My Circumnavigation of the World

MY CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF THE WORLD

All-consuming fear

          The first leg of my circumnavigation of the world was indeed the very first time I had flown alone. I was to go to Singapore for a two-year volunteer mission for my church. I’d be stopping for three weeks at Salt Lake City for training. It would take three flights to reach Salt Lake, during which, I would have to find my way around three foreign airports. Alone. Admittedly, I was a terrified 19-year-old. I said goodbye to my family and departed from Birmingham International Airport on an American Airlines jet with a tear in my eye as I looked out of my seat window to the airport, realizing I would not see my mum again for two years.

Here I am with my family at Birmingham International Airport, moments before I said goodbye

          The only memory I have of this particular journey was that the plane was less than half full. An air stewardess told me that I could take a whole row of seats for myself and enjoy the flight. But the fear of arriving alone at a foreign airport was all-consuming.

Terribly intimidated

          The memory of landing at Chicago O’Hare International Airport is extremely thin. What I do recollect is feeling awfully lost and terribly intimidated at the immigration counters. I hadn’t filled in the entry card correctly and had left a number of details blank. The officer bluntly ordered me away to complete the form as police all dressed up for war stared me down. I was a complete newbie and I was under a lot of pressure.

          Of course, this was USA in June 2002, just nine months on from the 9/11 terror attacks, so airports were on red alert and I was treated just like every other traveller – guilty until I had been mentally interrogated, body and bags had been scanned and searched, and all had been declared safe – or so it seemed. But given the new wave of terror freshly dusted in the USA, I couldn’t blame them.

          I eventually got through immigration, and so deep were the impressions on my mind, I could barely concentrate to read my boarding pass correctly. I momentarily panicked when I thought I was lost, but after asking around, I found people to be quite helpful. I was in good time for my next flight.

Three back-to-back flights

          It had been a beautiful day in America since I entered its airspace from high above the Atlantic Ocean. I was slightly more confident that I could find my way through Dallas Fort Worth after touching down in Texas from Chicago. Making sure that I was on time for three back-to-back flights in the same day occupied all of my attention, so my memory of the small things has regrettably faded. I’m sure I called home in Chicago to tell my mum I was fine and had landed safely in America. As for Dallas Fort Worth, things moved by quickly and I was soon on the plane again, this time to Salt Lake City, my destination for the next three weeks.

Indescribable relief

          I touched down safely in Salt Lake City and praised the Lord. Three flights had taken me from England, across the Atlantic and almost the entire land mass of the United States of America. Eight time zones in all. It was now night time and nearing the end of a very long and tiring day.

          Now, I was supposed to be met by a friend, Nate, at SLC airport. I had met all my scheduled flights and collected my luggage. Then I waited where I thought we were supposed to meet. Ten minutes passed with no sign of Nate. I began to grow worried. I went to a nearby payphone and called my mum in England. I must have sounded desperate by this time! She told me she’d try and contact Nate to check where he is. I suddenly felt homeless and helpless in a foreign country. There I was standing in an airport over 8,000km away from home with two large suitcases wondering where I was going to sleep that night. Waiting for a pick-up may seem a trivial matter, but to this nineteen-year-old jetting the globe in solitary company, it was a matter of life and death. Well, my despair was short-lived because Nate soon arrived apologizing for being late. My relief was indescribable. I had completed my lonely journey from Birmingham, England to Salt Lake City, USA on a lengthy Tuesday 18^th June, 2002.

Horrific howling

          The night of Tuesday 18^th June, 2002 was spent at Nate’s house. 

Here I am checking in at the Provo Missionary Training Centre (MTC) the following afternoon. I look so young and inexperienced

My circumnavigation of the globe would continue just under 3 weeks later. 

Here’s another picture of me shortly before leaving the MTC. A friend and I point to the next point of embarkation on our journey, the fantastic island city of Singapore

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          On Monday 8^th July, 2002, after nineteen days of training in Provo, I resumed my adventure with several fellow-volunteers. It sure was a whole lot more exciting and reassuring to finally be flying in the company of some friends. We took the short flight from Salt Lake City to San Francisco, a major airport with a 3km-long runway, standing as the hub for huge trans-Pacific air voyages.

        

  An aerial view of San Francisco’s main airport

          From there we flew on a United Airlines plane to Hong Kong. There was an extremely scary moment somewhere over the Pacific Ocean when we encountered some severe turbulence. The plane was rolling left and right, each wing in turn being forced up at 45 degree angles. Matthew Lee, sitting beside me, spilt his orange juice all over his trousers during the commotion. It would have been funny but for the horrific howling and wailing of a Chinese-looking lady in the window row beside us. A male companion was trying to calm her down but to no avail. It was like a scene from a movie, but fortunately this lady’s screams were an isolated case. After a few minutes of wild turbulence, the pilot made an obvious right turn and an increase in altitude as the cries ceased and normal service was resumed.

