Europe
There are many stories of a trip to Europe when I was 19. The three months there felt like five years worth of experience, and I gathered years worth of stories.
I'll try to keep these stories few and brief.
My friend, Chris Tomasoff. We were in business together, we had adventures, and did lots of stuff. We were good friends. A few of us in our circle of friends, which included his cousins, often talked about wanting to go to Europe. When it came right down to it only Chris was actually willing to go.
The first plan was to drive to New York and then Icelandic Airline or Laker across the pond.
A friend told me about getting onto undersold charter flights. On a Friday I found out that Monday there was a flight. We could go to Brussels for $150 round trip, but we had to stay 3 months. Only Chris said he would go, so I got us our tickets.
That weekend we went to celebrate at the new Six Flags Magic Mountain.The feature performer that weekend was Tiny Tim. I tried to say hello to him, he recognized me, even remembered my name, which was amazing. But his wife, Miss Vicky, didn't let us talk.
(see more about Tiny Tim here)
My plan was to go to Marseille, and clockwise follow the Mediterranean shore. I wanted to play roulette in Monte Carlo. I wanted to get to know Italy. Pompeii! I wanted to explore the Adriatic. I wanted to see the Greek Isles. I wanted to see Thermopylae. I wanted to see all the famous places, and all the ancient places. I wanted to explore Jerusalem. And to see the pyramids. Baghdad was on the list. So was Babylon. I wanted to see the ruins of all of the old Mediterranean civilizations in North Africa. I wanted to go to Morocco. I wanted to see if I could find the Neanderthal caves in Gibraltar, and see the famous mosque. I intended to walk and bum rides on boats.
The travel gods instead sent me to Stavanger, Norway.
The gods of hedonism sent Chris elsewhere.
A German friend in L A insisted that I wear jeans and a backpack. He said use a suitcase, wear a sports coat, and have a raincoat, which would double as a robe or a blanket. This was good advice.
What I did was check my suitcase at the train station, and use a shoulder bag with only things needed for a few days visit.
We landed in Brussels. It was a nice city. Much of it reminded me of Mexico City, San Francisco, or Brooklyn, or older parts of LA. That was my expectation of what Europe was going to be like. A little different, but not that different.
Ahead of the trip I bought a 1st class Eurailpass here in the U S, but discovered a second class student pass in Europe, much less money, covered more countries and rail lines, and I suspected there would be a better class of people. The Eurailpass was returned when I returned.
Chris suggested that we go to the town of Bruges. An hour or 2 by train from Brussels. Why not, only a day or two delay of my plans.
The Robber
On the train to Bruges. It was a second class car. The train was crowded, all the seats were taken. The interior of the train was old and made of wood. Walking down the corridor I said to Chris, "I expect to see Sidney Greenstreet come out of one of these compartments."
A voice behind me bellowed, "Who is talking about Sidney Greenstreet?" I turn around and there is this giant American biker. I said, " I did," He said, "Nobody who knows Sidney Greenstreet should have to stand in a train." He called me into his compartment. He gave me the seat he bought for his backpack and saddlebags. His motorcycle was in the baggage car. We talked for a bit.
Across from us was an English woman and her little boy, and as soon as the biker and I started running out of conversation, the little boy came and sat on my lap. He asked me my name and where I was from and all little kid small talk. Then he asked me if I wanted to play a game, Sure, says I. (Now you have to imagine this little boy talking in a very cute proper English accent) "Would you like to play the game The Robber and the Chopper?" How do you play? I innocently ask. "Well, you will be the robber, and I will be the chopper, and I will chop your head off!" At which point he chopped me in the throat. Enormous Pain! I couldn't breathe. The biker is laughing and is trying to take care of me, the others in the compartment were shocked, the mother was horrified and was apologizing.
And the little boy was grinning.
When we got to Bruges, it was a different kind of city. 600 years ago the city government made zoning and construction laws that the style of the city could not be changed. The city remains unchanged for 600 years. This was not like Mexico City or San Francisco.
