Offline Travels

By Paul Neylan

This book is not full of facts and figures or about travel advice or tips. It is simply an amusing collection of true travel stories before the Internet was widely available and used. The purpose of this book is to entertain and let you enjoy the experience and wonder of the places visited and the people met from the perspective of the author, who often found himself in precarious situations where he had to muddle his way through.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543421897

Paul Neylan

Travel has been always an integral part of Neylan’s life, so it is not surprising that he ended up working in the airline industry. Originally from the U.K., he now lives with his wife in North America, where he particularly likes the expansive views. He noticed that people always remember their travel stories, even though they may forget most other things. He believes our lives are enriched by travel, and that our diversity is something to be celebrated.

Book preview

Copyright © 2017 by Paul Neylan.

Library of Congress Control Number:            2017907288

ISBN:                  Hardcover                     978-1-5434-2187-3

                             Softcover                       978-1-5434-2188-0

                            eBook                             978-1-5434-2189-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/22/2017

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

760120

CONTENTS

1 On the Continent

2 Greek Islands

3 India & Nepal

4 Iceland

5 Latvia

6 Morocco

7 Great Britain

8 Japan

9 Turkey

10 South Africa

11 Northern Canada

12 Israel & Jordan

1

On the Continent

croissants for breakfast

I had the idea of cycling down to the south coast of England, taking a ferry across to France, then cycling through Normandy. I thought, why not? I am fit, I have a bike, and I can get by in French. So, I took a week off work and packed my bicycle panniers. Going abroad had always involved getting in a motorized vehicle, usually a car, train, or bus to the airport or ferry terminal. This time it would involve pedal power to catch the ferry. The digging had started for the channel tunnel which would make it possible to travel by train to France, but that would not be open for a few years.

I had been to France before, twice. The first time was with the school when I was a young child. My principle memory of this trip was the place where we had stayed. It was a large house and I specifically remember a big round table around which we all sat for breakfast. There was a large teapot in the middle with about thirty tea bags in it, all on strings that hung down around the pot. I had never seen tea made like this before. Then we got served croissants, which I was most upset about because I preferred cereal. How can they not serve cereal? What a strange place this was!

The journey was memorable, getting on that large hovercraft that was sitting on the beach and then feeling that weird sensation as the underbelly of this strange vehicle filled with air. Then we were off across the water like some giant rubber ring being towed by a large speedboat. No chance of going on deck, and even if we were allowed, there was so much spay in the air we would get drenched very quickly. The way this air-cushion vehicle came out of the water and onto the beach made it look like some giant sea creature. Goodness knows what the French must of thought of the British when it first arrived on their shores.

When I was a child, my parents did not have any interest in the European tradition of town-twinning. Most towns in England had a designated town somewhere on the continent with whom all sorts of activities took place, including children going to stay in their twin-town with a local family there. My only exposure to any of the languages beyond the British Isles was limited to unpleasant learning techniques in the classroom, which involved repeating what the teacher said in French or German or whatever language was on the agenda, then getting homework to complete the grammar exercises. My first real exposure to French was by a tall priest who was also the discipline master of the school; meaning that it was dry, repetitive and all the other ingredients to associate learning a foreign language with misery and suffering.

The second trip was with a friend of mine, Roland, whose mother was French, although they both lived in South London. His mother had a twin sister who lived in the Paris suburbs, so Roland and I went to stay with her for a few days. Roland`s mother had left France when she was a young adult and married a very traditional Englishman in the north of England. By the time I met her, she had been living in England for forty years. One of the most interesting things for me on this visit would be to meet Roland`s aunt and see how the two cultures had influenced the two sisters since they had been living in different countries.

As we entered the apartment of Roland`s aunt in France I noticed straight away the colors on the wall which were not only darker but covered by a fabric. I could not resist prodding it with my finger, when she was not looking of course. Under the fabric there was a sponge-type material between the wallpaper and the wall. The second thing that was clearly apparent was the lack of items for decoration or utility. Maybe it was just the character of Roland`s aunt, but there was probably some truth about the fact that Napoleon had called England a nation of shopkeepers.

After greeting Roland`s aunt, his two cousins arrived. A man in a very smart suit and a lady equally smartly attired. It was not just because they were meeting us that they were so well-dressed. It became apparent in the next few days that one had to always be ready as if to meet Royalty, which could not have been the case because they got rid of theirs about two hundred years ago. I never figured out why they needed to dress so smartly all the time.

It was the middle of August which meant that it was hot and everyone was off work. In order to cool off Roland and I decided to walk to the local swimming pool. Roland had not been there before because he did not like swimming; the visit was just for my benefit. We walked around the suburbs to find the pool, but we were soon lost. Just then two girls about my age came walking down the road. This was an opportunity to practice my French. Roland could speak the language fluently, which I had thought, initially, was due to his mother talking to him in French since he was a toddler. He explained to me that she had never spoken to him in anything but English, which seemed to be a wasted opportunity.

