501 Places

Our desire to travel is often driven by a wish to escape. Whether it’s from the weather, the job or just the stresses and pressures of everyday life, we all hope that our holiday will give us an emotional boost, and allow us to leave our worries behind, whether we are away for a week, a month or even a year.

But things can and do happen to travellers and holidaymakers. Witness the trouble in Thailand and western China recently, the Mallorca bombs, and the recent air crashes, as well as the daily road traffic accidents and medical emergencies that go unreported. And when these events do happen, how those involved react can not only affect on their own travel plans, but also can have a major impact on friends and family back at home.

Having worked for a crisis management consultancy for several years, I have been part of a team that helps tour operators in preparing to manage major incidents on their trips. Where people travel independently, they should consider taking what steps they can take themselves before they travel, just in case. And even on a group trip, certain preparations will make life a lot easier for all concerned if you are caught up in a difficult situation.

Here are a few steps that I would recommend to all travellers as part of their personal emergency plan:

1. Let family know your travel plans. If you have hotel name and flight details, let someone have a copy of these. Imagine the comfort you will give them in the event of a hotel fire or air crash if they know you are safe. And if something truly serious happens back at home, you will be glad they can reach you (never depend on a mobile phone alone). Even if you are backpacking, let family know your intended route so that they have some idea where you are.

2. Where possible let the authorities know of your whereabouts. For UK residents the FCO runs a great free service LOCATE where you register your trip online, and they will be best placed to assist you if there is a natural disaster or terrorist attack in that area. Other countries run similar programmes. You will glad you took the trouble if something does happen, and it only takes a couple of minutes to register.

3. Make an online version of all of your most important travel documents. I keep an online copy of passport, insurance policy and any visas as a draft email in my webmail account, so that I can pick it up wherever I might need it. This will save you a huge amount of hassle if you become separated from these at any time.

4. Take a few moments before you leave home to make a note of all the phone numbers you might need in an emergency, and keep them safe (again, don’t rely on your mobile phone alone – write them down). Examples are: credit card and bank numbers for lost/stolen/blocked cards; local consulates; insurance 24 assistance numbers)

5 Always have more than one method of accessing cash. Relying on one ATM card, or carrying a huge wad of cash will leave you vulnerable in the case of card being swallowed by a machine or you getting fleeced. And talking of cash, never keep all cash in one place. If there are two of you travelling, make sure it is split between you. And even if alone, keep it spread around different locations. This will be a life-saving tip if you are ever mugged or your wallet is stolen.

6 Final tip for now…. don’t be shy to drop a quick email or sms to friends and family on a regular basis. Not only will it make your friends and family happy that you’re thinking of them, but they will have a regular update of your most recent location.

These tips are not intended to ruin the spontaneity of a trip. On the contrary they should allow you to do what you wish with an added peace of mind. Having worked with those that have taken preparation seriously and those that haven’t, and seen the consequences of the latter, I would strongly recommend that a bit of planning before you go is time and effort well spent.

When we told friends and family we were going to Beirut, we got a mix of concern, raised eyebrows and that look of “why? are you actually paying to go there?” Some probably eyed up our modest belongings and wondered if any would come their way when we were officially declared gone for good.

Beirut is easily reached by air from the UK, but is also a short land trip from Damascus. In fact we arranged this as a day trip and hired a driver from Damascus. There are buses available, and you can also hail a yellow taxi who will happily drive out for the day and make a nice day’s earnings from you. As we were visiting Beirut for such a short time, we wanted to make the most of the day and not spend it waiting for others to complete border formalities. We paid a little more than we could have done, but the comfort and convenience was well worth the extra cost. Any previous trips to Israel need to be kept quiet, but of course if you are already in Syria then you will be observed that rule already. Visas can be issued at the border.

It took us 2.5 hours to travel between Damascus and Beirut each way – 90 minutes of hair-raising driving and one hour at the two border posts. The scenery is pleasant enough, and as the sights from the main road were all we would see of Lebanon on this trip, we stayed alert and made sure we soaked up what we could.

