This looks like a busy corner in Cádiz, not far from where my pension was located. I'm not certain of that identification, though.
I've gone to Europe three times (I live in the USA). Twice I went without an itinerary. The third and last time I traveled with advance reservations at hotels. The three trips were spread out over more than three decades--1967, 1972, 2000. Each trip was influenced by my age, by circumstance, and by travel companion. I preferred traveling without an itinerary, although as one gets older I think it's probably best to have a plan because the unexpected is tolerated less well. This blog will cover the first trip, which, except for plane reservations, was completely freelanced.
Please note: The pictures are blurry because they are almost 60 years old!
Me in Cádiz, with some amused bystanders. I think a local farmer might have been delivering potatoes--which seem to be the produce carted by the donkey.
In 1967 I had just finished my sophomore year at NYU. My sister's friend wanted to go to Europe for the summer, but didn't have a travel companion. My sister suggested I go with her, instead of taking a job during summer break. I would be traveling on a limited budget, which helped to define the choice of transport and lodging.
I believe this is a scene from Cádiz. While the alleys were too narrow for automobiles, in most cases, they weren't too narrow for foot traffic, or motorbikes.
The pretext for my journey, the justification, was that I was going to study Spanish at the Universidad de Cádiz. However, when I was in Cádiz, though I did walk past the university many times, I never actually took a course. Spain, and its people, were my Spanish language course.
Icelandic Airlines offered the cheapest flights to Europe at that time. We took Icelandic to Frankfurt (with a stopover in Iceland) and planned to cross Europe by train. Although Eurail Pass was available, it was quite expensive, so we didn't purchase that. We planned to buy point-to-point tickets.
Flying into the Reykjavik airport for our Icelandic stopover offered the view of an intriguing and barren moonscape. We spent a few hours at the airport before flying off to Frankfurt.
Neither of us had ever undertaken such a journey before. Even catching a train seemed complicated. It helped that I knew some Spanish, and had the most rudimentary comprehension of German.
From Frankfurt we went to Paris, where we were to connect with a train that would take us to Madrid. We had to wait for the train so we walked around the city. It was the height of the Vietnam War, and there were protests around the world against the U.S. We were conspicuously American, with our miniskirts and suitcases. The reception in Paris was not warm. It was July 14, Bastille Day, so maybe national sentiments were running high. As we sat and waited for our train to Madrid, we groused about the rude treatment in Paris.
When we got up to leave and board the train, a man who had been sitting nearby limped over, picked up our suitcases and guided us to the train. I imagined he was chagrined by our experience with his countrymen. I further imagined that he might have been a WWII vet, and had clear memory of how the U. S. liberated France from the Nazis. Maybe I was wrong, but that was the only reason I could come up with for his unusually generous behavior.
The train ride was long, I believe 22 hours, and we stood the whole time. This train was quite crowded. Many of the passengers didn't disembark in Madrid but went on to Portugal. We were in Madrid for a few days, but I don't remember the city very clearly. We spent a lot of time walking around, taking in the sites, snacking inexpensively. I do remember that Madrid was quite clean, and beautiful. It impressed me as a sophisticated city.
I don't have any pictures of Madrid.
I'm guessing this picture was taken in Seville, rather than Cádiz, because the buildings looked newer, more groomed, in Seville. It was a more modern city, which nonetheless had a long history.
We bought tickets for yet another train, to take us to Seville. Seville is the capital of Andalucia. It was a center of Moorish power when the Moors occupied Spain. Evidence of that occupation, which lasted 800 years, may be noted everywhere in the city, especially in its architecture.
My travel companion had a cousin who lived at a U.S. military base outside of Seville. I believe this cousin was a major in the Air Force.
Getting to the military base was an adventure. So much of what we experienced in our early days on our European trip was a reflection of our ignorance. We were groping around without a clue in a strange environment. In a way that made the whole thing more intense, more exciting.
We didn't have a list of tourist attractions. We didn't have a guide book with ABC listed, places that had to be on any visitor's schedule. We wandered around and experienced the people, the sites, the food as we came across it. We were definitely green, but eager.
My travel companion is waving in front of a monument in Seville (I believe it's Seville). You can see the Moorish influence in the architecture here.
As we tried to make our way to the military base we somehow found ourselves walking across what looked like an Andalusian prairie/desert in 100+ July heat. I think we might have perished except for the Coca Cola truck driver that passed by and offered us a lift. When we arrived at the cousin's house I was running a temperature from heat exhaustion.
There was a jarring cultural shift between the base and the city we had just left. The cousin and his wife lived a very elevated lifestyle, with the work around their property managed by locals. I remember the wife said to me afterwards that she wasn't going to open the door when she saw us. I was so dusty and tanned that she thought I was a local.
