AROUND THE WORLD IN A CAMPER

[1963 & 1964]

by FLOYD H. HADLEY

To those who drive around the world, routine daily occurrences include the unexpected, ridiculous, and impossible. People who take guided tours do not have the pleasure of these interesting advantages. They see only the display window and none of the merchandise in the store.

Although neither my wife Betty nor I spoke a foreign language, we drove 25,000 miles from London to India and saw behind the front doors of thirty five countries. A Sears Roebuck catalogue was included in our equipment with malicious intent. In the have not countries, the unsophisticated natives were thrilled beyond belief when they were allowed to look through its pages. The amount of money spent on the overland portion of the fabulous tour was only eleven dollars a day.

Traveling around the world had been one of my boyhood dreams and as my day of retirement from the San Francisco Fire Department drew near, I began to have recurrences of the malady. When I first explained the symptoms to my wife, Betty,

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she said:

"It's a wonderful idea, but what are you going to use for money?"

We started kicking the thought around and after a thorough investigation of costs decided that it was in the realm of possibility.

When we first revealed our intentions to our family and friends, they refused to take us seriously, especially inasmuch as I was only six months off the operating table recuperating from a low back fusion. This injury was the result of my falling five stories down a burned-out stairway during a four alarm hotel fire. At this time, I was wearing a heavy back brace and receiving therapy. Obviously there was a doubt whether I could withstand the rigors of such an undertaking. My convalescence was progressing satisfactorily but I needed something to occupy my mind. I told Betty that even if we didn't get to make the tour, further research on the subject would keep me busy during the dull weeks ahead.

I remembered having read an article in a national magazine about a well-equipped scientific expedition which had made the difficult journey. The group had encountered their major obstacles in Iraq and Iran. This had been done several years ago, so it was reasonable to assume that by now, road conditions must have improved.

I referred to the telephone book and found both of these countries had Consulates in San Francisco. When I contacted their representatives they assured me the roads across their

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nations were passable but facilities for tourists did not exist outside of the largest cities. Furthermore, it was mandatory that the drive be made in the late spring or early fall to avoid heavy rain and snow in winter, or excessive heat and sandstorms during the summer. They stated that the trip was feasible and although fraught with adventure, in all probability the average self reliant motorist would not likely encounter any circumstances that would be too formidable.

Betty and I had traveled extensively in the United States and Mexico in a travel trailer. We were confident that if roads existed, we could follow them any place on earth. We read travel brochures and books, studied maps and dreamed of the trip both night and day. By now I had talked myself into believing that I had enough guts to attempt this very ambitious Grand Tour. Our decision was, Go.

Betty likes all possible creature comforts so we decided that our best choice of vehicles would be a Mercedes two-ton, dual-wheeled, diesel, walk-through van. This would be converted into a self-contained camper. We ordered the car six months in advance and arranged for London delivery on the 28th of March.

Finding a reliable firm in London who could do my conversion work was frustrating. The ultimate decision was to take some of the equipment with us, and if necessary, I would attempt to do the work myself.

Eventually I completed blueprints for customizing its interior. There would be two bunk beds, butane stove and

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refrigerator, water tank, sink, chemical toilet, dinette, adequate storage space and a world wide radio. Our five pieces of hand luggage would fit one inside of the other when empty, for an easy storage, but our three trunks would have to be discarded in London. Since screened and vented windows were not available in Britain, I put four of them in one of our large trunks.

As time drew near our enthusiasm remained at fever pitch. We obtained our passports, necessary inoculations and as many visas as possible. Some countries, especially those in Europe, no longer require visas. We studied customs and border regulations but this later proved to be mostly a waste of time, inasmuch as very few of the prescribed rules were enforced.

Since this would be our first and probably last chance to see Europe, we planned to arrive there early in the spring. Five months of the summer could be spent touring the Continent before leaving Damascus for India about the first of October.

Our tentative itinerary called for a start from London, working our way south via Paris, northern France and Spain, to warmer Portugal. From there, we would take a quick look into Morocco, before following the Mediterranean Riviera to Rome, turning north through Switzerland, the low countries, Norway and Sweden. According to a brochure from Russia's Intourist, we could ship from Stockholm to Helsinke Finland, drive to Moscow and return 1,500 miles to Berlin, Munich, Vienna and the Dalmatian Coast of Jugoslavia, would precede Greece and

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Turkey. From the Holy Land, we would turn East into the great Unknown and try to reach India.

Although we wanted to sail all the way to England via the Panama Canal, we failed to find a timely schedule. Instead, we took the train from San Francisco to New York; then sailed on the Queen Mary to Southampton. Our 900 pounds of baggage ruled out flying.

"THERE WILL BE A DAY."

We had said that so many times the past year. That day came on the 14th of March when we boarded the Streamliner for New York. We were beset with mixed emotions: There was the sorrow over leaving our three married daughters, ten grandchildren and my eighty-seven year old father, the thrill of anticipated pleasure and adventure, while in the background lurked the unspoken doubt as to whether or not we would be able to accomplish our objective.

Our minds raced ahead at one thousand miles an hour during the dull, tiring train ride to the East coast. It was impossible to see all of New York City in three days but we tried.

Butterflies were in our tummies as we walked up the gangway of the gigantic Queen Mary on the 20th of March. We got our first hint of things to come at our dining table. Although the salon was a picture of massive elegance, the salt was in the finger bowl, the salt shaker contained white pepper, and the sugar was in the vinegar bottle. It was difficult, at times, to realize we were on a ship; she was so large one could

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easily get lost. Entertainment opportunities were inexhaustible and the cruise was even more fun than we had anticipated. Betty won a bottle of champagne in the silly hat contest. The weather was cold and windy but we experienced no discomfort on this largest of luxury liners. The ship docked at Southampton just before midnight.

We cleared customs after breakfast and were agreeably surprised when the polite official opened only the smallest of our eight pieces of baggage, which were to be forwarded to London. We enjoyed the merging pastoral and urban scene visible from the boat train as we proceeded to London. A thirty minute ride on the subway took us to the Mercedes Automobile Agency. There sat our big white van in all her splendor. To us she was a thrilling thing of great beauty. It would take some time to become familiar with her complicated instrument panel. After basic instructions, I got behind the wheel, fastened the seat belt and with trepidation drove out into the London traffic, moving on the left hand side of the street. It wasn't easy. The manager of the car agency assisted us in finding a satisfactory boarding hotel and a coach builder who would customize our van into a camper.

We toured London, from end to end, during the next twenty-four days while the M.T.S. Coach Builders were converting our van. I found it necessary to spend a considerable amount of time there supervising the work. This was partially due to the fact that in England firms employ more apprentices than mechanics.

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The weather was habitually gloomy, wet, and cold. We had a room and bath at Quins Hotel in the Richmond district of London. This typical middle-class hotel furnished us with board and lodging for a charge of $60 a week. Our room was equipped with a coin-activated electric heater which required 10 shillings a day for adequate warmth. If a warm bath was desired the hot water heater needed a shilling in its slot. One morning, we requested hot porridge for breakfast instead of the usual corn flakes. We were told hot porridge was served only in the winter months. The temperature in the dining room was 48 degrees at the time.

Waiting in line has been a way of life in England and it was a revelation to see how polite and considerate the people were of his or her place. Only the smallest of gas and electric appliances were on display in the stores. Restaurants collected a shilling cover charge for serving a meal on Sunday. It was an eerie sight, to see cars traveling after dark, in that dismal London fog, with only their parking lights turned on. Banks gave about one percent more, in exchange for travelers checks, than for currency. It was difficult to understand the cockney speech of certain individuals. These and other minor idiosyncrasies of England, were a good indoctrination for the many strange and unusual things that lay ahead.

It is most desirable for tourists, who drive a car in Europe, to belong to an automobile club. We bought a membership in the Royal Automobile Club and they supplied us with a "Camping Carnet"

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and touring information for driving on the Continent. They also gave us a strip map, with instructions for driving from Europe to India. We discovered later, however, that part of this information was incorrect.

My back had been gradually strengthening, for the past year, since my operation. At this time, I was wearing the cumbersome brace only a few hours a day and was confident that the firm, upright driver's seat in the Mercedes would contribute to my well being.

