After many years as a teacher I gave it up to get involved in travel.
I help people to visit interesting and sometimes unusual places to pursue their special interests.
I've been to Jordan twice - the first time it snowed, the second time we had temperatures of 40 plus! It's certainly one of my favourite places and I wish it weren't so neglected, particularly by travellers who set out to visit the Holy Land, and forget (or never knew) that Jordan is very much part of the Holy Land too.
It struck me on both my visits how few other visitors were around. Places like Petra that were once teeming were nearly deserted, which is very sad for the local people who rely on vistors for their living. Everyone was very hospitable, of course, and we were often given hot tea as we walked around.
This is a picture of the structure known as 'The Monastery' which at the top of a mountain in Petra. During our winter visit we laboured up the many, many steps that have been cut into the mountain to help you get up it (about 900 I think, but I didn't count) and were very glad at that point that the weather wasn't any hotter. Half-way up we saw a cave which had, strangely, an abandoned fridge in it.
At the top was another cave. It was on my right as I took the photograph. There seemed to be some people inside, and from the smoke coming out it seemed that they must be keeping warm around a fire. We looked inside and were made welcome by the young men inside who were sitting around a little fire with a picture of the King on the cave wall behind them. The offered us tea - and as our eyes grew accustomed to the relative darkness in the cave we look around. We noticed that there was a table near the doorway, and on the table was a credit-card machine. Next to the table was a Coca-Cola dispenser! We later noticed that there was an electric cable going of the cave and down the mountain - presumably all the way to the bottom.
We did pay for our tea - though not with a credit card. On the way down we saw the fridge again, and thought that perhaps the young men in the cave at the top had been trying to get it up those 900 steps, but had got fed up with the effort half-way up.
Jordan and the Jordanians are wonderful, whether your interest is as a pilgrim, an archaeologist, an adverturer or a sight-seer.
I didn't write the article below: it was written by Roozbeh Gazdar, a professional writer, who has generously allowed it to be reproduced free of charge. A few years ago I made the arrangements for a group of about 40 people to visit India - they were all people who support certain medical charities in and around Mysore. They wanted to have a rail journey, just for the experience, so they flew to Chennai (once Madras) and travelled most of the day to Bangalore. They loved it, and it was quite cheap, too. I haven't travelled by train in India myself yet, though I hope I will get the opportunity to do so one day.
India on the Rails by: Roozbeh Gazdar
If life is a journey than, in India at least, it chugs along on two parallel steel lines… the railways. No reference here to the local trains of Mumbai, India’s commercial capital, where citizens spend a substantial portion of their waking hours commuting increasing distances within ever expanding city-limits. This one is grand - a vast rail network criss-crossing the length and breadth of the country, spanning over plains and rivers, through forest and deserts, reaching out to the obscurest of villages and connecting them to the rest of this immense, wonderful conglomeration of people, towns, animals, history and culture, that is India.
While air travel saves you time and driving by road lends flexibility to your schedule, there is really no better way to know India than by train. The general compartment especially is a startling microcosm of the multi-caste, multi-lingual eclecticism of the country that immediately disarms you with its robust back-thumping welcome. No formalities here as you are expected to roll up your sleeves and join in the abundant overflow of food, drink, conversation. Personal details are unabashedly pried into, common ground or acquaintances traced over a maze of memory, addresses exchanged and promises to visit, made… A long Indian railway journey is an unparalleled display of the lay of the land. As the train traverses across different states it unfolds a fascinating tapestry of gradually changing landscapes, people, houses, shops and signboards. From my favourite perch, on the steps at the door, I have never failed to harvest intimate glimpses into rural life: a peasant tending his field or enjoying a meal under a shady tree, a young cowherd driving a boisterous herd to pasture, women transporting water over a parched terrain, a herd of deer peeping nervously through dappled afternoon shadows…
And then there are the numerous wayside stations, bustling centers of busy activity. Often no more than small shacks, these centers of village activity can be refreshingly beautiful, shaded by trees and with small well-tended gardens around them. But even more poignant are the isolated rail cabins or outposts that occur, seemingly in the midst of wind swept desolation, as a lone railway official holds out a green flag to give each train an all-clear sign as it hurtles by.
