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This is part of a blog series commemorating the 30th anniversary of a life-changing backpacking tour of Europe that I experienced with my friend Joey. In 1979, the British punk rock band, The Clash, released a song called "London Calling..." London calling to the faraway towns Now war is declared, and battle come down London calling to the underworld Come outta the cupboard, ya boys and girls The Clash (1979) For Joey and me on our European adventure, London was indeed calling...  Joey in front of Buckingham Palace in London, England. He is holding our trusty guidebook, Let's Go Europe 1994.  London, England, is an essential stop for everyone on a trip to the UK. Yet, as amazing as this city is with all of its history, famous sights, and dazzling architecture, what I remember most about my first visit was what I didn’t see. When Joey and I arrived in this sprawling metropolis, the date was Saturday, October 8th, 1994. With the aid of my Let’s Go budget travel guidebook, we managed to find a very low-budget dorm in a youth hostel in a very rough neighbourhood and far from the city centre. These sorts of places are filled with an array of odd people–and the cheaper the rate, the stranger the folks there... The next day, we found a church to attend–Westminster Baptist–with a Welsh preacher. After the service, we set out to explore the city, from Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, and Hyde Park to Trafalgar Square, 221B Baker Street, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and Piccadilly. We saw a lot that first day.  Piccadily Square at night. A City With Two TalesWhen we returned to our sketchy youth hostel after that first day of exploring, we settled into the common room and played a few hands of cards. The lounge had a low ceiling, graffitied walls, stained couches, and tired, worn-out tables and chairs. Only a handful of the eclectic youth hostel guests were scattered around the room–reading, writing, or munching on snacks. A television was mounted in one corner, broadcasting the evening news. Someone near the TV turned up the volume, and Joey and I were drawn away from our card game by the news. It turned out that there had been mass protests and rioting in London throughout the day. With all the things we saw that day, somehow, we missed that! What we saw on TV was intense and chaotic. It looked as though the entire city of London was ablaze with rioting. The images on the screen depicted complete bedlam all across the city. This total breakdown of law and order occurred on the very same day Joey and I were trekking around the city. The date was October 9th, 1994. Ministry of Truth: 1994
Here is what we saw that day as we wandered around town:  Here is what we saw on TV that night: 
 When I see rioting and chaos on the news today, I have learned to pause and think. Is this the whole story? Does this four-second clip capture everything that unfolded that day? Are there only ten people involved instead of the “ten thousand” that is hinted at? What is outside the framed shot? What larger context or events are the media outlets leaving out? The term "fake news" hints at this, but it can be misleading; the events aren't necessarily fake, but the way the story is told can be exaggerated, manipulated, or entirely untrue.
We are quick to judge. We are prone to “confirmation bias.” We often see what we already believe we will see. That day in London taught me a powerful lesson in media literacy. I will never forget what I didn’t see that day in London.
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This is part of a blog series commemorating the 30th anniversary of a life-changing backpacking tour of Europe that I experienced with my friend Joey.  Jeremy (the author) at Nelson's Monument in Edinburgh. Getting Around⸺Old School Style
North to Scotland
 Edinburgh Castle Edinburgh is known as “Auld Reekie”—which, despite being a somewhat odorous place, doesn’t mean that the city is extra stinky. The nickname is Scottish for “Old Smokey”—referring to the brownish smoke from the city’s reliance on coal heating in the 1950s. The smoke is long gone, but the name has stuck. Yet, many of the Craigleith sandstone structures are darkened by layers of sooty, black grime accumulated from those decades of coal-burning fireplaces in the mid-twentieth century. The blackened walls, spires, and monuments give the city an eery and macabre feeling. The frequent cloudy grey skies and the inescapable damp chill in the air reinforce this gothic aesthetic. From the “main drag”—called the “Royal Mile”—there are narrow passageways and alleys that wind mysteriously downward between buildings. These shadowy, narrow alleys—called “closes”—further add to the creepy aura of the city.  “Anchor Close” Photo by Adam Bulley  It’s as though you are walking through the pages of Robert Louis Stevenson’s Gothic horror novella, Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886). Though the story is set in West London, Stevenson was from Edinburgh. I suspect he drew inspiration from this city's ominous blackened stone structures and narrow, shadowy alleys. It is widely believed that Stevenson did take inspiration from an Edinburgh resident named Deacon Brodie, a respected cabinet maker and locksmith who was also a burglar by night. The duplicitous carpenter was ultimately caught and hanged on a gibbet—one that he most likely built himself as a carpenter.