Beirut is a city of sharp contrasts. OK, there are many buildings bearing the scars of many years of war. Tanks, barbed wire and military checkpoints are located around the city. But once you look beyond that, you see a beautiful city, rich with a unique multi-cultural heritage, and with a very modern downtown. The new buildings are stylish, smart and show a confidence in the future which is inspiring, given the city’s bloody past.

Walking along the Corniche (the waterfront promenade), we could have easily been in Nice or even Santa Monica. The Lebanese people meanwhile were so warm and welcoming that it was hard to imagine the turmoil the city and its people had recently suffered. We enjoyed a delicious seafood meal in an upmarket restaurant on the Corniche – not cheap but certainly less than we would have paid from a comparative meal in Europe.

Throughout our day, the people we met were charming, friendly and extremely welcoming. Whether it was the staff in the cafes and shops, the waiters or even the numerous soldiers we struck up a conversation with, all were intent on telling us what a great city this was and making us feel at ease.

We agreed with Tariq, our excellent if speed-hungry driver, that we would have around 5 hours to explore the city and while another hour would have been useful, we certainly got a flavour (and a positive opinion) in the time we had there. The obligatory ice-cream on our way back to Pigeon Rocks rounded off the day before we met up with Tariq and he took us back to Syria.

(Apr 2009)

I really enjoyed reading Ben Bachelder’s recent blog post about hitchhiking, and it soon sent me down along Memory Lane. It sad that hitching is so rare these days, and I remember when I enjoyed the pleasures of standing at the side of the road, not knowing who I was about to meet. There were so many of us then! Hitching isn’t just about getting from A to B for free. No, it is more about the encounters you will have, the unexpected adventures that will surely come your way, and the bank of stories you will build up for your older years.

Is hitching safe? It has an element of risk for sure, but I would rather take my chances in the car with a stranger than get in the car with someone I know who has had a drink, or who is elderly and can’t see very well, or who is just plain crazy. It requires common sense, an awareness of potential dangers and yes, a bit of luck. But doesn’t that apply to most things?

Here are 10 moments that stick in my mind; if you have your own hitching memories please share them here – they are doubtless a joy to read for all!

(incidentally, the picture is from one of my darkest moments: standing on the Autoroute du Soleil in the south of France for a whole day without success. This road was known as a hitchhikers’ graveyard – it was near impossible to get a ride here. I am skeletally thin after two months on the road. My mum found this picture disturbing)

1. My first ride – aged 16, in the south of France. I was trying to get out of Beziers to a tiny village around 100km away in the countryside, where friends were staying. I made up a sign for the nearest small town, and a guy stopped in a van in less than 5 minutes. He said he was going to the town on my sign, and asked me my business. When I told him where I was going, he shook his head in shock and said that was exactly the village he had to deliver to. He even took me to the door of the house. I couldn’t believe it! I thought “this hitching game is SOO easy!”

2. Singing for my supper – getting as far as Geneva one year, I had run out of money to get a train back to the UK. I met a fellow backpacker who had spent his day in the station in Geneva, strumming his guitar for a few francs. I offered him the chance to perform in an unlikely duet, and for a couple of hours we knocked out Beatles classics to the poor Swiss, who had done nothing wrong to deserve my singing. Miraculously, the earnings allowed me to get me a night in a hostel, and enough to have some food for the trip back to Calais. I hope he’s found a better singing partner by now!

3. Crossing the English Channel was a challenge, in the days before security checks. We always tried to get a free ride, but I did strike lucky. A truck driver once picked me up just outside Dover, and hid me in his cab. Having successfully laid low for the crossing, he let me stay in the can overnight before I went on my way the next morning. We even shared a beer and watched French TV on his portable before I rolled out my sleeping bag over his seats (he had the driver’s bed in the back). A thoroughly nice guy.

