During that summer, clutching my British visitor’s passport, I took off for Corfu in Greece, on my own. I stopped for a while in London, as many of my friends from home, had moved en masse, to London, to set up camp, find work and generally have a good time.
As employment in our home town was difficult to obtain at this time (as it is now), London drew the young adventurous unemployed like a magnet.
Stories of wild extravagant lifestyles in London also helped to persuade the undecided to make the Journey. We all thought London was still ‘swinging’ as the media had told us during the sixties.
Hitchhiking to London was a major event for me as I had only travelled as far as Glencbe on my own.
In any event I seemed to have kindled a spirit of adventure within myself, perhaps aided by reading of Kerouac’s novels, especially ‘On the Road’.
After London, I hitched down to Dover and across the channel to Ostende.
It didn’t take my long to cross Belgium as I had decided my first stop would be the Vondelpark in Amsterdam, where I heard I could sleep outdoors for free, and see concerts for free, etc.,
Belgium seemed like a nothing country, flat and lifeless, but Holland made a great impression upon me.
I often have these great inspiring ideas, but usually they lead me to forget basic details, for example, where to eat or sleep, etc.,
Once I started hitching in Europe, I did not know, when to stop.
Eventually near Rotterdam in the middle of some road, between towns X and Y, I began to realise, I could not do everything at once, I would have to sleep somewhere for the night.
I was unaccustomed to this way of life and I began to feel a little alone, afraid and helpless, by the middle of the night, as well as a little ~ulri and damp.
I did not carry very much equipment, as I was a firm believer in travelling light i.e. I did not,) possess a tent, only a cheap sleeping bag and a large sheet of polythene.
Vaguely I could see that I was on the bank of some canal, so I hesitated for a while, before deciding to bed down for the night.
I was terrified of all the possible horrors, that could occur night, for instance rolling over into the canal, getting beat local farmers, trampled by a horse, run over by a tractor, etc., to me during the night.
So with these eerie thoughts in mind I eventually drifted off into slumber.
I awakened in the morning surprisingly unhurt, but also very, very wet, with dew, as it evidently had not been raining.
I had rolled out of my protective polythene sheet, so that my sleeping bag was now soaking wet.
Luckily my discomfort had wakened me early, so that I had a full day to press on for Amsterdam.
I travelled via Utrecht and saw some splendid countryside before reaching Amsterdam.
In Amsterdam I located the Vondelpark and spent a wonderful time there, until night, when it began to rain and re-soak my scarcely dry, sleeping bag.
I had taken a precaution against possible rain by sleeping out under a tree, but the rain was too heavy and people began moving and everyone seemed to congregate under the numerous bridges within the park that offered necessary shelter.
Under such bridges one was able to light fires, smoke, drink and keep warm, but we were raided frequently by the police (because of the fires) and I bore witness to some strange hostility between the young people and the Dutch police.
Many bottles and stones were thrown at the police and an air of anarchism was evident.
I was astounded by the amount of freedom people enjoyed in Amsterdam, especially concerning the drug laws.
In fact, the whole underground movement in Amsterdam seemed more militant and much better organised than elsewhere. The Dutch authorities seemed to accept the individuals right to personal freedom.
The next day I decided to find some cheap accommodation as I did not have enough unbroken sleep the two previous evenings.
After I had secured a bed at a type of hostel for tourists, I went back to Vondelpark to see a free concert given by the Freddie King the legendary electric blues guitarist, (who has since died). This must rank as the best performance I have ever seen.
However, I also realised that there was rather easy attitude towards other types of crime in Amsterdam and I often felt uneasy walking around the streets or sitting, in the park.
Perhaps this was an omen to forewarn me of when I reached Istanbul.
Despite difficulties getting my initial lift out of Amsterdam, I was soon through the border and travelling across Germany for the first time. I would have to admit that Germany was a lot different from what I had expected.
My expectations had been formed by the glimpses I had seen of a war-torn country, during old American war movies. I expected to see tanks and bombsite; instead I kept seeing trees, factories and new buildings.
The countryside seemed to blend into the cities and towns and vice-versa.