My friend Joey was also raised in the church with me, and he was uncertain as to his own faith in God. Yet, early on in our trip, Joey was actively seeking the Lord in ways he hadn’t done before—he was regularly reading the Bible he had with him and he often encouraged us to find churches for worship on Sundays. Providentially, as I sat in a pub staring bitterly into my pint of “bitter,” my heart and mind were drawn to the Lord.
The Apostle Peter says, “Throw all your anxiety onto him, because he cares about you” (1 Peter 5:7 CSB). So, I quietly cast my cares on the Lord. I prayed to Him for help. Moments later, a young Welshman approached me and Joey and asked if we had a place to stay. He was a graduate student at one of the universities in Edinburgh. He and his roommates noticed us (with our massive rucksacks and my yellow raincoat) and wanted to know if we had a place to stay. The Lord answers prayers. He explained that one of their roommates had recently moved out, so they had a spare room. He said we were welcome to come and crash at their place for the night. Without much hesitation, we took him up on the offer. Thinking back on it now, I probably shouldn’t have been so keen to stay at a stranger’s home... Yet, both Joey and I felt this man’s offer was an answer to prayer—which, indeed, it was. When the three roomates led us back to their apartment, the rain had stopped. Weaving through the dark, Edinburgh alleyways and streets, we finally arrived at their cozy little pad. Both the Welshman (whose name I can't recall) and Joey were talented guitarists, so we spent the evening playing and listening to music, singing, laughing, and enjoying good conversation. The Lord abundantly answers prayers. The next day, after bidding farewell to our new friends, God provided us with accommodations at another youth hostel, so we were able to stay the weekend in Edinburgh. We also attended Morningside Baptist Church on Sunday and were tremendously blessed to worship God with His people. My European journey was far from over, and my spiritual journey wasn’t over either. This weekend in Edinburgh, however, proved to be an encouraging spiritual milestone along the way of my spiritual pilgrimage. I was powerfully reminded that “The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged” (Deuteronomy 31:8). 7/29/2024 0 Comments Backpacking Europe '94: Aunt Sybil's "Bootcamp" & The Making of True World TravellersThis is part of a blog series commemorating the 30th anniversary of a life-changing backpacking tour of Europe I experienced with my friend Joey. In the last post, I wrote about my aesthetically transforming encounters with real art while travelling through Europe. In this post, I want to reflect on how my Aunt Sybil helped Joey and me become bonafide world travellers.  Jeremy (the author) and Joey in Aunt Sybil's Austin Mini in Wetherby, West Yorkshire. With our gear rammed into rucksacks, my friend Joey and I boarded a KLM flight to begin our journey to Europe. We flew from the Great White North on Tuesday, September 20, 1994, and crossed the pond to England’s “green and pleasant land.” Our flight plan was from Toronto, Canada to Manchester, England by way of Amsterdam, The Netherlands.
