​

Across North Africa, 1973
 
I was a second year graduate student in the Department of Zoology at University College Dublin. I owned a relatively new Fiat 500, and loved to travel. So I persuaded a friend (C) to drive across North Africa with me.  Here's my journal.

In transcribing the journal, I am surprised at how intrepid we were. We encountered a lot of problems: a robbery in Rome, another in Sicily, and a hair-raising encounter with some locals in Sicily. We were extremely naive, and thoroughly insensitive to north African customs. In the end, administrative hassles nixed our plan to drive across Algeria. So we returned to Italy from Tunisia and drove around the Mediterranean to southern Spain, leaving the car and taking a ferry to Morocco. Not surprisingly, hitchhiking in Morocco was quickly abandoned for local buses. Money was extremely tight and we rarely ate a meal out, instead cooking by the side of the road on a camping stove, or even inside the car if it rained!
 
Many of the anecdotes described in the journal have stayed with me over the past 43 years. Others I have long since forgotten, so it was fun to read about them again and have my memories confirmed. I also enjoyed a glimpse of my younger (more critical) self! We had a great adventure and along the way met some wonderfully kind and friendly people. Unfortunately there are almost no photos as I took slides which deteriorated over the years.
 
 
"Holiday commencing Sunday 2nd. September, 1973, travelling through: Scotland, England, France, Belgium, Luxembourg, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Tunisia, Spain, Morocco. 8,015 miles.
 
Sunday 2nd. September
Youth Hostel, Carlisle, Scotland.
219 miles
 
What great expectations. Our course in English Geography must have greatly neglected distances and elementary miles per hour calculations. I thought to be in London now and not just out of Scotland. My memory of last year's hitch hiking is bad, in fact lousy. (The previous year I had hitchhiked the same route, and beyond, to Norway, Finland and Sweden). Anyhow, that puts paid to a day's shopping in London.
 
We left home without the customary 'have you got your passports, tickets, and don't forget to write!', probably because Val has just come home from Alaska, and Auntie Anne and my cousin, Vora were staying. Instead, I couldn't beep at Mum while she waved from the window; perhaps it's an omen. The British Customs man told us we'd be raped in North Africa and 'It'll be a privilege', but he didn't say for whom! Larne (Northern Ireland, where the ferry to Scotland departs from) was like a deserted village on the Sunday, and the boat was crowded, uneventful and late. We drove south immediately we landed, but still only made Carlisle the first night, and went to bed early planning to leave early.
 
Monday 3rd. September
Declan's flat, London, England
330 miles
 
Left before 8 AM and were on the M6 south. Breakfast at a cafe en route and just pressed on except for petrol stops. The traffic was heavier than anything I ever experienced before, particularly around Birmingham, with enormous articulated trucks passing me no bother. Most times I'd have to pass them uphill, but coming they would shake the wee Fiat severely as they thundered by. At one stage, I thought we had a puncture and pulled in. You could hardly stand with them, but a more considerate lot of drivers I've never yet seen. Cars seem to be deliberately nasty by comparison. Arrived in London by 3:30 and got parking free in Regents Park. Located Declan, C's brother, and we split up to do some shopping. London's full of tourists; hot and clammy. Declan is an unlicensed street vendor in Carnaby Street, exercising the biggest rip-off going: beads, jewelry, leather, etc. We met his mates in a pub later, an Irish pub, and they were all Dubliners, all mostly from Walkinstown and ex-Trinity College Dublin drop-outs. Went to see 'Pat Garett and Billy the kid' and was enthralled by a beautiful sound and scene with Mr. Dylan really playing a cameo role. Met Dec for a jar; wandered to 'Kleptomania' where they sell stuff in Picadilly Square until 11:00 and got any reductions we wanted. Drove Declan home, chatted and had supper (I've discovered C has huge appetites at all times, which leave me untouched, but it's very difficult not to eat when she's eating) and crashed on their floor. He lives with Paul, a real dote.
 
Tuesday 4th. September
Arras, France
163 miles
 
Woke at 8 and had a shower. Breakfasted, left and shopped in Fulham for groceries. Left Dec in Piccadilly and drove out of London without once going wrong! Very heavy traffic and very hot. Stopped in Canterbury to look around. The cathedral is beautiful, but somehow in England the churches they show off have no peace or austerity left. They are bright and touristy and thoroughly...I don't know... it's not as if I'm a devout religionist, but it seems still so irreverent. The town is typically old, winding and bent. All the houses look exhausted from centuries' stain and they stoop. We completed the provisioning, failed to get amber head-light covers, and left.
 
Ultra-efficiency at Dover port. Wish we had gone on a hovercraft though. The boat was almost empty - perhaps 30 cars. a bike and a huge Volvo truck. First impression of French drivers from behind the wheel instead of passenger were terrifying. They come from all angles and believe they are right. It was a hassle, but like everything, you become blasé after a while at it. We drove quietly onward through glorious evening heat to Arras, an old-fashioned town on the Paris road, and thanks to the Automobile Association and C found the 'Auberge De Jeunesse' no problem. A little old lady sorted us out, showed us the kitchen, and we cooked up a tin of watery, beautiful Irish stew. There were only a couple of others in the hostel - one Brian Higgins, with mother a Coyle from Belmullet and father from Charlestown. He was red-haired and very friendly, visiting all First World War sites for a sponsored project, and we were able to tell him of front line trenches down the road (AA useless bits of information again!). Walked around the town which was deserted and so warm with the arcades retaining all the day's heat. Met a Russian girl in the bedroom.
 
Wednesday 5th. September
Merzalben, Germany
325 miles
 
Today is C's birthday although I forgot until mid-afternoon. We bought 'du pain' around 9, and breakfasted well, chatting all the while to Brian. Left and just drove steadily for hours through pretty uninteresting countryside - undulating, pastoral, and sometimes wooded. Avoided most of the very large towns and eventually stopped for lunch in a clearing. She has turned off the lights so this will be continued tomorrow.
 
Got coffee and later spent hours looking for the hostel in a tiny town near Saarbruchen. C always manages to locate places that are lovely but miles off the main road for fear that the wardens will be too regimental. Anyhow, she was a dote, frosty at first to our English, and then, on hearing we were Irish, couldn't do enough for us. We had a room to ourselves while about 40 young Germans, male and female, sang at a bonfire outside. Went down the town for a meal to celebrate but found only one Gasthof and it had no food, only drink. Obviously we were the only females in town as the fellows, young and old, acted like children, showing off. The wine tasted fresher than my elderflower so that put paid to it as a night.
 
Thursday 6th. September
Lucerne, Switzerland
268 miles
 
This must be one of the most beautiful hostels in Europe and again, it's almost empty. Situated about 30 miles around the lake from Lucerne, just on the shore, approached by a very sinuous road, or boat, from the city, you can see mountains silhouetted against the moon-sky, hear the lake, and cow bells in the hills behind. Again C chose it, and tho' they have 180 beds, there could only be a dozen here. We have a room to ourselves and it feels like Grade A living. Maerzalban for breakfast was a howl. The main dining room was full of the 'barbecue' crowd so we were shown into a room by ourselves with bread, rolls, butter, jam and a huge jug of coffee. Rearranged the car and drove leisurely on the main road to Karlsruhe. I had planned much and varied shopping there which included a car radio, but prices have doubled since 3 years ago and I was so disappointed. Nothing was a bargain. We bought fruit and wine - nothing else 'cept pepper grinders, and hope that North Africa hasn't gone the same way. I didn't feel like coffee at 1 Deutschmark = 3/4 of a cup, and almost wished for Dublin's cheap goods. Got out easily and drove out of Germany along autobahns that leave the M1 to shame w.r.t. speed. I passed nothing at 50 m.p.h. and saw only one other baby Fiat the whole day. Car and Honda 4 (750 c.c. and very rare in Dublin) spotting seemed our regular occupation. Crossed into Switzerland (yodle-eee)(Toblerone - lerone - lerone) and got through Lucerne with not too much fuss. Found this place which promises to be twice as nice in the morning, and dined in the car about 10 minutes walk from the hostel on bread, salami, tomatoes, cucumber, bananas and wine. I'm sleepy. C is covered in bites - ceratopogonids, mark you, but they don't fancy me much. Today I had to wear a long skirt of C's in the car with it in the 90s F as we drove along, naturally with the roof open. It's a God-send.
 
Friday 7th. September
Parma, Italy
254 miles
 
Again we breakfasted alone in a huge dining room overlooking the lake. The warden told us he had been to Ireland just after the war at an International Youth Festival and loved it. He commiserated with us over the war and as C said, people are so nice to us, maybe they think we are refugees or the like. It was so nice we almost stayed the day, but it would have been too hot altogether.
 