On April 25 our gleaming white camper was finished and ready for adventures unlimited. The customizing cost us $1,000 and the price of the van with many extras had been $3,200. In all of our travels, we didn't see a vehicle that was better equipped for the work to be done.

We had wanted to tour all of Great Britain before crossing the channel to the Continent but the roads to the north of London were closed by a heavy snow fall. This gave us an irresistible urge to be on our way.

AWAY WE GO. It would take a while to become familiar with driving this strange craft, so I delegated the duties of navigator to Betty. Our noisy diesel monster vibrated with unleashed power as we slowly headed for Dover. After getting lost twice, we finally found the right road. Our fingers were crossed as we drove into the line of cars waiting to board the channel ferry at Dover. However, there was no need for alarm. Customs formalities were almost nil. The charge for our passage

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and sixteen feet of vehicle was $37.00. The ninety minutes required for the crossing gave us just enough time for a substantial lunch in the dining salon. There was a nice campground just ten blocks from the ferry slips in Calais and we decided to make an early stop for the night. Our camping carnet was used for the first time and the charge for the night was forty-five cents. This document or "carnet" that we used here, was for camping privileges only. The other "carnet", which one must have for a vehicle, serves as a guarantee that the car will be exported rather than sold when entering any given country. The rattles and bangs that had accompanied every bump in the road, had to go. After several days of trial and error we finally eliminated the objectionable obligato by rearranging our cooking utensils, dishes, etc.

By American standards, the typical campground in Europe had inadequate sanitary facilities. The toilets were usually the flat floor level design and without paper. Hot water was not available. Some of the larger places had a restaurant and grocery store, of sorts. Ninety percent of the campers slept in tents, rather than units such as ours. However, much of the camping equipment in Europe was of better design and quality than we have in the States.

In Paris we found a large campground in Bois-De-Boulogne Park. There were accommodations for one thousand people but at this time of year it was only a quarter full. After two days of guided bus tours, we mustered enough courage to drive

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around the city. Parking places in Paris were hard to find but, luckily I found a dandy right under the Eiffel Tower. A policeman on duty, who could not speak English, obviously objected to my good fortune. There ensued a lengthy argument, in pantomime. Finally, in desperation, I produced my concealed weapon for the first time. This consisted of a personal letter of introduction from the Mayor of San Francisco. Although the officer was unable to read English, the large gold seal and the red, white and blue ribbons, worked like a charm. With a sharp salute and a bow he turned and walked away.

The view of Paris, from the top of the tower, was sensational. Three boys, on the observation platform, were having a gay time observing the results of their spitting over the rail.

After four days of Parisian charm, we made the 137 mile drive to Blois, seeing the historic Palace of Versailles on the way. The municipal campground on the River Loire was easy to find.

At Orleans, we hit the jackpot when we finagled our way into an American Army Commissary. When we left the store we were a hundred pounds heavier and very happy. The weather was getting warmer, which was what we had hoped for. Our tensions were being replaced with confidence in our ability to carry on.

Biarritz was more impressive than we had anticipated. This resort area rivaled Monte Carlo in elegance. In fact we were entranced with the charm and beauty of France. The well publicized chateau country had not been disappointing. The

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French bread and many gourmet items of food were a rare treat. The hard working farmers habitually used horse power. Their horses were extra large, all white, and had no tails. The paved roads in some villages were poor by our standards and quite narrow.

When we drove up to the Spanish border, the Spanish officials were most polite and did little more than glance at our passports. At the money changing window, we saw something of interest. A lady who could not speak English had a roll of American $100 bills. She was cashing one of them and obviously did not know its value. We saw this same thing enacted at other borders and could only speculate as to an explanation.

The instant we entered into Spain the flora, fauna, architecture, and the people changed in appearance. To a lesser or greater degree this same transformation took place at every border on our tour. All of the children waved to us as we drove by and most of the older dark-skinned peasants were dressed in basic dark clothing. The women carried heavy loads on their heads and did their laundry in any available stream or puddle. The country as a whole was under developed and bore a great similarity to Mexico.

After leaving Spain and entering Portugal we drove through rocky farm land for two hours and then had 150 miles of grand mountain scenery on our way to Lisbon. Outside of Coimbra we encountered a continuous line of poorly clothed peasants walking beside the highway. After following their line of march for 35 miles, we reached their destination which was the Catholic

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shrine Our Lady of Fatima, high atop a 6,000 foot mountain. This was an annual pilgrimage. At the shrine itself, there was a majestic cathedral with a gigantic concrete forecourt, where up to 100,000 of the faithful come to worship. Our speedometer showed 1,862 miles on the 9th of May as we drove into Lisbon, Portugal. The look of modernization has reached this city and the Sun Coast at Estoril but the rural areas remained unchanged. We would have liked to stay in Portugal longer, for here was great mountain scenery, warm weather, friendly people and a low cost of living. The beach resort city of Estoril had attractions to suit any taste and fit any pocket book. The gambling casino charged $3.75 each for admittance. The subdued atmosphere, however, was not conducive to gaiety. Local citizens are not allowed to gamble.

Lisbon to Gibraltar is an interesting 470 miles. Much of the road was narrow, rough and winding through a sparsely populated region. The two large cities of Cadiz and Seville were pictures of old world charm if you looked in the right places. Spanish border officials made it difficult to go into and out of Gibraltar. Spain did not have directional road signs to Gibraltar, nor is it indicated on their maps. They would be most happy if the British would just "go away". Gibraltar is the best city on the continent for bargain shopping, in general, because of duty free imports. We made the mistake of driving our camper to the top of the rock. The brutal road is narrow, steep, and difficult to follow.

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On May 16th we crossed the Straits of Gibraltar to Tangier, in Morocco. The modern car ferry from Algeciras, which required two hours for the crossing, was $56.00 round trip. Our European car insurance, commonly called a green sheet, was not legal for Morocco, so we bought a ten day policy for $8.00. Tourists should not try to see Tangier without a guide. The congested native quarter, with its maze of winding passageways, is called the Casbah and the strange sights are most rewarding. The Arabs in Morocco resent having their pictures taken, so good human- interest pictures must be shot with a telephoto lens or taken surreptitiously. Tangier is no longer a tax-free port for imported bargains.

We had a sample of the very good American built roads in Morocco on our way to Casablanca, where we found a large campground, on a wonderful beach, ten miles north of the city. To our surprise, 90 percent of the 400 campers were either German or French. The charge for camping was seventy-five cents a day and a three minute hot shower could be had for the equivalent of twenty cents. The coins for the water had to be placed in a meter on the outside of the enclosure, so it was best not to run out of water too soon. Much of Morocco is nonproductive wasteland and the basic way of life has remained unchanged, in many areas, for countless generations. In the interior, sights reminiscent of biblical times is commonplace. Casablanca is an exception, however. In this metropolis, new construction and bustling commercial activity was much in

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evidence. The tourist bureau was in a modern office building but none of the employees spoke English.

Upon leaving Casablanca we made a 730 mile circle tour through the medieval cities of Qued Zem, Khenifra, Fez and back to Tangier. Mosques, minarets, crumbling ramparts, casbahs and mud houses topped with storks nests, were only part of the interesting picture. Native women with tattooed foreheads still wore the ancient veils of Purdah. We thought that cities and people like this no longer existed in this enlightened world. We did not see any other white tourists along this route.

After returning to Gibraltar we followed the beautiful Mediterranean coast 1,600 miles to the Italian border. The narrow pavement twisted around and over steep hillsides, as a general pattern. With the partial exception of some of the larger cities almost every mile is dedicated to resort and vacation exploitation. One regrettable feature is the lack of sand on many of the beaches. This fabulous display of prosperity, and, in places pure lavish splendor, is inconceivable. The Riviera boasted a hundred harbors filled with private yachts. Modern accommodations, for the international set, were being built all along the Spanish coast.

Near the French border we turned inland to visit Andora, the tiny independent state in the Pyrenees. The highway from the Spanish side was in poor condition and climbed over a 7,000 foot pass. The only town, in this mountain top tax-free

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smuggler's nest, consisted of one Street lined with stores. Imported merchandise from all over the world was for sale at reduced prices.

