on this week's blog, I'll be posting photos of what I believe was the brightest highlight of the entire 1997 RTW trip - at the Great Barrier Reef, both at Green Island and Low Isles. I'm aware that you might have seen them before, yet I hope you'll still enjoy the pictures. All of them were taken by me or at my request at the venues.

At Cairns, 1997, heading to the Great Barrier Reef.

Getting ready to snorkel, Low Isles Coral Cay.

Corals, Green Island Coral Cay.

Green Island Corals.

I spent my last day in California within the confines of Santa Monica. This included spending time strolling along the Pier, watching the waves of the Pacific Ocean roll along the wide sandy beach. As I looked out to sea towards the horizon, I was aware of the Queensland coastline directly across the ocean, yet, so far away and so much out of sight and hidden by the curvature of the Earth. Already, my heart was pining to be there, to snorkel over the Great Barrier Reef, to be mesmerised by the diverse aquatic life, the colourful fishes intermingling with the coral polyps. Yet, without a doubt, it was a wonderful privilege to have been there in the first place.

To be back in England with its changeable weather, the return to work cleaning windows of residents whose unique proverb is, the Englishman's Home is his Castle, along with the summing up of our island culture at the foot of a letter sent to me by a friend whilst I was a volunteer in Israel 1994 - You, feeling homesick? For a land of stiff upper lips, white shirts and ties, and no hugging. The letter has long disappeared, but that last line has stuck with me ever since. And so the waves of sadness. And a return to work with all the responsibilities of self-employment. At least that was much better than anticipating submission to a strict or unruly boss. 

Furthermore, the following year was 1998 - World Cup football. AAARGH! That time of the four years when most of my church friends would crowd around the TV cheering England, along with the neighbours whose loud cheer would filter through the wall of my apartment when a goal was scored. Woe betide me if England would ever be matched with Italy - and England wins! I would be a target of teasing and mockery - especially if these supporters had egos inflamed by jealousy over my worldwide travels. I knew that the only solution was to be out of the UK during the Final. In other words, flee the UK for my sanity.

Along with strolling along the pier, the 3rd Street Promenade wasn't far to walk to. This was a pedestrianised street bustling with life as shopping malls lined the street. One mall, in particular, was quite roomy, potted palm trees were everywhere while the ground floor was lined with shops and the overhanging 2nd-floor balconies seated restaurant customers. This mall was so huge, so well designed, I wondered why no British architect had ever thought of such aesthetics in the UK. Especially with the installation of palm trees and other subtropical vegetation that would survive well under cover and away from the winter cold outside.

Green Island.

Low Isles Coral Cay.

Low Isles

Low Isles.

The Flight Home.

When evening arrived, I knew that I had to make my way to the LAX International Airport. Having already vacated my hostel bed, my rucksack was kept in safe custody at the reception. Nothing unusual about that, as many who vacated the hostel also headed for the airport. Most flights to Britain and Europe from California were overnight flights. Mine was no exception.

There was a direct local bus service from Santa Monica to the airport without the need to go Downtown. After arrival, I checked in for my flight to London Heathrow without a hitch. Strange as it may seem, the last time I was at this airport, I had just flown in from Sydney and was here when I made the connecting flight to San Diego. The longest flight I had ever taken was immediately followed by the shortest with the connection here in Los Angeles. And now, the British Airways Transatlantic long-haul back to London.

Perhaps surprisingly, I wasn't sad when I boarded the airline. Rather, I was anticipating the journey ahead. I also felt a sense of relief. Throughout the ten weeks I was out of the UK, I never felt ill, although I did have some flu-like symptoms soon after arriving in Singapore. Fortunately, I had enough foresight to pack some Paracetamol before take-off from London Heathrow. The relief the medicine brought indicated that the symptoms were the result of rapid change of climate to my health. As the rucksack was loaded into the luggage hold here in L.A., there was still some Paracetamol left in it. Thank goodness I didn't fall seriously ill or suffer a broken bone in an accident here in California! Indeed, I was insured, but to what extent the cover would have reached had something happened? There are true stories of British tourists forced to sell their homes to pay for the exorbitant price of American healthcare.