Slowly we made our way over the St. Gothard Pass, getting very accustomed to magnificent scenery. The way down to Como is more Italian than Swiss, though most definitely in the Swiss country. They speak an Italian dialect and accept Italian money. It was very built-up and difficult to get a pleasant place for lunch. Got our first little bit of sun - very gradual as we're both white. Crossed into Italy, and although determined to take roads and not pay for the autostrada, it was easier to avoid Milan by motorway, and we continued to Parma paying 1000Lire = 70p for the journey. They are fast crazy drivers who definitely more ignorant than Dublin Taxi drivers. Even though we arrive in these cities always after closing, everyone - the national past time - must be driving up and down the country, checking up on what's going on at the other end. The hostel is in the citadel of Parma alongside a camping site. The warden is very gruff, but needs to be. We wandered down to the town to such attention - I wonder do they give the same to every foreigner? Ensconced ourseleves in a restaurant to eat pizza or the like and when they said we must have 5 courses, we left. Getting brazen while away. Found another and had lasagna and risotto and wine. Got our bottoms pinched on the way back by 10 year olds! Thrills all round. Worried about the boot lock which has jammed completely.
 
Saturday 8th. September
Tavarnelle Val di Pesa
225 miles
 
While C cooked breakfast (tea on a Camping Gaz) I crawled under the car to see if there was any way around the lock. Finally I just forced it, took it off and rigged up an elastic hook affair until I can get another. Two Scottish bitches kept us awake half the night and two American bitches early in the morning. We've been having hostels too good. Continued on to Florence until C found a short cut! It was lovely, crawling all over mountainy Tuscany, but the Automobile Association don't recommend it and I know why. By 1:00, three hours later, we were nowhere, but had seen glorious Italian ski resorts, minus snow. Lunch and sun did much to improve out humors, and by 4:30 when we got to Florence, it was closed and not very attractive. Every time I get out of the car I'm soaked through! It's 95 as we drive along, and worse in cities. Left for the nearest hostel, about 10 miles away in a mountain village. The warden is lackadaisical, the place full of English boring young men, and there's something on tonight to do with a Socialist festival (red flags all over). Watched some rock being made while we searched for a pizzeria, and eventually drove 25 miles to Sienna for the same. The latter is perfect Romeo and Juliet setting but costly and touristy and no place where you could have a plate of 'nosh'. So we returned and cooked up stew and mash. Could be worse, could be starving.
 
Sunday 9th. September
Rome
223 miles
 
The eternally hot city! Though I'd say if I stayed long enough, I'd adore it.
 
We left the other hostel after a fine breakfast and drove through Sienna, onwards to Rome. The road was pleasant and fairly quiet, but with only an elastic thing holding the boot closed, it banged, so we went quite slowly. Were stopped with an ignorant Cop who didn't know what to do with my papers, called up another who claimed to speak German and French but really couldn't, and finally returned all and let us on our way. Eventually drove into the center of Rome in quite incredible heat. By chance where we stopped for a drink was near the Coliseum and we got great directions to Marnie's (sister of an Irish friend). But there was nobody in, so we sat outside reading for 2 hours, being pestered by 4-40 age groups. Finally, we drove into town to eat, had a moderate pizza, and returned to leave another note at the flat, and while stopped, asked the way to the youth Hostel. We were told there was one beside us. Well, we checked, and sure enough, there's a hostel for students in the middle of Rome on the river. They are so nice - clean sheets and showers for 800 Lire instead of 600 Lire, but all spotless and really friendly. The proper hostel has a dreadful reputation for dirt and thievery so this is fabulous.
 
Chatting to an Australian, who has met, in us, the first Irish of her travels. All are English-speaking in the room of 6 beds. The place used to be an enormous convent and is quite beautiful. And I'd have sold my soul for a shower.
 
Monday 10th. September
Rome
 
Woke in the night cold! The relief was weird. Anyhow, by the time we got up, only 9:00, everyone had left. In the standard hostels they wake you. but here you can wait until 10:30. No meals are served but there are machines for coke, coffee, etc. and millions of cafes, bars and restaurants around. We planned to leave if I couldn't contact Jeanne (Marnie's sister), and sure enough, she answered the phone. they had come in quite late the night before and only got the note this morning as there are 2 Indians staying in the flat, friends of Thomas I think (Marnie's boyfriend). One is female and has got herself a job, but the other is old-ish, went to the US to work, leaving a wife and 8 kids, got deported for not having a permit, and then had all his money stolen. So he's there, moping around all day and you cannot tell him to go away. The information desk in the hostel showed me where the Irish College was, where to get tickets to Sicily/Tunis and a couple of other bits and pieces. It was their good humor that really impressed me. Had breakfast with Jeanne - tea and toast! Even her auntie Betty's jam! She takes the dog (a half-dead stray adopted by Marnie, looking a bit Irish wolfhound and as cute as they come) for a walk every morning to the market, an enormous wholesale place where they get all their vegetables free by virtue of them being thrown out. If one is bad, the whole case goes. But the market was over by the time we called. Took a bus into town and called on Marnie. She works for 3 hours in the morning, typing, paying bills, etc. for a strange man who writes, acts, is an opera singer, and entertains every day about 6 people to lunch as his hobby is gourmet cooking. And he even does the wash-up. Fellini, Muriel Spark, etc. are among his guests!
 
Tuesday 11th. September
Rome
 
Woke late and leisurely wandered down to the car, having planned to meet Jeanne and view the monuments. Found the car fly window smashed (must have taken a hell of a blow as it was reinforced glass after the last break-in), and both my bag and case gone, and maps, workshop manual, and even novels! C's haversack must have been too awkward as they just emptied the contents everywhere. The shites! I was so annoyed that I just stood in the street and screamed abuse at every Italian in the city. Went straight to the police who took a statement through French, then then returned to the car where C had gathered a crowd of curious and sympathetic Italians. The director of the hostel passed and sent out an interpreter to us who came to the police while I gave an inventory of what was lost, and naturally enough forgot some things. The statement from them will have to be produced to the Automobile Association along with the receipt for the window. Fortunately, the street where it happened had a garage, and while we were out at the Olympic village getting a new hostel book and also going to the bank, he had it ready to put in when we returned. C failed to find Jeanne tho' they were both in Piazza Del Venezia. We drove to Marnie's and had lunch there. They persuaded us to stay another night to try and make up for what happened. So we went to get tickets for Sicily - North Africa, came back to the flat after seeing Michelangelo's Moses and the Coliseum (I lost interest totally and if Mich. himself had been at it, I wouldn't have rushed in!). Thomas prepared dinner and a friend called Tony called. Later, 6 of us piled in to a Fiat 600 just identical to Val's, and drove Italian-style to Piazza Navone where everyone wanders late at night. I've never seen so many queers, not even in Bartley Dunne's on a Saturday night, and of course, just stood watching with my mouth open. Ate fabulous ice-cream, saw the Trevi fountain without its water, and the cops all round stopping anyone but the authorities from collecting the money, and finally back to Tony's for Marsala and tea and biscuits, and home exhausted.
 
Wednesday 12th. September
Sperlonga
97 miles
 
I spent today bad-humored, remembering all the other things that I forgot to tell the police were stolen. We slept very late, breakfasted and said goodbye and thanks to Marnie on the phone. She had been so good, giving me 2 dresses and a towel, and Jeanne a dress also. Drove along the Appian Way which was delightful and totally deserted. I forgot to mention yesterday that I took out the dip-stick to check the oil and found 1/2 of it missing, broken off, and somewhere in the sump doing no damage I sincerely hope. Bought a new one in the Fiat spares place where they are coming to know me very well!
 
The relief of leaving Rome was indescribable but neither of us were in very good humour as the last 3 days were just unsatisfactory - bad luck, too hot, and too many people in Rome, all sight-seeing. Winter there would be lovely for a quiet visit. We reached the hostel early; it's a lovely spot in a 5th. Century fishing village - now a Rome peoples' resort though I imagine an expensive one. Most of the village is built on a hill and the streets are narrow 6 ft. wide whitewashed paths with steps, etc. Quite lovely! We lay on the beach (many private ones and pay ones, but a couple of good public beaches), I in a bikini top and panties as the original went in the theft also. There are 5 Scots and 2 English girls in the hostel, the former really nice and an Irish girl from Rathfarnham who knows C to see, and an Irish fellow from Dungarvan who know the Caseys there and who is going into final Architecture at UCD though he did first year Science in our year. He recommended a place south of Naples and we're going there tomorrow instead of staying here as we had planned. Ate dinner in the hostel for 11 shillings: minestrone soup, home-made and delicious, with bread, steak, and tomato and cucumber salad followed by grapes (washed, Mummy!) with mineral water to drink. Shared tea with the Irish fellow and now are the only ones left in the common room - all the others have gone to bed.
 
Thursday 13th. September
Paestum, Italy
138 miles
 
Nobody woke us this morning and yet we were expected to leave by 9 AM punctually. I had 23 bites on me, all of them screaming at the same time and I remember tearing at them during the night. The place was near a swamp or lake so perhaps that was the reason. Prepared our own breakfasts of tea, bread, butter and marmalade and left shortly afterwards. Stopped at a Standa shop, the countrywide Roches or Dunnes Stores with pretty good value in most things. Couldn't resist buying a warning triangle! Talk about tempting fate. The way to Naples was very lush and green, quite unexpected, but Naples is very built-up all around. We both bought clogs there which were lovely, unusual, and then kept on driving to Pompeii. Wandered around for free on Student's Cards after waiting for at least a 50-piece American party all to sign their names in with one pen! The place itself cannot fail to impress and it's large enough not to be shouldering people at every step. We saw 2 bodies; there must have been hundreds more, and they are small, shrunken a little bit with no doubt as to their being human - one has a foot broken off showing the bones. They have reconstructed very little and the sports theatre is perfect.
 