Back on the French Riviera, we found that the best time of day to travel was between the hours of one and four in the afternoon when the truck drivers were taking their siesta. I drank some impure water and for the first time, "joined the club." As a result of my initiation I was blessed with abdominal pains and too-too much peristaltic stimulation. We had been trying to think of a significant name for our camper, so now, tentatively decided on the name Tourista Trotter.

Any description of the garish French Riviera would be an understatement of fact. It is stupendous, reaching its crescendo in the vicinity of Cannes and exploding at Monaco. We found vacancies in campgrounds but in the vacation season they would have been nonexistent. I would not have noticed that the bikini clad girls on the beaches did not wear lipstick if Betty had not called it to my attention.

On June 4 we tried to cross the Italian border but an official informed me that our carnet was not valid because the furnishings that were installed in London were not mentioned in the document. He was not going to allow the importation of the camper. After a lengthy argument, in desperation, I again produced my letter from the Mayor and he capitulated. We were not challenged again until we reached Munich, where the Automobile Club made us a new carnet. We also discovered that it was not

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validated for India and to get this dyne would necessitate our posting $1,500, either in cash or a bond.

Our 1,000 mile tour of Italy was via Genoa, Pisa, Florence, Rome, over to the Adriatic, and up the coast from Pescara to Venice, Milan and Lake Como. This was done in 16 days. Italy is quite mountainous and winding roads were frequently encountered. The few super highways that do exist are toll roads. The rural areas of Italy still retain much of their old way of life. To our surprise we found that it was easy to get poor meals in so-called good restaurants. One store, which sold nothing but olive oil, had seven different qualities for sale. The prices ranged from fifty cents to $2.50 a quart. As we gazed at the old, multi-storied city of Genoa, we thought that many of its old buildings might collapse from age at any moment. On the outskirts of the city a few modern apartment buildings were to be seen. In Pisa, tourists seemed quite interested in a tall marble tower that appeared to be on the verge of toppling over. Florence and Rome were overrun with tourists. There are numerous hill top villages that time has passed by on the 150 mile drive across Italy. The Adriatic coast has many wonderful sand beaches. This is the poor man's Riviera, without American tourists. Eighty percent of the campers with whom we spent the first night were Germans, and the restaurant had its menus printed in that language.

I bought a Bretta automatic pistol in Pescara for $16.00. It was not easy. The salesman, who could not speak English,

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had to make me understand that I could not buy the gun without a police permit. No member of the Police Department spoke English and an interpreter could not be found. After four hours of negotiations, in pantomime, the proper forms were filled out and the transaction consummated. Meat markets were closed Friday and open on Sunday. The traffic was heavier on the 310 mile drive up the coast to Venice. A short side trip was required to reach the one hundred year old country of San Marino. This little mountain top independent state has a ten man army, is postage stamp in size, and that is exactly what they sell to tourists. I have heard people say "Venice is all wet," but don't you believe it; we thought it was the greatest. The super highway to Milan ($2.50 toll) and then, a frustrating Sunday drive, in stop and go traffic, to Lake Como. The weather was hot and we saw at least twenty-five Fiat cars stalled with vapor- lock. Lake Como and the vicinity is one of the most popular vacation areas in Europe and rightfully so; its scenic grandeur continues on into magnificent Switzerland.

The Swiss border was a short distance from the Lake but we continued on toward St. Gothard Pass without being stopped. The mountain roads, in Switzerland, are outstanding examples of engineering with safety in mind. All of the good things travel brochures have said about the charming country are at least partly true. We drove over Susten Pass to Interlaken, then to Bern, Lucern and Basel. All of these cities and their environs have outstanding tourist attractions but we had to be on our way.

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On June 20 at 6,300 miles we ducked into Germany and tried a 140 mile sample of her exceptionally fine autobans. The farm land was extremely productive and 80 percent of the field workers were women.

Opposite Strasbourg, we turned into France and continued on through Nancy and Metz to Luxembourg. This part of France presented a picture of great productivity and industry. We hit the jack pot again at Metz where an angel in the disguise of an American G. I. escorted us on a tour through the army commissary.

In this part of Europe the picture changed hour by hour. One thing that remained constant was the well groomed appearance of every rural home and the efficient utilization of all farm land. The architecture and peasant garb presented interesting contrasts. Campgrounds were easy to find but the sanitary facilities were habitually inadequate and oftentimes coeducational.

The route we followed in the low countries passed through Brussels, Antwerp, Rotterdam, Amsterdam and across the 17 mile long dyke of the Zider Zee to Groningen, Holland. It is hard to realize that these very small countries could have played such an important part in the shaping of world history. These lands were intriguing, delightful and amazing. What a shame we could not prolong our stay.

Hamburg is 200 miles via Bremen. This drive could be made in one day on the autoban but everything of interest would be bypassed. The side roads were in poor condition but this was where the little story book villages were to be seen. Many

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farmers still wore the old wooden shoes in the fields. We saw only four reconstructed Dutch windmills of the many that existed before the war. Both Hamburg and Bremen are rebuilt cities of concrete, steel and glass with new apartment buildings by the mile. In the new West Germany, production and productivity had reached an all time high and was still climbing.

We turned to the north and were detained almost two minutes at the border of Denmark. The official went so far as to stamp our passports. Some European countries no longer require that this be done. June 29 found us in Copenhagen. There was a charge of $6.60 for the ninety minute ride on the car ferry from Nyborg to Korsor. The siesta was not observed in the more progressive parts of Europe but in Denmark many stores closed for lunch. Well dressed elderly ladies were to be seen in the better restaurants smoking strong cigars. In this northern section, it was a common sight in camp to see the blond Scandinavian ladies crowding around the open air sinks early in the morning. Of course only cold water was available and they seemed to be perfectly oblivious to the fact that they wore only their Sunday best undies and bras.

From wonderful Copenhagen we enjoyed a scenic drive up the coast to Helsingor and then a $3.00 car ferry ride to Halsingborg, Sweden. Southern Sweden had some outstanding bathing beaches where the water was warm and no surf was present. The many camps were well filled.

By the time we reached Oslo, Norway our Mercedes had traveled 7,850 miles. Many things about this wonderful country

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made us feel at home. They have a good standard of living, English is spoken by many citizens and their eager efforts to help us were most heartening. Bogstad campground at Oslo was the best we had encountered so far on the trip. It not only had the first free hot water, but we could be sure that it was not contaminated. There were travelers in the camp whom we had met in other countries. The farther we traveled the more this pleasant coincidence occurred. The natural unspoiled scenic grandeur of Norway is unsurpassable. We ran out of pavement, for the first time, not far out of Oslo but the gravel roads were smooth. It had rained more than we had liked for the past month and although light traffic was encountered, the muddy water kept us anything but white, until we reached pavement again in northern Sweden. We drove over mountains little touched by man and cruised on the deep blue fjords, via Nesbyin, Bryrnnes, Ulvik, Gudvanger, Laerdal and Cjovik. Seeing the spectacular fjords from the decks of the many car ferries was an unforgettable experience. We had only two hours of darkness here, at this time of year and vacationers would play badminton until 11 p.m.

The landscape retained its pastoral splendor as we crossed central Norway to the unmanned border station where we reentered Sweden~ Green fields, forests, modern villages and cities just about tells the story of prosperous Sweden. The cost of living is a bit high by European standards--for instance a hair cut cost $1.10 as compared to twenty-four cents in Portugal. We

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secured several visas for the remainder of our trip to Stockholm. As a rule, they may be obtained in one to three days. Our itinerary called for shipping from Stockholm to Helsinki and driving to Moscow but when we contacted Russia's Intourist they informed us that regulations had changed; the tour would not be permitted unless we hired a guide to travel with us and this could not be arranged for in less than six weeks. We declined their generous offer. Sweden is one of the most prosperous countries in Europe and looks the part. Slums, as such, are nonexistent. Stockholm rates high on the must-see list.

There are several car ferries that run from cities in Sweden and Norway to various ports in Denmark and Germany. Our choice was one from Gothenburg to Frederickshaven, Denmark. The handsome new ship, on this run, could carry one hundred twenty cars. We made the crossing in four hours at a cost of $17.00 for freight and passage. The vista along Denmark's west coast consisted mostly of well groomed pastoral elegance. Just before we reached the southern border, I attempted to buy a map of Germany from an oil station attendant. My request drew a blank. He had never heard of any place called Germany. At long last a great light dawned when I thought to use the word "Deutschland."

