365 Dates of Travel: The first six months

By Fran Heap

A mad romp around the world by a quirky data collecting redhead!

A book for those who love Peter Moore. If you love Bill Bryson read this!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frances Heap
• Release date: Mar 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9780645705614

Fran Heap

Fran lives in Melbourne, Australia, but has also lived in London, Copenhagen and New Jersey. She's worked as a career Nanny and a Neonatal Nurse but has wanted to be a writer since she was nine. Fran has travelled extensively for thirty years and plans on continuing for another thirty.

Book preview

365 Dates of Travel

The first six months

Fran Heap

The information in this book is the author’s personal experiences, memories and opinions on the situations that occurred. Memories are not always accurate years later. Any discrepancies are from faulty memories rather than a deliberate altering of the events. Updates or corrections that may surface will be acknowledged on the author’s website.

First published by Frances Heap contactable at [e-mail]

Copyright © 2023 by Fran Heap

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-6457056-0-7 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-0-6457056-1-4 (ebook)

The right of Fran Heap to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author/publisher at [e-mail]

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Cover design uses elements from Canva by Macrovector; Clker-Free-Vector-Images; creativepriyanka; vectortradition; aaf from Art and Funny; and sketchify.

Created with Atticus

Contents

Introduction

1. November

2. December

3. January

4. February

5. March

6. April

7. May

About Author

Sneak peek

Introduction

I set myself a challenge. Have I been travelling on every date of the year? An interesting thought and brilliant trip down memory lane. I’m starting with the day my travelling life began. For this trip, I had multiple sources to build a detailed picture of what happened: a diary; trip scrapbook; photo album; original guidebooks; and snippets of memories. I wish I could say the same for every trip. This first trip remains my all-time favourite and I would love to re-live it again.

Memories are not always accurate years later. I have done my best to be accurate as possible and admit when I am unsure of the details. Any discrepancies are from faulty memories rather than a deliberate altering of the events. Please get in touch if you were there and think a correction needs to be made. If changes pop up, I will acknowledge them on my website.

I use quotes from my diaries transcribing them exactly as I wrote them, including grammatical errors. I have not edited them, as that defeats the purpose of using my sentiments from the time.

As I was writing, it became obvious this was a long book. I have broken it into two volumes as otherwise it would be a very thick book for a first-time writer. I thought it might be considered too thick to be given a chance. Apologies if this format does not agree with you. It was a tough decision to make. The second six months will be available soon.

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Travel photos are

available for viewing on my website

franheapwriter.com

I hope you enjoy my travel tales and discover quirky me along the way.

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Countries Visited (in the first six months)

Europe

Austria

Belgium

Denmark

Finland

France

Germany

Gibraltar

Italy

Norway

Poland

Portugal

Romania

Spain

United Kingdom

Africa

Eygpt

Libya

Mali

Mauritania

Morocco

Western Sahara

Middle East

Israel

Jordan

Lebanon

Syria

Americas

America (USA)

Canada

Central Asia

Turkmenistan

Oceania

Australia

November

7th November (1992) Departing Australia for the United States of America (USA)

This was one of the longest days of my life. It started at midnight, the departure time for the Albury to Sydney night train. Being the only passenger boarding, the conductor bustled me to first class for a free upgrade. The conductor said, Because of the old witch. Who the old witch was, I will never know. But thanks for the upgrade. Even with the extra comfort, I managed only three hours of sleep from multiple catnaps during the nine-hour journey.

I’d planned to shower at Sydney’s Central Station before meeting friends, but the shower facilities were only available on weekdays, and it was Saturday. I dwelled on this information for two hours whilst hanging at the station, sitting on my bags, waiting for time to pass.

After catching up and bidding goodbye to my Sydney friends, I headed to the airport. Showing the changes since 1992, my diary states I arrived at 2:20 pm; I got my boarding pass; bought plug adapters and a $29.95 roll of film from Duty Free; passed through customs; and had twenty minutes before boarding my 3:45 pm flight. That’s departure, not boarding time. I arrived at the airport one hour and twenty-five minutes prior to flight departure. No mention of security.