          It is difficult to catch up with the pilots who navigate our flights. I have managed it just once in my life. I would have liked to have thanked the pilot who skillfully controlled my flight to Hong Kong.

         

 The typical flight path from San Francisco to Hong Kong

Immediately felt at home

          Matthew, my friend who unfortunately spilt orange juice down his trousers 40,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean, was having more problems at Hong Kong International Airport. He discovered that he had given in his boarding pass to Singapore at San Francisco, so he and Jacob Brown had to go off and explain the situation. We spent the next half an hour looking for them around the airport only to find that they had already checked in and were waiting for us.

Here I am at Hong Kong International Airport:

          The Hong Kong to Singapore flight was turbulent in patches but not to the extent of our trans-Pacific experience. Furthermore, this was the last leg of my circumnavigation of the world for around two years.

          

An aerial view of Singapore’s Changi airport

          Arriving at Changi airport represented the half-way mark. We got through immigration at Changi at around 1am local time on Wednesday 10^th July, 2002. I remember the balmy heat hitting me like a brick wall when the doors to the night air opened. Warm at the dead of night! We were tired and groggy when our Mission President, Joseph Flake Boone, greeted us in the arrivals hall. He was dressed in a shirt and tie with immaculately kept hair and had the warmest smile, welcoming yet conservative, and I immediately felt right at home on the other side of the planet – for the first time since I left England in June.

          We were soon taken to our accommodation for the night. I was to spend the next two years in volunteer service briefly in Singapore, and more prominently in Peninsular Malaysia and Borneo. The adventures, stories, heartaches, joys and personal growth I experienced in those two years filled four volumes.

          

A map of my home for two years in South-east Asia

         

 Some of my friends who travelled with me from Salt Lake City to Singapore. L-R: Jacob Brown, Neal Solomon, Me, Micheal Hubbard, Matthew Lee:

Leaving my Asian home

          The two halves of my round-the-world journey were the slices of bread that held the much larger filling of two years of volunteer service to the people of Malaysia and Singapore. The sandwich wouldn’t be of any nutrition without that filling, and suffice it to say, it was delicious beyond anything I had ever tasted.

Three friends accompanied me to Singapore’s Changi airport on the night of Wednesday 23^rd June, 2004. If I could, I would have gladly quit my circumnavigation of the world right there in Singapore. Two years since arriving in South-east Asia, I did not want to leave because I had fallen in love with the place, the people, the food, everything. Malaysia and Singapore had captured my heart and I had never felt more at home than where I was right then. I had gained a whole new circle of beautiful friends in Petaling Jaya, Klang, Ipoh, Sitiawan, Kuching (all Malaysia) and Singapore.

          Two years ago, as I left England for America, I was filled with a fear of flying alone into the unknown. But it was even harder leaving my Asian home on this particular night.

          My friends and I had a Burger King meal at the airport and took photos together before my departure. It was the first time in my life that I didn’t enjoy a Burger King. There was just an empty feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach, more mental and emotional than physical, and it ached. It ached and ached. It was similar to the butterflies in the stomach associated with nervousness; slightly nauseous would be the best way to describe it.

          

With a couple of friends shortly before my departure from Changi airport, Singapore: (L-R: Micheal Hubbard, Me, Jake Claus)

         

I had accumulated a lot of stuff during my stint in Asia and I was 30kg overweight in baggage. The airport was ready to charge me 1,635 Singapore dollars! It was fortunate that I had already planned a trip back to Singapore the following month with my family, so I was able to leave one suitcase with my friend in Singapore and collect it the next month. That was definitely a moment where I was thankful to have good friends around and a family who had planned to come and see my Asian home. A wonderful piece of good fortune, as many of my fellow-volunteers have never returned to this part of the world.

          So I rearranged my suitcases right there in the airport and put all the important stuff in the one I was taking with me.

          When I reached the gate for departure, I saw my plane waiting outside. Qantas Airlines. An absolute beast! What a sight! The flight was slightly delayed so by the time of departure, it was already after midnight. That would have consequences for the final leg of my journey. The take-off was so smooth that I couldn’t feel it leaving the runway – the same could be said of the landing in Frankfurt, Germany twelve hours later. The smoothness of the flight and the pleasant company of the many Germans on board unfortunately didn’t match my desire to be on it.

My heart was left behind

Frankfurt airport in Germany was the most difficult airport to get around that I experienced on my circumnavigation of the globe. With no signage in English, it required asking people/airport staff for directions. My delayed flight from Singapore had landed at 7am local time and given me just 30 minutes until my connecting flight departed. There was no way I was going to make it!