The town looked like something out of the movies.
The tallest building in the city, really the only tall building, was a clock tower. 30 stories high I think. One of the tallest towers built before the 20th century.
At the top of the clock tower, you guessed it, was a clock. It did the usual clock chimes every 15 minutes. In a room at the top of the tower was an old man sitting in front of a cylinder, maybe 8 feet across. He was quickly hammering little pegs into holes on the drum. I have a vague memory that there are 365 steps up to the tower. Most people got to the top of the tower, looked at the town, stayed five minutes, caught their breath, and left. The man tapping so quickly on this big drum was fascinating. What could he possibly be doing? I wanted to wait until he took a break and then ask him about it. I stayed for about half an hour.
He kept looking at his watch, then jumped up, lowered this, turned that, and released a weight that made the drum turn. The drum was a music box, the whole tower was a music box, a clarion, and all the pegs he was tapping were notes of a tune that the bells played on the hour.
I didn't want to ask him about it. I didn't want to know if he was composing or if this magical music was an old old melody.
I don't remember Chris in Bruges, but I do remember a kid from North Hollywood named Mark, he and I saw the city together. There was a house near the center of town. It was a museum devoted to the art of one man. All the rooms in the house were covered with drawings, sketches, and a few paintings. All from the life of Christ. All of them were amazing, moving and beautiful. In all of them, Jesus looked like a bald emaciated homeless guy. It was astonishing.
Mark said to me, Let's get a drink, and we took a seat at a beautiful bar in a hotel. Mark says to me, What kind of beer do you like? I say, I don't really like beer. The bartender and he trade looks. What do you mean you don't like beer? What kind of beer do you drink? My dad drinks beer. I don't like what he drinks. What does he drink? Coors, Miller High Life, Corona, like that. The bartender brings me a glass of red beer. He says this is Trappist beer, tell me if you like this. It was delicious, it was exquisite. They start telling me about various beers, giving me sips. The barkeep says, Your father only drinks Pilsners, and pilsners are piss. Then, he brings me a glass of Guinness.
Food of the gods.
On the way back to the hostel, there was an old church, and on three different nights, someone was practicing the pipe organ. I stayed there listening, truly enjoying, until it was time to leave because of the midnight curfew at the hostel.
Bruges changed so many of my perspectives.
Bruges is a working city, both old and modern at the same time.
As I mentioned, my intention was to go around the Mediterranean. But I stayed four days in Bruges, and had a wonderful time. Mark and I met some girls, who took us to Antwerp. Then we heard about a hostel in The Hague. Which is another story. Then we went to Amsterdam, and met some people, more stories. Mark flew home, and I ran into Chris again, and we went to Copenhagen. And somehow I found myself up in Oslo, and then Stavanger, Norway.
So much for Jerusalem.
Indians in Europe
First, let me say that I don't believe in the concept of race. We are all one race, human. However, it is obvious that we separate ourselves into ethnicities, and nationalities, and families, and cultures, and people try to be like the people around them. All these are social constructs. This causes problems, but I do not believe that acknowledging these problems, or these traits, is always bad. Or racist.
I have known people from India, who I will call Indian. In most cultures, there are strata and castes and classes within.. Indian culture has a very strict classic structure to their caste system. I noticed years ago that Indians respond specifically to the person in front of them. If the person acts as if they are of a higher class, the Indian person will act as if they themselves are in a lower class. If the person acts meek or considerate, the Indian will act stronger and superior.
This has been a source of great fun for me.
On a train from Copenhagen to Oslo, in my compartment was an Indian family of five. At first, I was polite and tried to make room for the family, and they treated me badly and rudely. Then I remembered how one acts with Indians. After that, I completely ignored the children, was firm, but polite with the mother, but demanding and bossy with the father. The result was, they were polite, and deferential, and made room for me.