Moved on to Salerno, a ghastly place, and all along the coast from there to here it looks like Bettystown mid-Winter but far more dirty, derelict and ugly. I doubt I have ever been in an uglier spot. This Paestum is famous for three 600B.C. temples and a whole city in ruins. it is very peaceful, and while we walked through it there was Baroque music coming from somewhere. It transpired that an American cruise had orchestra and audience and some brilliant soloists, sailing all over Europe and playing here and there. Met a German fellow and a Scottish girl and besides them are two French fellows and two German girls. We all ate dinner, an enormous one with spaghetti and omelet and tomatoes. C and I helped to do the wash up afterwards and were forced to eat grapes and figs in repayment. We're sitting in the dormitory to get away from the young lad who did the wash up and the old one who did the cooking.
 
Friday 14th. September
Scilla, Italy
254 miles
 
This hostel is a castle 'with bats in the belfry and wind in the turrets, lizards on the wall and C clutching her hair, afraid that they will get into it. It's in a fabulous spot with a lighthouse on a promontory overlooking Scilla, a tiny resort. there's a howling wind outside that bodes badly for tomorrow's sun-bathing! We intended today to stay in Paestum but due to hazy weather we left. Travelled the coast road all along to here, avoiding the Autostrada, going through quite lush but severely unpopulated mountains, except for the actual coast-line which is studded with hideous hotels. At lunchtime we stopped for a couple of hours but there were flies and the sun went in! Not very successful. Arrived here by dark and paid 40P for dinner at the hostel desk to eat in a restaurant in town: spaghetti, fish and grapes. The German from last night was here and two others, so the five of us shared some wine, and a crazy Italian joined us to converse with C in French, who translated it to us, who translated it into German.
 
Saturday 15th. September
Scilla, Italy
38 miles
 
Spent today on the beach being pestered by Italians who do not respond to "fuck off"! they are persistent and thick and finally we moved beside two English fellows and two Swedish girls just for peace. The water was glorious though salty enough to leave deposits on your skin. Gave the two German girls from the Paestum Hostel coffee and biscuits for breakfast as they had no money cashed. Around 4 PM we drove to Ville San Giovanni and Reggio to check the boats. Both of us red/brown coloured.
 
Sunday 16th. September
Messina, Sicily
50 miles
 
Just sitting in the lounge of the ferry boat from Ville San Giovanni to Messina - there are about four distinct large seating corners to the lounge and we sat in an empty one, to be followed by three middle-aged men. This number has increased to at least 10, all sitting around us chatting vehemently to each other and loudly as if to attract our attention. They have already tried to start a conversation with us which we ignored, and now one fellow has tried to sit down beside C., to be pushed away and shown another seat by the two nearest to us. (Chivalry - hardly!)
 
There were long queues for the boats which go so frequently as it not to matter being in a hurry. So one bloke jumped the queue in a big way and tried to get in front of me. No go, and behind a couple were beeping at him so he beeped back just as loudly. Then we had to reverse on to the ferry which caused total chaos, and these people do it so regularly. they cannot be quite so imbecilic. The beach today was quiet as Steve and James, the two English fellows, joined us. We overheard the Swedish girls with whom they were sort of hanging around and sharing meals, saying to another 30-ish and "loose" (if you call letting three Italians paw you all over; I'd rather leeches) Canadian not to tell the English lads they stayed out all night with Italian fellows. Anyhow, we just swam, sun bathed and planned tonight's meal. It was goulash and rice using soup and a tin of stew as base but 20P worth of vegetables made it cordon bleu and we had a bottle and a half of wine to go along with it.
 
Went for a jar with the two fellows last night and they were very nice. Steve hitched across North Africa last year and told us it was terrible so we're dreading it.
 
(The same 10 Italians are having a huge loud - they live for noise in this country - argument, like children trying to get their mother's attention. It's painful.) I daren't stop writing or I'll have to sit with my arms folded doing nothing which would invite conversation.
 
Well, to the hostel. It was lovely but for three Italian bitches in our room who came in late and screamed at each other 'till all hours, and this morning woke early and managed to get everyone else up, though I groaned at them to "shut up". Papa Giovanni, the Warden, is a strange fellow who warns you off Italians on the beach as soon as you arrive and you think him a fine, upstanding gentleman, But apparently he is taken to be over fond of girls and when the two Swedish birds paid for showers, he wandered in on them with an ice-cream each!
 
Then there's the crowd of Italian fellows in the Hostel - they come down from one of the cities for holidays and paint the village red, a not too difficult task judging by the village. On the beach they are black, no need to tan at all, and sit around like hungry wolves. Occasionally, after about five hours, one will have a "plan" perfected (for all Italians must make strategical plans, requiring hours of deliberation and counter-deliberation), and will come over, sit beside you (two inches away) and ask: "Do you speak English, Parlez-vous Français, Sprechen sie Deutsch?" as if they could, and to tell them vehemently to "fuck off". Not very nice, but a polite "go away" would almost encourage them. (Again, the men around us are intrigued by the fact that I can write for so long and C read for the same).
 
Monday 17th. September
Palermo, Sicily
310 miles
 
Today was quite unbelievable, but I'd loath a repeat performance! It started at 4 AM with C hearing a door bang very close to us. As the hostel was empty and removed from other houses, she naturally worried. I woke and the pair of us meditated getting up. About half an hour later there was another bang, even closer. It was pitch dark, but all the same we left and went down about three flights of steps to where we had left the car. My fly window was forced...  Well, this time they had taken all the books and maps that were left, but left me the Fiat manuals as before. All the camping stuff, including a large bottle of medicine for the runs, and a tin of Irish stew, leaving other tins; some of our presents, leaving all C's clothes, and from the bonnet, the spare parts and my tools, leaving the Fiat tools. Such a motley collection! We sat and waited for dawn. Two old men were waiting for something nearby and I asked one where was the Police Station. but it was still only 6 AM, too early to go along. then a little 50-ish man came up, exclaimed sympathy and made us to understand it was not locals who had done this (like hell!), and he motioned me to follow him to search the roadside, which I thought futile, but went along with him. About 200 yards down the road he looked over the wall - the village is perched on a hill with walls all around - having told me to say nothing, and behold, pointed to a neatly tied-up plastic bag. It didn't look familiar so I said no, but he insisted, climbed over the wall, and got it and some other things. Next he made a bee-line for the opposite side of the road, and behind some bushes pulled out two other neatly packed bags. Then he told me not to go to the police, and motioned to creeping after people and throats being slit. I don't know whether it was my throat or his. He kissed my hand and I told him we didn't kiss in Ireland and returned to C. who was really worried. Obviously everyone in the place knew who had done it and all they kept of value was the car tools, about £10 worth, I suppose. The window was badly forced and two sight-seers (at 7 in the morning at the end of a village; nobody is sight-seeing unless they know what they are looking for) fixed it for me - one with a very useful looking jemmy. We left in time! I suppose that was our first encounter with the Mafia, but they must be short of money or just in training.
 
So we breakfasted on the roadside, still speculating madly, and returned to Messina, to Catania, and then up to Mount Etna. Lava is about the ugliest thing to see, dry and cold, and the landscape was unreal. It's about 20 miles uphill from the nearest town to the base of the mountain, and really a disappointment. On the way down we stopped at a parking place for lunch. Just as we finished, three ugly Italians in a Fiat 600 pulled in and began to hassle us. We told them to go away - useless. So we began to drive down and they drove in front, weaving from side to side and trying to push us off the road if I tried to pass. Nobody was around and we were terrified - the place was miles from anywhere and full of hairpins. A car coming in the opposite direction finally, we stopped and as they went on, shouted for the nearest police three miles away. We asked a Land Rover going down the hill to escort us and they brought us to the Police, who naturally could do nothing.  We actually passed the car on the way to Catania but they did nothing. But it was a real fright and both of us were terrified. So we took the Autostrada to Palermo after that and drove for hours through insipid countryside - almost two-dimensional, rocky, burnt land with the most monotonous Autostrada conceivable, almost all on stilts and windy. Nearly ran out of petrol as they had no stations at all!
 
In Palermo we asked a couple of people for cheap hotels but didn't get many suggestions. On the way to one, a Fiat 126 followed us down a side street with a fellow shouting "Mary". C was about to scream at him when they pulled alongside and he explained that he had known a Mary Keogh in Dublin and thought I was she. He had spent some time in Dublin - 4 years of two months each, and really loved it. His friend who drove could not speak English, but we asked them if they knew of a cheap hotel. Their final suggestion was that we stay in the motel where they thought they could arrange a cheap room without a bath. We agreed very cautiously to go along with them and about half an hour later we were showering in a luxurious motel for 30/- each, bed only instead of 45/-. they brought us out to dinner, for coffee afterwards, and around the sights of Palermo, recommending various places. They were both from Napoli and really so good to us we couldn't believe it. I could even have test driven the Fiat 126! Ugo, as the Irish one was called, tried to persuade us to stay, but we said goodbye to them that night and then I could hardly sleep with the comfort of it all!
 
