July – European Backpacking Trip

(Introduction added 1/25/2026 – I graduated from the University of KY in December 1977 (BA in Journalism) and worked at the Benton Tribune Courier in Western KY in early 1978. My high school classmate, Bruce, called me in June 1978 after finishing his degree in architecture (also from UK) and wanted to know if I was interested in traveling in Europe. The next day I turned in my two-week notice.)

DAY ONE (July 6? 1978)

Our plane landed in London at approximately 11pm Thursday. After making a few inquiries, we paid about $21.15 for a train to New Haven which is almost directly south of London.

We toured the town and bought our supper in a grocery store shortly after our arrival. New Haven is a quaint, very typical (at least it fulfilled my expectations) English port city. There are, I think, very few tourists who actually stop in the city. Those who do pass through the town board the ferry to Dieppe, France – a journey of some 80 miles.

We are currently on the ferry. The trip has been very uneventful, and little can be seen because of the heavy fog which evidently is a chronic plague to the English coast.

We spent the night at the precipice of some coastal cliffs near New Haven. the view would have been spectacular but the ever-present haze limited vision to about a mile. Both of us slept soundly on a thick patch of grass where we pitched our tent. This morning, we went back to town for a quick breakfast of fruit before boarding the ferry. I bathed at the boarding station so I felt clean – that helps keep spirits high on a journey such as this.

We are heading for a village near Paris where we intend to visit a cathedral and spend the night.

We later met an American girl, Sue Thompson from Baltimore on the ferry. She was alone and also intended to travel to Paris. Bruce asked her if she would like to travel with us and after she accepted the offer we set off for the train station to see when the next train was scheduled for Paris. Sue proved to be an invaluable companion for she could speak a little French. Bruce and I had absolutely no knowledge of the language. Upon reaching le gare, we learned that our train would not be leaving for two hours. We decided to eat. We walked the streets of the city looking for a place to eat – preferably a grocery store but we were unsuccessful. Finally, we stopped at a restaurant which displayed an “English spoken here” sign. We soon found to our chagrin that English was not spoken there. After much handwaving, writing, and sign language, we finally learned from the waiter that the restaurant was not serving at that time. We marched on. I almost bought a chicken for $6 but we agreed that the price was a little steep, so Sue and I settled for a can of sardines. Bruce ate bread. We took our food back to the train station to eat.

Before opening my sardines, I decided to visit the men’s room, and it was there that I first learned of French Toilettes. Rather than a commode, I was faced with a shallow porcelain basin, the top of which was flush with the floor. There was a hole in the basin and a place to squat, no toilet paper. I whipped out my December 1977 copy of The Courier-Journal and proceeded. It’s not a bad system but it must be at least difficult for older people.

At last, we boarded our train. Sue began to talk freely during the train ride, and we learned that she had worked in a Chinese restaurant while studying piano. We disembarked at a town called Serqueux to camp for the night. The natives seemed disturbed when we stepped off the train, but they soon offered to let us sleep on the village commons. We eventually moved to the train station parking lot because the commons was extremely damp. In the morning, we were on our way again. We arrived in Paris about 11am and parted with Sue; she had a friend in Paris and intended to stay with him.

Bruce and I began walking, we finally bought sandwiches and later two 6 oz Cokes which cost 5 Frances each. We returned to le gare to get some maps and information.

We decided to tour the city and catch a train that night to another town to camp. We walked the Avenue Des Champs Elysees to Arc De Triomphe. On our way to the Eiffel Tower, we met a Canadian man who was touring Europe on his bicycle. He offered to buy us a drink, so we sat in a street cafe and watched the tourists go by while he told of his travels. His name was Bob and be said he was planning to meet his wife in Belgium on August 9. He said he was a seasoned European traveler, and he offered many suggestions as to how we could enjoy our trip.

Bob said he was on his way to Berlitz and he asked us to join him. When we found that he had paid $2 each for our cokes, we were tempted to go with him and shoot on down to Spain. But we decided to see Paris since we were already there. We headed for the Eiffel Tower. We paid 10F to get to the second E’tage but I suppose the price was worth the view from 500 feet – we could see the whole city.