Of all the nations in the world the British have to be, in general, the most theatrical about other languages. They mentally prepare as if announcing the news on television, then after delivery of a few words in a language that is not their own, they breathe in with a sense of accomplishment and a slight lifting of the chin. Most other nations speak English as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bonjour madmoiselles I announced with great gusto as we came within hearing distance of the two ladies. They did not respond.

Nous cherchons la piscine, s’il vous plait. I thought I was doing rather well.

The two girls looked perplexed.

Oh, you’re English, one of the girls said with a very American accent we are going to the pool also, come with us. It is such a hot day, we cannot wait to get in the water.

All my other attempts during the next few days to speak the local language failed. Either no one understood me at all or they replied in English. Nevertheless, I was not disheartened as on at least one occasion the local Parisian accent was a challenge even for Roland.

The night before we left France it was very warm, and I was woken during the night by the sound of a mosquito in the room. Unable to get back to sleep, I got up, turned on the light, and started searching for it. As the fabric-wallpaper was dark green with black patters it was quite a challenge. Nevertheless, I persevered and eventually found it, then squashed it with my finger before it could escape. Now it was half sticking out of the wallpaper, and as I was concerned that Roland`s mother may notice the next day, I tried to push the rest of it through. This was unsuccessful, so I tried pulling it out and of course I ended up with half a mosquito between my fingers. At least I could go back to sleep peacefully.

My trip with Roland had been limited to Paris and like any capital city of a country, it was not representative of the country as a whole. I very much wanted to return and experience more of the rural France, where people hold on to more of their traditions and way of life. When people say they fall in love with France, it is not always Paris or any of the cities they are referring to, but that timeless, beautiful countryside with its old villages.

***

I set out on my bicycle from my home near London Gatwick Airport and followed the secondary roads down to Portsmouth on the coast where I would board a ferry to Caen. In my mind, it was just a short distance to the coast, but sixty miles is not just an afternoon ride, especially with the wind against you. The back of my bicycle was packed: tent, clothing, cooking utensils, puncture repair kit, food, drink, and a sleeping bag. I did not want to spend the night in Portsmouth so I had to keep going without a rest to make sure that I could catch the last ferry leaving for France.

In France, it was raining as it had been in England when I left. But what did I expect, the two countries are not that far apart, it is just the cultural differences that create such a large divide. I found a campsite just outside Caen which was, at best, functional. During the night, the rain did not let up and I was in two minds as to whether I should take the next ferry back to England. I cycled out of Caen in the direction of Bayeux. Halfway to my destination, the country lanes became like small muddy rivers. This was not what I had expected. As the rain increased in intensity I looked around for some shelter and saw a barn.

No one seemed to be around, but then who would go out in this weather anyway? The barn stood opposite to the farmhouse and I decided that the farmer would not begrudge me the use of this shelter. I did not know what was inside, but I could smell cattle. It was empty.

As I sat out of the rain in the dry barn I remembered what I had read about the area. It was the Viking settlers that established Normandy; the word Norman from Norseman. The Vikings were unable to take a complete hold of England, although they nearly did. However, the job was finished by their distant cousins, the Normans, in 1066. Interestingly, most of the first settlers in Quebec, Canada came from Normandy, so it could be argued that the descendants of the Scandinavians had the biggest influence in French-speaking Canada.

I eventually made it to Bayeux, as wet as if I had fallen into a river. I sat in a café with my tiny cup of coffee to dry out. Then headed out of town to find a campsite.

As I pitched my tent that evening I was distracted by a man calling out to me.

Bonjour.

Bonjour.

That was the limit of our conversation in French.

Please come, here, join us this man offered, with his French accent.

I went over to his large tent that was full of his family who could, for the most part, find enough English words to converse with me. I must fully master this language one day I thought!

We live here in Normandy explained the man, we just camping a few days for vacation. This weather – eh? Like the English. We could move south, but all our family is here.

A young voice called out from the back of the tent.

Voila, papa, les escargots.

Ah, my friend, said the Frenchman turning to me, you want snails?

The pot of cooked snails was passed around the tent and I tried to decline without causing offense. However, I could not resist to ask:

Do you have any frog’s legs?

Not tonight, you like them?

No, just wondering.

I stayed a while with my generous hosts before retiring to my own wet accommodation. I did share a coffee with them in the morning before packing everything back onto my bike and putting feet to peddles.

I intended to take a route that would pass by Balleroy where there was a beautiful Chateau as well as an amazing garden. It had stopped raining, which was a big relief. I could now enjoy the sound of my bicycle wheels running along the picturesque roads with hardly any traffic except the odd tractor. I passed through small villages where I could have taken hundreds of photos and I shopped in small village stores for bread and other provisions. C’est la vie.

As I cycled around Normandy, what I did not expect, or at least did not know about, were the Lavoirs: communal places where the locals wash their clothes. Most are like a home swimming pool, usually on the side of a road just outside the village, with an open wooden structure providing some protection from the elements. Expecting them just to be a glance into