Tuesday 18th. September
Trapani - Tunis
80 miles
 
Woke around 8 AM, washed, repacked, etc. We found on leaving that our bill had been paid and there was a really lovely note from Ugo saying how he enjoyed our company so much! We stopped briefly, naturally bought some things, and drove slowly to Trapani (being given three different directions out of Palermo). Arrived around 5 PM and found the spot where the boat was meant to go from. There were a couple of fellows with packs looking as bored as us and we invited them to join us for coffee. Alex and Uri are Swiss, just finished school and just spent 6 weeks in Greece. They were absolutely dotes, the former having spent 6 weeks in Belfast doing social work last year. Anyhow, they stayed with us while we cooked dinner with literally half the city standing by observing us quite openly - fully grown men! One even bent down to look under the car as if a Fiat 500 were unusual. It was great having the lads with us as we were safe.
 
 A big, swish Fiat sports car pulled up beside us and an advertisement-style Sicilian leered out the window: were we Irish? He was a Radio Officer and had been in Dublin, Cork and liked Irish girls. Conveniently we ran out of camping gas and we asked him where we might get some. He brought me, making sure that Alex escorted me also! so we chatted for a long time while the others just laughed at me - I was getting the full treatment with "if you stayed - you and your friend..." But he gave me his card and left as we squatted down on the pier to eat! A trawler berthed near us gave us a present of a bowl of cooked shrimps. Lovely! We were almost giving up hope of the boat coming in at all when it arrived, fussed greatly over unloading, more over loading, and all during the while we chatted to the boat's radio officer - a very nice man. When we were on we met the Swiss lads again and as the boat was almost empty, slept on long couches in the lounge.
 
Wednesday 19th. September
Nabeul, Tunisia
67 miles
 
This journey becomes more bizarre every day. Arrived at 8 AM and breakfasted very well on the usual bread, bananas, water. Cars took almost two hours to get away. First of all, our car was in the end; all others in the side and the Tunisians wouldn't let us off the boat to go to the back. When we got there, they wouldn't let us on to collect the car! Spare me from imbeciles. The documentation was phenomenal - queue for X to bring Y, return to X, pay for insurance but you can only get money then, so you lose your place in the queue to change money, etc., etc., ad infinitum. When all of that was over, we met the fellows outside, who had waited for us, and managed the impossible by fitting both of them and their packs into the fiat. Drove hilariously to Tunis center. coffee was very dear, almost 10P and a bun 5P. We wandered to Poste Restante where Val's letter had arrived, for which you have to pay 4P, and Alex also got a letter. then to a very unhelpful Tourist Information who gave us a map of Tunis, a lot of rubbish about youth hostels, and told us to buy a map of Tunisia. We entered the Souk or market area and were fascinated by narrow passages of shops, almost dragging you in, but nothing with prices and everything for bargaining. Cloaks, copper, jewelry, baskets, etc. are the main sale items and whether it was because we had long skirts on or two fellows with us, I don't know, but nobody troubled us. All were curious but very friendly. One kid threw a fruit peel at me and a little girl lifted my skirt. But maybe she thought I looked different underneath. Anyhow it was fascinating. We even ate cous-cous, a mealy base with sauce of mutton and beans, altogether filling for 7/- though very tasty. The meal is a bit bland, but I'm sure very rich in protein. But orange is expensive. The fruit and veg markets were dirty and they are thronged with kids, and some women wearing white wrap-arounds, others very stylishly dressed. Men, well, some look like shepherds and others drab and others still very swish while they hold hands, kiss on the cheek deliberately, and feel each other quite openly. It's so strange.
 
Well, we headed off looking for the youth hostel, discovered it closed because there was a crowd of other people at a conference there - the fellow in charge just said 'no' to every question we asked and when I went to look at some tents in a field behind, said 'no', I couldn't look in. That was the last straw. We left and drove 45 miles to Nabeul, the next Youth Hostel, with the fellows, at a snail's pace because of the car (while we sat in the car at the Tunis Hostel, two little kids pulled the Lion sticker off the back of the car, without us noticing a thing!) Here they were equally unhelpful but had room. The fellows had no cars, wouldn't buy then for £3 - £1.50 too dear (I bought a map of N. Africa for £1 having been asked for £3 in another shop, and were told it was illegal to sleep on the beach. Anyhow, again we cooked out, with various Tunisians wandering over to talk in French to the two Swiss fellows. They appear very friendly but I don't trust anyone. Finally we returned to the hostel to meet an English, New Zealand and French girl. apparently there's trouble in getting visas into Algeria and we may have to wait 3 weeks for one. So now we've to go back to Tunis tomorrow and check. If that's the case, we'll just have to go back to Italy, perish the thought, and then the long way round to Spain.


 
Thursday 20th. September
Gabes, Tunisia
323 miles
 
Woke at 8 after a really beautiful sleep, during which I was bitten alive. Had a lovely breakfast on the beach with it already hot, before 9:00 and went to the post office with Alex while he phoned the Algerian consulate. they told him we needed visas and photos and it could be got in one day, while Swiss did not need anything. So we said goodbye and returned to Tunis. got photographs that made me look like a convict and C 40-ish, and armed with these headed to the Consulate. there we were informed that we needed nothing. So someone is messing and I hope it's not me. We picnicked on the roadside where everyone left us alone for a change. It's so relaxing. Sat on the beach in Hammamet for a couple of hours and it was sweltering hot. Even the water was hot, though seaweedy, and also very windy. From there we headed south through semi-desert with nomads, camels, sheep, etc. to Sfax. the road is good in the middle but the edges are dust tracks and we saw a sand storm in the distance.
 
Sfax hostel was closed for no reason so we headed south again to Gabes. Stopped by the cops on the way in - very thorough but nice. All speak French and almost nobody speaks English. Got to the hostel at 3 minutes before it closed and he let us cook in the courtyard inside. It's full of Germans. Showers and clean sheets.
 
Friday 21st. September
Gafsa, Tunisia
196 miles
 
We were woken at some unearthly hour like 7 AM and by that time the whole town seemed to be about its business. Already it was very hot and we headed out to the desert road to Matmata, a semi-underground village just on the edge of the really arid desert. Breakfasted by the roadside and were plagued by flies.
 
This desert is really scrub land. Occasional trees are planted in rows, I suppose to give shade and stop erosion, but they are stunted. A few palm groves are along the wayside and strange contrasts in houses. Some are modern long low bungalows, others tiny boxes that seem to merge in with the undulations of the countryside, and others still are cave dwellings or huge hollowed out craters with caves emanating from the walls.
 
All along people wave. There are few cars and most are old Peugeots. They go in a lot for new Peugeot estates, the ones that can afford it - and the second row back seat is always filled with two red and white robed Tunisians! The main roads are good, well surfaced, but only very narrow in places. People seem to sit by the road side for days waiting for a lift, and almost stand in front of the car to get it. They assume that there's always room for one more.
 
We returned to Gabes and looked around, bought vegetables cheaply, had a drink and lay on the beach for a few hours. They pester here too on the beach. I don't know what young men do all the time, but it's certainly not work. It was windy and we didn't notice ourselves getting burned. Next we started to cross 100 miles of desert non stop. I didn't realize there was no other village, and so had to come back and stock up with petrol. It was a bit of a nightmare travelling along with an intensely hot wind blowing across our path. it was so strong that one gust almost stopped the car and I thought we had engine trouble. The only people out in it were nomads with their sheep, goat and camel herds, grazing on heaven knows what, beside their low black tents. As we approached Gafsa the land became more luxurious with grass and trees, though nothing like we know it.
 
Found the hostel, a "maison des jeunes" which are youth centers and not as good as hostels. Wandered around the town, obviously in market with people selling second-hand clothes at a great rate. Talk about being objects of interest, and when C went into a bar for a pint of beer there was consternation. People offered to buy her more and they served hot broad beans and fried sardine-like fish with the drink. No other females in the bar. Bought a few postcards, 2 1/2P in Tunis, 5P here, but with no effort you can get them for 3P.
 
Returned to the hostel where the fellow looking after it was a young, one-eyed individual. We cooked a big pot of stew only to discover that we had put chilies, not peppers, into it. Had to throw it away and have beans and mash instead. Over tea met a Swiss fellow staying in the hostel who had been sick for a couple of days, and he drank tea with us, also the three girls he was travelling with who brought about 10 fellows following them up from the town.
 
Then one eye came up to the room to give us sheets which we already had - his pretext for another look.
 