A traveler should bring all of the maps he is going to need, from the States as good maps are not only difficult to buy abroad, but cities and countries are indicated by any number of different spellings. Some of them are unrecognizable. For instance, on our map, the country of Jordan was spelled Alurduniyah.

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The manager of the park, where we stayed in Hamburg, told us to follow highway number five to Berlin. Much to our dismay, when we arrived at the East German border, the guards, not only would not let us through, but delayed our turning back for one hour, while they examined our passports. It was necessary for us to drive 140 miles south to the Hanover autoban, where after submitting to three hours of red tape and paying a $7.50 charge, the East German Police allowed us to enter the 90 mile corridor for the drive to Berlin. Traffic on the road was under surveillance at all times and eight check points were encountered before reaching the city. Tourists were allowed to enter East Berlin at Check Point Charley, after passing through the usual harassment of regulations, both going and returning. West Berlin was a picture of thriving prosperity but east of the hated wall only a glance was required to see desolation and despair. The American Express had a guided tour of East Berlin that was quite informative. A communistic commentator boarded the bus, at the check point, for that segment of the tour. The pro-western tourists asked the communist guide, brutal, pointed questions but received nothing but evasive answers and double talk in reply. When we returned to West Germany we were forced to submit to the same procedures in reverse. We, too, experienced that pleasant feeling of breathing the air of freedom once out of the corridor.

Seeing is believing. Industry and agriculture, in amazing quantity, is much in evidence in central Germany. When we reached charming, unspoiled Heidelberg on the navigable Neckar

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River, it was too enticing to pass by; there were ten large camps along the river and most of them were full. These places had an average capacity of four hundred persons. European campers, as a rule, are a frugal lot. A typical dinner would consist of bread, margarine, potatoes and canned peas. They had exceptionally fine tents and took good care of their efficient equipment. This included protecting their tires, from the sun, when parked. It was not unusual to see families, traveling with their gear, on scooters or motor bikes. This is a popular vacation area. The villages still retain their old world charm and the wooded hills, along the river, are crowned at intervals with ancient castles. Driving along the river, one sees deeply laden barges in a never ending line and an occasional excursion boat, bursting at the seams, with a gay holiday throng.

By July 29 we had traveled 10,000 miles when we reached the modern, rebuilt, industrial city of Stuttgart. The Sunday afternoon traffic on the autoban was stop and go for the last 30 miles into the city. On our way to Munich, we saw Dachau. This chamber of horrors has been preserved as a grisly monument. Munich is so very large that driving through the city is a challenge. I deposited $1,500 with the automobile club and they furnished me with a new carnet which would be valid and legal for entry into India. The obvious great resources and industrial power of Austria was somewhat of a surprise. In Bad Tolz, 40 miles to the south, we had the pleasure of visiting with a U. S. Army Captain and his family. We had met this Captain Porter in

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the Copenhagen encampment. They escorted us on a tour to see the natural splendors of the Bavarian Alps.

From Munich there is a fast driving autoban to Vienna that passes through Salsburg. This city's historic cultural attractions warrant an indefinite stay. Farther east, we could not resist the temptation to linger, for a few days, at one of Austria s many magnificent lakes before continuing on to classical Vienna.

Our first stop was at the American Express offices where we found that several letters from our family and friends awaited our arrival. In between sight seeing tours, we cashed another $500.00 personal check with the help of our credit card. Most of the employees in foreign offices of the American Express are local citizens and some of them are not able to speak understandable English. The best way to see any large city is by guided bus tour. As a rule American Express has several tours available, with commentary in English. We overcame the language barrier in meat markets by asking for schnitzel. That seemed to be understood in all languages. At times finding a store that sold meat was quite a task in itself. Super-markets are now appearing in the larger cities, also laundromats. Purified milk in paper cartons is available in most of Europe. Many border crossing check points have windows where money can be exchanged for a small charge. Butane was available in most localities, but English or American fittings cannot be serviced on the Continent. It is no longer necessary to take such items as nylons, soap and facial tissues as these articles are now

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available in large cities all over the world. Any kindred spirit with a taste for adventure should not hesitate touring Europe by car.

The distance from Vienna to Zagreb, Jugoslavia is 250 miles. The good life in Austria marched right to the imaginary line that separates the two countries. On one side there are television sets, while on the other, a small radio would be a great luxury. The grim life in Jugoslavia was instantly apparent. Oxen and bicycles, replaced tractors and cars. The average person walked. The peasants were almost as friendly as their European brothers but the police and ever present officious military were uncooperative, to say the least. The manager of the camp at Zagreb demanded that we surrender our passports and visas when we registered, "for the police," he said. The camp was not unattractive but only one toilet and one faucet, in place of a wash basin, was available for 100 persons. Locally produced food was sold at give-away prices in the markets. No imports of any kind were available in the stores. Ready-made women's clothing was not on display, only bolts of cloth were to be seen. Much of Jugoslavia is mountainous and nonproductive and all good farm land over 25 acres in area has been collectivised. The happy tenants live in buildings resembling dairy barns.

There were so few cars in the large city of Zagreb that it was permissible to park any place in the streets. Jugoslavia can be crossed on an autoban via Zagreb and Belgrade but we

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wanted to see the famous Dalmatian Coast. This highway winds through barren mountainous terrain for hundreds of miles. Bleak, unpopulated, off-shore islands are all along the coast. Ancient cities, constructed of Stone, border the few rock-bound harbors. The weather in the summer months is delightful and the few populated areas can thank the sea and vacationers from Europe, for what little prosperity they enjoy. There are no lavish resorts.

The 122 miles from Zagreb to Rijeka was over good mountain roads. The higher elevations were heavily timbered. Rijeke has one of the busiest harbors: There were several camps along the beach road and all of them were crowded at this time of year. Room and board could be had for as little as $4.00 a day in some of the beach hotels, but the majority of vacationers lived in tents. One hundred and twenty miles farther south, at the city of Starigrad, we found the largest camp that we were to see on our tour; its accommodations for 2,000 persons boasted a total of eight toilets. The outdoor dance platform, with its blaring juke box, attracted a throng of European youngsters; all were doing the latest dances. The restaurant served four- ounce glasses of cherry brandy for ten cents and featured fifty cent meals. Swimming in the warm clear water was terrific but the narrow beaches were rocky.

Local inhabitants live the old way of life; the somber clothing that they wear is made by hand. The women do the hardest of manual labor, carry heavy loads on their heads and help their husbands scratch a precarious living out of the rocky

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soil. Fishermen, in small boats, use brilliant flood lights to attract their quarry at night. This presents a weird tableau that resembles giant fireflies bobbing off shore, in the dark of night. It was necessary to take a car ferry across the river to the timeless city of Sebinick. Just passed there we hit a 20 mile stretch of very bad, rocky road. Near Split, the coastal area flattened into a lush, productive farming region. Split has a good harbor and this was the only city in Jugoslavia where we saw any appreciable amount of new construction. This local prosperity continued for about 20 miles to Omis, where one of the larger beach resorts is to be found. There were no private yachts on the Dalmatian Coast.

The local tourist bureau informed us that the road to Dubrovnik was impassable, so we decided to cut across the country, 420 miles to Belgrade, rather than return to Zagreb. They assured us this was a good road; when people in foreign countries say that a road is good they are, in all probability, comparing by local standards.

When we started on this narrow, paved road it twisted in hairpin curves, up the face of the coastal mountains, for five miles; then the pavement ended. From there on, it climbed interminably, until near the summit it degenerated into two goat tracks. We were afraid the sharp rocks would rip our tires to shreds but those French Michelin metalized tires came through without a blemish. This 75 mile stretch of road to Mostar required eight hours of driving. In all probability, ours was

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the only vehicle of its type that had ever been seen on this road. The few, dreadfully poor peasants along the way stared at us in openmouthed astonishment.