After a few days in Seville, we finally made our way to Cádiz. The pace of that ancient city got to us and we simply lazed about for all the time we spent there. Our simple pension was above a bakery so we had fresh bread every morning for breakfast. The aroma from the bread would seep up through the floor and wake us.
Occasionally we took a side trip to a nearby city, such as Jerez, or Ronda. As we traveled around, I was startled by the provisions for sanitation. That was true also in our own pension. Instead of tissue in the WC, we found strips of newspaper, hanging on a hook. I pictured the proprietor of the establishment reading his newspaper over coffee and then ripping it in shreds for his customers to use for sanitation. This was a little unnerving throughout my stay. Of course, I'm sure if I had lodged in more upscale accommodations I would have found more familiar 'paper'.
It was in Ronda, I believe, that our sanitation needs were met in an even more surprising way. Instead of a WC, we found a chamber pot under our bed. I don't think we used it. Having a sink in the room was de rigueur in even humble establishments. However, in Ronda we discovered a water pitcher and large bowl available for our morning toilette.
One advantage of traveling on a low budget was that we didn't run into many Americans. We didn't want to see Americans, after all. We wanted to meet Europeans, and it was mostly Europeans who stayed at pensions such as the ones we found. In Cádiz, Americans and upscale Europeans would stay in multi-storied, balconied hotels that lined the shore. There was a beautiful beach there, and an expansive promenade.
These were the Franco years so we didn't worry much about safety. Franco didn't leave power until 1975, the year he died. The Guardia Civil was a visible presence during our stay in Spain and I'm pretty sure that autocratic rule helped to keep the crime stats low. If you look at the picture that heads this blog, you will see two uniformed figures walking among civilians. I guess it's a little like how the U.S is beginning to look these days.
This picture I believe was taken in Cádiz. The narrow alley is typical of those we would come across there. The plan of the city, of course, never anticipated automobiles. Cádiz was a port important to the Phoenicians, so the ancient roots of the place are part of its basic structure, which is full of narrow alleys.
Our biggest concern as we walked around Spain rarely extended to our safety. Rather we constantly dealt with harassment from men on the streets. I think the heckling and harassment were maybe a reflection of a culture that wanted to limit women's freedom. It didn't limit ours.
I recall one time in particular, when I believe we were in Seville. Two men had followed us persistently for a while. It was nighttime, maybe ten o'clock, and the incident became more than annoying. Finally, we walked past a group of sophisticated diners at a sidewalk restaurant. For many Spaniards 10:00 was dinner hour.
I stopped in front of one table and addressed the people who were dining. It was a well-groomed, apparently prosperous group. I asked them, collectively, in Spanish (yes! my Spanish was good enough at this point to do this), if it was customary in Spain for men to harass young women who were walking in the streets. The men at the table were startled, and looked mortified. One of them rose from his seat and gave the two pursuers a dressing down. These two miscreants disappeared quickly.
The behavior of the man who berated the street oafs was representative of the way most people behaved toward us in Spain--graciously. The street hecklers, though a definite phenomenon, were a breed apart.
I believe this picture was taken in Cádiz, although it could have been Seville. I didn't mark these pictures when they came back from the developer, and the trip was a very long time ago. Many of my memories blend.
As the summer drew to a close we knew we had to return to Frankfurt to catch our flight home. If I missed that flight I would miss fall registration and mess up my attendance at NYU. Instead of taking the long way back--Seville, Madrid, Paris, Frankfurt, Iceland--we decided to go to Málaga, which is in the south of Spain, take a flight to Rome, and a train to Frankfurt (with a connection in Munich). From Frankfurt we would catch the Icelandic flight back to New York.
My travel companion is at Victory Emmanuel II Monument in Rome, where we stopped on our way back to the U.S.
A final note about our stay in Cádiz: We had fallen into the habit of dining at the same restaurant most nights. It was a local, modestly-priced establishment where we never saw any Americans. On our last night in Cádiz we told the waiters we were leaving. I should mention that both my travel companion and I were generous tippers. On that night we simply ordered appetizers. We wanted to say goodbye. We probably knew the waiters more than anyone else in the city. These waiters rewarded us for all those generous tips. They kept an endless stream of appetizers coming, none of which we were billed for. It was actually an emotional goodbye.
I think a conventional tourist might characterize our European tour as a wasted opportunity. No Spanish language course. No landmarks. No lifelong relationships established. But I think the way we traveled was best for me, and made a lasting contribution to my development as a person. I fell in love with Spain and with the Spanish language. That affection has lasted a lifetime.
All photos in this blog belong to me