Saturday 22nd. September
Nabeul, Tunisia
340 miles
 
Misfortune naturally comes all together, but our luck so far has been totally absent. We left good and early today, breakfasted on the road in intolerable heat and arrived at the border. First it was one lot, then police and everything was OK to leave Tunisia except that there was no bank to change our extra money, about £2.50. So we bought a few useless items in a shop and returned to the customs who finally let us through to Algeria. (Note: probably the Hazoua customs). Then began the hassle. First they looked at everything, then demanded 'carte de grise', the Irish Tax which was stolen in Rome. They looked unintelligently at the Rome police certificate, and having stamped our passports, told us that they would have to phone Tebessa and check. This would take an hour or so. Meanwhile, a seedy-looking individual changed the £2.50 into Algerian money. One sweltering hour later they said "no" and that was that. The seedy looking individual was nowhere to be found so we got back our £2.20 plus three useless Algerian coins. Onward to the Tunisian side who nearly dropped to see us back. They then got excited at the fact that I hadn't got a 'carte de grise', but as I was bawling my head off with the disappointment, they let us back through and suggested that we go to the Algerian Embassy. They asked had anything "méchant" happened at the Algerian side which implies that it does often. So we headed for Tunis, miles away, short of money on a Saturday, and as nothing opens until Monday, including booking offices, cannot leave for Italy or go to the Embassy until then.
 
Somebody decently in a hotel changed money for us and we drove to Nabeul where we were told the hostel was full - a Tunisian group coming with dinner laid on for them. But he said he would allow us to sleep in the dining room on the floor. Cooked up a meal and met a French fellow who sold his minibus here and is now approaching all foreigners to see if they want any exchange as he cannot take Tunisian money out or change it here. Went for a beer with him and returned to the hostel to be met by a really nice English girl, married to a Tunisian, living in Kasserine and along with the Tunisian group. She said to try the Algerian Consulate also and arranged for us to sleep on beds in the girls room where she and her husband, the French fellow, and another Tunisian couple are sleeping. C is quite sick with a dose.
 
Sunday 23rd. September
Nabeul
 
Today we just sat around, reading, getting more depressed on hearing that there is only one boat out of Tunis per week and that leaves on Sunday. Bought baskets. C is sick as well, just to really lower our spirits. And the weather is lousy!
 
Monday 24th. September
Nabeul
105 miles
 
"Curioser and curioser". Now I know just how Alice felt when nothing was logical - a surrealistic nightmare C. called today, and she came pretty close. We drove to Tunis giving the French fellow a lift with all of his gear, and he wishes us luck outside the Algerian Embassy. So we asked the bitch at the desk could we have a stamp on the Italian police declaration or something like that. She looked extremely annoyed at being disturbed from her task of issuing visas (£1.60, which, for a socialist country is a bit much, and 24 hours wait for most except Germans who must wait 15 days). She returned half an hour later and told us to contact our embassy; we didn't have one? We must get the Italian translated into French (she didn't know where), stamped by the Ministry of the Interior, Ministry of External Relations, returned to her for another stamp between 3 and 6 PM. It was just around 11 AM.
 
So off we went to the Italian Embassy who wouldn't translate it but sent us to their official translator who was a nice old man in a little flat with his wife - both very French. He kindly translated, having listened to our story, and in French the thing mentioned nothing about the 'carte de grise'. The stupid Italian omitted that, workshop manual, and the tools (as I thought then). so the little old man told us we had a problem, suggested that we should go to our embassy, and then suggested we go to the British Embassy. So we did and explained, once downstairs, once upstairs and once again upstairs to a girl who could only suggest that we either send home for another tax book or go along to the Italian Embassy and have them Telex Rome. Knowing Louth County Council, I chose the latter, and we went off to the Italian Embassy. The girl on the door listened and sent us to the Passport Office because the man there could speak English, but he was gone, so someone else told us to to the next floor to someone else. He seemed quite efficient. Told us to come back at 6PM and when he saw our faces, told us to wait. So, about an hour later we got a beautifully signed and stamped testimonial that we had lost out 'carte de grise'. Off we went to get that signed by the Secretary of the Interior. He didn't open 'til 3 PM. We waited and at 3, were sent to one place where we queued, to another place where they sent us upstairs, explained again to someone who read at length through Italian and French versions of our clothes, underclothes, etc., and told us we would have to go to the Ministry of Justice the other side of town. There we explained to the doorman, the corridor man and a grinning, buck-toothed yob who, no matter how much we explained, would only stamp the French translation for 4P or something, and told us equally laughingly that the External Relations would cost us 60P. So we left, went straight to Tirrenia and booked a boat to Genoa for £60, the first boat leaving Tunis, on Wednesday.
 
Went to the Kasbah where the same fellow who showed the Swiss fellows where to eat with us the first day, was trying to sell us rings, and he brought us to a restaurant where we had soup for 8 P, mutton and peas for 15P and orange for 5P. In case he didn't pay for his own, I asked him for the money! Left and returned to Nabeul where there was a really nice German fellow staying in the men's room. We moved in with him after the episode of the night before when around 5 PM the door was pushed in and two men came in. They left when they heard the French fellow's voice saying "who's there?" or the like.
 
Thursday 25th. September
Nabeul
59 miles
 
Someone looked into the room tonight also, or so C. said, but both the German fellow and I slept through it. We meandered lazily about, went down the village for bread, sardines and peas to take to the boat with us and posted cards to people. Lunched on coffee, bread (the butter in the flask went rancid today, probably in protest at our treatment), peeled tomatoes and went down to the beach to a hazy, very strong sun. Then the fun started. Probably I didn't mention it much before this, because it's not something I notice, but 3/4 if not all Tunisian men are either mono sexual, homosexual or bisexual, but they certainly are not normal by our standards. Wandering down the street you can see them quite nonchalantly feeling themselves and many hold hands, kiss when they meet and paw each other all over. But today on the beach was the limit. I lay down and fell asleep while C read. an old man (60+) with a bicycle parked himself no more than 10 yards from us and proceeded to masturbate at a vast rate, culminating about an hour later in gibbering and screaming and then going to wash himself in the sea! C at first didn't believe it but each time she would look at him, he'd nod and leer back. Finally, she woke me when he began screaming, and we left. Plonked ourselves almost in the hotel garden on the beach and about half an hour later there was another, younger, doing the exact same thing quite openly. Before we left, two more had walked by us, gone down the dunes where they could see us but we, only their heads, and proceeded to masturbate. I suppose if it were two fellows on the beach, things would be absolutely no different. But things are weird....
 
Later, Gerhard returned from Tunis so we shared Irish stew and potatoes with him, drank tea and left around 10 for Tunis. Very windy going in to the city. Parked the car in La Gouette and tried to sleep.
 
Wendesday 26th.
Tunis - Genoa
 
Both of us woke around 5:00 AM quite stiff, and again around 7. Drove to a cafe and ate buns and white coffee for breakfast. There were three other fellows with packs so we asked them were they also going to Genoa. with the usual fuss at the port (one little man with a badge that said port guard wielding a large stick came up to the car asking for money. I don't know what he was meant to have done for it but we gave him none.) We loaded early and were not allowed to walk through first class to our part of the boat, but rather had to come out and go in the passenger entrance. There they wanted our passports and tickets which we had already given to the car entry place...fuss!
 
Left two hours late and immediately it got very rough. C was sick; I took a tablet, lay down and closed my eyes. Met an English Dave on the boat and shared food with him in Cagliari while the Sardinians loaded. Slept very well.
 
Thursday 27th. September
Tunis - Genoa
11 miles
 
This boat offers nothing but continuous vibrations and noise. Entertainment is a myth except for Italian (??), so we slept most of the day. It was sunny and a group of Italians, mostly old or blind or feeble, got on at Cagliari, so they were singing, etc. Ate bread, melon, sardines and combinations of these for all the meals, but tonight we treated ourselves to spaghetti, and I got meat and chips off someone else's plate who had finished. The boat is at least two hours late but at least calm.
 
Friday 28th. September
Sète, France
375 miles
 
We are both dizzy since we stopped driving this evening, probably as a result of the boat and following on that, a long distance today - 13 hours covering 350+ miles of fairly winding roads. Dave, the English fellow, woke us around 7:45 and though I washed my hair (in hot water - bliss!) we were down and had breakfast of hot rolls over by 8:15. Left with him in the back of the car because his route was ours for a while. Bid farewell - he was a real dote, and a friend of Rosemary Connolly's, Maurice, and Billy Lapin who had met him in the States, and spent last Christmas in Drogheda. So we had something in common. We headed out on the Italian Riviera, a ghastly place, enough to put anyone totally off, but it's so funny being back in Europe from the wilds of Africa or so it seems. Drove through crowds, along winding, endless, built-up roads and only reached the border at dinner time. French bread was a treat with bananas which we could never get in Tunis. But the milk is horrible as ever. Around 7 PM came through Montpellier and it looks like a really beautiful city. This hostel is up a 1 in 5 gradient hill (on which we are parked with stones under each wheel) and then up several flights of steps. It's an old villa with quite a few people staying. Cooked our last tin of Irish stew and potatoes, and chatted away merrily to a Scottish couple and an American howl. Two Irish people are here - the fellow a typical TCD med (probably first year), blasé "I've seen it all" type.
 