Lost Luggage Our UK destination was the industrial city of Manchester. Upon disembarking and setting foot on English soil for the first time, our enthusiasm was soon diminished by the fact that our luggage failed to appear on the carousel. Over the PA system, a voice declared: “KLM apologizes for the delay. They are experiencing technical difficulties. Your luggage will be available shortly.” Shortly came––and went. It turned out that the cargo doors wouldn’t open, and our backpacks were stuck in the belly of the plane (along with everyone else’s luggage). The airline assured us that our belongings would be shipped to our destination as soon as possible… Pints, pubs, and fish ‘n chips While we were sorting out our luggage situation, Paul Hartley, my cousin (twice removed), was waiting patiently to pick us up at the airport. After a couple of hours delay, we finally exited the airport and met Paul. He cordially greeted us and drove us the hour-and-a-half trek back to the quaint market town of Wetherby in West Yorkshire. It was with Paul that I tasted my first authentic English fish ‘n chips… (though I may have desecrated it with ketchup). I also had my first British pub pint in The Black Bull––the first of many more pubs and pints to come. The airline’s “as soon as possible” timeline was slightly longer than anticipated. I didn’t get fresh undies or deodorant until Thursday, September 22, when a delivery van pulled up to 11 Walton Road in Wetherby and unloaded our packs. September 22 also happened to be my 19th birthday, so this turned out to be a very timely birthday gift! An even greater gift, however, was staying with my Aunt Sybil (Paul's mum, and my grandmother's cousin, making her my first cousin twice removed––or someting like that!). Aunt Sybil was a spunky, good-humoured, and generous matriarch who had no qualms about speaking her mind or whipping into shape two Canadian “yobs” under her tutelage!  Aunt Sybil in her Austin Mini! Aunt Sybil’s Bootcamp A Google Streetview of Aunt Sybil's "warden's cottage" in Wetherby as it looks today (c. April 2024). A “yob” is a British slang word for a loutish and uncultured young person. Although she never called me or Joey that, I am sure she thought it! Early on in our stay in Aunt Sybil’s cute stone cottage, we had a penchant for sleeping in and watching British TV. In other words, we had literally travelled over 5000 kilometers just to vegetate in front of the boob-tube. One particular day, Joey was curled up on the lounge chair, and I was sprawled on the floor watching a hilarious BBC television show called Red Dwarf. Aunt Sybil marched into the sitting room and gave me a firm kick. “Come on,” she said. “What are you two doing sitting in front of the telly? You didn’t come all this way to watch television programmes!” With that, she dragged us out for a walk in the beautiful town filled with stone buildings, ornate street lamps, old-fashioned shops, green shrubs and trees, cozy parks, and a charming arched stone bridge over the River Wharfe.
The day was idyllic: the sun shone, the markets bustled with people, and children played European football in the park. Aunt Sybil spoke about the town's history and various buildings, and other interesting and odd features and facts about Wetherby. Through this experience, she taught me to truly see the unique sights and sounds right before me. She showed me that I needed to make the most of my time while I was in Europe. These were valuable travel lessons, and they were valuable life lessons as well. She also broke me of my TV habit. I had been a television watcher for most of my life. With that swift kick from an elderly woman, I was able to kick the habit, too.  Aerial view of the 13-century Wetherby Bridge over the River Wharfe. Our “Get Going” Guide
I am incredibly thankful for her generosity with the time and energy she invested into Joey and me. We only spent about a week with Aunt Sybil, but her contagious spirit of adventure, her firm guidance, and her inspirational promptings to explore certainly laid the foundation for our travels in the subsequent weeks and months ahead. She prompted and prodded Joey and me to “get off our duffs” and explore the world around us. She helped us sort out how to travel... she showed us what to look for, what we shouldn’t miss, what we can overlook, and how to get there. In short, she taught us how to be true world travellers.  In Joseph Cambell’s theory of the hero’s journey, he includes an archetypal character who prepares and prompts the hero for the adventure ahead. Neither Joey nor I were “heroes,” but we were setting out on an adventurous journey. In famous myths and movies based on the hero’s journey, wise mentors like Merlin, Gandalf, Dumbledore, and Obi-Wan Kenobi fill the “prompting and prodding” role. In many ways, Aunt Sybil was my Gandalf-like guide, the grande dame of exciting exploits. Besides being a generous host (who cooked up splendid British fare), she nudged Joey and me across “the threshold,” and helped us set out on the host of adventures that lay ahead. At the time, it never occurred to me why an elderly woman living alone would be willing to take in two rough-and-tumble teens from Canada. Yet, she did. Perhaps she was having a little adventure of her own! Whatever the case, I am very grateful that she took us in and showed us the way to adventure!  Aunt Sybil Hartley passed away on July 9, 2016 (Photo: Paul Hartley, Facebook)  Jeremy & Joey at the Berlin Wall (1994) After graduating high school, spending the summer at Camp Oneida, and just about to turn 19, I flew to Great Britain to begin a three-month trip. With my school chum, Joey, we explored twelve European countries on foot, by bus, train, and boat. This coming Fall will mark the 30th anniversary of that backpacking tour. Over the next month or so, I hope to write a blog series highlighting my reflections on my time visiting family, meeting new friends, and seeing the sights. For this first post, I want to reflect on the lasting “aesthetic impact” of a few key works of art I encountered on my trip to the Old Counrty. Europe is chock-full of astonishing art and architecture. I saw a lot of art and architecture, from Da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” to the Colosseum in Rome. I would like to highlight here three specific encounters that left an indelible mark in my heart and mind. The first encounterThe first encounter that rocked my world happened in the relatively remote and somewhat industrial town of Glasgow, Scotland. At Kelvingrove Art Gallery, I saw a Rembrandt painting in person for the first time. The painting was “A Man in Armour” (1655). I recall entering the room and immediately, my eyes were drawn to the painting. The painting stood out from all the surrounding paintings. I was entranced by this portrait of a young man burdened with heavy armour and weapons and preoccupied with deep thoughts, possibly of the battles he must soon face. Rembrandt's use of light and shadow (which I did not understand then) completely captivated me. I stared at it. This may have been my first real aesthetic experience with a work of art. I have never forgotten that moment.
