CHAPTER 8
The waiting drove me mad. You’re finally here and I’m a mess. – “Corduroy” by Pearl Jam
The letter I got from the Selective Service System worried me, scared me, and made me angry.
“Fuck them,” I thought.
What the hell was I going to do now? I couldn’t just relax and enjoy myself like I was on some exotic island vacation. This was a problem I had to deal with, and it needed to be my top priority. That fucking letter ruined my day.
I put my mail away, went back to my hotel, and packed up to leave for Lanzarote. As I started checking out, the clerk informed me that there was only one boat a day. Unfortunately, I’d already missed it.
“Next one leaves tomorrow morning at 7 a.m.” he said.
To cheer myself up, I read Jenny’s note again, walked down to the harbor, and bought a ticket for the morning boat.
For the rest of the day, I was pretty stressed out. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I was going to tell the Selective Service and how to phrase it. I ultimately decided that I’d make up a bullshit story about being unable to return because I was doing advanced research for school and writing a book.
As I sat in a cafe and scribbled the words on a piece of paper, I realized that I was basically using the same lame excuse that I’d come up with in the first letter. This one was being mailed from the Canary Islands, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of research I was doing in places like Paris and Las Palmas. I pretended not to give a fuck, but honestly, I was really anxious.
The next morning, I left for Lanzarote on another warm, sunny day. As we sailed out of Las Palmas, I thought, “This weather is spectacular. Maybe I should come back and live here.” At some point, I was going to have to settle down somewhere.
“Soon we were off the asphalt and hurtling down an old, bumpy dirt road into the interior of The Island of Volcanoes.”
Our boat docked at the small harbor of Arrecife, the capital of Lanzarote. As we approached, I could see the entire island from one end to the other. The skyline, if you could call it that, was very different than that of Las Palmas. There was only one high-rise building, and I guessed it was about ten-stories tall.
A man on the boat informed me that Lanzarote was called “The Island of Volcanoes,” because it had been formed by a huge underwater eruption. The exotic beaches were filled with black sand, and volcanic rock was everywhere. I walked around the town hoping to find a place to get information about where to stay and how to get around.
La Caleta, the small fishing village where I would find Jenny, was on the other side of the island about twelve miles away. Naturally, I already missed the one daily bus. I checked into the first hotel I could find, not concerned about the price or the amenities. All that mattered was that tomorrow I would finally be with her.
The next morning, I got on a dilapidated, pungent bus filled with what appeared to be local farmers and fishermen along with their wives, children, and chickens. Everyone was headed out of Arrecife to a variety of small villages around the island.
Soon we were off the asphalt and hurtling down an old, bumpy dirt road into the interior of The Island of Volcanoes. The bus stopped often to discharge and pick up passengers.
When the driver called out, “La Caleta,” I was the only one to get off the bus. I could see some houses off in the distance and assumed that was the village, so I walked toward it.
As I got closer, I saw a group of small, simple buildings alongside the ocean. Many homes had laundry hanging out to dry. There was also a row of fishing boats tied up at the dock.
I walked down the middle of the main dirt road and quickly attracted a group of small children. They ran up to me, full of curiosity, and must have wondered why I was there.
“Donde esta los Americanos?” I asked them.
The kids excitedly yelled and pointed in the direction of a house on the beach. I thanked them, and they all followed me as I headed toward it.
There was Jenny sitting quietly on the front step enjoying the sun.
She looked up, saw me, jumped to her feet, and started running toward me as fast as she could.
“Gregg! Gregg!” she yelled and threw herself into my arms. “Oh, God, I’m so glad to see you. How are you?”
“I’m O.K.” I said, “I’m just happy to finally be here. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too,” she said. Jenny was even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. We hugged and kissed, much to the squealing delight of the pack of kids. Then we went inside where I was introduced to her new friends.
Rod, Alex, Marcia, and Sara were all Canadians that Jenny had met when she and Hutch first arrived in Las Palmas. Rod was from Vancouver and Alex was from Ottawa. Sara and Marcia were friends from Toronto. The group all got to know each other at a bar in Las Palmas in a similar way that Jenny and I had in Madrid.
Jenny told me that they’d met a doctor in Las Palmas who offered to rent them the house on Lanzarote. They thought it sounded like a bargain, so they accepted the deal. Hutch bailed out before they went. Jenny explained that she had run out of money, but there had also been some tension between them.
The medium-sized house had three bedrooms and a large bathroom. Marcia and Sara had one of the bedrooms, Jenny and I got another, and the guys shared the third. Apparently, Rod chose to sleep on the couch rather than share a bed with Alex. They were a mellow group of people and were all out to have a good time for as long as their money lasted.
“I had no idea how this was going to end, and I was too worried to relax and enjoy myself.”
Almost immediately, though, I had a feeling that Jenny and I would not easily fall back into the same groove. More than a month had passed since the two of us had been together. That seemed like years at the pace we were living. In Madrid, we’d been caught up in the moment, and the drinking fueled our passion.