An aerial view of Frankfurt airport in Germany

I managed to rearrange my journey back to England for the next flight at 11am. It gave me plenty of time to find my way around the German labyrinth. I also called Birmingham International Airport and left a message for my mum, Joanna, who would be waiting there wondering why I wasn’t on my scheduled flight.

I did bump into a lovely family from Montana at Frankfurt airport (see picture below) and discovered that we belonged to the same church, albeit in different countries. It’s nice when that happens!

We had to walk from our departure gate to the airplane – myself and around two dozen others. The walk seemed endless. Finally we arrived at a tiny propeller plane and my heart sank.

          My head was at an angle as I squeezed into the cabin in my seat. A little cramped for my liking but it was going to get me home. During the ascent I could dizzyingly feel the plane moving up through all the altitude levels which made my head throb each time. The air stewardess asked me if I wanted an orange juice. Afraid of bringing it straight back up, I politely passed!

          After a short flight I touched down where I started two years ago – Birmingham International Airport. I was genuinely happy to see my mum again, yet I was also authentically dejected to be in England. It was one of the weirdest feelings I’ve ever experienced. To have spent two years in the exclusive service of others and to have loved every minute of that time, then two flights later to have been stripped bare of all the beautiful duties of that work was a pill that I was trying to swallow but having trouble getting it down my throat. I didn’t know whether to smile or sob. I think I ended up doing something rather boring in between.

         

The cold chill when alighting the small British Airways propeller plane was a harsh reminder that the warm tropical climate I had so loved was now a world away, and I have to report that during my circumnavigation of the world, my heart was left behind in South-east Asia.

My Journey to Kuantan - Part 2 - Serving As A Volunteer

This week I'm recounting my journey to Kuantan. If you missed Part 1, do click this link to read 

Raised in England

I finished my formal education at English Martyrs Roman Catholic high school with 1 A, 6 Bs and 3 Cs. I was pleasantly surprised and quite ecstatic with these results since all of my school years were spent in the love of sports. Quite frankly, English aside, I felt no interest sitting in a classroom.

My passion was competing on a tennis court and a football pitch, where I enjoyed huge success with my church team from the years of 1994-2002. We played against other teams from churches in the area, and I can tell you those battles were serious and anything but holy! It fired me up and I developed a love of winning.

All through my teenage years I knew that when I reached 19 years old, I would go and serve as a full-time volunteer for my church. This would last for 2 years. It would mean leaving behind my family and friends (and beloved sports!), to go and do something for somebody else.

The only fuzzy detail was where exactly in the world I would be asked to perform my volunteer work!

On 19 March, 2002, I received a letter from the church headquarters that would change the direction of my life forever.

I had been chosen to serve in Singapore and Malaysia!

I remember excitedly pulling out the atlas and raiding Google to find out where these countries were!

This was my name tag which I wore in some parts of my volunteer service

So for two years, from June 2002 - June 2004, I served as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in a most fantastic part of the world. I worked in various places around Singapore and Malaysia.

I have filled over 600 pages of my personal record detailing these two years. Suffice it to say they were the best two years of my life.

Now I'll share just a few of the many photos from this period in my life:

During our volunteer service, there were certain standards of appearance, conduct and organization we were expected to show. This is a typical 'blue planner' we used to plan our activities each week:

At Hong Kong airport en route to Singapore to begin my volunteer service (9th July, 2002)

Celebrating Chinese New Year in Petaling Jaya (PJ), West Malaysia, with some good friends from China (2003)

On a crowded bus going to the beach in Kuching (2003)

While I was serving in Kuching, East Malaysia I met this lovely family - Brother Michael, with two of his daughters, Florina (L) and Florianna (R). He had three other daughters; Felicia was studying in Johor, Felicity was at school in Genting, and Fidelia, who would later become my wife, was studying at Labuan. (2003)

Being sent to Kuching and meeting Fidelia's family was a huge part of my journey to Kuantan, even though I didn't know it at the time!

Meeting for dinner with church members in a small wooden house in Kuching, East Malaysia (2003)

Having a meeting with fellow volunteers on the balcony of the church in Kuching, East Malaysia (late 2003/early 2004)

Visiting a fruit farm in Kuching, East Malaysia (2004)

Two of the cutest little girls I met on my mission, Sitiawan, West Malaysia (2004)

Meeting with fellow volunteers in Ipoh, West Malaysia (2004)

Riding the MRT in Singapore one last time before my two-year volunteer contract expired and I'd head back home to England (June 2004)

With Elder Hubbard and Elder Claus at Changi International Airport, Singapore. Awaiting my flight home with a great deal of sadness (23 June, 2004)

My two-year volunteer mission was pivotal in my journey to Kuantan. I got to know and love the country of Malaysia, and I became good friends with Fidelia's family in Kuching!

Please visit this link for all you need to know about my church's volunteer missionary service program and how it works.

Stay tuned for Part 3 tomorrow!