I’d have a heart attack arriving that close now, and there’d be no chance of shopping or lingering.

My amazing scrapbook for this trip contains the train ticket to Sydney, $59 return; the Duty Free receipt; my plane ticket, which states cost $775 for a one-way ticket from Sydney to Los Angeles; my Air New Zealand boarding pass noting seat 49A is in the non-smoking section; and my menu for the flight which was run by Qantas.

Watching Sydney disappear from my window seat evoked strange feelings. When saying goodbye at Albury Station, I said, See you in ten years. Would it really be that long before I returned to Australia? This was the beginning of my travel life. My first trip with a one-way ticket and plans to work around the world. I was so young, eighteen, and so naive. I didn’t know what the future held. I shouldn’t have survived. But I did.

I got no sleep throughout the flight. So not sure the roast chicken in cheese crust, sandwiches, coconut gateau and apricot fruche, as per the menu card, would have staved off hunger. According to my diary, I didn’t watch any movies. There were no individual screens in 1992, with everyone watching the same movie from the small drop-down screens or projectors. I’m not sure if I’d already seen the movie or I couldn’t see the screen, but no sleep and no movies would make a long flight seem even longer.

The 7th of November had already lasted for thirty hours by my arrival at Los Angeles Airport (LAX) at 10:20 am local time. The day was beginning again thanks to crossing the International Date Line. When I’m not sleep deprived, I love arriving before departing. But not ideal when the date started at midnight after being awake around fourteen hours before the seventh began.

I proceeded through immigration, which was slow and nerve-wracking. My working around the world guidebook said to be prepared. They suggested having a minimum of $500 cash or traveller’s cheques per month of stay, and not to lie as would be asked to count it out in front of the Immigration Officer; to have a credit card; have the phone numbers of friends visiting, which may be called, and you’d have to wait if unreachable; and be prepared for luggage to be searched and diaries read looking for evidence you’re coming for work, not as a tourist. I was granted a six-month entry visa with none of the above occurring. Phew.

I wish I knew how much money I had. I haven’t noted a figure anywhere, but my finances were not abundant. And I did not have a credit card. I applied before leaving and I am forever grateful they declined my application, as I am certain major debt accumulation would have ensued.

I collected my baggage and headed towards the accommodation board. I used the free phone to call a hostel to check availability. Then paid US$10 for a shuttle bus alighting at the Venice Beach Hostel. This hostel had a free shuttle bus from the airport, but nobody mentioned it on the phone. I concluded I somehow did not end up at the hostel I had spoken to. It cost $12 a night to share a room with three guys, and a Swedish husband and wife travelling with their eighteen-month-old daughter.

I’d packed for winter in the Northern Hemisphere, but it was more like summer in Los Angeles. So I bought a pair of shorts and two T-shirts when walking on the beach with the boys. $40 gone from my minuscule budget. Yes, I have the receipt in my scrapbook.

I noted everything else was cheap, including McDonald’s. A Cheeseburger cost 69 cents, medium fries 99 cents. The McDonald’s menu surprised me as contained extra items, being four varieties of salads and burritos.

I visited Hollywood Boulevard in the afternoon, getting lost on the way. The cash machine on the bus bit me when feeding in my dollar bills. It hurt. The only comment in my diary was:

Hollywood is not that exciting after so long.

Los Angeles didn’t impress me this first time. It was hot; pollution haze filled the air; weird adding tax onto prices; the public transport and transfer system was confusing; the constant need for exact change while no one gave you change became annoying; crossing the street was dangerous with cars driving on the opposite side of the road; and easy getting lost whilst getting directions was almost impossible. On the positive side, I noted in my diary that the video store was huge, and the Rocky Road was nicer than back home!

Over time, Los Angeles (LA) has become one of my favourite places. It grew on me the more I visited. I’m never disappointed by having a layover in LA.

