All this political stuff is tiring - here's a change of pace!
A friend asked us to share a memorable personal experience - and I mentioned the night I slept in an Italian Olive Grove. She asked for more detail, and I wrote this memoir - thought y'all might enjoy the diversion. Maybe a little long, but we've got time, and it all happened just like this!
In June of 1966 I spent a night in a Volkswagen, parked under an olive tree, in an olive grove on the side of a mountain just south of Aosta, Italy - nearly froze to death!
I was in the Army then, a SP5, and member of A Company, 17th Signal Battalion, stationed at Neureut Kaserne, just outside Karlsuhe, West Germany. Yes, back then it was still East and West Germany.
I went on leave and drove my brand new 1966 VW 1600TL Fastback from Germany into Austria, then through Switzerland, down through the St Bernard Pass into Italy. Then from Aosta, Italy, through Turin down to the Mediterranean Coast into France, through Nice and Cannes, then into Monaco, back into France again, where I made a loop up through the rose country instead of going through Marseilles, (that was a mistake, I think) then back to the coast and into Spain, and along the Costa del Sol into Barcelona. I slept in the car each night on the road - wasn't all that far, really.
Stayed in Barcelona for about a week, then drove back up along the Costa Del Sol, straight up into France, then east again just before Paris, and back through Strasbourg, into Germany. And I did all of this on a little over $100.00!
Almost got arrested in France for driving across the safety stripes at an intersection. During this time all of Europe was on the lookout for some maniac who had killed and dismembered his wife, and was driving through Germany and France, throwing pieces of her out of his car window. Really! So they were all nervous, and the Gendarmes were out in force, carrying machine pistols (like Uzis). And I found out that they really mean business with those safety stripe islands!
Traffic in Italy was the worst – those drivers were totally crazy! I could do well over 90 in my VW Fastback, and I wasn’t the least bit shy about doing so, but I got passed up constantly by all sorts of cars and trucks. But the worst offenders were the buses!
The drive along the coast was really beautiful. I had never seen water that shade of blue, and I stopped and took several pictures of it along the way, but I really didn’t have time to explore – would love to go back some day!
Got to Barcelona around 9 or 10 PM on a weeknight, and found the Ramblas – supposed to be the place to visit and stay. I pulled up in front of a hotel, and a guy popped up right beside my window to “help” me. First thing he asked was, “Want a girl? or some (whatever he called drugs)? I said no, so he asked if I wanted a guy. I told him that all I wanted was a hotel room. So he pointed to a spot, said to park there for the hotel, and charged me about a quarter (US) for his services. He led me into the hotel, introduced me to the desk clerk, and left again.
So I spent my first night in a sleazebag hotel on the Ramblas, got chewed up by bedbugs, and woke up the next morning only to find out that my car had been towed from the parking spot the guy told me to was a hotel parking spot!
The desk clerk helped a little, but it took me a few hours to find it. Found out later that the Policia had a fleet of Land-rovers fitted with tow rigs just for this purpose! Just grab onto the offending vehicle and drag it away. They didn’t do too much damage, but I never did get the bumper completely straight after that.
Anyway, I took a taxi to the station where they had dropped it off, paid my fine and fees and got it back. It cost me a whole $2.50! When I picked it up out of the impound lot, a Spanish police sergeant - a double for Sgt. Garcia from the old Zorro TV show - lectured me on parking in Barcelona. I listened to him jabber for a few minutes, and when he finally stopped, I just said, "No comprende," and drove out of there. I had a couple of addresses to check, and finally found a pension a few blocks away, to say at for the rest of my time there. More about that later.
That first morning I stopped in some sort of diner – was starved – and ordered Jamon Serrano and Huevos (ham and eggs) for breakfast. Was pretty good, except the ham was a funny sort of green color. But I ate it, and went out wandering around. I had only a year of High School Spanish, but most of the people I talked with wanted to practice their English, so I made out okay. Except for the ones who insisted on speaking Catalan – even the Spaniards had problems with them!
I did eat well - pigged out on steamed clams and Orange Blossoms (gin and orange juice) or Spanish beer in a place called the Kentucky Bar, just off the Ramblas. The owner/bartender called himself Jimmy, spoke English with a near-perfect Brooklyn accent, and claimed to have never been outside Barcelona. He was a hoot! Had our USA street slang down to a Tee! I hung out there several evenings during the week I was there.
One evening a guy came running in and tried to hide in a corner booth. Jimmy told me to sit very still and not to look around, or say a word. A few minutes later, the Policia (think Spanish Gendarmerie) came running in, wearing their three-cornered hats, and looked around. They spotted the guy and dragged him out, screaming and beating on him all the way. After they were out of there Jimmy told me that one of the cops told him that the guy had resisted arrest for something, had pulled a knife and cut one of the cops up pretty badly before getting away from them. He said that the guy would very likely never make it as far as the police station this time.
One morning I got propositioned by a nine-year-old who tried to sell me his 15 year old sister. Then they both got mad at me when I told them no. Just no.
Went to the beach at San Sebastian, dodged floating turds and condoms - stayed out of the water, but the beach itself wasn’t much better.
I had been approached by a tough-looking 10 year old kid in the lot behind the Pension where I stayed, who said that for a few packs of the Marlboros that he could see through the back window of my car, that he and his gang would watch it, “To make sure nothing would happen to it.” I checked it out a couple of times while I was there, and there was always one of those kids watching it! When I went back to the car to pack and leave, I found that they had not only watched it, and there was no damage to it, but they had also washed it, and even cleaned the inside! And the rest of that carton of Marlboros was still there! Gave 'em the rest of the carton, and couple of bucks besides!
One afternoon I watched a bullfight, and went to the movies – “Los Hijos de Katie Elder.” Watching John Wayne dubbed in Spanish was a hoot! “¿A dónde crees que vas, peregrino?”
The pension I stayed at was just a bedroom with a private family in an apartment there on the Ramblas. Very common at the time. It was just the one room, and I shared a common bathroom with the family of three. No meals, but I could watch TV with them if I wanted to. Never did get their names, and it only cost me about $5.00 American for the whole week. I tried not to wonder if the sheets had been laundered recently, but it seemed clean enough, and at least there were no bedbugs. I did notice that when folks around there did their laundry, they hung it out of the windows (over the windowsill) to dry.
All too soon it was time to leave. I got my now very nicely washed car, loaded my B4 bag, and headed north, back along the Costa del Sol. (That’s the Mediterranean Sun Coast, if anyone was wondering) Didn’t have much money left, but I wasn’t worried.
On my way back through France I rear-ended a German doctor who had tried to squeeze his Opel too close in front of me, and stopped short. Okay, I was going a little faster than I should have been going. But he was all apologies, and gave me his name, number, and address, written on a page torn out of his pocket calendar. I never realized until later that the page he wrote on just happened to be November 16 1966. That's my birthday! 
I still have it around here, someplace.
I still have it around here, someplace.
That last day I was totally out of $$ - got back on fumes, and starved! Had to wait until the mess hall opened next morning for breakfast. But I took one of the longest showers I'd ever taken!
Anyway, I'd do it all again - except for the floaters at San Sebastian!
BTW - The food was fantastic! From that first Jamon Serrano to a couple of Tapas bars, to the street food, to the most delicious Paella I have ever had – plus those steamed clams at the Kentucky Bar – I really enjoyed it!