There was a four hour layover in G&oul;teburg, Sweden. This was also the destination of the Indian family. The father was intimidated by the Swedish (he behaved lower caste). I took charge of getting the family off the train, their stuff into storage, and getting them proper directions. The father insisted that I have dinner at their hotel. I did.
Another Indian traveller here and another one below.
Stavanger
I don't remember why I went there. It might be because the train getting there was promising to be a beautiful look at the fjords. I don't remember much about the town. Except...
After a raucous night at a disco, coming out and seeing the sun set, then only 2 hours of night time, and a hint of the northern lights, it all made my head spin. I shared a kilo of fresh shrimp off a fishing boat. Confident I had outgrown my shrimp allergy. I was wrong.
I looked like a large lipped puffy monster with hives.
Copenhagen to Munich
A very long trip. In the train compartment was a French guy, a teacher from Lincoln High School in L A, and an English librarian. Good conversation.
The librarian left when we got to Hamburg. And there was a 2 hour layover. The teacher insisted that the French guy and I go see the red light district. Shocking, but similar to Tijuana when I was a kid.
A touch more kinky.
When the train leaves we are able to recline seats and sleep.
We were awakened in the morning as we were getting closer to Munich by a sharp knock at the door. A tall blond customs guy, in an immaculate uniform, entered and demanded, with an authoritative voice, "Yourr papers pleeze."
I had not intended to go to the '72 Olympics, maybe a little, but since my Mediterranean trip was gone, and the train came down from Scandinavia right into Munich, why not. Went straight to the Olympics and discovered a trading scheme that the European kids were doing. Buy unpopular tickets and then trade up till you get something you wanted to see. I saw swimming, fencing, a minor soccer game, but my memory of those sporting events didn't stick. What I do remember is bartering the tickets. Great fun.
There was no place for traveling kids to stay in Munich. I wound up staying in a squat. Or maybe it was an official German squat. An empty building that was taken over, but there were beds. The lucky got a pad, a pillow, and a blanket. I only got a blanket and had to sleep on bare bedsprings, in a hallway. Too many kids on too many drugs. Waking up in the middle of the night I found the couple across the way from me having sex. I left the place at first light.
The next day at the Olympics was fun, but the next night I was standing in line again for one of these dumps. Talking to a guy next to me from Minnesota, we are trying to figure out a clever workaround. We decided to commute. He knew that Salzburg was only an hour or two away, so we went to the station and just caught the train.
We got there almost at midnight. Salzburg was closed. We were feeling kind of stupid. But then a little lady came up to us and said, "Biter, you vant rroom?" And she showed us a postcard of a hotel room. We figured we didn't have a choice. We followed her around the train station and over a pedestrian bridge, which I've seen since in a couple of movies. We walked a couple blocks. She opened a little gate to a multi story house, and all the lights went out. She told us we should go into the house. I was quite sure that her two strapping Germanic sons were going to beat the shit out of us. We went in, she turned on the lights. One floor up on a landing stood an older man with a dueling scar across his cheek. He said, "Goot evening." They showed us to our room which was just as it was in the postcard.
I stayed five nights with them.
The next day at the Olympics there were a lot of rumors about the massacre of Israeli athletes, but very little news. They continued with the games but everyone and everything was odd and awkward.
That afternoon going back to Salzburg, there was excitement and activity just as the train was leaving. Apparently, they were just then closing the town, ours was the last train. On the train was the Austrian Olympic judo coach. He filled me in on the news about the killings, some things not yet in the news.
In Salzburg, a Hungarian restaurant called to me. The Turkish soccer team was there eating and watching the news about a failed rescue attempt. There was a lot of news that evening. I shared some chisme I learned on the train. It was a solid evening of drinking and eating with the team. They treated me to dinner.
I didn't go back to Munich after that.
Austrian Circus
One evening, while exploring the neighborhoods of Salzburg, I came across a community common area, where there was a visiting circus. It is a shame that the name of the circus has escaped my memory. I talked to a couple who had discount tickets that included the menagerie, and they took me in.