I spent the evening listening to my roommates’ travel tales. Finally, an end came to the date that was the 7th of November 1992. I’m uncertain how many hours this first day entailed, but we can say over twenty-four, more than thirty, and potentially greater than forty. A long first day of my travels.

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8th November (1992) Los Angeles, California (CA), USA

For $12 a night, you cannot expect luxury. The hostel beds were pieces of plywood stapled together with a couple of thin foam mattresses, complete with lumps, thrown on top. There were no blankets supplied. Having not packed a blanket or sleeping bag, I had trouble sleeping because cold. Combined with jet lag, a sleepless night resulted.

I stayed in bed until 11:30 am. After waiting in line for a shower, I didn’t leave until 1:00 pm.

I sum up the day in my diary:

So I saw downtown LA. WOW! (Sarcastic.) I’m not impressed at all. It also took so long to get there. Tried catching the metro but couldn’t work out where it actually went or how much it cost. There was no one there, only ticket machines. So frustrating.

Bought fries at McDonald’s. Said, Take away, but I should have said, To go.

Just about got buses worked out. Transfers are a little confusing. I don’t think you have to pay unless you use it again, but I think it may depend on the driver. Some take the transfer off you, or you pay 25 cents, or tonight I kept the transfer and didn’t pay anything. If I was staying till the end of the week, I’d have it all worked out. I’m not sure that I want to, though.

Got off at the wrong stop going to Beverly Hills. Thought driver said Rodeo Drive when it was actually Gale Drive. A lady on the bus was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t understand my accent. Didn’t find the Beverly Hills sign or anything. It was dark, only about three shops open. Very disappointed. Have to do it properly (tour) later.

Went to a 50s diner like Peach Pit. Absolutely great. Food not the best but still okay. Apple pie and milk. Great atmosphere. Would like a place like that. Good if had friends. Not sure what/how to tip.

Passed a couple of high schools. They look so wonderful. They are just so big. I’ll have to go to one while in Denver.

I’m not in the right frame of mind, so I think I’ll have to go straight to Denver, see Wendy, and then start again.

Not even the cats are friendly. They won’t give me the time of day.

I don’t sound like I was enjoying myself. I remember walking through downtown and feeling scared. It was important to look like I belonged. I did not know where I was going, but I only unfolded the giant paper map when out of sight.

The motivation behind coming to America was my obsession with the Beverly Hills 90210 television show. I wanted to experience everything an American high school offered. Seeing real high schools, going to Beverly Hills and eating at a diner like the Peach Pit in the show, were dreams come true, but reality and expectations were miles apart.

Wendy was an American exchange-student who lived with my family in Australia when I was fourteen. She lived with me as a sister, so I often referred to her as my sister. I missed her after she left and wanted to re-connect with her. Denver, Colorado, was her hometown.

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9th November (1992) Los Angeles, CA, USA

From my diary:

Today I realised something. I am totally unorganised. I have no idea what I am doing, where I am going, or anything. The guys in my room really showed me that. It took me nearly the whole day to decide I was going straight to Denver–not via San Fran[cisco] or anything else.

That was the easy part. Then I had to use the phone for the first time and what an experience that was. Ringing Greyhound Bus–a local call–was fairly straightforward, but trying to ring Wendy in Denver was a nightmare. I had to put in about $2.60 for one minute. The operator tells you if you haven’t put enough in, but it’s all a recording, I think. Then I rang Wendy, and of course, the answering machine was on. Being stupid, I hung up as quickly as I could, but the phone took all the money. I was so annoyed. I had to go get more change–$2 worth of dimes. While I was leaving a message, I was told to put more in. Now I don’t know if I was cut off or what. I panicked and I think I stuffed the message up totally. Now I am not even sure if I said bus. I said 8:30 pm tomorrow but don’t know if said I would be getting off the bus.

Had to go through operator to try to get my money back, but all she could do was send it to me. I rang about three numbers until one said, I’ll put you through to a live operator. They all sounded live to me. It’s a funny system. I’m telling you that now. But I’m going to master it.