 
Saturday 29th. September
Castellon de la Plana, Spain
 
397 miles
 
Per usual, C is going to bed worried. Now that she's happy and in total security, she has found something to worry about: the two Polish women in the room next door to us. We're in the Youth Hostel here, with a difference: it's for women only and in reality, is some sort of school with room for a few boarders. But in the hostel book it states that it can take 12 women only. We found it quite easily and already it was 9:30 PM but they were so nice, gave us dinner and soup, egg, tomatoes and sardines and melon. We decided to have breakfast as it's so cheap, and we have a room to ourselves. But when we came down, this gaunt pair met us. Well, one is haggard and small and can speak French but the other is tall, young and looks through you completely! Chatted with them for a while and bade goodnight. Maybe they are our first pair of lesbians! Shopped in Beziers in a supermarket this morning and of course spent much more than we expected. Crossed into Spain - 6 years since I've been here, but to C it's new and she has always wanted to come. Perhaps as it's the last day of summer, every second car was German going home, but towards evening all the trucks in creation were going south, all at 50 mph and all head-to-tail. But Spanish drivers are a treat after Italian and French.
 
Sunday 30th. September
Granada, Spain
390 miles
 
We had thought to sun bathe today, just for a while, but though there was a starry night last night, the dawn was very dull. Breakfast consisted of bread (stale), butter and coffee. But the whole thing, D, B&B cost us 120 Pesetas each which was really cheap. Headed off for Alicante, the inland road, thinking it would be less crowded. It was, but very winding. People were on the beach at Benidorn, with huge waves and very windy, and as we headed inland to Murcia, the skies opened and it rained so much that cars parked by the roadside in dips were flooded up to their doors. We could hardly see and there was thunder and lightening to go with it. Never did see Murcia! Stopped for tea of beans and mash, both cooked in the car with a camping gaz at each of our feet. Arrived in Granada around 9:30 PM. Asked for and got a pension - OK for 120 P. for the two of us. Accommodation is still cheap. We bought a bun and had it with orange juice in a pub. Both exhausted.
 
Monday 1st. October
Ronda, Spain
167 miles
 
Some silly bitch today in rush-hour Granada traffic cut in too close and ripped a chunk out of my front bumper. We shouted at each other and stopped and examined the damage, etc. But neither of us could gain anything from law, so both went our ways. And the Isopon (Note: a car body filler) I bought was ripped off with the tools in Sicily, so that's that. Today was freezing. We left the car near the tourist office and got from them a useless map and list of festivals in the area. Walked up to the Alhambra but didn't feel like paying the 12/- or so entrance, and instead walked around the grounds for free. There were enough post cards to show us the contents, and busloads of tourists. But even Pompeii didn't cost us that much.
 
Looked at the shops where only shoes are cheap, and met an army parade with all the top brass dressed in their medals. It's a lovely old city of winding narrow streets, but like all of these places, each needs a few days to visit properly. Left and stopped for lunch at a village where there was meant to have been all sorts of festivities, but it was exceedingly quiet. Drove on through Malaga - very new and touristy, and saw Torremolinos, Marbella, Fuengirola and package tour land. Some day I'll actually go on one with nothing to worry about but getting an even tan for the duration. Still freezing cold but sunny. Decided to come to Ronda, 30 miles over the mountains inland, for the night as it is meant to be one of the most impressive towns in Spain, with the oldest bull ring, and there's a fiesta on tomorrow. Anyhow, we stopped half way to cook up peppers, onions, potatoes, tomatoes, beans and soup in the car - got this down to a fine art. Arrived in darkness and asked in the dearest hotel for the cheapest Pension. It's 120 P for the two of us, clean and cold watered. Great packing being done in preparation for going to Morocco.
 
Tuesday 2nd. October
Algeciras, Spain
136 miles
 
Well, as far as cheap holidays go, this one will be a failure. It will cost in the region of £170 each for 6 weeks. Considering taking a car, it's OK. But then again, we've had immeasurable bad luck all stemming from the robbery in Rome. And if it cost us that, add another £100 for the stuff I had stolen, for which I'll get almost no compensation. I'm half amused at C's bad humour over all of this (augmented by the fact that for the past couple of nights we've paid 120 P for a bed, and tonight it's 150 - 140 P at 6 PM, but 150 P now and a grotty place) but cannot help it rubbing off on me somewhat. I'm quite optimistic but it's hard to keep like that in the face of all adversity. Add on £30 for bits and pieces bought which is £200, the sum I borrowed and against which I have got about £100. Anyhow, shit on Rome and my own stupidity (bugging me even more) for leaving the tax book in the car. All the comeback I have is that the Automobile Association should have mentioned it at least.
 
So, with that tirade over - I need to write it down - to today's events. Would that I had 6 weeks like today, doing exactly what we wanted with no hassle for time or the like. Got up leisurely, and drove out a bit to have breakfast. the sun shone; all the locals were brining their horses and donkeys to market alongside us and it was so peaceful. Went to the tourist office where we got posters for free - maybe because it was a festival day. Paid 10 Pesetas to see inside the bullring, the oldest in Spain, and it's very small but quite lovely. Then drove miles along a terrible road to some caves. The guide, a very gentle person, told us his grandfather discovered them in 1906 and of course attracted numerous archeologists to the place over the years. There's numerous cave paintings thought to be Neolithic and Paleolithic, and the only European cave painting of a fish. We walked through amazing stalagmites and stalactites for an hour and that was only one route, there being three others. It cost us 50 pesetas each but I felt it was really worthwhile.
 
Returned to Ronda, by now full of American tourists for the day and night's festivities, and went into the Cathedral where a guide was spouting forth in very organized form. Drove to Algeciras through bad road and bull rearing countryside. changed money at American Express, the only place open, checked out the boat, and there met an American couple who have promised to take us to Tetuan in their minibus tomorrow, which may help us get through an otherwise difficult border. Cooked dinner out the road, left all our luggage into the station and came here to this hole of a guest house.
 
Wednesday 3rd. October
near Ceuta
120 miles - hitching
 
What an incredible country is this. We are sitting in a small white-washed room on a mattress, listening to various sophisticated 'pop' music, across from a Moroccan with an afro hairstyle lashing hash oil on cigarettes and rolling joints that would make the eyes of any average Dublin shit head stand out on stalks. The stuff is grown near this region, the best region in Morocco for growing 'kef' as they call it. He does nothing all day, occasionally studies, but lives in this sort of unfurnished flat off his father's house, is fed and runs a 2CV. There's no work in Morocco and it's virtually impossible to get a passport to get out. Occasionally he helps his father who I think is a builder. But it's the Ramadan at present, when all people fast from 4 in the morning 'til 6 in the evening from all food and drink; attend church 7 times a day and if possible, don't sleep until 4 in the morning. Well, how did we learn all of this - by another bit of lousy luck. We met the American couple at 9 this morning in the ticket office, and wandered around the market with them and drank a glass of wine until it was time for the boat to leave. I read this week's Time magazine from cover to cover for the trip, and when we landed, drove to the border about 5 miles from Ceuta as it is a Spanish town. there we actually drove out the Moroccan line and in the Spanish line and had numerous oddities telling us it was because our hair was long, before we got through.
 
Arrived in Tetouan where some gurrier actually got into the van, telling the American couple he would show them where there was a campsite, tourist office, market, etc. We walked out the Fez road and sat down to eat dinner. A Canadian of sorts came up and offered us a lift part of the way to Fes, so we took it. Well, it transpired it was a French Canadian with a randy Moroccan in a Renault 4 van, so we sat on the floor in the back. This was followed by a Renault 12 hire car driven by an English Canadian. They were an odd assortment and after 60 miles or so with non stop talk of sexual prowess on the part of the Moroccan, we stopped to buy 2 chickens and we refused to sit in the van with them, saying we'd go in the other car. Obviously they weren't having any as we were unceremoniously dumped. We hitched the first car, having been left up in the mountains, approximately 40 miles from a village, and it was 2 Moroccans. They seemed nice but were returning to Tetouan. But the one whose home we are in said he'd bring us to the bus tomorrow.
 
Thursday 4th. October
Meknes
172 miles - bus
 
Safe in a Youth Hostel for a change, with another fellow next door and the Warden sleeping here, so we should be all right for a change. Well, last night we both went to sleep fully clothed with a blanket over us on a double mattress. Around 4 in the morning, still pitch dark, I was woken by the bloke asking me to sleep with him. These Moroccans never take "no" for an answer and ask "why" when you insist. for the next 3 hours, every so often I'd be woken up and when I said no, C would be woken. Around 7 AM we got up and said we were going. His offer of leaving us back to Tetouan obviously didn't hold so we walked out the road and hitched. A taxi with 2 people in the back stopped and brought us 20 miles to Tetouan. Left us right at the bus station and tickled C.'s palm as we shook hands!
 