There was a tent. There was a single ring. I'd say no more than 20 feet across. There were the usual clowns and stuff like that there. But then, there was an act with miniature horses. Seeing them later in the menagerie, they were adult horses, but they were no more than 3 feet, some no more than 2 feet at the shoulder. In the act, they did all the tricks that you would normally see in a dog act. It was amazing.
Later a bearded older tall man came out in a swami costume, with a turban and cape. And a staff. He spoke as he slowly made his way around the ring. He said, as translated by my new friends, That he was holding the staff of Moses when he appeared before Pharaoh. He dramatically told the story from the Bible. Then he walked to the center of the ring, held the staff horizontally, dropped it to the ground, and it became a large snake. We were all shocked. The snake started exploring, went to the edge of the ring, started going over the rim, into the screaming audience. Then his robes waving, making sweeping gestures, the swami came up to it, and picked up the snake. The snake writhing and coiling, he passed his hands around it, put his hands around it, straightened it horizontally, and it became a staff again for the rest of the act. We waited for it to be a snake again, but it didn't happen. Slight of hand, or a real snake? I don't know.
Then he dramatically called out off stage. In came men wrestling with hissing crocodiles, carrying five or six, then leaving them in a living mass in the center of the ring. Then, each started crawling to the edge of the ring, then over the rim, creeping towards the audience. When they were only a foot away from screaming people, the swami would come up to each crocodile and hypnotize the animal, and they each froze. He called in the guys who had brought them out, and they easily carried out the still, immobile, frozen live crocodiles. It was a most amazing, chilling, thrilling circus act.
They set up a pole about 15 feet high with a platform maybe 6 to 9 inches in diameter, about the size of a dinner plate, at the top. Two caped men came out, and after a long introduction, with a flourish they flung off their capes and they were wearing the barest almost flesh colored speedos. One of the guys climbed the pole and stood on the platform. It was swaying. The other guy climbed the pole, then climbed the first guy, then stood on his hands on the first man's shoulders.
Then the first one, held his fist up into the air, and the second guy, his feet in the air, climbed with his hands on the upraised arm, and lifted himself, and they stood, fist to fist, on the swaying pole. They went on intertwining themselves in very sensuous erotic ways, and settling in unlikely poses. The second guy never touched the platform at the top of the pole. My favorite of their poses was when the lower guy was sitting upright, but standing on his hands, with his knees on his own shoulders, his feet pointed out in front of his face. Then the other guy was standing on his fingers, which were on the toes of the lower guy! It was such an amazing and beautiful circus act.
I have never seen anything like it again.
After the show we went back to look at the menagerie. There were the horses, and the crocodiles. There were other animals, other acts, but those other acts were merely excellent, not as astonishingly exceptional as the acts I've described.
The Orient Express
I was in Salzburg and wanted to go to Rome on an overnight train. The planned trip of circling the Mediterranean, instead took me to Norway, and now I was in Austria. I really didn't want to miss Rome and Pompeii. It was early September and I had the feeling that time was running low. The train tables told me to go to Innsbruck first, and from there an overnight to Rome and arrive in the morning. When the train arrived in Salzburg it was so exciting! The train was the Orient Express!
It was probably the newest train I rode the whole trip, but nothing else was special. Still, it was cool.
In Rome, I found a student hotel down the street from the Spanish Steps. It had been a mansion. Dormitories were made from the ballroom and other large rooms.
There were kids there from all over the world and few of us became good travel friends. We saw Rome together. A guy from South Africa and I decided to leave early the next morning to see Pompeii.
Pages could be filled with my impressions of Pompeii.
A woman on the train told us that there would be many taxis offering rides from the train station to Pompeii. But if we walked straight through town we would find a back entrance to the ruins. We did. There was a Colosseum. We found locker rooms for the gladiators, and things that felt much like a modern day sports environment.