It’s then that it strikes you how this gigantic organization, the Indian Railways, the world’s biggest public sector employer, is so critically dependent for its smooth everyday functioning on all the various little cogs that keep its wheels turning, right down to the guy who covers an allocated distance on foot daily, manually checking the screws in the fish plates to see that everything is right.
Not a lot is known about daily life in the distant history of the Isle of Thanet in Kent - that strange place , once a true island but now in name only. However, a recent discovery has brought to light part of the diary of a resident of those far-off times.............................
Diary of Hengist Minimus, Isle of Thanet, Wodensday 11th Eostermonad 597ish
To the Legion for a few meads. Nearly fell over old Wally Wuffa in the doorway – chucked out again and still protesting that he qualifies for membership as a direct descendant on his mother's side of the last Roman governor of Ritupiae, who, so the story goes, made the most of a Celtic dancer called Olwen at the End of Empire Ball down at the Fort in 400 and something. Though he's never managed to explain why, as a supposed descendant of Olwen and a Roman, he's a Wuffa, not a Weylyn or a Vergil, or whatever.
Anyway, rules are rules and you don't get to be a member of a Roman Legion Club if you're not a Roman – or a bit Roman at least. I wrote the rules, after all (being the only one who can write) according to the Executive Committee's ruling on eligibility in Blotmonad 583. Until then we exercised a certain flexibility, and to be honest many a Tondbert, Aedeldick and Hereric got in who didn't have a Roman numeral between them.
Well, let's face it, Thanet's a multicultural place these days, and even now I'm the last one to discriminate on account of the colour of someone's hair or the length of his nose. Of course, the Legion always used to be known as a haven of ethnic diversity and tollerance.All Thanetians under the same Woden/Zeus/The Tree Down The Road, etc etc. Until a few years ago we'd never heard about Jutish Thanetians, Roman, Celtic or Saxon Thanetians, Anglo Thanetians or whatever. Until Knucklebones, that is.
Everything changed when the Horsa Club suggested the occasional friendly knucklebone match, just to while away the long winter evenings; then the Angles Rowing Club, the Saxon Booty Boys and the Celtic Wanderers joined in – well, we had to have rules. Thrydwulf the Thane wanted a thanes versus churls tournament, but that wasn't popular, seeing as we all know who would have won. And everyone says he uses antique Roman knucklebones said to come from an Ethiopian slave, and they're faster than local ones. Anyway, to give credit where it's due, Thrydwulf isn't one to take umbridge and he put up the Thrydwulf-Vortigern Drinking Horn for an annual, inter-ethnic knucklebones tournament. So we had to have rules, of course.
The five ethnic clubs entered an agreement regarding international eligibility, which provides that an international knucklebone player can only play for the ethnic group of his birth, or of the birth of his natural parents or of any of his natural grandparents. No more Wally Wuffas.
Mind you, never let it be said that we cannot be generous when need be. Look at the Celts, for instance. How could they keep up a team when their folk are always wandering off never to be seen again, as is their wont, if we Romans, or the Saxons sometimes, didn't lend them players on temporary transfers? We help out the Saxons, even, when chunks of their team go off over the Wantsum into Kent or other foreign parts on one of their raiding jaunts.
Which reminds me, they've got one of their Waggon Booty Sales next Sunnandaeg morning. I'm on the lookout for some antique knucklebones.
Have you ever seen the Shell Grotto in Margate? It was discovered accidentally in Victorian times. This underground cavern - or series of caverns - seems to be unique, but nobody seems to have been able to prove whether it is of prehistoric origin, early Victorian or something in-between. It certainly is a remarkable place and deserves to be better known.
One of the theories about this mysterious place is that it was constructed and decorated by theKnights Templar. The Knights were originally set up in the twelfth century to help to protect travellers to the Holy Land. In the course of time they became wealthy, mainly through donations of land and money. In 1307 many of the Knights were rounded up by King Philip IV of France on the grounds of heresy, since this was the only charge that would allow the seizing of their money and assets. Under torture they were made to confess to a variety of 'offences', including worship of a mythical demon named Baphomet (certainly not John the Baptist as some have claimed!).Philip, desperately needed funds, to support his war against England's Edward I. Later many of the Knights withdrew their 'confessions' and these were executed. Pope Clement V, who resided in Avignon, protested vigorously, annulled the entire trial and suspended the powers of the bishops and the inquisitors whom the domineering Philip had used to achieve his ends (not that this made much difference).