The only bus for Fez left at 7 in the morning but we could take a bus to Chefchaouen-Ouezzane and from there to Meknes and from there to Fes. Innocently we agreed, bought bread and had it with jam for breakfast before boarding a fairly respectable DAF bus. The latter filled up very quickly and there wasn't too much loading, and off we set - along the road we had gone out the day before so it was no novelty. during the Ramadan nobody smokes, so it was quite pleasant. But slow; well the driver is God for the day and then people stop the us along the way. The two towns we called to, almost everyone got out for half an hour, and at one the drive beat up some fellow with whom he had been chatting on the bus. In all, a 60 mile journey took us 4 hours. We arrived into Ouezzane, a veritable hole in the desert, at 1 PM and bought tickets to go to Meknes from where we were told we could get to Fes. But the price of these mounts up enormously. Anyhow, we ate, with the eyes of the world upon us as nobody else eats during the daytime, and hung around the station waiting for the Meknes bus. When it arrived, there was no doubt as a mad rush of people made for it. We likewise, and got seats. Then they began loading everything conceivable on top - dressers, bicycles and things wrapped up in cloth and sacks. In all, that journey took 4 hours because we stopped every few minutes - it was like the C.I.E. No. 10 bus in Dublin. By the time we got to Meknes, we said no further, and anyhow we couldn't go to Fes because the last bus had gone. A little boy adopted us as our guide but when he had to ask where the hostel was, I got rid of him. It didn't open 'til 8 PM so back we came in to town to eat. the restaurants charged 5 Dirham = 10/- because we were tourists and we refused. So we went to the bus station (with millions of little kids around us saying "fuck off", "fuck this, that and the other" and spitting at us) to discover there was only one bus per day to Tangiers, leaving at 5:30 in the morning. Per usual, it's very difficult to get out of these places once you get in. Some lad there told us there was a cheap midnight train that took 9 hours and then he brought us to a restaurant in the Medina where we had soup (2P), bread (2P), cod steaks and chips (10P) and orange (8P). The relative prices of things are funny. He left us back to the hostel where we met a fellow going to Fes tomorrow and we may go with him as there's a direct bus from Fes to Tetouan. Per usual, we should have stayed in Tetouan, but I suppose we've seen enough local colour by coming south. It's bitterly cold at night and he had no blankets, so we took all the mattress covers off and laid them over us for the night.
 
Friday 5th. October
Meknes
 
Well, we slept fairly well, fully clothed, under about 10 mattress covers each and then had to put them all back on this morning. The supposed left to Fes never turned up so the père auberge walked down to the old city with us to see whether we should book bus tickets in advance. We found out that the bank was in the new city, so back again with us. The new city is very much cosmopolitan and its there the hotels are. We saw a couple of Americans during the day - remarkably little for the first week of October. Morocco has 4 ancient cities, Fes being the largest, and the other three are Meknes, Rabat and Marrakesh. Well, Meknes is about as untouristy as they come, so much so that there is absolutely nothing worth buying here. We walked around the market, viewed alarmingly priced (for here) fruit and vegetables, and bought bananas for breakfast and tomatoes for dinner. Sat on a wall in the main square looking at everything for just ages. Met the fellow who had been so helpful last night in a little den of youthful iniquity where a few fellows and girls still in their teens were playing cards, drinking mint tea and smoking during the Ramadan. They were kissing and holding hands with great enthusiasm and altogether it looked a bit much, so we left telling him we'd meet him later.
 
The Medina here is 95% natural and consequently sells nothing. There's a few touristy shops where prices are huge, but the goods are hideous - quite awful. So we went back to the cafe of last night and bought our own bread, had soup, shared a salad of carrots and onion covered in chili powder and sat watching a couple of old men come in, prepare and lay out their meal, and just sit in front of it waiting for the sirens and loud speakers to proclaim end of Ramadan for the day. Wandered back through a now dark, closed and very forbidding Medina to the main streets and to the hostel where the warden arrived early so we could go to sleep early.
 
Saturday 6th. October
Near Algeciras
226 miles by bus
 
We both woke at 4AM almost on the dot (showing that psychosuggestion works?) and the warden got up just to make sure we were ready. It was freezing cold walking down the town for the bus, and people were going home from Ramadan with everything closed up and men screaming prayers outside mosques. The station had a fair crowd in it already, with mint plants wrapped up in palm leaves going for sale at a great rate. Mothers cradled daughters or had them strapped to their backs in a really uncomfortable but practical position, and men ordered wives to carry luggage for them. When the Tangier bus came in around dawn, there was a rush for it, but really it was quite empty. Then, though it's the express, it stopped at every request from anyone, even at 50 yards distance, though bus stops would be a great invention in this country. C had her arm out the window and every time a fellow a few seats in front spitted, she caught it. They will piss and spit anywhere when the mood takes them, or scratch, or play with themselves.
 
The journey took 5 1/2 hours, and it worked out cheaper to take a bus to Ceuta and the ferry from there to Algeciras than going straight from Tangier. The latter is full of rubbish and tourists and the prices are a complete rip off. I suppose there's a lot of Spanish money in the place.
 
Got the bus to Ceuta which of course went via Tetouan and stopped there for about half an hour. Along most roads with frequency are police road blocks, presumably to search for dope, but they must all be involved in it as the searches are anything but thorough. We had two between Tangier and Tetouan, and just before entering Tetouan, the driver gave the conductor a big white plastic bag, stopped the bus, and the conductor filled it with something from under the bus. In Tetouan station we were the only ones left in the bus and he transferred several brown paper parcels from the bag to a shopping bag and went off. So that's how it's done.
 
Again the border was a lark. All out at Moroccan customs and baggage. They get you to fill out a form, stamp passport, ignore bags, re-board the bus, go 20 yards, off again without baggage, get a chit from the Spanish crowd, go to the Police, have shit stamped, return to the police and give them the chit and then go back to the bus. Time changes by an hour in Spain and there were huge excursions to Ceuta, a free port, for the day, so we could only get the last boat at 8:30PM. It's a Blackpool/Isle of Man sort of place to wander around, but we found a little restaurant and had paella and wine for 100 pesetas and froze on the boat back.
 
The car was OK. We got our luggage from a closed station, drove out the road, made tea and slept in the car, blissful to be back in it again.
 
Sundat 7th. October
Bejar, Spain
418 miles
 
Must have been a warm night as there was incredible condensation on the inside of the car this morning. Both of us up at 7:00 for breakfast and had another at 11:00. Drove steadily through the day from Jerez, Seville, up the side of Portugal though not into it, and are staying close to Salamanca which we will visit tomorrow. Mixed countryside - cliffs at first where we saw eagles soaring early in the morning; later through bull-rearing scorched lands, sherry grape regions, and finally olive-groved areas. Drove to a supposed youth hostel but it was full of a group of screaming school children. This pension cost 157 P, though the advertised price is 130 P. But the water was hot, and considering we have slept in our clothes for the last four nights, it was wonderful.
 
Monday 8th. October
Najera, Spain
260 miles
 
The butter was really hard in the flask this morning, so it must have been a freezing night. We drove into Salamanca and stopped to shop - terrible decision as with such celibacy in Morocco with regard to buying, we went berserk! Anyhow, it left us both extremely happy. It's a beautiful town with everyone promenading in the central square in warm sunshine. Drove through Valladolid towards Burgos and stopped by the roadside to make coffee. Tried a town which we stayed in 1965 or thereabouts, a hostel run by nuns, but it was 195 P for the night, so we drove to the nearest town to Logrono and stopped to inquire outside a huge hotel. the man was uniformed, probably the hotel porter, and walked alongside the car to bring us to a spotless pension for 120 P. It had no notice outside so we would never have found it otherwise. Freezing cold night.
 
Tuesday 9th. October
Tarbes, France
255 miles
 
Chatted for ages before we got up, about first boyfriends and the first year in College. Strange to think I have been there as long as I have been at school. Neither of us slept well - I was frozen and C. is smothered in a cold. But we bought a string of garlic each before we left that town, and stopped in Logrono for the rest of the shopping. Called to the Tourist Office where they give posters for free to anyone who calls. Well, we browsed for ages and took a bundle of them in the end. Had lunch and stopped near Logrono to buy a litre of wine because they are meant to produce the best table red in Spain. It was bitter, 22P a litre and not so good. Later, by chance, we passed a bottling plant neat Jaca and brought in our own gallon water container. He quoted prices from 11P to 21P for the best, a liter, and we settled for the best, dispensed out of a petrol pump!
 
Stopped in Pamplona, but it was during the 1-4 M siesta and C. didn't fancy waiting around. I had a look at all the expensive shops, and was followed very obviously by a horrible man who turned as abruptly as I each time I tried to avoid him, and finally gave it up. Stopped again in Jaca to finish off our Spanish money, and arrived at the customs after dark. The Spanish fellow, complaining bitterly of flu, took out and checked the posters, probably thinking they were propaganda, and then asked us had we anything to declare. As we had almost given up, about 10 winding miles later came the French customs. Our passports were ignored, the green card carefully scrutinised and then two shone torches into the car, asked us how much drink we were carrying, looked at our feet and were generally quite unpleasant. The fellow in front was a cement tanker from Malaga and they climbed up to look in each of his three cylinders! Anyhow, drove to Tarbes, and with slight difficulty, located the hostel. it's a fabulous new building incorporating a youth center with bar, TV, lecture halls, yoga classes and the most modern domestic science-like kitchen I have ever seen. Hot showers for a change, and another Irish girl here from Malahide who knows Dave Curran from Donabate, and of course the Malahide crowd we knew. She works in a solicitor's office in Dublin and just came here for 2 weeks holiday as her sister works in Pau.
 