I could see that Rod had eyes for Jenny, and from the minute I walked in the door he was watching me closely. He was a rugged, good-looking guy who was tall, thin and had long wavy brown hair. He wore his shirt open to show off his tanned and muscular chest. I felt intimidated by him and kind of self-conscious about being so out of shape. I was developing a beer belly from all the drinking I’d been doing.
My travel situation was altogether different from the others, and it made me uneasy. The five of them were in La Caleta to have a good time, and they didn’t have a care in the world, while I had the Selective Service System breathing down my neck. I had no idea how this was going to end, and I was too worried to relax and enjoy myself. They were traveling their way; I was traveling mine.
That evening, the six of us took a walk around La Caleta. Aside from the stellar beach, the village consisted of about twenty-five homes, a church, and a general store. Most of what we needed was at the store, and for anything else the bus went to Arrecife every day except Sunday.
The first evening with Jenny was very uncomfortable. When we went to bed, we just talked. The vibe was quite different from the time in Madrid. Instead of going right at it, we were sort of getting to know one another all over again. It was obvious we were trying to remember what originally set us on fire for each other.
I told her about my time in Dublin, the bizarre story David had laid on me, my rapid trip to the Canary Islands, and the latest on my draft situation. But something was clearly bothering Jenny. When I pressed her on it, she reluctantly revealed that she had strong feelings for Rod, and he had come on to her. However, she resisted his advances and told him that she was waiting for me.
Rod was a dynamic guy, and I certainly didn’t blame him for making a play for Jenny. I wasn’t in the mood to compete for her affection, and I was pretty certain that I wouldn’t win the competition anyway. I had sensed that there was something between them when I arrived at the house. At first, I thought I was imagining it. As it turned out, I wasn’t.
Lying next to her, I could tell that Jenny was waiting for me to make a move, but now I had second thoughts. I began to doubt that she really wanted me to. Maybe I should have gone for it right then and there. Maybe I should have just grabbed her and fucked her in a way that would make her instantly forget about Rod. What was I waiting for?
As I lay there with these thoughts in my head, I became more and more agitated. I wasn’t confident enough to touch her at all, except to kiss her, and I wasn’t sure if she even wanted anything more. I suddenly felt like such a loser. It had been totally different in Madrid when we were binge drinking and lost all our inhibitions, but now they were back and I was frozen.
It was pretty damned weird. I had gone through so much to get here and had built up the whole thing in my mind, but now I was a nervous wreck. My reunion with Jenny was not turning out as I had hoped. We both could tell it was over and stared at the ceiling until we fell asleep.
The next morning, a tension enveloped the entire house. Everyone knew what had happened – or what had not happened – between Jenny and me.
“How did I get myself into this mess?” I kept thinking.
The others went about their business. Marcia and Sara were deep into a macramé project they’d been working on for days. Alex was out sunning himself on the beach. Rod took the bus into Arrecife to buy some stuff for dinner.
Jenny and I took a walk along the beach and talked. We were desperately trying to figure out what the hell had happened, but we couldn’t find any easy answers to that question. It just wasn’t the same as it had been in Madrid, and we both knew it never would be. I began to think about my next move.
That evening we had a delicious home-cooked meal of fish, steamed vegetables, bread, and fruit that Rod had picked up at the market. Later we played poker until midnight, and we all got quite drunk. Despite the elephant in the room, we had a fun night together.
Jenny and I went to bed, but we spent another awkward and sexless night together.
The next morning, she was out of the house with Sara and Marcia before I was up, leaving the three of us guys alone. Rod could see that things were not going well for us, and he probably enjoyed that.
The third night when Jenny and I went to our bedroom, it was almost unbearable. I assumed she was wondering what the fuck was wrong with me. When I told her that I guessed I had better be moving on, she started to cry. About three in the morning I heard her get up and leave the bedroom; she didn’t come back.
The next morning, I was the last one out of bed. Alex was the only one in the house. He stumbled to the table with a cup of coffee in his hand, and looked as hung over as I felt.
“Where’s everyone gone?” I asked.
“They’re down at the beach,” he replied.
I glanced out the window and saw the others talking to a few of the villagers.
During the night, a violent storm had come through. Some of the boats had lost their mooring, were lifted high by the waves, smashed against the rocks, and completely destroyed. It seemed like the perfect metaphor for what had happened to me on Lanzarote.
While we were having coffee, Alex told me that he planned to explore the island, do some camping, and check out some of the remote beaches and rock formations. I said that I’d like to go along with him if he didn’t mind. He understood that I needed to get away, so we decided to head out later that day.
Before Alex and I left, Jenny and I went down to the beach and talked again. We both felt awful that things had turned out this way. It looked like Jenny was even more upset than I was. She confessed that after she left the room the night before, she and Rod had made love.
Jenny cried as she told me that she never intended for this to happen, and she felt terrible that I came all this way and it hadn’t worked out. I told her not to worry, that it was all right, and I was fine. Truthfully, I just wanted to get out of the situation as fast as I could.
