CHAPTER 7
I’m a travelin’ man. I’ve made a lot of stops all over the world. And in every part I own the heart of at least one lovely girl. – “Travelin’ Man” by Ricky Nelson (1961)
After spending Christmas in Ireland, I was anxious to get back on the road. I missed the day-to-day feeling of being on the move. With newfound energy, I was determined to make it to the Canary Islands in a short amount of time.
From Dublin, I took the ferry back to Wales and a train from Holyhead to London. I raced through England because my last visit had been so depressing, and I was sick of the cold, damp weather. Now I had a good reason to be in a hurry, and I couldn’t wait to get to a warm tropical island and hook up with Jenny.
On December 28, 1971, I hopped on a plane at London Gatwick and arrived in Amsterdam for the second time in a month. I felt like a real local as I headed straight for the Hotel Kabul. Chad, who I knew from my last visit, checked me in. Later, he came up to my room, and we smoked a couple of bowls.
After thinking about it, I decided not to meet up with Suzanne. I was only going to be in Amsterdam for one night, and I knew it would be too difficult to see her and leave all over again. I did, however, score a big chunk of black Afghani hash for the trip back through Europe.
It was one hell of a cold winter, and I couldn’t bear the thought of hitchhiking, so I chose to take the train as far as I could. By New Year’s Eve, I made it to Zurich, Switzerland where I got a hotel room and planned to have a quiet night. I was glad I had some good hash and a brand-new chillum.
“I tried to imagine what new scenery and adventures awaited me as I headed into uncharted territory.”
Despite the freezing wind coming off of Lake Zurich, I walked around the neighborhood. The entire city was a ghost town, and everything was zipped up tight for the holiday. It felt weirdly silent, lonely, and creepy.
While exploring the deserted streets, I spotted a shopping center in the heart of the city. The whole place was closed except for a futuristically styled area filled with vending machines featuring every imaginable type of food and drink. I loaded up on a bunch of snacks, returned to my room, and got good and stoned. Then I wrote a few letters, ate my fill, and went to sleep. For me, it was an uncharacteristically boring New Year’s Eve.
The next morning, I got back on the train. It cut through part of Germany, crossed into France, and then Spain. Traveling by train was not cheap, and I briefly thought about how much money I was spending, but I wasn’t going to worry about that yet.
I arrived in Malaga on the Costa del Sol and tried to find out how to get to the Canary Islands. It turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had expected.
A guy told me that a weekly boat went to the Canaries, but it left from Algeciras, Spain which was about a hundred miles away. The boat would stop briefly in Ceuta, a small strip of Spanish territory on the north coast of Africa. From there it would continue to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, the capital city on the main island of the Canary chain.
I hitchhiked to Algeciras, checked into a hotel, and patiently waited for the weekly boat. I found a few great bars and restaurants where I met a lot of other travelers. Some of them had stories from faraway places, like South Africa and Australia. The most adventurous ones were usually Canadian, Australian, or Japanese. Some had been all over the world. At times, I felt like a novice, but I was actually meeting more and more people who were even greener than I was. I could tell that I was gradually making progress.
I started hearing rumors that the authorities weren’t letting long-haired guys into Morocco. The country was a popular spot for countless young travelers who went for both the beaches and the hash. Apparently, some of them stayed for years. My hair hadn’t gotten too long yet, so I thought I’d probably be OK.
“Some pretty crazy shit was going through my head.”
As the boat pulled out of Algeciras, everybody was out on the deck snapping pictures of the Rock of Gibraltar. It was a beautiful, cool January morning, and the big rock stood out against the cloudless sky and the Mediterranean Sea like an enormous black knuckle. It seemed to be a fitting way to say goodbye to mainland Europe.
I tried to imagine what new scenery and adventures awaited me as I headed into uncharted territory. When the boat arrived in Ceuta, it offered me a brief chance to set foot on the continent of Africa. However, I soon learned that those of us in transit to the Canary Islands weren’t allowed to leave the terminal unless we had a visa to enter Morocco. There was nothing to do but wait for the connecting boat.
“So much for seeing anything of Africa,” I thought with resignation.
As I sat in the terminal, I started feeling nervous about seeing Jenny again. I couldn’t wait to be with her, but I didn’t have much confidence with women. Hell, I was barely not a virgin. I’d only had sex with one girl before, and I hadn’t performed that well. I definitely needed more practice. I was looking forward to getting it with her.