As usual, on the plane, I had a window seat. But as it was already getting dark as we took off, I saw virtually nothing, and neither had I wanted to. For example, had we flown over the Grand Canyon, and that was quite a possibility, the view from 35,000 feet might have resulted in mixed emotions. I was better off with the blinds down.

By daybreak, we were served in-flight breakfast before landing. Our plane was already flying over the English countryside in broad daylight before landing at Heathrow. When we alighted, the silence as we walked through the arrivals corridor to Passport Control brought me to the realisation that here in Britain, any chatter and banter wasn't the done thing. I could go as far as to say that the sound of footsteps amidst the silence of stiff upper lips almost turned the air gloopy. Indeed, after ten weeks away, I had to readjust to British life.

Passing through Passport was a breeze, unlike in Cairns and Los Angeles. After collecting my rucksack from the luggage carousel, I made my way to the arrivals lounge from where I waited for a bus direct to Bracknell.

The last part of the journey was so different from the first one. Ten weeks earlier, I took a train from Martins Heron Station to Earls Court where I spent the first night before flying out. On this journey, I didn't go to London. Instead, a direct bus service linked Heathrow Airport to Bracknell.

Low Isles.

Low Isles.

Low Isles

Low Isles

Arrived Home - and it Happens...

Finally, I inserted the key into my apartment door and walked in - into an empty, silent bedsit apartment, originally built for a single occupant. The silence was deafening, as before leaving, I made sure that there was no perishable food left behind. With a stock of canned food ready for use, this allowed me to turn off the refrigerator before departure and shut down the main power. On my return, it was this overwhelming silence that got to me. No more hustle and bustle of life, chatter and banter every time I entered a hostel. No more preparing meals in the company of others, starting conversations and turning strangers into acquaintances, even friendships. No more looking at different things causing my eyes to pop in wonder in such a far away, unfamiliar environment. Instead, the familiarity of home was something I had to adjust to - even if gradually.

I felt my emotions plunge to unfathomable depths. A classic case of post-holiday blues. The emotion almost paralysed me for a while as I found myself unable to move and make decisions.

After turning on the power and the fridge, the gentle purring of the motor helped me to start thinking. I had a stack of undeveloped films waiting to be processed. But that could wait until the next day. Ready to go out to work? No, not at all! I had a further four days of respite before I was good to lift the ladders. I needed those days of respite to pull myself together.

Post-holiday blues. The longer the vacation, the deeper the depression felt after it's all over. I have even read that at the time, Trailfinders, the travel agent in London where I bought my airline tickets, was operating a post-holiday counselling service, a therapy session for distressed backpackers to get back to their daily routines. Indeed, this was something I needed. But instead of a trip to London to talk to a stranger, much closer to home there lives a Christian couple, Tim and Sharon, personal friends of mine. I called them over the phone. Sharon answered, and when she heard that it was me who just arrived back, she invited me to her home.

I arrived at their home after a short cycle ride. I was greeted warmly by both Tim and Sharon. We spent the evening together as I shared my adventures. I was in far better spirits by the time I arrived back home. With the hundreds of photos I still had to deal with, it didn't take long to adapt to normal living.

Low Isles

Low Isles.

However, the long-term effect of the RTW lasted months, even years. And these are in the form of dreams. All these dreams featured Heathrow Airport. One dream saw me standing outside the departure terminal in the warm sunshine but unable to enter the building. Another dream was that I was in a vehicle on the motorway, and I felt my emotions tighten as we drove fast past the airport. But a third dream had the greatest effect, as I remember well.

I dreamt that it was three years after I landed at Heathrow (hence the year 2000). And I was back there, this time with both Dad and his older brother. We were at Heathrow to welcome a relative who was about to arrive. Uncle was very authoritative, and he looked at me as if I was a mischievous child. Indeed, both towered over me as if I had rejuvenated back to adolescence, yet retained every memory of my 1997 Round-the-World adventure. On our way to the airport, I saw the Earls Court hostel where I spent the first night. That alone crushed my feelings, wishing that I could go back in time and re-live those glorious experiences without these two pesky adults at my side.