Made tea and coffee for ourselves, and sat down with our feet up as if we were at home.
 
Wednesday 10th. October
St. Germain Les Belles
250 miles
 
Hot showers before breakfast; fresh bread with butter and jam for breakfast; sitting at a table in glorious comfort; really it's too much - i bfad imac! Drove leisurely through the day so I don't know how we managed to come so far. We stopped in Tarbes center of course, to shop, before leaving and naturally both spent enough. Lovely pastoral countryside with very little traffic on the small roads. Arrived around 7:00PM to this hostel - a big old house on the route National 20, and it's totally deserted. I'm sure with a fire going it would be warm and cosy, but with a meal into us and a glass of wine, neither one complaining too much. Bed early.
 
Thursday 11th. October
Saumur sur Loire
162 miles
 
Someone had written in the golden book in the hostel, where you write your opinions and comments, "it's fine, but beware the....(indecipherable) that lurks in the upstairs toilet". With that, we both went outside to the grass! And again, at 6 in the morning when C was short-taken. So we had breakfast on the road as we had no bread in the hostel. Unusually, the 'pain' was stale. Drove very leisurely onward through Limoges to Poitiers, and stopped strategically beside a vineyard where we swiped some, but they were black, very small and very stony. Earlier in the day we picked a bag of chestnuts, enough to sell profitably to Smiths of the Green who sell them at Christmas for 10/- a pound. They cost 7/- a kilo here in the shops, but are better specimens than ours.
 
Stopped in Loudun, an old, narrow, winding French town, scene of the "Devils of Loudun", Huxley's book and Russel's film. But the walls are totally destroyed. Arrived into Saumur around 4. It's on the Loire and in the heart of the wine growing district. The hostel is a fabulous building beside a sports complex, camping ground, swimming pool, on an island in the river. It was open, warm and modern, with a crowd of Germans playing volleyball in the garden. We made tea, asked a Welsh fellow to join us, and sat and waited until 6 when the warden came.
 
Then another person, with what connection to the hostel I do not know, asked us if we would like to go see a vineyard. We piled into a decrepit 2CV and off about 10 miles. We saw the grapes coming in, being de-stalked, homogenized and extracted and then fermented. We tasted the juice, hung around (about 40 of us, mostly German), and finally were served endless quantities of red, rose and white wine with lovely biscuits. Of course I ate heartily but the wine was very fresh. It was great though.
 
Returned to the hostel with Chris, the Welsh fellow and Christof, a German by himself, but well in with the 'Jesus-people' crowd of Germans. We went to wash and Chris called up a few minutes later to tell us we would get free food from the Jesus freaks. sure enough, soup and bean stew with bread, as they had too much.
 
Chatted, played guitar and watched the various groups in the hostel separate to discuss religion, play chess, sing, drink and smoke. Fun.
 
 
Friday 12th. October
Fougèrs
247 miles
 
Sitting in front of a big log fire, sipping bier if you like, and listening to Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Tom Paxton, The Dubliners and Wolf Tones. Roasting chestnuts to eat in a cellar fitted out like a horse stable with horse droppings and grandfather clocks and even a Yamaha guitar. You use a bellows, truly, for the fire and there's a battered old pan with holes punched in it, better to do the chestnuts. Roaring our heads off, singing "big strong man" with Jean Eve and peter the German bloke. He was in Ireland for a while, stayed with a dentist in Sligo and adored the place, the people, everything. He wants us to send him Buntús Cainte, so he can learn Irish. This is all in the hostel, a large house with a courtyard and space for the car. There's a dog the image of Wolfie in Rome, and he equally friendly, and the père auberge lives in a small house off the courtyard. the hostel isn't affiliated to the French organization, and was given to a group of 10 young fellows from the town for 10F per annum rent, by the Mayor, to be organized into a youth hostel cum youth center, of which they take the profits. I doubt there's much of a profit from the hostel end, but the bar downstairs would bring in something, and they surely hold discos as well. The place is empty except for a Portugese family: mother, father and 4 kids looking for a flat and living in the girls' dorm. Peter has decided its a fine place for Winter - he's usually in Paris but prefers to be out of it in winter as he works writing a new Maths text. It's got a great set up with stereo music blaring all over and a heated room to himself and even a darkroom down in the basement.  Jean Yves is a fried who comes almost every night. And the warden cannot do enough for you. The golden book of the hostel is full of every nationality who all write enthusiastically as to how much they have enjoyed it and would love to stay longer.
 
Well, this morning, Chris missed bumming breakfast off the Germans. I drove down to the baker and got bread for him too and he joined us for breakfast. He half apologetically asked us for a lift and really, though he looks very hard and very well travelled, is both shy and uncertain in an Irish way. Anyhow, we fitted him in, an amazing feat, and drove drove along the Loire to Nantes. From there we zigzagged through heavily appled areas towards Rennes, without ever going into the city. The crop of apples was quite unbelievable - trees with almost no leaves, just bunches like grapes, though very small. And only some were being half heartily picked. You didn't have to rob - the branches drooped over the road, so much so that one hardly had to stop the car. But they are still bitter and without much flavour. Drove into Chateaubriant and got in our bit of culture for the day in 2 chateaux, at least from the outside. Left Chris off and went on ourselves to Fougèrs where, after we had found the hostel and booked in, we walked to the public gardens that overlook the chateau, a really well-preserved, walled castle, and of course, the gardens done in exquisite taste and layout.
 
Saturday 13th. October
Pont Audemer
183 miles
 
Each day we manage to pick up something worthwhile. Today it was mistletoe! Well, Christmas is coming. It was raining hard when I woke, at 10 AM. No bells or alarms as is the usual in hostels. Breakfasted leisurely and said goodbye to Peter. Drove to Le Mans and north east to Bernay where there was meant to be a youth hostel, but nothing. I'm afraid the Youth Hostel Organization International is going to get a stinker of a letter from C when we go home. Drove to the next hostel by a 50-mile detour - my fault for taking a wrong turn and thinking I could rectify it later. The hostel is a hut with 8 beds, a toilet unmentionable, and a grotty kitchen left in bad condition by a fellow from cork who left all his stuff around. But we've cooked 1 kilo of potatoes (could only buy a 5 kilo bag today, our last day!), and soup to pour over them. Sitting in the kitchen now with the gas lit to keep us warm.
 
Sunday 14th. October
Ferry from Le Havre to Rosslare, Ireland
37 miles
 
In our final bit of bad luck (and its just unfortunate that everyone else is on the boat with us), there's a slight hitch with the engines and we have a 10, 18 or 19-hour delay. Nobody really knows and there's been various times mentioned. they are only serving free meals and giving berths after the time we should have arrived in Rosslare which is 1:00 PM tomorrow, so we've been waiting since 10 AM. this morning in Le Havre and since 4 PM on board. The alternative was to go to Southampton and drive through England, but we'd probably arrive around the same time. the boat is quite full, though there are very few cars, and we've met an old pre-Med student whom we both demonstrated to years ago, Brian Morris, who's keeping us thoroughly entertained. He's going to be sent cabin-hunting soon, or otherwise we'll be sleeping on benches. There's a bar extension as well until 1 AM, I suppose to placate the natives, but nothing else is open to compensate. So it was bread and bananas for dinner.
 
Unfortunately, we got here so early, so there was nothing for it but to watch people fishing and wait. And they don't change French coins on board or accept them. Otherwise the boat is lovely, very clean, but no airplane seats or much extra lounge space. I took a sea-sickness tablet which made me sleep for about 3 hours.
 
Monday 15th. October
Ferry from Le Havre to Rosslare, Ireland
 
Brian found a first class cabin on his 2 in the morning hunt through the ship, and we slept gloriously comfortably with a shower and a toilet inclusive. I woke totally smothered in a cold and hardly able to breathe at 9ish and we were still in port! Sat in our usual place in the cafeteria and breakfasted off the bread and jam of the day before, treating ourselves to Irish milk. Chatted hilariously with Brian all morning and were joined by Mick Walsh, a friend of his who had been in Morocco. Wandered back to just get on the boat before it left at 1 PM. C went up to the canteen to buy more milk and we got everything free except meals, which was only bread, butter and jam, Tayto crisps and tea/coffee. But it was food. The afternoon passed quickly - I slept while the others fooled around with quizzes, etc. and at 6 we rushed off to the dining room for a free meal. Sat down only to be informed that it was by coupon only, to be had at the information desk. There was a mad scramble with C to the fore. She lost her shoe in the foray and I heard a woman with elbows out like oars saying "this is jot nice". Anyhow, the meal was fine, but the dining room at the front of the boat was like a bucking bronco and finished most appetites including Brian's. Later we sat in the cafeteria, a bit less rough, and watched TV. No drinking for a change, and Mick joined us in the cabin. Got breakfast free the next morning and docked with extreme difficulty around 10. Fitted Brian in somewhere in the car to Dublin and came home."
 
 

---