I was further taken aback by German hospitality and obtaining lifts was very easy, in fact, one extremely kind family went out of their way to show me around the university city of Heidelberg.
Soon I had crossed over into Switzerland, which was very similar to Southern Germany, except that prices seemed to double. At Basel, I spent an expensive night in a Youth Hostel.
I have always tried to keep expenses down to a minimum when I am travelling, so that I can go further. Owing to the expense of essential items in Switzerland I really whizzed through the country via Berne, Lausanne, Montreux and finally out in the Great St Bernard Pass into Italy.
I recall a few eerie, lonely experiences in the Swiss Alps near the border with Italy, especially when I could not seem to get a lift.
On our arrival in Italy the weather suddenly changed, for the better, thus I could sleep out and wake up in the morning feeling warm. This apparently idyllic episode was not without incident.
One night during a fog I decided to spend the night bedded down on a stretch of grass and I soon fell asleep. The next morning I was being shook awake by an Italian policeman who enquired after my health, I was utterly astonished and exclaimed I was perfectly well and thanked him for his interest. He seemed satisfied with that reply and left me to drift back into slumber.
On awakening to the usual sound of noisy Italian traffic, I was amazed to discover that I had spent the night sleeping on the middle of a roundabout, in the middle of a somewhat busy road.
So, it finally dawned on me, that’s what the policeman was doing, checking to see if I was perhaps an accident victim or a drunk or a lunatic. He was probably convinced by my reactions that I was a member of the latter group and he decided to give me a wide berth.
In my opinion the policeman should not have let me continue sleeping in the middle of a roundabout.
This incident does help to indicate how the pace of life is much slower in Southern Italy.
Another point is that apparently unimportant events seem to become obsessive interests in Southern Italy, whereas, what normal people regard as important are seen to be mere trivia, to Italians.
Another incident was soon to occur, which almost put me off hitchhiking for life.
I was picked up by a well-dressed, middle-aged, Italian gentleman, who seemed quite content to drive on in silence. Suddenly, quite out of the blue, he put his hand on my knee, I was so shocked and thought perhaps he was going to tell me something important, but he persisted.
I immediately struck his band and snarled something he couldn’t understand, but he could understand the gesture. I told him to stop the car and let me out, which he did. When I was out I ran and ran as fast as I could, half expecting him to come after me, luckily he had realised his mistake and he flew off in the other direction.
After this my luck seemed to change, and I had to wait a whole day for a lift near Pescara, that never materialised. As night fell I walked into Pescara feeling utterly dejected, but my confidence was soon restored as some kind students took pity upon me and offered to put me up for the night. Not only did they give me a room to sleep in, but they also gave me food and drink. After a long day in the hot sun putting up with cruel eyetalians, who thought it was a big joke when they signaled and stopped the car ahead of me, waited for me to catch up and then drove off, laughing and shouting.
These Italians seemed to have gold hearts.
Whenever I was really down, depressed and disheartened something always seemed to turn up (as Mr. Micawber used to say) and this made me forget any previous hardships. I awoke refreshed the next day and with the sunlight streaming into my all-white, room, I cordially thanked rot hosts, and left. I decided not to waste any more time and boarded a train from Pescara to Brindisi, where I could obtain a boat for Corfu.
In Southern Italy, I was amazed at the contrasting mode of life with that of Northern Italy and I saw the full force of the real poverty of the South on the train ride to Brindisi. Aboard the train I made friends with two Swiss students, both male and comparatively wealthy. One of them was exceedingly eccentric, but this eccentricity was mainly centred around his smoking habit. What was unusual about this was that he always carried around an assortment of smoking requisites, viz;a bag full of cigarettes, cigars, pipes and a wide variety of tinned tobaccos. I firmly believed, like most people of my generation that smoking has a negative effect upon one’s health, yet here was a young person, who smoked non-stop, literally. almost as if he had a death wish. When he stopped smoking cigarettes, he chain-smoked pipes or cigars. From the moment he awoke he smoked and never ceased until he had smoked himself to sleep. Even when he was swimming in the deep blue, sea he was smoking continually I distinctly remember him up to his neck in water puffing on a briar pipe.
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