After descending from the tower, we stopped at an information booth to check some train schedules. We had, by this time, decided that Paris was too crowded because of Independence Day and that we should leave and return after the weekend. We decided to Mont St. Michel on the coast of France for the remainder of the weekend. On the way to the train station, we passed Napoleon’s Tomb and met two American girls whose father was stationed in Germany. They were traveling with a young man who was in the Air Force. The girls had just graduated from high school, and they were very enthused when we told them where we had been and where we were going. They asked about a million questions and told us to stop by their house when we passed through Germany. We finally reached the train station and boarded the train for Rennes. That night proved to be the worst of the trip — so far. We spent the biggest part of the night trying to sleep on the floor of the train station. About 4am, two gendarmes came along, interrogated us – or at least tried to, in French, and finally left us. We boarded a train which would take us to point about 10K from Mont St. Michel. Upon arriving, I asked a girl standing on the platform, “oy ay Mont St. Michel.” She answered in rapid and apparently fluid French. When I said, “whoa, slow down, I don’t speak French,” she switched to English and offered to drive us to Mont St. Michel. We learned that she was an English girl living in France with her boyfriend. She let us off about 2Km from Mont St. Michel and we walked in the rest of the way – stopping only to buy some food and eat. Mont St. Michel proved to be a very interesting place. I thoroughly enjoyed the tour through the cathedral and the Abby. The town itself was once beautiful with narrow, winding streets and typical medieval buildings. The courtyard in the Abby intrigued me more than anything, I could almost see the nuns caring for the flowers, meditating, or praying. The breeze seemed to flow across Mont St. Michel almost continuously.

After leaving Mont St. Michel, we stopped and bought some water before hiking the 9 Km back to the train station.

We took the train as far as Lison and got off to camp for the night. We planned to catch an early morning train to Paris. We inquired about camping sites and searched for a suitable spot, but we had no luck. Finally, a French Doctor overheard us asking about a camp site and offered to let us spend the night at his house. We expected that he would let us camp on the lawn but both he and his wife insisted that we sleep in the house. We were very tired and sleepy, so we thanked him for the offer and accepted. The house, we later learned was 200 years old and had been owned by the family since its construction. The doctor, whose name we never learned introduced us to his wife and her aunt and uncle who were visiting. He then showed us to our room and said he would awaken us in time to catch the morning train.

We saw the 8:05 to Paris leave as we walked the 300 yards to the station. We are to board the next train to Paris which passes through Lison at 11:20.

I was very grateful for the doctor’s hospitality because I was able to wash up in the morning and believe it or not, I finally changed clothes after six days.

We arrived in Paris that same afternoon and began searching for a hotel. After checking about 15 places, we finally found a vacancy on the Rue de’ Lillie. After freshening up, we visited Notre Dame and walked around a bit. But as we were very tired, we soon headed for the hotel in order to get a good night’s sleep.

The following day was ill spent in an unsuccessful trip to the American Embassy where we attempted to find the Paris group. (Ed. note: I think this must have been a group of UK architecture students who were there at the same time?) We slept in the afternoon and in the evening had our one “good” meal at a restaurant listed in the book. We drank a whole bottle of wine and learned the hard way that French wine is much stronger than its American counterpart. Needless to say, we slept very soundly that night. Next morning, we had breakfast in the hotel dining room – the typical continental breakfast of bread and coffee. After leaving the hotel, we checked our packs at the cloakroom at the Louvre and toured the famous gallery for about two hours.

After becoming completely saturated with art of every kind, we hiked to one of the Paris train stations for the trip to Madrid. We had a long wait and sat much of the time on the bank of the Seine.

Finally, the time for departure came and we sat zombie-like on 4 or 5 trains for the next 24 hours. The weather got steadily worse as we approached the Pyrenees. Cold and rain added to our sleepy misery. After crossing into Spain, we caught several glimpses of the Atlantic. Northern Spain was beautiful hilly country but was afflicted with extreme poverty.

Our spirits fell as we watched crumbling villages sweep past the train. As we emerged from the mountains, skies blued and though we couldn’t tell, temperatures rose. Upon arriving in Madrid, we found a very modern and comfortable train station surrounded by a 20th century city. A German in the station provided directions to the nearest youth hostel and gave other advice for surviving in Madrid. We got a map, found our position and consulted the book for hotel suggestions. We arrived at about 11pm and so decided to stay in a hotel rather than camp. We soon found a room with private shower and breakfast for 946 pesos – very reasonable.

Our first day in Madrid we went to the Prado – a small museum containing the works by Valesquez, Rubens, Titian, and others – it is much smaller than the Louver, so we were able to see everything in about two hours. After finding that all of Madrid observes a siesta from 1:30 to 4, we decided to ” do as the Romans do.”

Later on, in the evening when Madrid comes alive in the cool city shadows, we went on a reconnaissance mission to find a fruit stand. We soon met up with two English girls – sisters they were – who wanted to know “where we can find a cheap hotel.” Of course, we told them of our hotel and took them along with a melon and some peaches back to our room.

Julia and Belinda helped eat the watermelon and the peaches and when Bruce and I said we were still hungry, they suggested that we all go get a “real Spanish meal.” Hunger and our poor knowledge of the language forced us all to fall back on the old reliable ham and cheese. We did however drink some sangria. I almost became ill trying to down the stuff though it was much better than our French wine.