Mostar is in the narrow fertile valley of the Neretva River and is linked to the coast by a narrow gauge railway. At least we were back on black top for a while, but all road traffic and the obsolete little trains used the same ten foot wide bridges which were guarded by armed soldiers. "No photographing" signs, in the form of a picture of a camera with a black line across its center, were prominently displayed throughout Jugoslavia. On one occasion, we stopped for lunch by the side of the road and in a few minutes we were menaced by a leveled burp-gun in the hands of a soldier. There was a total lack of communication but the inference was obvious. We got going. The Turkish ancestry of the peasants near Mostar was quite apparent. They wore billowing pantaloons with turned up toes on their shoes and the inevitable Moslem Mosque was to be seen. Farther on, a colony of Serbs had remained and preserved their traditional way of life. The ageless city of Sarajevo, with its 200,000 population was scattered all over hells-half-acre and looked like an untidy rat's nest. We tried to find some one who could speak English, but were unsuccessful. Tobacco was the main local crop. The gasoline and oil industry is nationalized and many cities had only one antiquated pump dispensing poor quality fuel. We could not find the pump in Sarajevo. The last 188 miles to Belgrade

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revealed little of interest but there was about 100 miles of too-too dusty roads.

Belgrade, a very large city, is on the autoban,, which runs through the richest agricultural section. Corn, melons and sunflower seeds were the main crops here, with grain and cotton being raised farther south. According to our camping brochure, Belgrade had a nice new camp by the name of "Kosutnjak." There is a possibility we used the wrong pronunciation, because it was difficult to find. It was situated on a hill overlooking the city. Its prominent restaurant was outstanding in price and the quantity of food served. All of the plumbing was new but of poor quality and did not function properly. Belgrade must have been quite an impressive city about the year 1910. It has not made any appreciable changes since then. The average wage of a workman in the building trades was $20.00 a month and a policeman, who must be politically acceptable, was paid $36.00. Two days were required to clean the dust out of our equipment before starting south. There was little of interest in the next 400 miles to the Greek Border at Gevglija. On the way we saw the earthquake ravaged city of Skopje which showed fair progress at reconstruction.

Dull procedures for making out forms and records at the border required two hours. When tourists buy Jugoslavian currency, they are given a receipt and if this is not retained, the surplus money will not be accepted for reconversion. Any money, in smaller denominations than 1,000 dinars (about $2.50), was

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unacceptable for exchange. We bought $50.00 of their money when we entered the country thinking that amount would be spent. I had discarded my receipt. Prices were so reasonable and nothing desirable had been seen to buy so consequently we still had $15.00 of their currency. I exchanged this for Turkish money with the cooperation of two Englishmen who had a surplus of receipt.

The modern oil stations in Greece indicated that we were again in the 20th century. On August 19 we found our "Utopia," 23 kilometers past the city of Salonika. This was a new Government sponsored camp called "E.O.T." The manager was a Greek who formerly lived in Chicago. Each space had a nice level grass plot which was unusual and the modern sanitary facilities included free hot water and wash trays. The vast public beach section was as modern as any in the States and ~ the cafeteria served delicious food. A meal could be had for fifty cents and a glass of wine cost less than tea or coffee. Life guards were on duty and the first aid hospital had a nurse in attendance.

Salonika, with a population of a quarter million, has a good harbor and strategic location which adds to its prestige. Imports are for sale to those who have the money to buy. The vast majority of the peasants are poor and live a frugal existence. The cost of living in Greece can be exceptionally low. A fillet steak lunch, in one of the better restaurants, on the water front, cost us eighty cents each. The weather was warm, and for the third night of the tour no blanket was needed. Much to our surprise, three girl hitch-hikers from San Francisco were staying

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in our camp. One of them worked for our daughter's doctor. They had a lightweight tent, sleeping bags, and were having a ball.

Athens our next stop, was an easy two days' drive. In the late afternoon of the first day, we saw a Mobile oil station with a restaurant which looked to be a good spot to park for the night. I was asking for permission, with the use of my best sign language, when the door burst open and out rushed the cook to greet me with open arms. "Man ah's from Geogah," he exclaimed.

He had lived in the States for forty years and returned to Greece to get married. He could not get a permit to return with his wife. I asked him about his job.

"I work from six to two," was his answer.

That wasn't quite clear to me, so he explained. The hours were from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. and then 6 p.m. to 2 a.m. This was seven days a week, for $50.00 a month. "This is a good job," he said.

This drive did not reveal too much of interest; the peasants along the way were pitifully poor. There were many little two-foot high electric lighted Shrines, along the highway where the faithful could stop and worship. The last part of the drive was over a good toll road. We drove through Athens and stopped at one of six beach camps on the Korinth road. The Acropolis is in the center of the city on top of a high hill. There is a parking lot 200 yards below the ruins and on August 25 the weather was hot. I

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took off my shirt and clad in my cool Bermuda shorts, walked up that long hill. Upon reaching the top, a guard informed me that I could not enter the sacred ruins without a shirt.

This was also the land of the siesta. The city went to sleep from one to four, then the stores remain open until about eight. Like many other countries in Europe, Greece observed a late dinner hour that might not start before ten in the evening. The following day, a strong wind filled the air with blinding dust.

While we were in the Bosch garage getting a tune up, the noon hour bell rang, the ten employees produced their lunches and sat down to eat. Soon the door to the front office opened and the big boss walked into the shop. All of the workmen stood at attention, until he drove out of the garage., They were paid $2.00 a day.

On our way back to Salonika, we met fifteen wagons loaded with gypsies headed south. They were the most unsavory characters we had yet encountered. Back at our utopia, for a luxurious interlude, I found a Greek motion picture company shooting scenes on the beach. The story they were working on obviously was a documentary on bikini clad beauties. An important International Industrial Fair was in progress at Salonika. There were many outstanding exhibits from nations on both sides of the Iron Curtain. The American exhibit was not the most impressive. A a Greek girl must have a dowry of

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about $4,000 in order to get a favorable marriage. This dowry is returnable in case of divorce.

Salonika to Istanbul, Turkey is 450 miles and could possibly be driven in two days, providing there was no delay at the border. In the vicinity of Alexandropolis, Greek farmers lived in villages and walked to their cotton and tobacco fields. The dark visaged peasants were dressed in basic black clothing. Before reaching the Turkish border we bounced over 50 miles of rough black top and then had 20 miles of dusty gravel.

We found little delay at the border but I talked to an Englishman and his wife who had been there for three days trying to get a permit to import their car. They had a contract to teach school at a University and were presumably going to Turkey to live. That seemed to complicate matters. Ten day, third party, insurance cost $4.00 at the border. In Turkey, every one waved as we drove past.

On our way into Istanbul, Turkey, we found a good camp in back of a "B.P." oil station. It had a little store and swimming pool. Some local residents still use the old name of Constantinople when referring to their city. This time-honored city of over a million is 3,000 years old and some sections look it. It has over 400 venerable Mosques, some of which are world famous for their beauty and size. There are few private cars but numerous trucks, busses and taxi cabs. Driving in the main business section, during the rush hour, is a horrific experience; the car that honks first has the right-of-way and

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almost every vehicle has dented fenders from trying to enforce the law. Much of the merchandise transported over the narrow, rough, cobbled streets is carried by men who use a leather harness over their shoulders and pile enormous loads on their backs. To our eyes, this romantic city had an outstanding fascination.

On our tour of the city, we walked into the plush Hilton Hotel which advertised an American ice cream bar. We ordered two seventy cent chocolate shakes and they were horrible. To add insult to injury, when driving out of the grounds, I ran over a sharp piece of steel that ruined a tire. This added $40.00 to the price of the lousy shakes.

Well-equipped military was very much in evidence all over Turkey, but this modern display was not reflected in the life of the average citizen. A tax of about $500.00 a year must be paid on a private car. This is a normal condition in many have-not countries and up to 150 percent import duty is added to the price of the car.

The Bosporus separates Europe from the Middle East. We crossed by car ferry in fifteen minutes. In the next two days we drove 300 miles to the capital city of Ankara. Many trucks (mostly military) and busses used this fairly good, partly mountainous, highway. The new section of Ankara has modern buildings and attractive residential areas but the old part of the city, in the vicinity of the Citadel, is straight out of mythology. With difficulty, we found a camp at "Attaturk's Farm," high on a hill overlooking the city. The nutty attendant

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turned his outdoor radio on, but loud, at 6 a.m. and there was no water available until 8 a.m. Good drinking water is one of the most precious things in life in Asia. There was a modern tourist office in Ankara but the employees could not tell us where the Automobile Club was located. The guide we hired found it two blocks down the street. Older women habitually turned their heads away as we drove past on the highway. They did this because, according to their beliefs, they dare riot let a stranger look upon their face.

