But first things first. Let’s start with John.

– Who is John Meadows, and what are his dreams?

– The last time I was asked about ‘my dreams’, I was at Primary School in the 1950s. I remember writing down two ambitions:

1. One was to travel the world; which I have achieved several times, having been to over 100 countries (so far!)

2. The other was that I would like to play for England at ‘some’ sport. I have also achieved this, having played in a University Rugby League International for England against France in the 1970s.

I am a retired art teacher who was bitten by the travel bug at an early age: I think it was listening to my Dad’s stories of his time in the Royal Navy in the 1940s when he was stationed in India and Ceylon. I am a graduate of Leeds University, I qualified as a teacher at Reading University and I have a Master’s Degree from Manchester University. I have been married to Norma for 44 years, after meeting in 1967 at the age of 18. 1967 isn’t known as ‘The Summer of Love’ for nothing! Sgt Pepper, Flower Power, Whiter Shade of Pale, Jimi Hendrix etc… the best era to be a teenager. At my age I am lucky enough to have achieved most of my dreams, but there’s always room for more. My love of travel, art, cinema, theatre, music and sport has kept me active, and hopefully young at heart, and my dream is to maintain a high level of fitness and health; physically and mentally. I enjoy singing and playing guitar.

Since retiring at the age of 60, I have had three books published:

“You Did Say Have Another Sausage?”… “Ten Camels for My Wife”… “Sir, Where’s ’ Toilet?”

They are collections of anecdotal, light-hearted true stories, mainly to do with travel, but also many other adventures. I hope to continue with further adventures. Also, I work as a professional artist and I have had my work displayed in major exhibitions. I receive many commissions, including sports clubs. I have continued to travel extensively, and my wife and I hiked the Inca Trail in Peru up to Machu Picchu, a few years ago. We sold our house at the end of 2016 and down-sized drastically; to a motorhome. We now divide our time between our apartment in Spain and touring the UK and Europe for the next couple of years. We will be setting off from Spain in April to tour Scotland and Ireland.

Ugly faces at Angkor Wat

– Can you tell us a story that is a living example of you on the road?

– In the 1970s, Norma and I resigned from our jobs, sold our worldly possessions and set off to travel round the world: The Magic Bus to Kathmandu through Syria, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, Pakistan, India, Kashmir. Then on to the Far East, Australia, New Zealand, South Pacific and South America. All the stories from this trip are told in my second book, ‘Ten Camels for My Wife’.

Many of our fellow travellers became good friends. There was a broad demograph of personalities and ages. Many were Australian or New Zealanders returning home after spending time in Europe for a variety of reasons. We met doctors, nurses, teachers, insurance executives, and some hippies.

Being an artist, I always carried basic drawing and painting materials, and this aspect of my travels has led to some interesting encounters on the road…

In Jerusalem, we had arranged to meet some of our friends at a well-known restaurant called ‘Uncle Moustaches’, just inside Herod’s Gate. It was late afternoon and the restaurant was already quite full.

“We have ordered a traditional Israeli dish of chicken, rice and soup for all of us,” said Barry greeting us cheerfully, “It’s called ‘falafel’.”

The restaurant was plainly furnished and generated a friendly atmosphere. We noticed that the walls were covered with numerous drawings, many of them cartoons of figures which we recognised as members of staff. Notably amongst them were images of a gregarious character proudly sporting an outrageous moustache, obviously the eponymous Uncle Moustache himself. Without warning, Colin went over to a waiter and arranged for a piece of paper and pen to be delivered to our table as he volunteered me to do a drawing. The waiter duly obliged and immediately adopted a pose as if it was second nature or part of his job. I accepted the challenge and after a few minutes a small crowd of diners from other tables came over to watch. Just as I finished the drawing to a gratefully-received small ripple of applause, a large jovial gentleman, dressed in an all-white chef’s uniform together with a cartoon-like hat, came over. The moustache was a give-away. It was large, black and luxuriant, fashioned in a handle-bar style which would have been the envy of any World War II R.A.F. pilot. It curled up slightly at the ends and, together with his dark, twinkling eyes, gave the impression that Uncle Moustache wore a permanent smile. He cleared a space on our white table cloth by moving our dishes to one side with a sweep of his arm. He handed me a large black felt-tipped pen and then stood back proudly with his chest out, legs apart and hands on hips; the kind of stance Henry VIII favoured when posing for Hans Holbein. He grinned warmly and gestured with both hands towards his face and then pointed at the white table cloth. I regarded it as a great compliment that the owner of the restaurant should request a total stranger to draw on his table cloth. The crowd of onlookers remained in place and were joined by some of the waiters as I sat looking apprehensively at the daunting virgin canvas in front of me.