4. My best ride of all! Just outside Dover, when travelling home to Nottingham, two Greek truck drivers were going north in convoy. The older guy picked me up, and then gave me two objects of great importance. One was a map, which I proceeded to use to help him and his friend negotiate the worst of England’s traffic, and the other was a bottle of Ouzo (with cup) which helped me in my route finding abilities. I had a great time, telling this guy about short-cuts to avoid the jams (thankfully none involved a low bridge!), gaining in confidence as the Ouzo kicked in. When we stopped for dinner, the two guys insisted on buying me a large meal and would hear nothing of my offer to pay. They both got out at the stop in Nottingham, gave me a hug and a cheery send-off and were on their way north. Fantastic guys!

5. Trying to hitch a ride across the M62 in the Pennines, I was at a service station, when I saw the sponsorship-covered car of England cricketer Robin Smith pull in. I quickly knocked up a sign that read “Robin Smith – England’s no.1.” As he drove past, he gave me a big grin, a thumbs up, BUT NO LIFT. Shame on you Robin!

6. I rarely hitched at night, but one time having arrived in Belgium at midnight, I had been dropped off at a remote gas station around 1am. Even worse, the staff then told me they were closing in 10 minutes. There was nothing for it. I went up to each driver at the gas station and asked directly for a ride. Unsurprisingly, they all declined, until I saw one car pull in right as they were closing the payment booth. It was a large Mercedes, and I thought to myself “no chance!” But, to my pleasant surprise, the guy offered me a ride to Brussels! As we got talking (his glamorous wife was driving) he told me he was renting the car and that he was the private secretary of the Uruguayan president. Once in Brussels, at around 2.30 am, he even offered to take me for a drive through the city to show me the sights. Top guy!

7. As a student in the north of England, getting to Wembley for football matches was not easy, and public transport was out of the question on our budgets. So when four of us managed to get tickets for an England match, we set off from Bradford in pairs to get to London in time for the match. No problem; we made it in plenty of time, and enjoyed an England victory. Coming home, the four of us were very fortunate to get a ride from a builder in a van, who let us all jump in the back. He said he was happy to have the company as driving at night was so dull. Unfortunately for him, his double mattress in the back (it is only later that I wondered about his likely adventures on that mattress) was so comfortable that within moments the four of us were asleep. As the one who had some hitching experience I realised that one of us should remain awake for our safety’s sake, but the next thing I knew he was letting us out and we were five miles from home! I felt so sorry for the driver, who did not get the company he had hoped for.

8. The fabled story, and I am sure that most have heard this account from someone – a Kiwi guy I met swore it happened to him. As an 18 year old, I believed him. Now as an old sceptic I reckon he just heard a great story and retold it as his own. He had been hitching in the south of France, and had got a ride from an attractive middle-aged woman in her 30s. They got talking, and she soon revealed that she had just been dumped by her husband. The dude offered her a shoulder to cry on, and you can guess the rest. He claims to have stayed at her plush pad for a month, comforting her day and night. Kiwi guy, if you’re out there and remember this story, confess now!

9. Finally two tales from the other side. I picked up a guy once in south Wales, and he was going to Nottingham, same as me. It turns out as we get talking that he is on weekend release from an open prison! Not necessarily information that he would share before getting into the car, but it did put me on edge. But he warmed up as we got chatting, I offered him a coffee when I stopped for a break and by the end of the two hour ride he wouldn’t stop chatting. He was also so grateful for the ride, that I felt embarrassed at doubting him earlier.

10. And this one is very recent. Only three months ago, we were driving through rural Syria, on a desert road in the east, trying to get to the Roman city of Palmyra. We knew we were lost when we were no longer arriving at any of the places on the map. We then passed two guys next to a broken down motorbike, who were flagging us down. On the one hand, should I pick someone up, when I couldn’t even see his face? (he had a headscarf on). On the other, we hadn’t passed a car for an hour, it was baking hot and these guys were in trouble. Thankfully we did stop and open the door to him. No words were exchanged, I just drove on for around 20 minutes until we came to a small village and he tapped me on the shoulder. I pulled over and he gave me a cheery “shukran” and was off. It was only then that I thought of asking him where we were! Along with his friends from the village they helped me identify where we were on my dodgy map (over 200km from where I thought we were) and were solely responsible for ensuring we reached Palmyra before dark. Shukran to you guys!