Alex and I put on our backpacks and hiked out of La Caleta. I took everything with me. I was pretty sure Jenny was aware that I would not return. She sat on the same step where I saw her a few days earlier, but this time she had tears in her eyes as she watched me walk away.
That evening, not too far from La Caleta, Alex and I camped on the beach. We built a fire and had a relaxing night under a blanket of stars. The next morning, we hiked several miles to a place called Playa de Papagayo on the opposite end of the island where we camped in an abandoned building.
Alex was fully aware of what had happened between Jenny, Rod, and me, and he was more than willing to discuss it. We talked about it a little, but I really wasn’t in a mood to tell him everything I was going through. He knew that I needed a friend, and he was happy to play that role as much as possible.
The next day we split up. I went back to Arrecife to figure out what to do next, and Alex continued his trek around the island. He was determined to hike the entire length.
I walked around aimlessly before checking back into the same hotel I’d used a few days before. I felt lonely, weak, and vulnerable. It was as low as I’d ever felt in my life. Not only had I fucked things up between me and Jenny, but now I was a slobbering mess with no idea what to do next. That night, I cried myself to sleep.
When I finally woke up late the following afternoon, I felt even worse than I had the day before. I went out, found some food, and drifted over to the main square where I sat in the sun for a few hours.
The next morning in my hotel room, I tried to pull myself together. I had to do something, so I looked through my map book. The more I stared at it, the harder it was to believe where I was and where I’d been.
As I studied the colorful map of Europe, I traced a line with my finger through all the places I’d been to. A few of them, like Paris and Amsterdam, I had passed through more than once. I looked at the Canary Islands and noticed how tiny they looked next to the continent of Africa.
“Africa,” I thought. “Maybe that’s where I’ll go next.”
I paused for a moment and reflected on the idea.
“Fuck, yeah!” I said out loud. “I’ll go to Africa!”
I snapped out of my funk, hurried to the travel office in town, and asked how to get to Africa. I learned that I’d have to take the ferry back to Las Palmas to get a visa, and from there I could either sail or fly to Morocco.
As I was sitting in a cafe thinking about my trip, Jenny unexpectedly walked in. She’d been looking for me all over Arrecife. We hugged each other tightly and talked for a long while.
Jenny said that she’d never met anyone like me before, and the time we had spent together in Madrid would always be special to her. We were both ready to accept the fact that it was something we could never duplicate. It meant a lot that she’d come looking for me.
When I told Jenny that I was heading to Africa, she said she was going back home. She had planned to be away for three months when she and Hutch set out, and six months had already passed. Her money was running out, and it was time to return to Milwaukee and go to college.
“What are you going to do after Africa?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I answered. “I’ll stay away as long as I can and try to find some way to avoid the draft.”
We said goodbye. This time I knew for sure that I’d never see her again. At least this was a better ending than the last picture I had in my head of Jenny sitting on the steps when I walked out of La Caleta.
The following day I sailed back to Las Palmas. It seemed that I’d spent a lot of time retracing my steps, first through Europe, now through the Canary Islands. I needed to stop doing that.
“She was in possession of a pile of Orange Sunshine LSD and was selling it along the way to finance her travels.”
Once I was back in Las Palmas, I easily got my Moroccan visa. I found out that flying to Morocco from the Canary Islands was not cheap. However, it cost only ten dollars to fly to El-Aaiún in the Spanish Sahara, the small country to the south. I decided that’s what I’d do.
I went to the American Express office to have my mail forwarded, and I was surprised to find a telegram waiting for me from Ted Sutton, my buddy from California.
might come London few weeks will you go around the world two years call me midnight my time hopefully Ted
It was dated January 12, nearly three weeks ago.
“Wow!” I thought to myself. The idea of Ted coming over here and traveling with me sounded incredible.
I immediately sent him a telegram: will call midnight Feb 10 lets go happily gregg
The lady at the American Express office helped me send the message and schedule the call. An international phone connection from the island was only available for a limited amount of time during each day.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Ted and make plans with him. I decided to list my next forwarding address as the American Express office in Casablanca, Morocco.
I had two days to kill in Las Palmas while I waited to call Ted, so I ended up doing what I usually did for amusement: bar hopping. This time I discovered a side of the island that I hadn’t seen when I had been in such a hurry to find Jenny.
In a nightclub one evening, I encountered a fascinating variety of tourists including some rather wild Americans. One of them, Rebecca, was a tiny little powder keg of a girl from Texas with a head full of long, thick, red hair. She was in possession of a pile of Orange Sunshine LSD and was selling it along the way to finance her travels. I wound up buying a couple of hits from her. You never knew when that shit would come in handy.
The next morning, when it was midnight in Los Angeles, I called Ted. Since international phone calls cost a lot of money, we only talked for about a minute. He said he would fly to London in three weeks, head to Africa, and then travel with me.
My head buzzed with excitement at the thought of exploring Africa with Ted. That was one line in my map book that my finger had not traced yet. I knew it would be an epic journey, and I was ready for it to begin.