There is a huge number of myths associated with the Knights Templar,involving everything from the Holy Grail to Jack the Ripper, so it is often difficult to separate fact from fiction. Certainly after the order was dissolved in 1312 some members in England were said to have continued to meet in secret, and perhaps the Shell Grotto was used in this way. However, had the Grotto actually been constructed by the Knights Templar it would be expected to be more overtly Christian in its decoration. But nobody seems to have come up with a conclusive answer to the Grotto's origins, so the mystery continues.
I recently went to the island of Tinos - its in the Cyclades. It takes about 4 hours by ferry from Rafina (port east of Athens) or 2 hours if you can get a catamaran. No airport, which is probably a blessing. Its very close to Mykonos, but it couldn't be more different. Mykonos is famous for its hotels, beaches, night life, etc, but Tinos is just peace and quiet! For the Greeks it is a pilgrimage centre once or twice a year - but the rest of the time hardly anyone goes there. But it has excellent beaches, very attractive villages and some superb walking.
Before they had roads, people used to get around the island on mule tracks - quite well made, too. Tinos has a lot of marble - I've heard that there is marble from Tinos in Buckingham Palace. So a lot of these tracks are actually paved with the stuff. Now they do have roads, these tracks are largely neglected, but make wonderful walking routes. Here's a picture of one:
To get to Tinos we first flew to Milan with Easyjet and then to Athens with Aegean Airlines. From Athens we got the ferry to Tinos. Unfortunately our luggage never arrived in Milan. Easyjet managed to get it to Mykonos three days later and we had to find someone to put it on the ferry from Mykonos to Tinos. When the ferry arrived in Tinos we had about five minutes (they have a very quick turnaround) t0 to dash up the gangplank, grab the cases and beat a hasty retreat. Nobody asked us what we were doing - we could have been anyone, just helping ourselves to someone's luggage!
But Tinos was worth visiting and we will go again. The town of Tinos is easygoing and you can sit around in the sunshine having a meal, a drink and /or a chat and just watch the boats coming and going in the harbour, look across the water to the Island of Syros, or wander around the interesting little shops. There's a good range of restaurants, too.
Tinos is unusual in Greece because (Syros too) it has a large Catholic population as well as Greek Orthodox - and it has been this way for centuries, since the Venetian occupation. They all seem to get along very well. This is a picture of Tinos town, and below is one of the villages on the island, Pyrgos, which is famous (among the Greeks) for its colony of sculptors and artists. We found an amazing bus shelter in Pyrgos - made entirely of marble, looking a lot like some kind of temple! They don't make bus shelters like that around here!
If you were asked what is the most visited destination in Poland, you might answer Krakow, or maybe Warsaw. But a couple of generations ago it was a little village called Lambinowice. Actually, in those days it had another name - and the visitors weren't tourists, but it is true that about 40,000 men from Britain and other Commonwealth countries went there - and most of them stayed for up to five years.
Lambinowice was the site of one of the biggest prisoner of war camps during the second world war, and today you will find a museum there commemorating this. In fact, there were many more men of other nationalities, particularly Russians and Poles, who spent some miserable years there.
They knew the place as Lamsdorf - officially it was Stalag VIIIB (later Stalag 344). These days a lot of people still seek the place out - some are former prisoners who want to go back and see what the place is like these days. It can be a difficult event for them. Some are children or grandchildren of the former prisoners for whom this is a kind of pilgrimage.
I got to know Lambinowice because of a friend of mine, Charles, now 90, who wanted to go back. He was there from 1940 to 1945. I helped him to do the trip. We advertised to try to find former comrades of his. We didn't find any, but the advert produced many replies from other people who were keen to go. So many that I couldn't take them all at once - there have been five trips now. On one occasion we started our visit at the railway halt - just a platform in the middle of nowhere - where most of the prisoners were unloaded from trucks to begin their imprisonment. It is a mile or so from the site of the camp. One of the group - a lady whose father had been there - wanted to walk that mile down the road to Lamsdorf, just as her father had done - and the rest of the group decided to do the same.
Actually, this part of Poland is very nice - it's a pity that most of the former visitors were forced by circumstances to be unable to enjoy it. The nearest town is Opole, which is a delight - but it's not much visited by tourists. It's worth going to. I've stayed a couple of times in the Hotel Mercure, which is not expensive and is very good. There's a lot to see in the area, and all the Polish people I have encountered there have been very welcoming and helpful indeed.