A Eulogy of President Joseph Flake Boone

I often think of President Joseph Flake Boone and the time I was privileged to spend with him from 2002-2003. I came up with this little eulogy which I hope provides an apt description of this man and helps many of us to remember more vividly this inspired leader who laboured amongst us.

A GLORIOUS MEETING – A LIFETIME OF INFLUENCE

          I can’t think of any other occasion comparable to it in my life. I doubt there has been anything that has left such an indelible impression upon me. Of all the people I have met from day to day, month to month, and year to year, he stands uppermost like a cedar of Lebanon, a beacon of light over a stormy sea, an ever-filling well of water in a lost and lonely quarter of the desert.

      Meeting President Joseph Flake Boone is like meeting a mountain. I had this gargantuan privilege as an incoming missionary in my twentieth year. After a weary flight across the Pacific and down the edge of South-east Asia, I arrived in the early hours of the morning at Singapore’s Changi airport. As my group cleared the immigration and baggage reclaim, and slowly trudged away, we saw him standing behind the glass double-doors ahead. And what a sight it was. It’s hard to express adequately in words the thought process in the brain and the feelings of the heart upon fixing my gaze on this man at 1:30am. It is fair to say that all tiredness fled in an instant. After transiting through four foreign airports in between three flights I had felt lost in a big wide world. Now for the first time, with my Mission President no longer just a picture in a booklet, but standing in the flesh right before my eyes, I felt as close to home emotionally as I was as far away geographically.

      Despite his large stature, one was drawn to his benign face, his benevolent countenance beaming, evidence of a deeply pious life based upon living principles of truth. His open, square-shaped spectacles sat snugly on his cheekbones giving him an air of intelligence and power. His eyes seemed to search me astutely from behind those glass lenses. I immediately had the impression that those probing eyes were examining my every action, word and thought, and when he smiled with a dancing glint in his pupils, I smiled back. His smile was modest, not extravagant, his lips creasing at the corners but without displaying his teeth. He seemed to smile more with his eyes than his mouth. I could tell he trusted me and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

      His taupe hair was immaculately parted at the side and flowed across the top of his head where it effortlessly swept over and down to the left, allowing his tall forehead, that walking Bible Dictionary, to prop up his moderate crop of hair. His cheeks, which expanded when he smiled, smoothly curled down into a round, pointed chin. His crisp white shirt and conservative tie neatly adorned his broad torso.

      As he offered his huge hand, I extended my considerably smaller one, upon which he grasped it tightly and I felt this man’s momentous power with each firm shake of his robust arm. That was a proper handshake.

      He resembled a stripling warrior, an example of exact obedience. He was like a classic Book of Mormon prophet, large in stature, mighty in spirit, word and deed. He was the closest man I have ever been acquainted with, to the description we love, of Captain Moroni. Throughout my one-year association with him, he was akin to a living Captain Moroni, a plausible panacea whose very presence was a delight to be in, a balm containing both physical and spiritual properties.

      During a number of personal conversations with him he would sit, completely engulfing the chair he was seated on, with one leg crossed over the other, and his enormous books of scripture resting on his knee. I would perch attentively on the edge of my chair, and whilst normally I would feel extremely intimidated and overwhelmed by the sheer size and build of this man had it been anyone else, but all I could feel was awe and respect as brotherly kindness and love oozed from his spirit to mine.

      In many conferences he would speak for hours on end from a bulky stack of papers he had prepared, skipping over some and selecting the information he was moved upon to share. It is unanimous to say that our pencils were blunt after these conferences, but our minds were considerably sharper.

      Many a tear was shed on one of the last occasions we saw President Joseph Flake Boone and his wife before their contract expired and were about to make their way back home to the States. The missionaries serving in Singapore had prepared a special hymn with adapted words to the tune “O Ye Mountains High,” and there was not a dry eye in the chapel that day as we sang with heartfelt gratitude for his great leadership and labour of love. Such was the impact, power and example of this laudable man, that even merely a rare saunter down the street with him in terms of the long journey of life, has left an indissoluble impression upon our hearts.

      I strain to conjure up a more powerful, apt or justifiably fitting tribute to this man of God than that which describes the man he vividly resembles:

     

      “. . . and this was the faith of President Joseph Flake Boone, and his heart did glory in it . . . in keeping the commandments of God, yea, and resisting iniquity. Yea, verily, verily I say unto you, if all men had been, and were, and ever would be, like unto President Joseph Flake Boone, behold, the very powers of hell would have been shaken forever; yea, the devil would never have power over the hearts of the children of men.” (Alma 48:16-17)




To those of you, who like me, were mighty privileged to serve with President Boone, I would appreciate your comments about this post. Perhaps you have a specific memory of a special time you had with President Boone. Feel free to leave your comments so that we may all reminisce about this great time of our lives.