Continuing south, it was 500 miles to Horns, Syria via Aksaray, and Adana. The roads were acceptable, some mountains were encountered and at the lower elevations sparse grazing land and cotton fields predominated. The farmers used primitive agricultural methods and the towns seemed to be taken from the pages of my grade school history books.

Again, the instant we crossed the border into Syria, a different world unfolded before our eyes; men wore the long robes and Arab head dress, and the women were hidden in Purdah. Their homes were similar to an Eskimo igloo in shape but constructed of mud.

We pulled off the highway and parked behind a :Large sand dune for the night, thinking we were safely out of sight. But within 15 minutes, four bearded Arabs appeared and insisted that we accompany them to their home, "for sweets." One of them claimed to be an English teacher but we could barely carry on a conversation with him. His home was about 20 feet in diameter,

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had some small rugs and cushions on the dirt floor and an open fire box was on one side of the room. There was no furniture. Within minutes there were fifteen Arabs in the room. We were afraid to refuse their hospitality and reluctantly nibbled on some proffered food. I recognized tiny ears of corn, dates and melon but it was probably just as well that we did not know what some of the other delicacies consisted of. I showed them my Sears Roebuck catalogue which I carried for just such a purpose and it was the sensation of the evening. They were especially pleased when I gave them a few sheets, showing pictures of the strange merchandise they admired. The four women present were not allowed to look at the catalogue nor enter into the conversational circle, but a pig and a few chickens came in and took a good look. They wanted us to lie down with them and spend the night but this was too much. We made our excuses and left.

If we stopped in a town or along the highway, every man and boy in sight would immediately surround our car. They seemed to be motivated by friendly curiosity but the older boys would grab anything they could reach and run. From now on beggars and cigarette moochers were expected at every stop.

We crossed over the barren mountains of Syria into Lebanon and drove down the lush semi-tropical coast, past medieval Tripoli and on to Beirut. For many miles we passed low windmills on the rocky shore line, pumping salt water into shallow basins for salt evaporation. We enjoyed a 30 minute boat ride on an

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an underground river in the "Jita Grotto." This cavern, on the Dog River, has exceptional beauty and was discovered in Biblical times. Its many, pastel-colored stalactites and stalagmites are revealed, in all their glory, with artistic lighting.

Beirut is the cross roads of the world in the Middle East; she has everything from the most modern apartment buildings, to slums that defy description. The refugee camps, where the exiled Arabs from Israel are dying from disease and starvation, are a disgrace to humanity. The surplus millions of dollars, from the Kuwait oil fields, are being spent to construct apartment buildings that very few people can afford to rent. Many concrete homes and buildings had an unfinished look about them; they showed reinforcing steel protruding above their roofs. There was a method in their madness because as long as a building was not completed, it was not taxable.

In Beirut, we were the guests of the Nelson Evans family. Mr. Evans was the director of the American University Hospital of Beirut. This fine school is the largest of its kind outside of the United States. Seventy percent of the representatives to the United Nations from the Middle East, are graduates of this institution. We met the Evans while they were on vacation in Sweden. Their cook was a Lebanese lady of the old school whose husband had died and left her with a fourteen year old daughter. According to their customs, her husband's brother became the guardian of her child and he subsequently sold the girl in marriage to a sixty year old man for $600. He kept the money.

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A side trip to the Biblical cities of Saida and Sidon revealed that they have been locked in time since 3,000 B.C. The last half of September was hot and humid on this coast. A thirty day third party insurance policy for the Middle East cost $27.00. The selling of foreign currency at a discount is big business in Beirut but as a rule, if one takes advantage of this bargain, the money must be smuggled into that country. Much to our surprise, the "U.S.A." emblem on our car went unrecognized at times. America is the magic word everyone knows. We did not need passport pictures for our visas at the borders of Syria or Lebanon. I thought we received free visas at the Syrian border but we had to pay $10.00 before we could leave the country.

Leaving Beirut, we drove over the Libanus mountains to the ancient Roman ruins at Baalbek. These are the most important ruins of the Roman period in the East. The Acropolis in Athens is small by comparison; 100 foot high columns are still standing and the Temples of Venus, Jupiter and Bacchus are just part of the well preserved massive remains.

The border crossing back into Syria required a minimum of inconvenience and the paved road, on to Damascus, was fair. That huge medieval city contains a heterogeneous mass of humanity, living as their ancestors did countless generations ago. Many nationalities and religious are represented in this 6,000 year old city of intrigue and all of the romantic color of the Arabian Nights is still there to be seen. Shoes must be removed to enter

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the vast inner areas where the tombs of John The Baptist and Saladin are to be found. It was quite a task finding the highway out of the city.

On the way to the troubled Holy City of Jerusalem, we spent the night parked in the time-worn Roman Ruins at Jerash, the Pompeii of the East. The streets in this ancient city are lined with stately marble columns. Our visa at the border of Jordan was without charge. This section of the Arab world is similar to Death Valley in the States. On October 1 it was hot-as-hell in the land of the Bible and not a blade of grass for 100 miles. The only building at the Dead Sea was a high-priced tourist trap hotel. It was necessary to hire a guide here, if one wished to see the caves, where the Dead Sea Scrolls were found. Jericho had little of visual interest.

In Jerusalem, we were allowed to camp inside the police compound and the next morning they insisted we have breakfast with them. The Jerusalem wall, in some respects, is more objectionable than its counterpart in Berlin. A tourist can drive into Israel. He cannot drive out. None of the surrounding Arabian countries will allow a tourist to drive across their borders from Israel; therefore it is impossible to drive to Cairo from the Middle East. The alternative is to leave Israel by sea or air and land at a non-Arabian port. The sixty-four- dollar question with all English speaking Arabs was "Why did America give Palestine to the Jews?" There is so much of interest to see in this birthplace of Christianity that a

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well-informed, carefully chosen guide is an absolute necessity. It was October 3 and the time had arrived when we must burn our bridges behind us and head east into the unknown. Until now, we had felt as though we had the choice of turning back.

The distance from Jerusalem to Bagdad was 670 miles. The road followed the Arabian oil pipe line most of the way through an uninhabited desert. We stopped two hours at the Jordan River to do our laundry and enjoyed a cooling swim while it dried.

I had a mandatory cup of tea, against my better judgment, with the customs officials at the border of Jordan. We parked out in the desert for the night and I had dreadful stomach cramps and everything that usually goes with them. We had medication for such an eventuality and I was able to travel by the next afternoon. Prunes were not on my menu for several days.

The Jordan and Iraq border control stations were about 70 miles apart on this highway. We had been informed at the American Consulate in Stockholm that a visa was not required for Iraq and it was an unpleasant shock when we found this to be untrue. The border official stated that it would be necessary to call Bagdad for a permit of entry and this could not be accomplished in less than four hours. He said, "You can wait for the call to be made or go back." Not much choice. I walked out to give Betty the bad news but before we could shed a tear, a car drove up containing, what appeared to be, an American couple. They were. My first thought was they

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might be able to intercede in our behalf upon their arrival in Bagdad, and told them our sad tale of woe. The man nonchalantly informed us his name was Devlin, he was going to Bagdad and he was the American Consul. We were flabbergasted. He presented his credentials to the officer and spoke in our behalf. Our permits were granted immediately. The God-forsaken desert wasteland continued on until near Bagdad, where we entered the fertile irrigated valley of the Tigris River.

We were stopped at least forty times by the military on our drive across Iraq. One of the questions we were asked at each check point was, "What is your occupation?" Invariably the soldiers would try to bum cigarettes and hitch a ride. Many men and boys wore what appeared to be long nightgowns.

All of the nations from Jugoslavia to India are have-not countries. Each has a few influential individuals who possess vast wealth and control the destiny of their countries. The vast majority of their remaining fellow creatures have something all the money in the world can not buy--abject poverty.