Coinage and one-dollar bills were constantly required in America. Exact change only for buses and you had to continually feed quarters into payphones while calling long distance. Everyone wants change, and no one gives you change. I learnt to get rolls of quarters from banks and hide one-dollar bills in a separate part of my wallet. This became the norm, so when I ordered US dollars via my bank before a trip a few years ago, I specified twenty, one-dollar bills so I would have them on hand whenever necessary. Times have changed, and this is no longer required. Credit cards have almost made cash obsolete. In 1992, without a credit card or even an ATM card, cash was everything—as well as traveller’s cheques.

I lugged my substantial and inappropriate luggage to the bus station on public transport. I cannot remember how much luggage I began my trip with, but I have a vivid memory of dragging two duffle bags, without wheels, across a train station floor and being pained by their weight. There was no backpack as yet.

Prior to leaving Australia, I bought a four day Greyhound Bus Pass for US$75. This was cheaper than buying a one-way ticket from Los Angeles to Denver. I bought the pass for that single purpose. However, the ticket seller forgot to mark the void after date. Thanks to this, I used the pass again later on the trip. It proved to be excellent value for money.

Long-distance buses, run by Greyhound, are a world of their own. The bus stations are often in seedy parts of town. You never know what is going to happen or who you are going to meet. Best not to linger outside. Stay inside where there are people around. Experiencing the bus stations made me grateful for my money belt, a going away present, that went around my neck and under my clothes. This held my cash, passport, traveller’s cheques, and plane ticket. You could not re-print a plane ticket or rock up at the airport with ID back then. You had to protect your plane ticket like it was cash. I made sure I could feel the pouch throughout the overnight bus ride.

The girl in line behind me was the first person I met. She asked me where I was going and when I said Denver, she could not understand my accent. I had to repeat myself multiple times and then added Colorado to the end, and that is when she understood. Australians pronounce Denver more like Den-va and Americans pronounce the ver more drawn out like verrrr. To this day, I pronounce Denver as Denverrrrr after being teased about it so much on this trip.

After that was sorted, we talked through the first leg about high school, college, travelling. It was great to pass the time even if I talked too fast for her to understand.

On the next leg, the man boarding after me recognised my Country Road bag and enquired if I was from Australia. This conversation was not as pleasant. He praised America the Great and commented on my ignorance because I was not American. In his belief, everyone outside America was dumb, his word, and did not know how to do anything. The world relied on America for help and would not survive without them. I avoided sitting next to him.

My seat companion from here till Denver was a more pleasant man named Steve. He was thirty-one with long blonde hair, which he flicked from side to side constantly. Annoyingly. Tattoos covered both arms. He was born in England, but his father pulled some strings and got him a Green Card so he could live and work in America. According to him, he worked for three months salmon fishing in Alaska, earning $47,000 and travelled around America and the world for nine months. Interesting. He was on his way to Fort Collins, Colorado, to meet friends.

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10th November (1992) Greyhound Bus to Denver, Colorado (CO), USA

We had a three-hour layover in Las Vegas overnight. I can still picture the lights in the distance as we crossed the California border into Nevada. Three brilliant glows of the border town casino lights, the Las Vegas lights, and lights from another town in the middle of nowhere to the left. In the pitch black, it looked magical.

The bus station was in downtown Las Vegas, which is not on the so called Strip, but it has casinos and neon lights. Steve and I walked around together. Being underage by American standards, I was nervous, but Steve said if I was not gambling, it was legal to wander through. We made it as far as the top of the Strip and went inside a casino called Vegas World. The atmosphere was electric. It had a space theme with astronauts, spaceships, planets, and stars hanging from the ceiling. Right up my alley. They pulled this casino down in 1995, building the Stratosphere in its place.

Steve tried to explain the different games to me. We watched roulette, blackjack, poker, and craps. I loved every minute understanding how people were drawn in by the atmosphere. Good thing I was underage.