But more was to follow. The three of us entered the departure lounge, and I saw the same checking-in desks, the same facilities I used three years earlier, but held in restraint by my uncle. Three years earlier, I was there on my own, preparing to fly to Singapore. Now, I'm told to behave and wait with them for the arrival of the relative - whom I never saw, as I woke up just then. But the details of that dream have stuck to this day.

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But there was one issue which, at the time, I knew nothing about. Even before I took off to Singapore, someone had noticed me and began to watch me from a distance. A young, fiery spitfire of a teenage girl, a tomboy, had her discreet eyes on me. She attended the same church I was attending, with her older sister and her parents. Indeed, this fast, sleek speedboat had her eyes on a slow, creaking ship.

Could she change my destiny?

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Next Week: The 1998 World Cup Football Tournament sends me to the Airport.

When London Flooded - Dream On

I will never forget the time when after days of severe weather, the River Thames burst its banks and much of Central London was flooded. In fact the water level rose so high, that other than by boat, the only alternative way to get around was to swim. And it was then I saw a young female in distress. She was close to my age, looked plump, had shortish curly hair and wore spectacles. And she was crying for help.

I managed to reach her, and thanks to my own training as a life-saver back in the early seventies, I successfully towed her to safety. Safe on a building, a high ledge or area of high ground, she was weeping with gratitude for saving her life and I held her tight, consoling and comforting her.

It must have been some time later, when the streets of London had returned to normal, that I had found out where she worked. Longing to see her again with high hopes of a relationship leading to marriage, I located the building and having entered, I rushed up several flights of stairs. I then entered her office, a rather plush environment. There she was. It was definitely her, the young woman I rescued earlier from drowning. But this time she looked different. Although still wearing glasses, her hair was longer and straighter, and no longer plump, she had slimmed to become a beautiful woman in her own right.

She turned to see me standing at the door. But instead of rushing over to greet me as was expected, she remained at her desk and just turned to look at me, without smiling. She then literally turned her nose up on me before resuming her work. Crushingly disappointed, I understood her message perfectly well. With myself from a working-class background, she perceived me to be beneath herself, a social inferior. The type of man she was looking for had to be one holding a degree and with a high-income earning profession. Despite saving her life I wasn't good enough for her. It was as simple as that.

Feeling defeated and humiliated, amidst bustling traffic and pedestrians, I sauntered along Millbank, then into Abingdon Street, approaching Parliament Square. How I wished that the streets of London were still under water! Life seemed much more fulfilling during the crisis. I turned to look towards the world-famous Government building. On a level of paving between it and myself were two puddles, each between 15-18 inches across, and no more than half inch deep. Those two puddles, each quite close to each other, were the only remnant of the flood which earlier inundated the city. I stood to look at the two puddles and wished to turn back the clock. Then finding myself in bed at my bachelor's pad, I realised that it was all a dream. But a dream from which not only did I wake up remembering in full detail but still fully remembered vividly more than thirty years later.

Yet the dream still has an affect on me to this day. But it's certainly not a new phenomenon. In the Bible, the Pharaoh king of Egypt had two dreams, one after another but each carrying the same line of meaning. The king was disturbed by it all and Joseph, who had a reputation for interpreting dreams, explained their meaning to Pharaoh. Like with me, he must have remembered those dreams for the rest of his life. Then there was the famous one experienced by Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon. He hadn't been on the throne for that long, but his dream of a giant statue fully demolished by a moving boulder sent shivers down his spine, and demanded a genuine interpreter who would not take advantage of his circumstance. With the prophet Daniel revealing the dream and its interpretation, he too must have remembered his dream for the rest of his life.