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No camping facilities were available in this part of the world, so quite often we would spend the night parked in the uninhabited desert, well off the highway. There were three hours of red tape at the Iranian border and we were forced to submit to a blood test for malaria. Tourists in our category obviously received preferential treatment. Some robed native tribesmen got stripped and searched but the only cause for our delay was waiting to fill out routine forms. I talked to two Australians who were traveling cross country in a dirty, dilapidated bus, crowded with native riffraff, sitting on bleacher seats. The bus had been held at the border for more than 24 hours and was still there when we left. Continuing on, the black top was O.K. Traffic was nearly nonexistent. The few small oasis, where irrigation was possible, added but little to the economy.

In the larger city of Kermansha, Iran, we were greeted by a G.I. in a jeep. He invited us to spend the night at the

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weird musical instruments. A procession followed with trays of food and the furnishings for the new home, all of which were balanced on their heads. Before leaving the base, we filled our 21 gallon water tank with that precious, purified fluid. On our way out of the city we stopped at a bakery to get some fresh bread. It was baked in a flat sheet, a quarter of an inch thick and 18 inches in diameter. This is the only kind made. So many boys had gathered around our car when we returned, the police had to use clubs to clear a path before we could leave. The highway ran over a high, desert plateau, with barren mountains to be seen in all directions. Two 8,600 foot passes were negotiated before reaching Teheran. Places of habitation were few and far between and only an occasional bus or truck was encountered. The day time temperatures had ranged from 70 to 80 degrees but in this high country, the nights were cold.

On October 10 with 16,530 miles traversed, we arrived in Teheran, Iran. The manager of a factory granted us permission to stay in their parking area. The building was surrounded by a high fence and had a night watchman. High fences and watchmen are popular necessities in Asia and we took advantage of this whenever possible. More often than not, negotiations were conducted in pantomime. It seemed inconceivable that a city of 1,500,00 souls could exist in the center of these barren wastelands. Some of the buildings were as new as tomorrow but the ancient rubbed against the new and around the corner the new is completely blotted out. Practically all travelers going to Teheran use

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the Air Lines for transportation. We were told the road to Esfahan could best be found by following the number 57 bus out of the central area. An hour later, we were back to our starting point. They neglected to tell us where the highway left the bus line.

Our map indicated a fair road existed from Hamadan to Ghom. This road could have been used as a short cut, bypassing Teheran. The road was good on both ends but it disappeared into the trackless desert in its middle. Highways had been well marked but directional signs in cities were either indecipherable or nonexistent. I found a compass useful at times to work my way through large cities.

No difficulties were encountered on the 320 mile drive to Esfahan, Iran. Our late G.I. friends had directed us to a similar installation in this city. The friendly American boys gave us a personally conducted tour of this comparatively attractive and time-worn city of half a million. Its history predates 3,000 B.C. and the many ancient structures have fascinating tales to tell. One could easily become lost in the medieval bazaar which had innumerable little shops in its five miles of narrow streets. Primitive methods and crude hand tools were used to create and manufacture articles of beauty and utility. The young boys start learning their fathers' trades almost as soon as they can walk. Bargaining for lower prices is always expected.

The honeymoon was over when at long last we ran out of pavement a few miles out of Isfahan. Now, 950 miles of dusty,

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dusty washboard roads must be traversed before picking up that narrow ribbon of black top again in Pakistan. This was a barren wasteland of desert and mountains. The only signs of life to be seen was in an occasional oasis. The few doomed natives in these places lived in villages made of mud. At one of these isolated village bus stops, Betty thought she had a bargain spotted. She saw a disreputable looking character squatting beside a row of hand-engraved brass pitchers. These graceful receptacles were filled with water to be used in place of toilet paper. Women bus passengers would give the man a coin and take the pitcher back of a wall. The men did not need such a modern luxury. Many times on this unpaved stretch, we found it expedient to drive out in the desert, alongside of the highways rather than stay in the rutted tracks.

Now was when our around the world radio paid its greatest dividend. We got a terrific lift from listening to the World Series, direct from the States.

Kerman, Iran was the next city of any size, 440 miles to the east. The dusty drive was over a high plateau between two mountain ranges. The few turbaned and bearded natives we passed greeted us with friendly waves. In Kerman, we stayed at a Catholic Mission which we found after an animated conversation in pantomime with 200 curious bystanders. A group on bicycles indicated we follow them, so we took a chance and got. a winner. The mission was most satisfactory and also furnished us with a fresh supply of dependable water. Our camper and equipment was so impregnated with dust, we worked all the next day cleaning

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and attempted to seal even the smallest cracks.

Then 323 miles to Zahedan was more of the same, with mountain passes to 6,000 feet. One strange sight was a lighthouse 60 feet high made of stone. This was located midway on a 125 mile expanse of glass-flat desert. It was used as a beacon to guide camel caravans at night. On the rare occasions when we met an oncoming vehicle, we found it best to stop until the dust cleared be fore proceeding.

On the outskirts of Zahedan, Iran, a small airfield manned by G.I.'s was a welcome sight. Only six men were based at this lonely outpost but they graciously proffered their hospitality. Strange looking individuals milled in the filthy streets of the city. The 105 degree temperature was the hottest we had encountered since leaving the Dead Sea. Before reaching the border of Pakistan, the road wended its way through a lunar landscape of dry stream beds in some of the higher mountain passes. The winter rains and snow would make places such as these impassable.

The Iranian customs is located in the village of Mirjaveli which is 70 miles from the Pakistanian check point. This little town was located one mile to the left of the highway and no decipherable sign indicated its presence. Uninformed travelers who bypass this place must return for clearance. To make a bad condition worse, an unmarked fork in the road was a short distance past the turn-off. One hour was used at each border to answer foolish questions and make out forms for money declarations.

That 10 foot wide strip of black top 20 miles from Dalbandin, Pakistan was a welcome sight. However, the curse of dust was still with us because it was mandatory that we put at least two wheels

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off of the pavement much of the time. The narrow road could not accommodate all the rolling vehicles, camels, goats, water buffalo and, at times, just too many people. Traffic in Pakistan and India moves on the wrong side of the road, similar to England, Sweden and Malaya. As a rule, trucks and busses would not yield half the road unless we flashed our headlights. In the day time, occasionally, even this failed its purpose.

The filling station at Dalbandin was out of fuel so we were forced to use the 12 gallons we carried in jeep cans to reach Quetta. This 450 miles was the longest distance encountered without finding a place to fill up. Large drifts of sand were seen on this stretch of lonely road and at the town of Dalbandin; some of the houses were buried so deep only the peaks of roofs were visible. At times I entertained young boys by showing them our magnetic ash tray. They could not understand why it would stick on the car but not their body.

In the vicinity of Quetta, Pakistan, we crossed a large river that supplied adequate irrigation which was the life blood of this sprawling city. The large, shade trees looked cool and inviting after the hot, sandy desert. Some of the better stores, even had a few imported necessities. We had the Mercedes washed and an extra charge was made for washing t~he wheels. A 14 day insurance policy cost $3.00.

The governments of Pakistan and India have provided accommodations for traveling employees. These places are to be found in all larger towns and tourists are usually granted the permission to use their facilities. They are known as Dak Houses or Tourist

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Bungalows. The health standards, as a rule, are not acceptable to Americans. One thing available there was a bucket of water which we used only for a sponge bath. These structures were invariably surrounded by an expanse of lawn and a high fence. Our only requirement was a secure place to park for the night and with the help of a small tip, that privilege was always granted. On October 19 we continued 218 miles through mountainous waste land to Jakohabad, Pakistan.

Near Jakohabad, something new was added when we came down into the hot, humid, densely populated, fertile valley of the Indus River. The highway became cluttered with people, animals and wheeled conveyances. We had two wheels in the deep dust most of the time. A very low average speed was inevitable on this obstacle course. At times, the backs of thousands of soaking water buffalo were to be seen in the river. At a glance they looked like king-sized stepping stones.