“Make it a good one,” whispered Norma encouragingly. No pressure there. Fortunately, my drawing started to turn out well, and after about five minutes, drinks for our party were delivered to our table. Being on a tight budget we protested that we hadn’t ordered further drinks only to be reassured that they were on the house.

“Stretch it out as long as you can,” whispered Colin mischievously as he took a sip of beer.

Uncle Moustache appeared delighted with the finished portrait and he insisted that I sign and date it, which I was happy to do. He then cut out the centre of the table cloth and pinned it up on his wall. I felt relieved that I had passed my test and as we sat down at our table further plates of food were served. Again, on the house.

“From now until Kathmandu,” announced Barry raising his glass “I am going with you to every restaurant. I will save a fortune!”

Portrait drawn by me of a local trader on the road.

– What is the one thing that you never travel without and why?

– That’s easy: My wife Norma, she keeps me on the straight and narrow. After 50 years and over 100 countries together it would be like travelling without a shadow.

Seriously: books, portable art materials and music.

– What is your recipe for keeping it light when you encounter difficulties on the road?

– Humour and a friendly demeanour often works wonders. For example, I organised a tour to Russia and I had to leave my group in Red Square to go to a nearby office for some documentation. When I returned, a barrier had been erected and was manned by two armed soldiers. I tried to explain that the rest of my party were inside the square waiting to visit Lenin’s tomb and the Kremlin. They weren’t prepared to budge, and that’s when I found out that everything in Russian ends in ‘off’.

An American approached me and asked if he could be of assistance. He was accompanied by his Finnish girlfriend, who spoke Russian. So I explained my predicament to him in English; he related it to his girlfriend in Finnish and she spoke to the soldiers in Russian. As the conversation passed back and forth along the line, a small crowd gathered. Two painters on scaffolding even put down their brushes to watch the drama unfolding below. This seemed to go on for ages, as I kept looking frantically at my watch. One particularly long question from the Russians seemed to take even longer in Finnish and then in English. I couldn’t resist; I asked, ‘Could you repeat the question please?’ The American laughed, then his Finnish girlfriend and then sections of the gathered crowd. The Russians kept a straight face, then smiled and raised the barrier. I even received a slight ripple of applause and a thumbs-up from the painters. Thank God for humour.

Alms giving in Laos.

– How has travelling changed for the last several decades?

– There are two distinct sides to this coin:

In one respect, the world has ‘shrunk’ and long-haul travel is much more accessible to many more people. On the other hand, the increase in terrorism, and unstable flashpoints in various parts of the world means that many countries are virtually impossible to visit.

Great advancement in the airline industry means that it is now commonplace for travellers to go on holidays to countries like Australia, New Zealand, America, China, South Africa. Similarly, with cruises: it is no longer exclusive for the rich and privileged elite as it was in the 1950s and 60s. Nowadays, it is perhaps the fastest-growing holiday sector which enables millions to visit far-flung exotic destinations.

However, the world for more adventurous travellers tends to be closing-up: For example, the ‘Arab Spring’ and subsequent terrorist attacks has resulted in tourism to countries such as Tunisia, Morocco, Egypt being severely affected and consequently decimating the economy. When I travelled overland by bus to Kathmandu, the countries I mentioned in Q2 were beautiful, friendly and rich in cultural heritage. Sadly, this trip would be impossible today.

This brings me neatly to another major change: Technology.

When we were on the road there was no such thing as email, facebook, mobile phones, satnavs, tablets, laptops, twitter, or internet.

Our only line of communication were postcards or air-mail letters. Before we left England, we gave family and friends approximate dates of when we would be in a particular town. It was exciting to go into the main post office of say, Damascus, Baghdad, Kabul or Delhi to see if there were any letters waiting for us. Also, Internet banking was unheard of; it was either cash or travellers’ cheques.

Building the Palace in Mykonos.

– You have travelled to more than a hundred countries. From this point of view, what is a common misconception you see many tourists believe in when they start exploring the world?

– Don’t assume that everyone you encounter speaks English. Avoid the age-old British tradition of speaking in English, and then even louder if you are not understood. Try to learn just a couple of words of the local language, such as ‘please’, ‘thank you’, ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. It will be welcomed warmly. Since I retired I have learned to speak Spanish, and this has been appreciated many times, not only in Spain but also in Central and South America.