We walked some distance from the bus station, so took a taxi back to save time. Steve kindly paid for the taxi, bought me a soft drink, and paid for the locker we stored our bags in while exploring. I felt guilty, but he insisted.

My message to Wendy did not convey my arrival by bus, so there was no one waiting for me at the bus station. A quick local phone call sorted that.

My diary describes our meeting:

I saw this girl who seemed to be looking in my direction and smiling and waving. I looked at them but didn’t think it was Wendy, but I felt really agitated. It turned out to be Wendy. I could tell as she got closer, but her hair was straight, whereas it was curly when she left Australia.

I stood up, walked towards her a little and we gave each other a hug and it was wonderful to finally be with her again, but I was so nervous and didn’t know what to say. She took my suitcase, which was quite heavy, but insisted on taking it while I carried my travel bag, pillow, etc.

I will assume my travel bag was the Country Road bag, and the second duffle bag I remember will appear in the future.

It was late in the evening but we stayed awake chatting, catching up.

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11th November (2019) Qadisha Valley and Batroun, Lebanon

I partook in a short, eight-day tour of Lebanon. This was day six. We had spent the night at the twelfth century St. Anthony Monastery. After breakfast, and a quick peek at the Monk’s morning prayers and bell ringing, we hiked in the valley. We had spectacular views looking back at the monastery built into the cliff face. There were some frightening moments for a few of the group, with fears of heights and bridges, but a pleasant walk.

We ate the most garlicky potatoes ever in a town called Batroun. I swear I can still smell and taste them now. Batroun is famous for their lemonade, but alas, the potatoes divineness has made any other memories of lunch evaporate. So I cannot comment on the lemonade.

We walked along an ancient sea wall before lunch and visited a small ancient theatre in a lucky resident’s backyard. They left their gate open so everyone could admire it.

We ended our day in Byblos with a beautiful view from my hotel balcony overlooking the ocean at sunset. We visited the ruins on arrival, but was difficult to appreciate them after such a long day.

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12th November (2019) Byblos, Lebanon

This morning we had free time in Byblos. I decided to re-visit the ruins from yesterday. They did not disappoint. There was a 12th century Crusader Castle with views of the sea. It made for excellent exploring. But the site contains ruins from various points in history back to the Bronze Age.

At breakfast I caught up with one of the girl’s on the tour, and we returned to the ruins together. I remember the exact location we were scrambling when we somehow were talking about writing. I said, That’s my dream job to be a writer. I was good when I was younger.

If you had the talent once, then it will still be there. I did not know that sentence had planted a seed.

I enjoyed staying in touch with her after the tour, allowing the seed to grow and result in my writing. Without this travel moment, I would not have started writing, and you would not be reading this.

We had to rush back to check out of the hotel and join the group. In my haste, I overlooked my sunglasses case. I loved my blue and yellow case covered in owls. I haven’t been able to replace it.

The tour continued to the incredible sight of Jeita Caves, full of stalactites and stalagmites. It went from cavernous to closer quarters. We walked through, and then drifted on waterways whilst remaining as quiet as the sights would allow. Spectacular. A shame no photos allowed. They locked all cameras and phones away. It was a beautiful way to finish the tour of a beautiful country. So glad I got to experience Lebanon before it, and the world changed. It is devastating everything that has happened in Lebanon since my visit.

We enjoyed a scrumptious final night dinner. The food, delicious and plentiful; the company, delightful. I was sorry to say goodbye. I would miss my travelling companions and the beautiful country.

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13th November (1992) Denver, CO, USA

I ventured out after getting directions from the 7-Eleven, followed by getting change at the pizza shop. While waiting at the bus stop, a girl called out to hold the bus for her. She caught the bus without issue, and we spent the day together at the mall. Originally from Texas, accent and all, she had moved to Denver after working in Boston. We wandered around from shop to shop while she asked, Y’all hiring? I filled out an application myself when the Disney Store had five full-time positions available. I thought if I practised speaking with an American accent, they would not ask for a Green Card or such. So naive in 1992. I’m pleased to say I did not attend the interview the next day.