Then we started wandering the ruins and saw so many amazing things. 2000 year old things that felt ordinary. In the afternoon we were sitting on a curb at an intersection. There were raised crosswalks at the intersection, kind of like stepping stones. We were feeling a bit overwhelmed. An English guy passed us and said hello. Then he came back to us and said, Are you boys feeling a little overwhelmed, Yes we are. He says, See those grooves between the crosswalk steps? Yes. Those are ruts from chariot wheels. That put us a bit over the edge.
We walked over to the tourist areas of the city, saw the museum, saw the curated ruins. Saw some of the naughty images and graffiti on the walls. There were the cabs outside the museum, waiting to take the tourist back to the train station. We decided to walk back how we came. We discovered a storefront diner. A familiar place with stone benches for the customers, a counter on which to eat, and indentations for serving containers, with heat underneath. We were in shock.
Nighttime came and we got on the train. But it was late and we were tired so we stopped for the night in Naples. We ate Neapolitan pizza, and we ate in the Neapolitan way. With a knife and fork. Naples was a loud and violent town.
Religious Instruction
At the Vatican, standing in the middle of the Piazza of Saint Peter, an Indian guy, of a lower caste, came up to me and asked, What place is this? This began me giving a tour of the Vatican to a Hindu who had absolutely no knowledge of Christianity or Catholicism. It was delightful. It was a wonderful few hours. It was great explaining to him the beliefs and customs. It was exciting preventing him from drinking holy water. I told him many of the stories from the Ceiling of the Sistine chapel. And I don't remember how we did this, but we were able to go down into Saint Peter's tomb, which was so impressively beautiful.
A Train Story
The train leaving Rome was very crowded, so I was searching for a seat. I passed some tipsy middle aged Italians harassing some young blonde American girls alone in a compartment. I went back, pretending I had just arrived, and told the guys in broken Italian that these girls were my cousins and they should leave. They did.
I asked the teenaged very white blond girls what they were doing in the compartment alone. They were traveling with their grandparents who had gone out for something to eat. I volunteered to wait in the hallway and fend off Italian men until the grandparents returned.
When they came back, without dinner, the girls told them the story. Granddad said they reserved 5 of the 6 seats for the four of them, and the 5th seat was mine.
After a while, a very talkative Italian man sat next to me in the 6th seat. He was a salesman going home to Milano. We talked for hours in Italian, and he shared his dinner with me, lemonade, a delicious dry sausage, bread and olives. The family, who turned out to be Mormons from Salt Lake, refused anything when offered.
About 2 am we got to Milano after the train went through so many places I would have liked to see. The man was home. I went to sleep
In the morning the Mormons complained they were hungry.
I reminded them there had been dinner because the very kind man offered to share. They said they were afraid of the food, and thought the lemonade was alcohol.
We talked about travel, culture, religion, and prejudice. Interesting conversation, but I was glad when it ended.
My Fair BH Chick
As I've mentioned, I had a student rail pass, and so was riding second class. For my penultimate train ride, I thought it would be nice to take a first class ride from Paris to London.
In the compartment was an older couple from the Midwest, an entitled 30 year old girl from Beverly Hills, me, and Henry Higgins. And the entitled girl’s boyfriend.
Henry Higgins was an English fellow who had a PhD in American culture and could identify everyone’s accent. Curiously, he had never been to the U S.
The first accent he identified was the boyfriend's, from some very specific Manhattan somewhere, and the college he attended.
The second accent was the couple from the Midwest. I don’t remember where they were from, but he not only got their city, he knew their neighborhood.
Next was the entitled Beverly Hills girl. Not only did he know Beverly Hills, he got within 2 years her high school graduating class, the college she went to, the streets where she grew up, and where she currently lived. I was delighted. He continued. She lived in the flats, not in the hills. In other words, she was merely rich, not filthy rich. After we crossed the channel she didn't return to the compartment.
Then me. He got so many things right, but also not exactly.
He got Oakland, Chicago, Bakersfield/San Joaquin Valley, the San Fernando Valley, and East L A. and West L. A. And a hint of Catalan.
