Toots and the Brummie
Note: The travel part of this story is true. I’m not so sure about the Brummie’s tale. In the spring of 1968, a junior year abroad university student in London, I decided it was time for my real education to begin. I packed a backpack, took a train to the south coast, and crossed the English Channel on a boat from New Haven to Dieppe, a four-hour, 90-mile crossing. I had no responsibilities and four hundred bucks in American Express Travelers Cheques, which I figured was plenty for eight or ten weeks of cheap youth hostels and free transportation. America’s problems – King’s assassination, ghetto uprisings, the war in Vietnam, campus riots – seemed insane and far away, and the lovely Old World beckoned. In my backpack was everything I needed: a passport, three pairs of clothing, a sleeping bag, a few toiletries, a Hallwag map of Europe, a directory of European youth hostels and some guidebooks. The general idea was to stick my thumb out and go wherever the rides took me. I would travel six days a week – and then, like God, rest on Sunday. That was the chief advantage of hitchhiking, in my opinion. Against the … Continue reading →