Let me take you back to 1993, yes, I know, that’s a long time ago, I’m really showing my age. Back then I was just a young boy and life was a lot simpler. There were no smart phones or social media, even the shrill of a dial up modem was a feature of a future yet to pass.
Back then whenever the wind blew, the alarms for half the cars on the street would set off in tandem as a kind of out of tune and out of time orchestra. Cars were much smaller and squarer, with bigger leaded 4 star engines and they were easier to steal so if you didn’t have a yellow autolock on your steering wheel or gear stick, you were asking for trouble.
Obviously the memories of someone from over 30 years ago are a little hazy so there may be a few details I get confused, but as I remember it we had a white Nissan Sunny. Back then it wasn’t all that common to go on holidays abroad and as the first child of three working class nurses in suburban Manchester, we were no exception.
A holiday for us might have been a trip to Butlins in Skegness or a caravan in Marine Park in North Wales but my Aunty Gel lived over in Belfast at the time, and this is where my love of travel began.
There was me, and my younger sister and brother and my parents. This trip was a little unusual though as my mum had travelled ahead, she was already in Belfast and the rest of us were to join her, staying at my aunties house.
It’s fair to say that I was a little bit of a “mummy’s boy”. Quite shy and sensitive, carrying a little bit extra timber even at that age. This particular trip felt like a good father-son bonding trip though.
As kids we would argue over who got to sit in the front in the car. As the tallest, eldest and chunkiest, it was normally me but the opportunity didn’t come often as usually it was both my parents so it felt like a bit of a treat to be in the front passenger seat for this trip.
I remember my dad making sandwiches. He took a loaf of bread, buttered each of the pieces, made a combination of fillings then put the sandwiches back in the cellophane and packed a pack lunch with crisps, Swiss rolls and drinks ready for the long journey.
We were to catch the Stena line Sea Cat catamaran from the port of Stranraer, way up in Scotland and it was an early morning crossing which meant travelling through the night.
My brother and sister spent most of the journey asleep in the back of the car but I was taking in every single detail, particularly as the roads got more bendy and windy as we travelled through rural Scotland. The sky was pitch black and the only light was from the reflection of our head lamps.
I remember my dad giving me a look. It was a look of pride. Sometimes no words are needed but the message between you is loud and clear. My mum gave me the nickname radar eyes as a baby as I was constantly scanning and observing, and there I was, quietly doing what I do best, taking it all in as I watched the rabbits and hares dart across the road and even the occasional dear. Outside, it was cold and dark but in that car I was safe and warm as my dad expertly navigated the windy terrain.
Funnily enough, when I got to the age of 17, I didn’t have that massive desire to learn to drive myself. I enjoyed getting the bus to get around. I was 20 before I started driving lessons and just a week shy of 22 by the time I passed.
The SeaCat was another amazing experience. I remember getting to go up on the Bridge and the Captain allowing me to pretend I was steering the ship with the disappointingly small wheel. Watching my dad drive the car onto and off the boat was certainly an experience but nothing compared to the return flight when we found our car had a flat tire when we returned to it and a kind stranger helped change the tire in a race against time before we docked back in Stranraer.
I remember going home after that trip, with a replica SeaCat toy in hand and emptying our huge bag of random lego pieces onto the carpet and building a multi deck replica of the SeaCat, complete with retractable cargo doors and being very proud of it, taking it into school.
These days I tend to be the driver and I get that same feeling of pride when I’m transporting a partner as my dad had all those years ago. When they fall asleep and you know you’re going to get them home safely. I keep my side of the car icy cold like a fridge (the joys of dual zone climate control) whilst they stay snug as a bug. My ability to drive for hours on end powered by red bull and iced mochas without needing the toilet is quite impressive. I love night driving. I love the quietness. The sound of trees rustling, the bleating of sheep when surrounded by fields and the tranquility of running water as you pass by rivers, lakes, lochs, canals and the coast.
There’s something special about seeing how small we all are and how intricate and vast the valleys and mountains are. At that moment, the hussle and bustle of busy urban life disappears and you just become at one with the natural world all around you.
My second big travel experience was another trip to Belfast but this time it was me and my Aunty Mary travelling together on a plane for the first time. It was a small Logan Air propeller plane and the flight would only have been short. Back then, you actually got given orange juice and biscuits for free as part of your ticket. I remember watching the engines and feeling the strange butterfly sensation as the wheels of the plane lost contact with the ground on take off. Again, I got to go into the cockpit and say hello to the captain during the flight. Something you would never be allowed to do now, but back then it wasn’t even uncommon for people to smoke on planes. The world has changed a lot since those days.
You would have thought that I may have been a little scared, given that I had (and still do to a lesser extent) a bit of a fear of heights but no, I was just mesmerised by the whole experience and in awe of the marvel of flight. It wouldn’t be until I was 16 that I would experience flight again, this time to Reus airport on our first family holiday abroad to Lloret de Mar.
It’s a privilege that I don’t take for granted, being able to fly. Budget airlines have opened up (aircraft) doors to everyday working class people to experience something that previously was reserved only for the wealthy and with the rising cost of fuel, it may soon become a more luxury experience once again.
What travel gives you is freedom, and a chance to experience different cultures, different geographies and climates and the more I travel, the more I realise that people the world over are all just the same when it comes down to it.
Perhaps one day I’ll tell you the story of my first experience being a passenger in a car crash or of the opulence of flying in first class on an A380 and business class in a Boeing 747, but for now, think about what your early memories are of travel. What did it mean to you? What went wrong? We all have funny stories and precious memories to tell!