Be friendly and polite if a street trader will not take ‘no’ for an answer. It is their mission in life to sell you something, and after all, they are trying to make a living.

Remember that you are a guest in a foreign country: respect customs, religions and traditions.

If you visit a ‘third world’ country, accept the fact that levels of hygiene, street litter, poverty, sewers, public utilities are not what you will have grown up with.

– What is your next great challenge?

– The only Baltic country I haven’t visited is Lithuania. I am planning to travel by train from the capital Vilnius to Moldova, Belarus and Ukraine. Countries rich in architectural detail, cultural heritage, fairy-tale cobbled city centres, and, I hope, excellent beer.

All photos courtesy of John Meadows.

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‘Sir, Where’s ’Toilet?’… What kind of a title is that for a book?

Let me explain: It is a question that has haunted me for thirty years. It has followed me through Tiananmen Square, Red Square and Times Square; from the Great Wall of China to the Golden Gate Bridge and the Grand Canyon. It is a question which has echoed along marbled, hushed corridors of museums from the Prado, the Louvre, the Uffizi and New York’s Guggenheim. I have come to the conclusion that school children seem to think that their teachers spend years at University exclusively to acquire an encyclopaedic knowledge of the precise location of toilets anywhere on earth; like a London cab driver who has passed ‘The Knowledge’. At least these days, cabbies have got Satnavs, so perhaps one could be invented for teachers in charge of school trips: Satlavs.

After an overnight flight to China, we were greeted at Beijing Airport by our Chinese guide, Drin. We were all fighting the effect of jet-lag, but nevertheless our host gave us an overly long introductory speech. Amazingly, he then began to sing to us in Chinese. We were amazed at what we heard. How can I describe his distinctive voice? The excruciating sound of fingernails scratching down a blackboard could describe Drin’s singing. He shouted in a throaty style. To be fair, he did occasionally come quite close to the notes he was straining for as he changed key more times than the driver changed gear. He couldn’t hold a tune in a wok. No one fell asleep for the rest of the journey. Perhaps it is a traditional Chinese cure for jet-lag.

When Katie Melua sang ‘There are Nine Million Bicycles in Beijing,’ I think she greatly underestimated the number. The dedicated cycle lanes were a flowing river of humanity. Everyone on the coach was fascinated by the ingenuity of the local cyclists and a competition developed to see who could spot the most outrageous riders.

“Sir, look at this one,” pupils would shout, while pointing at the most hilarious modes of transport. A family of four on a bike was quite a common sight. We saw a man with a settee strapped to his bike, with three kids actually sitting on the couch.

My favourite was a painter and decorator riding his bike while carrying on his shoulder a bamboo ladder; his buckets and tins of paint swinging on the handle bars. He was towing a trailer, a converted pram, which held his decorating table, brushes, rollers and rolls of wallpaper. I doubt if he was breaking any Chinese traffic laws, but he certainly defied Isaac Newton’s laws of motion and gravity. It was a Jackson Pollock waiting to happen.

Most incredible of all was a moped which passed in front of us at a junction. The passenger was holding a large gilt-framed mirror, about 3 feet high by 4 feet wide, about the limit of his outstretched arms. It created a disturbing optical illusion which caused us to become disorientated. Even the driver shook his head at that one. On reflection, a dangerous manoeuvre. Add to this scene a multitude of boxes, cages containing a wide range of live animals and birds, all perched precariously on each bike. A menagerie of who-knows-what, probably on the way to a restaurant.

Just when we thought we had seen everything imaginable, the coach began to slow down, and a pupil claimed first prize for spotting the most bizarre sight of the day. In the middle of the road ahead, a policeman, whistle held tightly between his teeth, was animatedly directing vehicles to follow a line of luminous orange traffic cones which filtered us into another lane. This took us past a hole in the road which could have easily swallowed a bamboo ladder, if the occasional decorator happened along on his bike. The hole was completely encircled by further traffic cones, which caused everyone on the coach to laugh uproariously.

Now what is so hilarious about a scene which is commonplace all over the world, particularly in Britain. Let me add just one more small detail. Each cone was being worn on the head of a Chinese road mender. They were sitting cross-legged in a row leading to the manhole, like pupils wearing dunce caps in a Dickensian school. A row of human traffic cones, sitting inscrutably, like a line of Buddhas searching for enlightenment, hopefully before it went dark. They looked as if they were meditating, probably wondering why their chosen career path had been diverted. I’ve heard of human trafficking, but that’s ridiculous!