Then there was the other Joseph, the husband of Mary and the adopted father of Jesus Christ. Joseph had several dreams, four in all, the first three telling him what to do and the fourth was a warning. The first one was for him to go ahead and marry Mary, despite his belief in her unfaithfulness. The second was a command for him and his family to flee to Egypt, and the third to return to his homeland of Israel. The fourth was a warning not to resettle in Judea but to return to his home town of Nazareth. No doubt, Joseph too must have remembered all those dreams for the rest of his life. And furthermore, we can read about all those dreams thousands of years later.

A dream led Joseph and his family here.

Whether my dream, in the mid eighties, of London flooded was a message from God or not, I can't be dogmatic either way. But it seemed to have been packed with meaning. There was this woman in distress, unable to save herself. Then I swam to her and towed her to safety. But in order for me to do so, she had to submit to me fully, and allow me to do all the rescuing. There was nothing she could do to earn her safety, nor could she help me either. I had to do it all.

Beginning to look familiar?

Because that is what the Son of God had to do to bring me, and all other believers, to safety. Like her I was lost in the sea of sin, and like her, unable to earn or work towards my salvation. All I could do was submit to his rescue, which I did by believing. But as my dream continued, what happened after that? Apparently, she thought so highly of herself that she had forgotten the favour I bestowed on her. Could this be an illustration of the attitude some believers have over others, found in many churches of our day? Because all the churches of true believers are pictured as the Temple, the Body and the Bride of Jesus Christ, in effect any insult or misdemeanant shown towards a Christian brother or group of believers strikes at the heart of God himself.

Is it a crying, crying shame that I don't come across verbally as a very intelligent, cultured, or a well-educated, gentlemanly Christian? Has it always been this way since I started attending church in 1974? Furthermore, does it matter at all? Does it bring honour to God if I'm seen through the subconsciousness of other Christians as "somewhere down there" instead of "up here with us" in their way of thinking? But can things be different "behind the scenes"? May I show you just one example?

Lately I have been raving about the threefold pillar of salvation. Acquittal, Imputation, and Eternal Security. Did you in the past ask yourself whether you agree with this concept and if so, asked yourself where I got this idea from? Who was the enlightened preacher or guest speaker who expounded this concept? Or what is the title and who is the author of the book I have been reading about this?

Answer: Nobody at the pulpit or at the front of the church meeting has ever brought up such a concept. And furthermore, in the past forty years as a believer, I cannot remember reading any books directly expounding such an idea. The theory of a threefold gift of salvation given to every believer was a result of studying Scripture, especially in Paul's letter to the Romans. And although Paul himself might have been unaware, the Holy Spirit which inspired such Scriptures knew perfectly well that one day Rome will be the home of the Vatican, the headquarters of a worldwide Church which will teach a false gospel of infused righteousness, a faith-works salvation which can be easily lost by the believer on just one "mortal" sin. So the Holy Spirit, foreknowing all this, inspired Paul to write a thesis directed to Rome and its people. It was from these studies that I became aware of the threefold pillar of salvation. I now fervently believe that Paul's letter was divinely inspired to counter the present teachings of the Roman Catholic Church.

It is a bit like Isaac Newton watching an apple fall from a tree. He then wrote a thesis about gravity. Newton didn't invent gravity - it was fully functional long, long before he was even born. What happened was that he discovered the reality of it. His theory was widely read because he was seen as a very clever man and therefore his views were authentic and respected. Maybe, coming from a working class background, my views can be easily disregarded. And sometimes I feel that they are.

Look, No Tie! Isaac Newton

So that was why I wrote about this topic on this week's blog. After reading of three separate incidents, all occurring within a week. One was about the culture of "No Brown in Town". That is, a very promising candidate was refused an offer of a banking career in the City because he was wearing brown shoes at the interview. Another promising candidate was told that his tie was "too loud". He didn't get the job either. Neither would the candidate wearing a shirt with a breast pocket would be hired. The second incident involved a group of Etonian students having flown to Russia to visit its President, Vladimir Putin. These students, dressed to the hilt in suit and tie, were all oozing the kind of self-confidence prospective British employers are looking for, according to one journalist. Not confidence in the assurance of God's love and mercy, but confidence in their own intelligence, education, and self-merit. The third issue was the rather idiosyncratic British custom of not dining before seven o'clock in the evening, according to the upper-middle classes. According to the Media, only the "lower classes" eat before seven - even if eating earlier was better for health reasons - to which the former would have taken offence.

