Europe Trip, 1970 (Part 2)

 Our journey continued after leaving Greece, but Marty was still feeling ill from eating meat on a Greek Island instead of opting for a local dish. As we arrived in Italy, we settled in Naples, where we stayed at a rather run-down hotel. Concerned about our safety, we even placed the dresser in front of the door. Despite the hotel, our visit to Pompeii was captivating, witnessing the preserved remains of people and objects frozen in time.

Next, we ventured to Rome, with its magnificent fountains, the iconic Colosseum, and the awe-inspiring Vatican. Venice greeted us with its enchanting gondolas, and we took the opportunity to visit Murano glass, where I purchased one of only two gifts for my parents. The other gift, also from Venice, was a porcelain or clay figurine, similar to the ones my mother collected. These purchases left me with a precise amount of my $900 in travel money, which meant I had to be even more frugal for the rest of the trip.

In Florence, our next stop, I found myself trying to earn some extra money. An opportunity presented itself when a street vendor asked me to assist him in selling sweaters to tourists. I decided to give it a try, hoping to keep a portion of the profits if the sweaters sold for a certain amount of lira. While Marty and Alan explored some sites, I managed to do quite well for several hours. However, my luck ran out when the polizia comunale approached me. Apparently, it was against the rules for a tourist to be a vendor. After a scary hour of uncertainty, they finally let me go with a warning not to return. The following day, we left Italy and headed to Southern France and Spain.

Unfortunately, I don't recall much about our time in Southern France, as it seems we may have simply passed through on the train. By late August or early September, with only a few weeks remaining, we hurriedly made our way to Morocco. Barcelona left a beautiful impression on us, but the presence of Franco and the heavy military presence prompted us to move on after just a day. The next day, we headed south in Spain and took a boat to Morocco.

One amusing observation I made was the ongoing tension between Spain and the United Kingdom regarding Gibraltar. Spain holds a grudge against the UK for its control over Gibraltar, and technically, they remain in a state of war over the Rock. Interestingly, there are no roads connecting Spain to Gibraltar, and travelers must take a bus or taxi to the border and then walk across. Although we didn't visit Gibraltar, it's worth mentioning that when we left Spain by boat from Morocco, we actually disembarked in Spanish Ceuta, not in Morocco. It struck me as ironic that while Spain criticized the UK for holding onto Gibraltar, it held Ceuta on the shores of Morocco.

After disembarking in Ceuta, we found a bus to Tangier. During our short journey, a German man around my age was pulled off the bus because his hair was deemed too long. His female partner remained on the bus, yelling in protest. The bus drove a short distance before stopping again, and she anxiously jumped out to locate her partner. She desperately asked if anyone had scissors. Eventually, a fellow passenger on the bus tossed her a pair of scissors. At each subsequent stop, the bus was thoroughly searched, and a pamphlet in multiple languages warned passengers about the dire consequences of carrying drugs into Morocco. The bus made four or five stops within a few blocks, and each time, authorities boarded the bus to make announcements about drug regulations. Finally, at the last stop, the German couple reentered the bus, with the man now sporting a shorter haircut thanks to the scissors. We arrived in Tangier, where we were immediately surrounded by vendors attempting to sell us hashish. Quite the contrast, I thought.

Tangier became the second place where we felt compelled to place the chest in front of our door for added security. I vividly remember spending just $1 for a hotel room, even back in 1970, and the accommodations were far from extravagant. While much of America resembled what I was familiar with, Morocco felt incredibly foreign. The scents and sights were mesmerizing. I recall dining at an outdoor restaurant and enjoying fantastic food when suddenly, an air raid siren sounded. Israeli jets flew overhead minutes later. Surprisingly, no one in the restaurant reacted or moved. As far as I knew, the Sinai War had already ended weeks prior, but to this day, I remain unsure of what was happening. Morocco was never directly at war with Israel.

The final leg of our journey was hurried. In Madrid, Spain, I remember eating rabbit. It was prepared and served in its own pelt. Alan and Marty questioned my decision to eat it, but I insisted since I had paid for it. I removed it from the fur and proceeded to eat, though I've never eaten rabbit since. Interestingly, we were seated just outside the bullring, where people lined up to receive free meat given to the poor following each bullfight.