My mother learned English in Oakland and Chicago. (I don’t think I spoke English until I was 3, and so learned from my mom). My aunt Mary grew up in the San Fernando Valley, I spent a lot of time in Bakersfield, and I wandered Los Angeles all my life. When angry or excited, speaking in Spanish, my mom and my aunt, would slip into the lisp.
London
Visiting the student housing kiosk in Victoria Station, I was directed to a comfortable small room with an English breakfast where the proprietors looked a lot like Andy Capp and wife.
Off the tube I asked a familiar looking black woman for directions. Her cockney accent so shocked me that I had to ask for directions again a block later.
After reading so many books, and having seen so many movies about London, it felt like I knew my way around the town.
Harrods is a most wonderful department store. Spent a long time there exploring. Foods from all over the world. The only thing I bought was a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle. After leaving the store a few streets away, there was a big echoing boom. The street went wild. Getting away from the panicked crowd took me to a backstreet. It started to drizzle. Put the bag with the puzzle under my raincoat and continued walking, with my head lowered to keep my glasses dry.
A Bobby, a London policeman, a big guy, blocked my way. He had his club out, and with it he tapped on the lump under my raincoat and said, What’s all this, then? I was delighted to have the privilege to hear that phrase in real life. I just bought this jigsaw puzzle. He said, Oh you’re an American. He asked me for my passport. And then, because I was a bit nervous, I probably Tiggered him with a lot of questions. He was amused at the puzzle. He was amused at my behaviour. I asked him what the boom was, and he told me that there had been a bombing. Later I learned that it was an IRA car bombing of Harrods.
The jigsaw puzzle was for my mom, but she never touched it. I gave it to the mother of a friend, and we put it together together.
So many more stories, but that's enough for now.
But…..
I got to hear a German train customs officer say,"Your paperrrs pleeze."
I got to hear an Irish guy say as a brawl started in a pub,
"Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?"
I got to hear a Bobby say, “What’s all this then?”
I got to sing. The Hills Are Alive where Julie Andrews did
I saw a hint of the northern lights.
I stayed in a Jesus Freak hotel right in the middle of the
Red Light District in Amsterdam.
I saw past history, I saw history happening.
I was a remote witness to historic violence at the Munich Olympics.
I saw Mark Spitz win an early match.
I had a Vietnamese dinner served with hate when
they discovered I was American.
I heard an IRA bomb go off in London.
I got to explore the ancient ruins of Pompeii away from tourists.
I saw a Mass in a chapel constructed from human bones.
I saw gypsy children in Paris pick the pockets of an
American couple of everything.
I saw fjords.
I wandered about in an ancestral town in Austria.
I toured a deep salt mine.
I sat in Karl Marx’ chair in the British Museum.
I ate skate (manta ray) and chips.
I ate so many good things I can’t remember.
I met so many people I can’t remember.
There is so much I will never forget.
I had every intention, and a couple of times made plans, to return to Europe. It took decades before I finally made a couple of short trips again. Read about it here
The last day of travel.
There was a delay at the Brussels airport and we waited for hours. When we finally took off, it was announced that we were soon going to be landing in Shannon Airport in Ireland. We got there and were put into an enormous waiting area. Some guy stood up on a table and yelled, Does anyone play hearts? Three of us descended upon him, and we played hearts for 12 hours.
We finally took off, and landed in Bangor, Maine for customs.
I sat next to a girl from Seattle and we had hours and hours of conversation. We landed in Los Angeles, over in the charter airplane terminal off of Imperial Highway. She was going on to Seattle. I had to wait a while for my dad to come and pick me up so she and I kept talking. When my dad finally showed up, she took a look at him, took a look at me, and said, “I thought you were normal.”
A few days later the news reported that a jet engine fell off that same plane and the engine fell into the Atlantic.
I didn’t have time to write a few brief stories.
I wrote this long one instead.