I wondered how far things might go with Jenny. Some pretty crazy shit was going through my head. Would we really fall in love and have a long-term relationship? Then there was the nagging problem with the draft. Maybe if we went back to the United States, her dad, who was an attorney, could help me out. What if I got thrown in jail?
Anyway, it was a good kind of nervousness. Jenny had said that she’d leave me a note at the American Express office in Las Palmas telling me where to find her. I felt better when I envisioned myself going there, picking up her letter, and reading what she wrote.
I boarded another boat for the half-day ride to Las Palmas. Sailing into the main harbor, I was greeted with a breathtaking view. I had never even heard of the Canary Islands until I met Jenny. Aside from the brochure she showed me, I knew nothing about them. I wondered if there would be canaries there.
“People were enjoying themselves and spending money like there was no tomorrow.”
I stepped off the boat to a scene of white sandy beaches with swaying palm trees, all backed by a deep blue ocean and a cloudless sky. Jenny and Hutch certainly found the warm weather they were looking for. If my friends back home could see me now! Here I was, in an exotic place ready to hook up with a beautiful woman I’d met in Madrid. It sounded like something out of a movie, and I was the leading man.
Right away, I realized that I was in a major tourist resort, and it was an expensive one. It reminded me of the pictures I’d seen of Monte Carlo. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by nicely dressed European and Asian tourists, and they appeared very wealthy.
“I bet there’s not a youth hostel on the island,” I thought.
I didn’t even bother checking out the fancy hotels near the beach. Instead, I headed inland and walked around until I found a part of town that looked like it might have something I could afford.
While I was eating at a small cafe, I chatted with an Australian traveler. He said he had just checked out of a reasonably priced hotel that happened to be on the same street as the cafe. He also told me where to find the American Express office. Unfortunately, it was Saturday, and the office had already closed. I would have to wait until Monday morning to get my mail.
The hotel that the guy recommended was nicer and more expensive than what I had planned on. Since I was only going to stay for two nights, and I wasn’t up to walking anymore, I checked in.
I lay down in my room and was out cold for most of the afternoon. When I woke up around 6 p.m. and went out, I thought, “Maybe I’ll run into Jenny. I mean, she is here somewhere.” I wondered what she was doing. She’d be surprised to know I was so close.
Las Palmas was a happening place. It was Saturday night and the restaurants were packed with tourists. I hit a couple of bars and ate a good dinner, but by 10 p.m. I was back in my room.
On Sunday, I hung around the beach and ended up walking almost every square inch of the city. I checked out the main plaza where the rich tourists were shopping and eating. It was an international scene like I had never seen before. People were enjoying themselves and spending money like there was no tomorrow. By the evening, I was sunburned and exhausted.
Early Monday morning, I hit the American Express office. Although I arrived only five minutes after it opened, a long line of people were already waiting to get mail. I anxiously waited my turn. When I got to the counter, I flashed my passport and asked if I had any mail. I was shocked when I was handed a heap of letters and postcards.
The letter on top jumped right out at me. My heart stopped for a moment when I saw the long, white official-looking envelope with the words SELECTIVE SERVICE SYSTEM. That awful roller coaster feeling rushed into the pit of my stomach, and I quickly shuffled the letter to the bottom of the stack.
In the pile was a thick envelope from my parents, a letter from David, and postcards from two of my buddies in California.
And then there was the letter from Jenny.
I ripped hers open first and read it as fast as I could. She said that she was eager to see me. She’d met some Canadian travelers in Las Palmas, and after they saw how expensive it was, they all went to Lanzarote, one of the other Canary Islands, where they rented a small house right on the beach.
“Hurry and get here,” she wrote. “You’ll love it. I can’t wait to see you again. Love, Jenny.”
“Wow!” I thought as my heart started beating faster. “She’s not here, but she’s not far, she still wants to see me, and she signed it, ‘Love, Jenny’!”
I walked over to a nearby sidewalk cafe to go through the rest of my mail before trying to figure out how to get to Lanzarote. I read everything except the letter from the Selective Service System; I saved that one for last.
When I finally got the nerve to open it, the letter said exactly what I thought it would say. They instructed me to return immediately to the U.S. and report for induction into the United States Army.
