When I was a small boy growing up in 1960s Swindon, I loved my visits to the public library in Cavendish Square. My mum used to take me there regularly and I literally devoured the books that I borrowed. I was particularly taken with the chronicles of flying ace James “Biggles” Bigglesworth (the creation of actual Great War Royal Flying Corps. Pilot W.E. Johns) and I’m pretty sure I read every single Biggles adventure there ever was. I would often read my books in a couple of days then have to wait another week or whatever before I go back and change them so some of them were read multiple times. In the books, Biggles was born in India and grew up fluent in Hindi and I wonder now if this was what fascinated me because my grandfather had served in the Royal Signals in India in the 1930s and my mum, born in Catterick, spent her early years there.
Of course I read all kinds of other books as well. I loved science books on all subjects, focusing more on chemistry and physics as I got older. I read a variety of fiction, particularly adventure stories. I do not remember reading much in the way of history, which is odd because half the books I read now are history, but I do remember reading everything I could get my hands on otherwise. As for many other boys of my age, the Eagle comic was a staple and I couldn’t get enough of the Commando Picture Library and similar war stories. I often think about these now because when I was a kid and reading them, I had no real understanding of time. The Second World War was remote to me but recent memories to the adults around me. My mother had been evacuated to the country, her father had won the Distinguished Conduct Medal (at Dunkirk) and my father had served in the British Army in the Far East campaign.
My grandparents on my mum’s side subscribed to the Reader’s Digest and I read every one of these when we visited them (“It pays to increase your word power” and all that jazz) as well as my grandad’s Soldier magazine. My grandma used to take me to the public library near where she lived in south London when I stayed with her in the summer holidays and would buy me comics from the newsagent at the end of her street. I read and read and read.
When I was around 10, and I think this must have come via my grandparents, although I don’t remember exactly how, the Reader’s Digest World Atlas arrived in our house. I still have it today. I adored this atlas and pored over the pages again and again and again. I can still picture the book taken out of its cardboard sleeve (I still have this too) and spread open our the dining room table.
Growing up in a council house in a post-war London overspill new estate, the pages of that atlas were a wonder to me. I read about Biggles’ adventures in Africa and Latin America, the Baltic and the Mediterranean, dreaming of these places but not in the expectation I would visit them. Bearing in mind that I never went out of England until I was at university (and then only to France) and that the first time I flew anywhere was when I first flew on business when was 23, the pages of that atlas had a profound effect on me.
I now look at the pages covering the Soviet Union and think about how I had studied them as a boy, fascinated by St. Petersburg but never imagining that one day I would actually go there and visit The Hermitage, fascinated by the pages with the Caspian Sea and Lake Baikal on them, fascinated by the pages covering China while assuming that I would never get to see the Great Wall for myself (which still nudges the Grand Canyon into second place for the most astonishing thing I’ve seen with my own eyes.)
(When I was a little older, beginning to think about going to University — I’m part of that boomer generation whose forebears had never been to university: Not only was it free, but because my parents were poor I was given a local authority grant which paid for my living costs! — and what sort of career I might have as a scientist, I began to focus more and more on America. In the 1970s, America was Kojak and CHiPS and I really wanted to live in California, a dream that I did finally achieve in the 1980s.)
Anyway, I’m telling you this for a couple of reasons. I’ve just finished reading Jack Weatherford’s “The Secret History of the Mongol Queens”, a follow-on from his excellent “Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World”, and I’m now reading Marie Favereau’s “The Horde: How the Mongols changed the world” and it brings back the memory of a small boy looking at the central Asian steppe in that world atlas from half a century ago and never for one moment thinking I would set foot on it. Having read Peter Frankopan’s fantastic “The Silk Roads: A New History of the World” a few years ago, I’ve become ever more interested in the history of Central Asia that I never learned at school. As for setting foot there… Well, last week I was in Almaty, the biggest city in Kazakhstan, and I had a wonderful time.
Many years ago, I wrote a blog post about Kazakhstan because it had the the highest penetration of EMV terminals in the CIS and environs (at that time more than nine in ten POS terminals had already been upgraded to chip) and I couldn’t resist making fun of America by posting a picture of a chip and PIN terminal for the well-known fictional character “Borat” to take with him on his next visit to America…
Yes, it was a chip and PIN terminal. Anyway, some 16 years after I wrote that blog post, I finally got to make a chip and PIN transaction in Kazakhstan for myself. I never got any local currency, I just used my cards everywhere I went and they worked perfectly every time. For example, I stopped in for a coffee whilst having a wander around the leafy streets near my hotel. It had an excellent menu:
It also had excellent coffee, which I paid for by tapping a contactless card on one of the ubiquitous contactless terminals.
I was the only person who did this, by the way, because everyone else who bought coffee used QR. QR was everywhere, from the main streets to the tourist attractions to the mountain tops.