These trips are pilgrimages of a sort, as I have said, and are usually very moving. But as well as this they give the opportunity to put a few things right: to make peace with this lovely land where there once was a lot of suffering but now is truly hospitable and full of pleasant discoveries.
If I visit popular tourist destinations I like to find things to do that are off the normal tourist beat - but better still is to visit places that don't have mass tourism at all. The danger is, of course, that by telling everyone about these places, the masses will start going there. But when you think you have found somewhere good, it's natural to want to share the information.
Spain is one of the biggest mass-tourism destinations, particularly for norther-Europeans, who need a bit of sun and warmth from time to time. But it's incredible how little of Spain is actually visited by these tourists. Think of Spain and you think of the Costas: hot weather, wonderful beaches and all that a holiday in the south or east of Spain conjours up.
But for 500 years Spain meant just one thing to travellers from Britain and other parts of Europe. Galicia, the wonderful north-western region that is so little-known today. From the tenth to the fifteenth centuries the 'must visit' destination was the Galician capital, Santiago de Compostela. So famous were those medieval tourists that the routes they took were named after them: the Camino Inglés (the English Way), for instance, leads from the ports of Ferrol and La Coruña on the north coast to Santiago. It's still there today, and some with endurance and a sense of adventure take out the five days or so it takes to walk the Camino's 80 miles. There is the more famous French Camino for which you need about six week, the Portuguese Camino, and so on.
The attraction for the original travellers were the bones of St James the Apostle, said to be buried under Santiago Cathedral, and the city became the third most visited destination in Christendom after Jerusalem and Rome. Indeed, so it is today, for literally millions of pilgrims make the trip each year. But most of them just go to Santiago. The rest of this amazing region is usually ignored.
Whether you travel to Galicia as a pilgrim or a tourist, there are wonderful secrets waiting to be discovered. This un-commercialised region is part of 'Green Spain', with beautiful, lush landscapes, fascinating old towns and villages, unique dancing, music and folk-lore, colourful festivals and local traditions, and even beaches! The local cuisine and wine ought to be famous – and probably will be one day.
On a recent visit one of my travelling companions was from Scotland. We encountered Galician bagpipers in Santiago, and my friend told one of them that he was familiar with bagpipes, being Scottish, but he hadn't known there were bagpipes in Galicia. The piper replied that he didn't know there were bagpipes in Scotland! Galicia is truly a world of its own.
We encountered pipers again in the little town of Cabanas on the north coast, which has one of the finest beaches around. In contrast to resorts like Benidorm where the beach is lined by high-rise hotels, the Cabanas beach is lined by pine trees! Cabanas is the ideal place to stay if you want a relaxing holiday, and it’s a good centre for visiting the area. Their only hotel, Hotel Sarga, which is very good, stands right on the Camino Inglés. From Cabanas you can cross a medieval bridge, once the longest in Spain, over the River Eume to the town of Pontedeume, which is a gem. The Saturday morning market alone makes the place worth visiting, but I love sitting in one of the old squares at a pavement café just watching life go by.
Half an hour away by road is the city of La Coruña, where the locals commemorate the heroine who fought off the invasion led by the 'Pirate Drake', and also the brave British General John Moore who, in a later era, died helping the citizens to defeat the troops of Napoleon. La Coruña is worth at least a whole day, there is so much to see. It is sometimes called the Glass City because of the amazing windows of the buildings facing the sea. It has one of the longest promenades in Spain, an historic tram system, the oldest functioning lighthouse anywhere (it's Roman) and so much else.
Not far off is the Fraga do Eume Natural Park, a forest that has survived from Neolithic times, and has dramatic landscapes, splendid walks and flora and fauna unique in Spain.
Galicia is easily reached from Britain now you can fly to La Coruña from Heathrow with Iberia, and to Santiago from Stansted or Liverpool with Ryanair, so maybe the mass tourism will be creeping in.
This is a picture of the structure known as 'The Monastery' which at the top of a mountain in Petra. During our winter visit we laboured up the many, many steps that have been cut into the mountain to help you get up it (about 900 I think, but I didn't count) and were very glad at that point that the weather wasn't any hotter. Half-way up we saw a cave which had, strangely, an abandoned fridge in it.