On leaving we missed a bus so had to wait. We filled in time at what we expected to be a candle store, but we’d misread the sign saying candies. They had a taster plate with chocolate-covered potato chips. I wrote they tasted beautiful, but sounds disgusting now. I like chocolate, and chips, but seperately.

I had no concept of money, or how little money I had, spending $22 on T-shirts and stationary. This visit was mostly a reconnaissance trip, noting the smaller shops were cheaper than the department stores.

When Wendy came home, we moved to her parents’ house to pet sit their rabbits for the weekend. We had a quiet night in hiring videos to watch.

It was a fantastic experience going to the video shop. The movies currently out in the cinema, or still not out in Australia, were here before me on video. There were so many that I wanted to see. We ended up getting Sister Act—Whoopi Goldberg—which was really good/funny, and Sleepwalkers, a Steven King, which was okay but not one of his best.

In the 1990s, movies would take up to a year to come to Australia post their American cinema release. After the cinema run, videos were available to purchase first and later to hire in video stores. American video stores were gold mines for Australian movie buffs in 1992.

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14th November (2010) Damascus, Syria

On arrival in Damascus, a well-appreciated transfer awaited me. Such a treat arriving and finding a sign with your name on it. However, some confusion followed. The driver took me to a hotel different from that in my trip notes. He told me this was where I should be, but fear crept in. After much discussion, he agreed to take me to the hotel on my information from the tour company. Once inside, the hotel receptionist informed me the tour wasn’t staying there. A fellow Australian came through reception. She was travelling on her own and wanted to help. I put my backpack on my back and walked to the original hotel. The driver was correct. Frustrating. After a quick freshen up, I returned to the wrong hotel, as the fellow Aussie had offered to show me around Damascus. A mistake turned into something positive.

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15th November (2010) Damascus, Syria

Today was the first day of the tour exploring the city. I fell in love with the streets of Damascus and have powerful memories of wandering through the narrow laneways and the covered souq whilst engulfed by history. Damascus is one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the world. You find a mix of East and West, and Christian and Muslim, allowing for diversity at every turn.

Walking through the Al-Hamidiyah Souq, you find yourself amongst gold, scarves, toys, lace, handbags, wooden fare, and the scent of shawarma. There is always a line at the pistachio ice cream shop. I’m not a pistachio fan, but this shop is a rite of passage when in Damascus.

There is a ten-metre high iron arch covering the souq. Holes in the roof give an appearance of stars above you by day. Lanterns light your way with an orange glow whatever time you find yourself here.

As the souq ends, you’re greeted by the towering ruins of the Roman Temple of Jupiter. History just unfolds itself in front of you with every step.

Next, the Ummayed Mosque stands before you. Women are required to be covered from hair-line to feet to enter. Special garments are provided to visitors to ensure compliance. Women being the majority in our group, we took some time to get sorted. In a sea of brown sameness, we entered the expanse of the grand courtyard resplendent with its shining marble floor, ornate carvings and Romanesque archways. Smatterings of gold on special monuments shined in the strong sun. Entering the Mosque you experienced a cool respite from the heat and found the resting place of the head of John the Baptiste.

On the back side of the mosque, steps down lead you to the labyrinthine narrow passageways containing second and third-floor windows over-hanging the street providing beauty and shade. Falling vines providing colour in greens and reds. Courtyard cafes hide behind plain facades, opening up to a scene of beauty. Damascus knows how to charm.

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16th November (2010) Krak des Chevaliers, Syria

We left Damascus, heading north to Krak des Chevaliers; the best preserved Crusader castle in the Middle East. I did not know such places existed, with its turrets, towers, and moats of solid stone. Awe-inspiring is the best way to describe it. Such a delight to explore and imagine. Fortification on fortification made it impregnable. Not surprising it still stands. It remained in use until the 19th century, by which time it was under Ottoman control.

You wander expansive corridor after corridor; arrow slits letting in slivers of light. Your imagination can go wild. You become ten