I am quite reticent of photographing local people on our travels. I don’t know why, but my shyness means that while many others have stacks of pictures of women and children in colourful costumes and toothless men smiling broadly for the camera, my albums only have a small number of these shots. Occasionally though, we do get the opportunity to capture a natural moment. This is one of those that I want to share.

Bukhara is a great place to explore. Once a hub of Silk Route trade, where the rulers spent their infinite riches on palaces and beautiful mosques, now Bukhara is a sleepy backwater. The city still boasts many splendid buildings, adorned with majolica tiles and restored in the years of Russian rule to something like their former glory. While there are visitors in the city, it manages to maintain a laid-back feel, and there is little rushing around seen from anyone within the city walls.

Bukhara is a maze of narrow streets, dead end alleys and forlorn doorways. It is a city meant to be explored on foot, and we got happily lost in the maze of streets several times while we stayed here. It was on one of these adventures that we were accosted by a group of children. There must have been around eight boys and girls, and when they saw my little cam era, they wanted to pose for a picture (this is one of the few remaining parts of the world where none of them thought to ask us for money for the privilege of getting a picture – give them time, they’ll probably learn!)

Not content with my picture, the oldest boy tugged at my sleeve and asked me for the camera. Herein lies the beauty of always carrying a cheap and cheerful device. I was more than happy to hand it over and let him snap away at his friends, and then give it back when he was done (these were the best of a pretty bad selection!) They contrived to fight and jostle to be in these pictures, showing far more excitement than when I had tried to get them lined up in an orderly fashion.

As we didn’t have a common language and there seemed no interest in asking us for a copy of the pictures, we just showed them the results of the young photographer’s work, waved and walked on. It gave them a bit of amusement, and was a funny if brief interaction with Bukhara’s younger residents for us. As for the camera, a good clean was required to get the fingerprints off the lens, but it was soon back to its best and none the worse for wear.

(Aug 2008)

I guess my passion for travel was started at a very early age – and I cannot offer thanks to anyone for helping me with my first solo voyage. Apologies in fact, may be more appropriate, to my parents for worrying them beyond despair, and to the Nottinghamshire Police Constabulary for wasting their time.

(For this journey I did not think to take a camera and pictures, such is the lack of planning when travelling at such a tender age. So here is an image I found that closely resembles my chosen mode of transport; environmentally friendly it certainly was!)

I did give fair warning of my intended plans, in my defence. The trouble was that no-one took any notice of a little boy who said he was going to visit his aunt, 12 miles away and across one of Britain’s biggest cities. I set off, and having been a child who observed my father’s driving very closely from an early age, there was never any question of me getting lost.

I do remember after a mile or so, realising how far from home I was and all alone, I sat down and started to cry. But then after 10 minutes or so, when I had got my fear out of my system, I pushed on, across busy roads, roundabouts, dual carriageways, onwards to my destination: my cake-baking aunt, who would surely have passed out in shock to see me on her doorstep.

Meanwhile my parents had noticed me missing, and had searched around the neighbourhood. When a visit to all the friends’ houses yielded nothing, they had no option but to call the police, who then extended the search to my school friends and the surrounding areas. It was only after an hour and a half that my elder brother mentioned that I had said something about to my aunt’s. Thinking it ridiculous but deciding it was worth checking anyway, my parents set off in the car to track the route.

And so I was intercepted, around 10 miles from home and very near to my destination. Unaware of the panic I had caused, my first words to my parents (“but I was nearly there”) and my look of disappointment stayed with them and I was often reminded of it as I grew up. As for me, I guess it set the tone for my later years. The scooter is now long gone, but the drive to get up without warning and head off into the unknown is as strong as ever. Thankfully I have a wife who shares that passion, and so she never needs to report me missing to the police!

(Oct 1974)