A couple of days ago, I talked a little about my first experience with my new VW van in 1969 when Martha and I drove down to Morocco and then up to the Isle of Wight Festival before she flew back to the U.S. and I set out for parts unknown… east, India, Hippie Trail… I had sent some kif back to the U.S., some to my mom and some to my friend Michael. Michael’s got intercepted by the police— he wrote that story up here— but my mom’s package got through.
I had left her with detailed instructions to call some of my old clients and sell them ounces and then to send me the money via American Express-- this much-needed payday to Vienna. But Vienna was far from London and I was basically broke. I found some people who wanted to go east and who were willing to split the costs of gas and other car expenses. The deal was for one day’s travel and if I liked you— or didn’t hate you— a next day. Eventually I found a crew that way. But I don’t remember anyone from the first batch except one young woman from Brooklyn.
I can’t exactly remember her name— maybe DeeDee— or precisely how I met up with her in London, but I think it was through a mutual friend who now claims he has no idea what I’m talking about. She and I couldn’t have gotten along worse and I realized halfway through the first day that there was no chance I was going all the way to Nepal with her. She claimed she was going there because her brother was “lost” in the Himalayas and she needed to find him. There was no synchronicity between us, none.
I slept in the van so I didn’t want anyone eating in it, believing that food would attract bugs. I also didn’t want anyone smuggling drugs across borders in my van. They all smuggled their personal stashes but only this young woman from Brooklyn ate in the van— granola when she thought I couldn’t see her (apparently not understanding what a rear view mirror is). She also hated my 8 track tapes. I was rockin’ across Europe playing Electric Ladyland, Traffic, Wheels of Fire, Music From Big Pink, Beggar’s Banquet… but every time I would put on a tape “DeeDee” would start singing camp songs, loudly. I think I decided to get rid of her in Belgium. She tried everything to stay— except behaving. Lots of crying and whining and promising. But it just was never going to work out. Another but: How does a chivalrous kind of guy like myself, get rid of a crying, vulnerable young woman?
Eventually she took to saying she would leave voluntarily if I just let her stay ’til… Budapest. But when we got there she said she couldn’t possibly get out there and these two kind of hippie rednecks that were in the van then were also a problem because they didn’t want to spend their money in a Communist country so they decided to leave and that meant I kind of needed her to share gas— even though I had been to Vienna and found my money order from mom. I liked Budapest much more than Vienna. Vienna seemed so uptight and creepy and Budapest seemed easy-going and romantic, despite the Communist rule. Anyway, next she promised she’d get off in Belgrade. But she claimed, hysterically, someone tried to rape her once we got there so I let her back in. But… I had picked up a young Danish couple-- the two blondest people I had ever seen-- who were a dream to have as passengers and they weren’t crazy about her either. I also picked up a French guy— Joel, who didn’t speak much English and didn’t have much money but he was a cool guy and I was happy to have picked him up, hitch-hiking on the outskirts of Niš, Yugoslavia (now Serbia). His older brother was partying in Goa and he was on his way to join him. Years later the two brothers were still in Goa and I spent a week in the south of France at his parents’ home.
Finally I decided to take a detour. “Everybody” said to drive straight through Bulgaria without stopping because it was an awful place. Just take the highway from Niš straight to Dimitrovgrad and on to Sofia and straight down to the border, about 4-5 hours away in Svilengrad. And then it’s an easy jog to Edirne and Istanbul. I decided I wanted to see Bulgaria instead— despite what “everyone” said. That little episode, though I didn't realize it at the time, was my first inkling that conventional wisdom was wrong, at least wrong for me.
So when I woke up in Sofia I announced that instead of driving southeast to Istanbul, I would drive northeast to Varna on the Black Sea and see some of Bulgaria. I figured they would all leave but I was wrong. They all stayed. When we got to Varna, I met two guys around my age and we hit it off immediately. They offered to give me a tour of the surrounding countryside and I told the crew I would meet them back in Varna in 4 days. I visited mostly collective farms with these kids and it was great. And they were in heaven to hear my 8-track tapes and delighted to practice the English they were learning in school. I was loaded up with so much food from these Bulagrian farmers we met that I was still eating it months later in Afghanistan. And when I got back to Varna the whole crew-- DeeDee included-- was waiting for me. I said goodbye to my Bulgarian pals and we drove south to Burgas and then it was about 5 hours on to Istanbul— with one tiny detour to see some caves right on the other side of the border in Turkey (Dupnisa), the first overtly tourist thing I had done since leaving London.
When we got to Istanbul we were in another world, especially the Sultanahmet district where all the hippies were staying. It was the beginning of the East. It was the end of the road for the young lady from Brooklyn since I wasn’t going anywhere ’til she gave up and the two Danes and Joel were happy to hang out in Istanbul as well. My stay in Turkey— the first of many in my life— was the death knell for conventional wisdom. That’ll be the next installment.