After dropping Julia off at the hotel, Bruce, Belinda, and I went in search of a Flamenco dancer. We couldn’t find any dancers at that late hour, so we settled instead for a lemonade at a bar.

The next day Bruce and I got a late start on a trip to Toledo – the city where El Greco lived. We met three Australians on the way to Toledo who were out for six months. They had already been to the states and intended to tour Europe extensively. Toledo was very pretty but like all of Europe’s big attractions, it was really nothing more than a tourist trap. We caught an early train back to Madrid and ate at – believe it or not – Burger King.

Back at the hotel, we check ed on the girls to see if they had enjoyed their day. In addition, we had to pick up some stamps and give the girls some train information. The four of us got into a very good discussion which ranged from politics to ticks to marriage.

Belinda also told us about her initial impressions of the two of us, and although she barely knew us – her ideas conformed with others we have heard.

She said Bruce is more the all-American boy – football player – meat and potatoes type. She said I am reserved and hard to get to know, more of an individual and would probably be better with children.

We also discussed “Women in Love.” Belinda likes Gudrun who, in my opinion, is a total bitch and she said in effect that Lawrence is a male chauvinist pig. I didn’t agree with her views, but I didn’t push it because I could sense that she would get pretty emotional.

Later, in the room, Bruce and I had a good talk of our own which he concluded with a request that I call him occasionally and keep him on the straight and narrow if we ever live at opposite ends of the states. I’ve started to tell him the same thing 100 times but figured he knew I felt that way.

I also told him about the time I talked to Pam about my sunset hurts. He knew what I was talking about. I knew he would.

Today we ate breakfast with the girls and waded through millions of people at a flea market. Then we ate, exchanged some money and bought seats for the bull fight. Quite a bargain at 90 Pesos each. Right now, we’re sitting at the Plaza del Torres waiting for the gates to open. Tonight, we board a train for Nice.

Upon arriving in titty city as I have dubbed Nice, we were able to find a good hotel (49F double) within an hour. We moved in and immediately headed for the beach. I thought the bare-breasted girls would shock me, but the nakedness is just passe’ as the New Jersey medical student said. This is our second day in Nice and we have already reserved the hotel for tonight. I suppose we will spend tomorrow night on the train to Rome. We called home last night at about 12:30; everything was fine. Bruce’s mom told us that everyone had gathered at the Swetnam’s Monday night and waited for us to call. But we bought tickets for the bullfight in Madrid and immediately after watching that bloody spectacle, we left for Nice.

I knew what to expect at the bullfight and I thought I would be more tolerant than I was. Even though I know the bullfight is part of Spanish culture, I still can’t justify it. Under our standards, it is a cruel, and even barbaric practice. I hesitate to label another culture “barbaric” but I am willing to be judged as I judge others. I will definitely read “Death in the Afternoon” when I return home because now, I feel like I will better understand where Hemmingway is coming from. If bullfighting is indeed meant to be proof of courage, bravery, or manhood, I can’t understand why the matador is considered the hero among the other participants. By the time he administers the coup de grace’, the bull can barely walk. I believe the Picadors deserve all the recognition because they challenge the bull with only their quickness and their agility. And most important, they face a fresh and strong bull. I think I shall have more to say about bullfighting after I read Hemmingway. By the way, now that I have seen a bullfight, I understand why he was attracted to the (sport?) Actually, I shouldn’t ridicule old Ernie until I have faced El Toro.

The rest of the trip wil necessarily have to be sumarized since I am writing five days after returning home.

We did indeed travel the following night. The train screeched to a halt in Rome at about 10am We got our maps and were met by a “helpful” rail employee who offered to get us to a hotel. I agreed because I thought he had quoted a reasonable amount for the two of us. I later learned that the payment was for one individual and we had to back out. Within 45 minutes we had a pension and were plotting our sightseeing. We decided to see Vatican City, St. Peter’s and the Sistine Chapel the first day. We planned to see the Coliseum and the forum the follow morning before leaving for Greece.

The sign said men wearing shorts wouldn’t be allowed into St. Peter’s Bruce entered anyway and almost reached the door before the guards spotted the hairy legs. We were disappointed but proceeded to the Sistine Chapel to see Michelangelo’s handiwork. And an impressive bit of finger painting it was. The pantheon was the last sight of the day, and I really enjoyed sitting on the cool marble floor with the hump in the middle and dreaming of the Romans who had once filled the domed temple. Back at the pension, Bruce decided to take a shower while I went to the train station to exchange some money. Both of us had bad experiences so we decided to leave Rome even though we knew we wouldn’t get any refund. The fact that we needed to get to Brindisi early to reserve a seat on the ferry sealed the decision, so we left with a sort of explanation to the little pension lady. We both admitted the folly of this move later.