It is those petty customs, cultural, and daft-sounding ideas which, to my belief, weakens the church of its divine testimony. Rather, by looking at each other under the Shadow of the Cross, which itself will destroy every barrier and prejudice among believers, would result in greater benefits for all.

Trusting God in a Crisis.

What is it like when an illness, serious enough to confine the sufferer to a hospital bed, disrupts the normal routine of daily life? Furthermore, it is not me who is unwell, but rather a wife, lover, partner and soul-mate who has always been there for the last fourteen years of married life. And suddenly, the house is empty and quiet, bar my own presence. Visiting Alex in hospital in the evenings following a full day's work makes the day long and tiring - not to mention daily train fares draining our resources; but I cannot go through a single day - workday or weekend - without spending some time at Alex's hospital bedside.

 

At the time of writing, the medical team has not been able to diagnose the problem. Her symptoms are severe backache followed by her loss of ability to stand up, let alone walk. At first, our G.P. thought it was just a strained back, and prescribed some medicated gel to be rubbed in at the affected site. When the condition failed to improve, but rather deteriorated, I called for the medical doctor to pay us a home visit, as Alex was no longer able to make her own way to the surgery. The doctor at first was reluctant, as he thought her ailment was not serious enough to warrant a visit. But by pleading with him to make the call, he finally agreed to visit the next day. When he arrived, a quick examination convinced him that she should go straight to hospital, where she was admitted.

 

At the hospital, MRI and CT scans were carried out on her spine, but have found nothing amiss with either her spinal cord or vertebrae. This is in itself good news, as had there been a problem, it might have been too late to operate, so the nurse informed me, as there might have been a risk of permanent paralysis. Instead, a sample of her blood had been dispatched to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford for analysis if my wife has an undiagnosed disease. The two weeks it could take before the result comes back would make the wait seemingly long.

 

Through out these past two to three weeks, I felt vulnerable, afraid, worried and fear of the future, these combinations of thoughts and emotions causing depression, intense at times. These fears were a reminder of a series of identical dreams during sleep I had in the past months when Alex's health was okay. Those were dreams of myself returning to a life as a single person, even moving back into my former bachelor pad I lived in for more than twenty years before I met my future spouse. Those dreams were identical with each other, or very nearly so. Prophetic dreams? A hint of permanence was suggested in all of them. They reminded me of the dreams I had in the early 1990s that I found myself in the United States, and also another dream, a few years later while still free and single, that I was near Haifa in Israel with an unrecognised female partner, looking across the Bay of Acre. In 1995, I did backpack across the USA, from New York to San Francisco, and in the year 2000, Alex and I stood near the summit of Mt. Carmel overlooking the Bay of Acre as we celebrated our first wedding anniversary.

 

Last Sunday, I testified of these dreams at our church open meeting. Recently I received a phone call from someone in our congregation informing me that at present, I'm very vulnerable to the devil's tricks, and therefore I should resist the fear these dreams have brought. If those dreams were to be a lie, then this should be a source of relief and assurance that we will be together as normal again. But having already experienced what looked to be prophetic dreams fulfilled in real life, I admit my confusion over the source of those dreams - were they from God? Or was the devil playing games with me?

 

I accept that those dreams might have been a warning from God, to prepare me for what is to come. On the other hand, they may be from an evil spirit, or looking from a scientific point of view, they could be nothing more than a psychological hunch. But there is one truth I can assure myself. God is in charge, and Jesus Christ of Nazareth, risen, is Lord. As I always assure Alex whenever doubt or fears arise, every evil spirit is more terrified of God than we are of them. Even Satan must get permission from God before he can act, as the first two chapters of the Old Testament book of Job so affirms. If those dreams were from the Adversary, then their ability to act were the result from God's permission, and only because we know that all things work for the good for those who love God, and are called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28.)