Possibly the most dangerous occupations in the world are bomb disposal, astronaut, deep-sea diver or a lion tamer. I think a human traffic cone in Beijing should be added to that list.

Our first excursion could only be to one place: The Great Wall of China. It is over 1500 miles in length, stretching over mountains and deserts. It was designed to be the width of four horsemen, and it can be surprisingly steep between the fortified watch towers.

Its origins can be traced back as far as the 7th Century BC, when several walls were built as protection from invasion from the north. Over centuries they were joined together, and especially famous is the section built in the 3rd Century BC by the first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang. His joining together of the sections of the Great Wall could be described as a metaphor for his joining together of rival states into one great nation. China takes its name from the first Emperor: Qin is pronounced Chin.

We arrived at the Great Wall at a place called Badaling. All of our group, and it seemed every other tourist, bought a lavishly embellished certificate which proudly declared; ‘I walked on the Great Wall of China’.

The local craft market adjacent to the Great Wall dazzled with colour: There were opera masks, paintings, ornaments and sculptures made of jade and onyx, and Chinese cloisonné (metal and enamel work) of vases, brooches, necklaces and bracelets in blues and turquoise. Brightly painted kites were based on fish, dragonflies, birds and butterflies.

We stopped at a stall selling T-shirts, and I chose one with an illustration of the Great Wall covered the whole of the front. It was so big it could probably be seen from outer space. I tried it on for size.

“What do you think?” I asked proudly, extending my arms.

“Well, John,” replied my colleague Roy, with a laugh, “I think they should get the brickies back to this job… The Great Wall is starting to belly!”

And I thought Chinese food was non-fattening.

“John, we certainly don’t get bored on any of your trips,” announced my friend and colleague George, while carrying his suitcase from the coach to Beijing railway station. Our party had to snake its way through a sea of people who were sitting, huddled in groups around their belongings. We literally had to step over people as we negotiated this human obstacle course. At least the huge concourse was less crowded, and we were able to walk in a straight line towards our overnight train to Xian. The station area was so crowded because it was a holiday and all the people were returning to their home towns or villages. The authorities would only allow them into the station concourse nearer to the departure time.

It was lunchtime on a bright sunny day as the sleek silver train pulled out of the station, and everyone started to socialize along the corridor.

“Sir, they’ve got pot noodles in the buffet car,” shouted a couple of pupils, unable to contain their excitement.

“But you’ve been eating Chinese food all week.”

“Yeah, but it’s not been like the Chinese we get in Wigan.”

I must admit that the style of Chinese food we had experienced had differed greatly, depending on which region we had been in.

On the train, most of our pupils seemed to be connoisseurs of the gastronomic delights of pot noodles; how much hot water to add, when to stir and how long to let it stand. Our staff were fascinated, but we chose from the menu.

After all the crowds of Beijing it seemed almost another world as we watched the endless Chinese countryside roll by. Workers in rice fields, ox-drawn carts piled high with produce, children playing; a scene which will have changed very little over centuries. It was as if a silk roll of Chinese landscape painting was being unfolded before our eyes.

Xian, which means City of Everlasting Peace, is famous today as the home of the terracotta warriors, but it is also one of the most important cradles of Chinese civilisation. Our itinerary included The Wild Goose Pagoda and the Banpo Neolithic village museum, dating back 6000 years. Xian marked the start of the famous ‘Silk Road’ which linked China with Central Asia and the Roman Empire. The city is so steeped in history, above and below ground, that there can be no underground railway system, even though Xian has a population of over 7 million.

Contrary to widely held belief, the discovery of the terracotta warriors was a relatively recent event. During a drought in 1974, a local farmer called Mr Yang from Xiyang village, was desperate for water to irrigate his fruit crops and so he started to dig a well. He came across some broken pieces of terracotta, which means baked earth, and at first he thought it might be a hidden temple. He was initially dismayed because it would have had a negative effect on the Fen Shui of the farm land.

Subsequent archaeological excavation revealed the site to be a burial pit of a huge subterranean terracotta army for the afterlife to guard the tomb of Qin Shi Huang. Thousands of bronze arrow heads were found alongside sophisticated bronze mechanisms, which research proved to be triggers for powerful cross bows.

