My travel plan was to make it circular trip beginning in Germany and ending there, but I wanted to get to England first to adapt to backpacking. The English could speak English - or at least try their version of it. I couldn't understand German. Their trains were powered by electricity and the rails always make a swooshing sound. I’d never seen anything like them in America. Who lost the war anyway? My ticket read: Frankfurt (Main) to Oostende via Kőln-Aachen-Brussels 2nd class, $1.75. I wonder what it is today. In fact the whole trip only cost $750 with about $575 for round trip air fare and that was for five weeks. I’ll never do that again for two reasons: it was cheaper to travel in those days and I’ve lost all illusions about riding in coach and backpacking. For once I’d like to see what’s it’s like to be cramp-free. I also have grown fond of knowing where my next meal is coming from and knowing where I’m going to sleep. Thank you, McDonald’s.
Thousands of Baby Boomers were on the road in 1972. I was just one of them, but I enjoyed talking to others who could speak English and tell me about their lives and trips. An old man from Detroit and German by birth and his wife were in the same compartment with me. Seems like all he could say was, “Yes sir, this is my old stomping grounds.” I liked him immediately because he had the guts to travel in his old age. I also met a pony-tailed Hippie from Syracuse University who was less interesting, but had travel smarts that potentially could come in handy when we finished our trip down the Rhine to Oostende, Belgium arriving at 9:30 P.M.
Europe is a wonderful place to visit and even mysterious in its darkest hours before the dawn. I got up at o-dark-thirty to make the Dover ferry that was anchored near the yacht of the king and queen of Belgium. There should have been nothing to it; cross over to Dover and catch a train to London. In a very short time after we had pulled out, I began to notice that we were not alone as the ship followed the buoys that marked the sea lane. There were hundreds of what looked like row boats with telephone booths on them bobbing up and down on the greenest and coldest water I’ve ever seen. It looked like wall-to-wall Christmas tree lots lit up by hundreds of lanterns with their strands of light bulbs and filled with fishermen pulling their nets to haul in North Sea cod and herring. Those fishermen closest to our hull paid no attention to our churning wake, clanging bells, and fog horn. I could never have foreseen such an unanticipated and unforgettable sight at so early an hour.