 

Satan tried to tempt Job to curse God for his sudden misfortune. Chapters one and two gives an amazing insight of what goes on in Heaven, in God's realm, where the Adversary has access. When the Lord pointed out Job as an example of God's own righteousness imputed into him, Satan threw down the gauntlet to put God's own righteousness to the test, by removing the shield of protection surrounding the man and making him subject to the most testing trials a man can endure; not only the loss of all his sons, but the loss of all his possessions, and soon afterwards falling ill almost to the point of death, and suffering physically. Then when he was in such a state, even his wife encouraged him to curse God and die.

 

But Job was well familiar in his relationship with God as depicted in Romans 8:28, and he even declared with enough conviction that in his flesh he shall see God. In Job 19:25-27 he says:

 

I know that my Redeemer lives, and in the end he will stand upon the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes - I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!

 

If this wasn't a promise of Eternal Security of the believer, then what is? This is the wonderful truth of imputed righteousness. The fact that Jesus will return and he will stand on the summit of the Mount of Olives, facing Jerusalem, is a cast iron fact promised throughout the whole Bible, and particularly highlighted in Zechariah 14:3-4. Job saw this as a fact. But equally, he assures his friends in the tent with him that just as his redeemer will one day stand on the earth (the Mount of Olives) - so likewise in the flesh he will see God, that is, in a resurrected body like the one Jesus has now. The point is; his salvation was as sure to him as the coming of the Lord. No ifs or buts. Imputed righteousness, God's own righteousness in him, as in all of us today who believe. Once saved always saved!

This is the kind of faith which acts as a bulwark during times of testing and being subject to so much depression, that I could easily crawl under the carpet. To know the love of God, his goodness and mercy. And no matter how bad things might go, I'm utterly convinced that God is on our side and his goodness cannot be denied. After all, what is this power of love that sent his Son to the cross, to redeem such as I who is but dust and ashes?

Her present time spent in hospital has allowed me to reflect on our fourteen years of marriage. This included all the foreign holidays we had taken together - Rhodes, Kos, Sicily, Malta - all Mediterranean islands, together with Lanzarote of the Atlantic Canary Islands, along with Israel on our first anniversary. Alex back then so wanted to visit the Holy Land, and see for herself the places Jesus was so familiar with. At the Garden of Gethsemane, east of the Old City of Jerusalem, I recall her suddenly slipping to her knees and praying, giving thanks to God for his goodness, and particularly for giving us to each other. I got to admit, I stood there and wished to have moved on, as I was so familiar with this particular site going back to my first visit as a backpacker in 1976, and having visited the area so many times since. Then that extremely rare moment we both stood alone inside the Holy Sepulchre, the traditional site of Jesus' burial, and normally crowded with visitors and pilgrims, and she knelt at the tiny altar and gave thanks to God there. 

Garden of Gethsemane
 

I also recall a year earlier, on our honeymoon at the Greek island of Rhodes, Alex and I strolling alone at the shingle beach, and later into the night we looked up into the black, starry sky and watched shooting stars streaking across the sky as they burnt out before hitting the earth. And the countless times we were alone, embracing each other tightly as the waves of the Mediterranean lapped gently near our feet.

 

And when we were at home, she was always there for me, as God originally intended, as a "helper meet for me." As with all marriages, there is no such thing as perfection this side of the grave, we had our ups and downs along with disagreements. But she was always there for me. So finding myself alone in the house day after day for weeks on end is quite a shock to the system!

 

But God is with us, and this makes quite a difference! Last night, after returning home from visiting in hospital, I had a long conversation over Skype with a lifelong friend whom I met at a London college in 1969. He being much stronger emotionally than I ever was, with wisdom of life's experiences to match, I felt assured when he said without doubt that Alex and I will be together at home as normal. I am sure that God can, and does use anyone he chooses to deliver a message.

 

Proverbs 18:10 reads:

 

The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.

 

It's good to know that during troubled times, there is a strong tower we can run into and take refuge.