As I review travel journals from my past, I often whine about how -- unlike us at their age -- kids nowadays don't do anything but sit at home and play with their electronic toys. I was happy to learn, however, that a friend's 20-year-old twin grandchildren are spending their one week spring break on a whirlwind trip to Amsterdam. No, not part of a tour group, or a study program, or a group of Dutch food enthusiasts. They're doing what we used to do at their age -- just showing up someplace foreign, and seeing what happens.
In commemoration -- despite my recent sneering at my occasional posts copied from old travel journals -- I offer the following extract from the journal I kept during a six-week backpacking trip through Europe. The year was 1970, the year that the press discovered and remarked on the hordes of American kids traveling on the cheap.
I had traveled by bus for five hours (including repair of a flat tire) from Athens up to Delphi on the lower slope of Mount Parnassus. I had barely emerged from the bus when the proprietor of a hostel grabbed me and bid me enter. Decent hostel. Bed in a room shared with three others for 18 drachmas -- just 60 cents in American money. Yes! This is what travel in Europe by young people was all about that year! I met a couple of English lads who shared the room with me, along with a Swiss guy, and we made plans for the next day.
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Friday --31 July [1970]
My two Lancashire friends and I got up early Monday and started the long hike up the slopes of Mt. Parnassus. We were quite lucky in that the sun was often behind a cloud and so we could escape some of the heat. Even so, it was slow going, and we lost a lot more water than we had along to replace it. But the views were fantastic. We climbed to what I believe are called the Shining Rocks, on either side of the Oracle and Apollo's temple. To get from one to the other required a long walk back into the hills and up the slopes until the canyon became shallow enough to cross. Had some good conversation during this, and discovered and photographed a land tortoise.
Then we made the mistake of trying to descend the cliffs on the right side of the oracle. There was quite a tricky bit of rock climbing, which became steeper and steeper as I descended -- in the process of which I got separated from my companions. Finally, I succeeded in thoroughly scaring myself, and carefully retraced my steps back up the cliff and tried to work my way back to where we had crossed the canyon. My legs were bare and were getting semi-burned (not very bad -- but I didn't know that) and scratched with the prickly gorse I was climbing through. I made at least one false start down the canyon and had to retrace. I was having panicky worries of being trapped without water, and I was feeling quite dehydrated.
But all ended well, and I made my way back down, returned to the youth hostel, stuck my mouth under the water tap, and took a cold shower. The other two didn't get back for an hour, and I was afraid they might be stranded, but they had found a way down the cliff after being thoroughly scared. It was all in all a memorable hike. The beauty and wildness and loneliness of the area will, I hope, come out in my slides.
Being recovered, I went over to the ruins and, using their guide book, did a careful study of them. Saved the museum for the next day, it being close to sunset. I had dinner alone in the youth hostel's restaurant, and was joined for a beer afterward by my mates, who were preparing their own meals. A wild bunch of English started a party going, record-playing, dancing, singing and all, and we watched with amusement, nursing our beers.
I seem to have an interesting affinity for the British --seem to be accepted by them as English with an unexplainable U.S. passport. They were alarmed because an American had replaced the Swiss [in our four-person room] this night, and [the American] wanted me to change places with his friend so they could be together (nothing came of this -- guess they changed their minds). They said I couldn't do it, they would be overwhelmed with Americanism. "You're not anti-American, are you?" "Well, yes, of course! And these are archetypical Americans!" Turned out to be a Beach Boy type from Berkeley.
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Not great literature, but my journal captures some of the excitement of the time. Reminding me not only of the iconic places I visited, but also of some of the people I met. I hope my friend's twin grandchildren have as much fun in the Netherlands.
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