Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
Bill and I sail aboard an English vessel to Liverpool and are not impressed with the weather. Shortly after my arrival in London a fog of major proportions settles on the city. I run the risk of freezing to death at the first two places at which I reside.
We travel to Igls in Austria for a few days and Bill meets a couple of sweet South African girls we become more familiar with when we go 'rodelling'. I am convinced that Janet has taken a particular fondness for me. They seem to leave Innsbruck without furher communication with us. Or so I think!
Bill goes down to the train station to embark for London in order to earn some money. (He claims). I stay in Innsbruck and become familiar with the young Americans enrolled at the University. I wait around in Innsbruck until my little Dutch friend arrives from Amsterdam. An unsual termination of the relationship occurs.
I travel to Saalbach to meet the group I have become friendly with in Innsbruck. I meet a Belgian couple and agree to ski with the male portion. The relationship that develops is astonishing.
Dick and I take a trip to Davos with a jeroboam each of wine in our rucksacks. We try to economize but leave as soon as the wine runs out. The nature of our food causes me to embarrass myself severely as a result of the flatulent effect on my G I Tract & Co.
Believe it or not, it is unseemly cold at night on the beach along the Italian Riviera. Nevertheless, I find what I think is a vegetable garden and pick up a small carrot to prove my point. I am wrong!
There is an island in the Mediterranean Sea offshore Marseilles to which the Count of Monte Cristo was imprisoned for many years. The legend has it that he freed himself and invoked revenge on his accusers. By mistake, Dick and I are nearly left overnight at the prison.
We are picked up by a Norwegian chap on holiday and visit a number of tapas bars and ultimately find out that there are a number of young ladies who are more than anxious to see things our way.
We stop a couple of days at Palma and are billeted at a small hotel that has an exquisite room opening on a coutyard with a fountain playing. The taxi driver points out the home of Robert Graves. 'Who's he?' we chorus, underlining our mutual sophistication. We see our first bullfight at Felanitx.
We rent a suite in the ancient wall of the city of Ibiza. The attitudes of the Guardia Civile and the Secret Police are so contradictory that they are humorous. Ibiza is beginning to be a haven for intellectuals and artists. After a few drinks of Pedro Domeq I fall into that category, although I am even more ridiculous.
We manage to find a Hotel with an unexpected name, the Hotel Londres, the London Hotel, located in the Tangier Casbah. A scruffy looking individual manages to get me to buy a ring for 500 pesetas he claims to have found on the beach. Bill buys half of the ring from me for the same price. Dick finds a box full of identical rings in the Casbah for about one-tenth of the original price given to the scam artist. Life in the Casbah hits new lows for us.
Bill and I return to Algeciras after seeing Dick off to Casablanca. I manage to buy a bullfight poster that's displayed in my front hallway until this day.The drunken American sailor I sent in the opposite direction was not seen again. I was able to catch up on unfulfilled activities.
We are shown incredible deep green emeralds by a man sitting at a table near to us. He seems to be anxious to show off his jewels to anyone who will listen. He claims he is proud to be a Geordie but is somewhat confused about the location of his origins.
We visit the Prado but find it lacking in good light. Bill is entranced by the Maja Desnuda. We are forced by convention to have paella for four people. We can't believe we ate it all!
We trudge through Burgos until we find a pension and hit the sack early. The next day we sit at the roadside opposite a military training centre. We realize later that a full day has gone by while we spin our tales to each other. I occurs to me that we are too large for the Europeans. I give Bill my French dictionary and send him out alone to hitchhike. He is picked up within minutes.
Ironically, I am picked up by Frenchmen who speak English fluently. Bill, on the other hand, is virtually struck dumb with the drivers who pick him up. I am treated to two days of deluxe hospitality by the first gentleman and to an exotic taste of French gustatory excitement by the second. In due course I meet Bill at the American Express office and we press on to London.
Bill's former landlords greet us with hospitality and we merely take over where their grown-up girls have left off. It turns out that the South African girls had left messages for us with their London addresses when they left Igls. It is some time before Bill is forgiven for his duplicity. He has other problems to worry about before he gets home.