We sat on the rocks eating our last food while we waited for the train. I felt very dirty – especially after devouring a piece of watermelon.

The train ride was another sleepless ordeal. And Brindisi was a dung heap. We stood in long lines all day and all night. Finaly, it became evident that we might not get on a ferry for several days. We were running short of money and disgusted with Italy and Italians. We boarded a train for Milan shortly after 11. We did meet a Louisvillian and some Lexingtonians in Brindisi – the only good aspect of the whole visit.

The train ride was terrible as usual. We hit Bern at about 6 the next night. The Alps were everything I had dreamed of. The waterfalls cascading from the lofty peaks were spectacular.

The remainder of this narrative was written on Sept 30, so who knows if I remember anything correctly. Bern was a beautiful, clean, and quiet city. The train station was modern, and we were able to get a good meal. We walked the dusky streets carrying our packs in the silence. Travelers through time as well as space. Already the trip seems far away and almost forgotten. That is why I finish the story.

We decided to take the next train to Frankfort which left abut 4am I remember being moved from a waiting room by a guard who told us we would be allowed to sleep in a hallway. I was disgusted. The train left at the promised time. Frankfort was a nice city — I don’t think we spent much time there. We left directly for Maintz – the departure point for our Rhine trip.

We arrived dead tired and opted to take a room for the night. We both took showers and went to bed at about 4 in the afternoon. We slept straight through to the morning, took a bus to the river, and boarded the ferry. I think the trip was to take us from Maintz to Cologne but we disembarked at a smaller town called Koblenz. I remember eating a very tasty apple strudel beneath a grey sky which promised rain any time. I thoroughly enjoyed the Rhine trip. Majestic, ancient castles line the banks. In addition, we passed the rocks of the Lorelei. From Koblentz, we headed home. All I remember is stopping in a virtually deserted Brussels and sitting on a pine bench in a coach while watching a spectacular sunset. I wondered then what would become of me.

In Calais, there was considerable confusion. The train was going across the channel on the ferry — I was aware of this fact. Bruce was surprised when I finally convinced him that the ferry would carry the train across the channel. The train had been sitting during this discussion; just as I convinced Bruce that we had to get off the train since we had not paid for the channel passage, it began move – backwards.

The train soon arrived at a ferry station and Bruce somehow secured our passage. At that point, I was really out of it. I slept on the floor during the two-hour trip. In Dover, we walked out of a curving pier through wind gusts that herded storm clouds and pushed up white caps on the channel. It was a good feeling. Travelers of all kinds were packed on the train for London. At Victoria Station, we boarded another train for Gatwick, and it was there that we spent three glorious days before catching a flight to New York. Bruce’s relatives (Chuck and ?) were very kind and offered to let us sta the night but we insisted on leaving immediately. Margie (? no idea who this was?) was with us. Eighteen hours later, we arrive at home. I immediately was put to work helping can corn. The end of my first European trip…may there be more and more exciting in the future.

(Ed. note – it was 2024 before I made it back to Europe….this time with my wife, daughters, sons-in-law and our 6-month-old granddaughter. We visited France and Ireland.)

Thanksgiving

Almost a year ago, December, I was a graduate. In January, I was a newspaper reporter. In July, I was a European traveler. In November, I am a carpenter. In January, I will be a student again. Circle game. But at least I’m glad I’m in a dynamic situation rather than sitting in a cold house trailer in Benton.

Listen, life’s seconds tick away by the thousands, millions even – why do people spend their time in meaningless pursuits?

I pass an office building every morning. It’s brightly lit, a haven from the dark chill outside. The people sit at their desks before their video display terminals with hard boiled eggs in a drawer for lunch. Mind you, I have learned not to belittle these people just for their occupation but I’m afraid the world is passing them by while they watch through large plate glass windows. I don’t want the same fate to befall me and there – in essence – is the reason why I haven’t settled into a permanent job and etc.

Anyway, in January, I’ll be back in Lexington working on a degree in Animal Science. The prospect pleases me. I hope I can find a good job to support myself. I don’t know, things are not that important to me. Someday I’ll look back on this and the whole thing will be like seeing the countryside on a dark day.

Saturday, 405 followers of the Rev. Jim Jones committed suicide in their Guyanan refuge. Don’t ask me why, they just did. It makes little sense but then little does. Sometimes I feel that I’ve been so sheltered ….I’m out of touch with the real world. But I suppose we all make our own realities. My comfortable fantasy reality is just as real as the reality of the cut-off-electricity ghetto blues reality.

Every one says you have to face reality – I agree – all I ask in the freedom to choose my own reality.

Does time exist in heaven or is it only functional on Earth? Maybe God is immune to time. Maybe time is a disease we have all contracted and we too can become immune.