A series of unfortunate holidays - Part 1

“What are you reading there?”

We were fastening our seatbelts to land on a flight from Chicago to Phoenix. It was the first time the elderly gentleman next to me had spoken.

“Wild Swans,” I replied. “It’s a history of China through the twentieth century. It’s told from the viewpoint of three women.”

“Sounds interesting. I love history books.”

“Me too.” I said. “I read a lot, but this book is something special.”

“Hey,” said the man. “I’ve read a history book you’d love. It’s about the Aztecs and the Incas.”

“I haven’t read much about the subject. What’s it called?”

“I can send it to you if you like.”

The man reached into his pocket and handed me a notebook and pen.

“Write your address down and I’ll send it to you.”

I had no fixed abode at the time, so I wrote down my parents’ address back in England.

“What did you say the name of the book was?” I asked again, as I handed back the notebook.

“The book of Mormon.”

The phrase hey-ho flitted across my mind. I smiled and looked out of the window, watching Phoenix rising through the haze.

It was 1997. For 2 years, I had worked long nightshifts at a supermarket distribution centre. I had lived the austere life of a monk, and saved every penny.

I shared a flat over a shop with a large rat. The rodent and I both kept the same nocturnal hours. I often encountered him on arriving home from work in the morning. Not being the most sociable flat-mate, he would always make a dash for his hole in the skirting board. I often heard him scurrying around the kitchen at 7AM whilst I tried to get to sleep.

I did not mention my plans to anyone at work. They accepted my resignation letter with astonishment.

“Why would you do this?” asked Ian, my Line Manager. “The management have got you marked as a future Team Leader.”

“I’m going to travel around the world. I’ve bought the backpack and everything, so there’s no going back on it now.”

“I reckon they’ll promote you straight away, if you change your mind. You could cover Goods-in, that’s a cushy number. You’ll need to smarten up a bit of course.”

“Smarten up? What do you mean?”

“No offence, mate, but you can’t be a Team Leader looking like a hippy. You need to start living in the real world.”

Two weeks later, I sat frozen and alone inside a flimsy cheap sleeping bag near the edge of the Grand Canyon.