The second encounterLater on in the trip, we saw a concert in Amsterdam, The Netherlands. The historic concert hall––The Concertgebouw––is renowned for its beauty and acoustics. On a Sunday evening in late October, we sat with hundreds of other guests in plush chairs and gazed up at the 17-meter-high ornate ceiling. That evening I heard my first concerto in person. I saw the conductor directing the musicians, I heard the harmonizing of so many complementary instruments, and I felt the music brush against my skin and pierce my soul. I had never "felt" music before. The pieces we heard weren’t particularly remarkable–Johannes Brahms’ “Piano Concerto No. 2, op. 83” and Arnold Schönberg’s “Violin Concerto, op. 36.” What resonated with me was seeing, feeling, and hearing music performed live in a superbly designed acoustic space. I had been to concerts with synthesized instruments, electirc guitars, and amplified music... but this was incarnated beauty, beauty I could touch. This was truly electric.  The Royal Concertgebouw, Amsterdam, The Netherlands A third encounterLastly, we visited the Vatican––with its treasure trove of art and artifacts. For reasons I can’t recall, we missed seeing Pope John Paul II, who regularly appeared on the balcony above San Pietro Piazza. We managed to see the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, craning our necks to look up and squinting our eyes to see the smaller-than-expected frescoes.  Inside the Sistine Chapel, Vatican City, Rome, Italy What moved me the most, however, was La Pietà by Michelangelo (1498-1499), the marble sculpture of the lifeless body of Jesus lying across the lap of his earthly mother. Upon entering the nave of St. Peter’s Basilica––the world’s largest church––we took in the astonishing beauty of that sacred space. Then, I was drawn to the right, where I saw the Chapel of the Pieta and the sculpture within.  La Pietà is a marble sculpture of Jesus and Mary at Mount Golgotha by Michelangelo. Saint Peter's Basilica, Vatican City, Rome, Italy What Michelangelo achieved with this masterpiece is unparalleled. La Pietà simultaneously conveys natural and realistic beauty, the idealism of classical beauty, and profound theological beauty. I saw a mother and son, I saw a god-like hero broken and in seeming defeat, and I saw the Virgin Mary with the Son of God. I saw the paradox of the crucifixion in that work––profound love and deep sadness, life and death, victory and defeat––all commingling in the tender maternal moment captured with hammer and chisel. I saw artistry that I had never seen before––living marble––breathing, feeling, weeping stone. This was Mary, who pondered in her heart the mysteries of her son, who Simeon told that her child was “appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed” (Luke 2:19, 34-35). This was Jesus, God in the flesh. All of this didn’t hit me at once as a 19-year-old kid wandering around the cobblestone streets of Europe. Thirty years of reflection and contemplation have given me much time to really comprehend what happened to me during these encounters with real art in the real world. Since then, I have learned a lot more about art. I have seen more art, and I have been back a few times to see them again. I spent ten years writing about faith and art, and I wrote a book on the subject. But with these three encounters, a seed was planted, and a fire was kindled. It was an encounter with truth, beauty, and goodness. Like Shakespeare’s Romeo, as he gazed upon the beautiful Juliet for the first time, I, too, declared, “Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.”  All Things New: Essays on Christianity, culture & the arts by Jeremy W. Johnston (Joshua Press, 2018) |
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