The terracotta army was a wondrous discovery which caused astonishment all over the world. And yet, if the farmer had started digging just a few feet away in a different direction he would have missed the site completely and the terracotta army could possibly still be undisturbed and unknown to us to this day. No-one would have been looking for them because there are no written records, images or myths to tell of their existence. This makes the discovery all the more miraculous. Considering the magnitude of his discovery, I’m surprised that the farmer, Mr Yang isn’t as world famous as, say, Howard Carter, who discovered the tomb of Tutankhamun in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings in 1922, or Hiram Bingham who found Machu Picchu, the lost city of the Incas in the Andes of Peru in 1911.

Subsequently, three burial pits were found and given the very imaginative names of: pit number 1, pit number 2, and yes, you’ve guessed it, pit number 3. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see as we arrived, but, having been to the Forbidden City and the Ming Tombs in Beijing, I thought that there might be a building rich with Chinese Imperial traditions. However, the structure which houses the warriors looks more like a railway station or a sports hall, spanned by a barrel-vaulted roof with a row of skylights. It seems incongruous that such an unimaginative building should be home to one of the most magical creations in human history.

From the viewing platform, I looked down upon the terracotta army, each soldier facing forward, standing to attention, waiting (for over 2,000 years) for the order to march. They are in battle formation in excavated trenches of infantry, cavalry and charioteers flanked by archers. Traces of pigmentation indicate that the soldiers were originally painted to appear lifelike, wearing red armour and green tunics and there is an array of expressions, facial features, facial hair and individual hairstyles. They were not mass-produced clones. The army must have looked terrifying and the warriors still maintain an intimidating presence today. After 22 centuries underground, they are now the familiar monochromatic figures which are famous the world over.

Personally, I felt that it was quite a poignant scene. They are not dissimilar to the sepia photographs or black and white newsreel images of 1st World War soldiers in the trenches of Passchendaele and The Somme. Both armies waiting for the order to send them over the top. Sadly, it seems that the one constant of human history, anywhere, anytime, any culture, is war. When will they ever learn?

We walked around the perimeter of the hall as the warriors maintained a forward gaze. You know when you look at a portrait in an art gallery and the eyes seem to follow you round the room? (Or Chairman Mao in Tiananmen Square) I kept getting this unnerving feeling that I was being watched. An eerie feeling; I wouldn’t like to get accidentally locked in overnight.

As I emerged from viewing the Terracotta Warriors into the bright sunshine, I was met by an excited group of pupils.

“Sir, we’ve volunteered you to become the Emperor Qin of China,” they laughed. Not something you tend to hear every day of the week. They led me to a fenced-off area in the centre of which was a full-size replica of a terracotta horse. I was greeted by one of the resident photographers who dressed me up in a traditional Chinese outfit. It was a full-length ceremonial robe made of golden Chinese silk, richly embroidered in blue. It was topped off with a mortar board which had a curtain of beaded tassels. So, the only times I have worn a mortar board were when I graduated, and when I was Emperor of China.

The laughter and applause from our pupils attracted other tourists, and I soon found myself being paraded around to pose for photographs being taken by people from all over the world. The biggest laugh came when I had to mount the horse. Of course, I couldn’t resist playing to the gallery as I hammed it up and encouraged the terracotta horse to ‘giddy-up’ by enthusiastically pulling the reins and digging his side with my heels.

“That horse doesn’t look very happy with you on its back,” shouted George.

“That’s because it has just realised that it will be carrying top weight in the next race,” jeered Roy.

Roy and George were gradually morphing into Statler and Waldorf from the Muppet Show.

As with all our tours, it was over far too soon and the following day we reluctantly waved goodbye to China.

During the coach journey from London back home to Wigan, I chatted to the pupils and asked them about their favourite memories. Several of our younger girls were unanimous in voting for the pandas at Beijing Zoo, as they all waved their souvenir cuddly toys.

“So, what was your favourite?” I asked Andrew, a year 8 pupil. He seemed lost in thought with a slightly bemused expression, as if I had asked him to explain Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. As he was contemplating my question, I prompted him with a few suggestions; “The Great Wall, the Temple of Heaven, the Chinese Circus, or what about the Terracotta Warriors?”

After further careful consideration, he stroked his chin and finally came to a decision.

“Right,” Andrew declared forcefully, “It was definitely the pot noodles on the train.”

***

Sir, Where’s ’Toilet? by John Meadows is available on Amazon:

Read more travel book excerpts to find your next favorite author!

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