During the three day drive to Lahore we passed through the large cities of Panjano, Multan, Khanewal and Montgomery. In parts of this region we drove hour after hour under an archway of low over-hanging trees. This was a'~protection from the torrid sun, but on either side of the 10 foot wide pavement, the gray dirt had been ground into powder by countless feet of animals and people. The choking dust raised by the plodding feet and passing vehicles became trapped in this windless tunnel. Due to this intolerable condition headlights were turned on and progress was dreadfully slow. We had seen very little machinery used in

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agriculture since we left Austria, and Pakistan was no exception. The productive land grew good crops of cotton, sugar cane, and fodder for the animals, but provided very little for human consumption. I inquired about this and was informed that rich landlords owned most of the valuable farm land. The tenant farmers were not allowed to grow food for their too large families and received a pittance for their labors. One town along this route contained a rug weaving industry. The beautiful Persian type rugs were placed on the dirty sidewalks so the shuffling feet of the multitude would give them the appearance of great age.

Chief Murray, of the San Francisco Fire Department, had given me a letter of introduction to Superintendent 1(1-ian of the Lahore Department. He proved to be a most gracious host. Lahore is a city of over a million and like all such large places has a section of impressive homes where the few rich and influential live. The government buildings are conspicuous because of their number and size. The 700 year old venerable, Shalimar Gardens have a world-wide reputation for beauty but by modern standards, were not outstanding. Most of the city presented a conglomeration of unattractive nothingness, unless one can see romance in decadence.

The mechanics who serviced our car earned $l2 a month. The men on the fire department received $21 a month, lived at the station with their families, and had only one 24 hour day off in a week. Some unscrupulous character offered me $2,500 American money if I would "lose my passport."

Kyber Pass is 330 miles from Lahore via Rawalpindi,

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Wazirabad, and Peshawar. Each of these cities have a population of over 200,000. The pavement was two cars wide but due to the dense population, was congested even between cities. A good average speed was 20 miles an hour. The millions of water buffalo in Asia serve more than one useful purpose. Due to the shortage of wood, most of the people use animal-chips for fuel. Here, the women and children get em while they're hot and make them into patty cakes with their hands. These are carried lovingly home and those with an artistic bent, stack them around their humble abodes in geometric patterns. Farmers use various types of cattle to pull wooden plows. The grain they grow is cut with a hand scythe and winnowed.

A government permit, obtained in Peshawar, was required to drive over Kyber Pass to the border of Afaganistan. This round trip could be completed in three hours. The last 35 miles was posted with warnings not to take pictures, and armed sentries were on guard at every hair pin curve. The most repulsive looking characters were to be seen in the little mountain villages, near the top of the pass. There was a heavy chain across the road, at the border and armed soldiers stood at the ready. Many trucks use this highway and nearly all of them were painted in garish colors.

Srinagar, Kashmir, was only 200 miles from Rawalpindi but the road had been closed for many years due to the border dispute with India. Now a 750 mile drive was necessary to reach Srinagar via India.

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The historic gun factories of Kohat Pass were our next objective. Again a government permit was required to inspect the several places where the guns are manufactured. The so-called factories were roofed sheds, open to the outside, with dirt floors. The men and boys working here were native tribesmen, indigenous to this area. They were using the same methods and tools their ancestors had used and their skills are handed down from father to son. Perfect replicas, of well known weapons, could be purchased for half the price of the original models. In Pakistan we were repeatedly asked, "Why is America arming India to fight Pakistan?" Tough question. On our way back to the Indian border, a truck immediately ahead of us, hit and killed three camels. Smoking of the hookah, or "Hubble-Bubble" water pipe, has not lost its popularity in this area. It was not unusual to see a dentist, sitting in the dirty street, working on a patient's teeth, or butchers, squatting on benches, wielding long sharp knives held between their toes.

Two hours were needed for border formalities to leave Pakistan and enter India. The Indian officer demanded to see the American currency I declared. This had never happened before. It was not necessary to declare travelers checks. The road from the border to Armitsar, India, held an unbelievable multitude of individuals, animals, bicycle-rickshaws and busses. The men were in white and the women wore their traditional multi-colored saris. As is usual, shoes were a rarity and the smaller children were naked.

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The fabulous Mrs. Bandari and her Number Ten Hotel in Armitsar, was a highly recommended local institution. Its beautiful grounds boasted exotic flowers and brilliantly hued parrots. She really made us feel welcome and laughingly said, "When you come back, bring me an electric coffee maker."

The bicycle rickshaw is the best mode of transportation through the narrow streets. The "Golden Temple" is the main attraction and, as in all such holy areas, shoes must be removed to enter the sacred grounds. Some of these places were fairly clean, but others were defiled with the red spit of innumerable betel-nut chewers. Both men and women are habitual users of this mild narcotic.

Srinagar in Kashmir is 320 miles north of Armitsar via Modhopur and Batote. This was a three day drive and the last 200 miles is over rough, twisting, mountain roads, topped with a 7,500 foot pass. A tunnel was under construction near the pass. A concrete mixer was being used and fifty women were carrying the fresh mix, in baskets, on their heads. A $3.OO toll was charged for the use of this road. The highway is blocked with snow in the winter months and at this time, several hundred trucks were running in convoy hauling winter supplies in (mostly for the army), and returning with produce. One way traffic was mandatory over much of the narrow road. This was accomplished by reversing the flow every other day. It was unusual to see any truck, other than a Mercedes, in India. To our surprise, we saw our first wild monkeys swinging through the trees. The military was much

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in evidence along this road, although the higher elevations were sparsely populated.

On October 30 with 20,000 impressive miles behind, we looked down the mountain and saw the Vale of the Kashmir. This unique mile high valley is crowded with a cosmopolitan group of tourists in the summer months. Only a few remained at this time of year and when we stopped at the tourist bureau, a hundred unemployed guides swarmed around our camper like a flock of hungry buzzards. With the greatest of difficulty, we chose one who could speak English, let him into our car and drove away to safety. Practically all tourists who go to Srinagar use the air line.

Srinagar is well-known for its 300 fabulous house boats. They have from one to four bedrooms and any required number of servants are available. Three excellent meals and shore boat service is provided. The charges for this all inclusive bargain start at $5 a day for two people. My wife and I rented one of the nicest boats for $11 a day. It was 24 by 100 feet long, had 6 rooms with 2 baths and a separate small boat, where the meals were prepared over an open charcoal fire. The four servants slept on shore.

The citizens of Kashmir have a hard life; their meager income is derived from the summer tourist and a limited amount of agriculture. Skillfully carved wood and hand made rugs are two of their artistic specialties. Purchases are carefully packaged and shipped to the States by request. We saw one splendid rug 24 by 60 feet that had taken fifteen workmen three years to weave. This work of art was sold for $6,000. In the winter months they

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carry small bowls, filled with burning powdered charcoal, under their blanket like robes. These heaters are suspended from the neck by a cord. I talked with several business men in Kashmir and they were unanimous in their desire for independence from India and Pakistan. They wanted America to intervene in their behalf and hoped I could be of some assistance. (Would it were that right could prevail so easily.)

The day we left Kashmir for India, it was necessary to leave Srinagar before daylight, to get in front of the 500 truck convoy that was going out of the valley. We enjoyed the 550 mile, four day drive to New Delhi. I had a letter of introduction to Mr. A. B. Advani, Chief of the Fire Department. He gave us permission to park next to his home in the Central Compound. One of several social functions we attended with Chief Advani and his charming wife, was a "Sikh" wedding. A feature of the colorful affair was a brass band, to which the turbaned and bearded men were dancing the twist, with each other, while the ladies were relegated to the background. The millions of living things in Old and New Delhi include, starving dogs, (who never taste meat) wild monkeys, water buffalo, oxen, sacred cows that wander unmolested about the city, and a multitude of crows that awaken the populace early each morning, with their raucous cries. Recklessly ridden bicycles are a definite hazard to pedestrians in the downtown area around Connaught Place. This is the semi-modern shopping center of New Delhi where we bought American manufactured antibiotics at half price, without a prescription. It was rather nice to see so

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many American tourists for a change. We cashed another $500 personal check and for the first time a notation to that effect was made on our visa. In New Delhi there is a spacious park-like area where the many imposing Government Buildings are located. These were designed and constructed while the British were in power. Black market money is easy to buy in the streets but a "legal" receipt must be shown for rupees used to pay for transportation out of the country.

There are several hundred languages and dialects spoken in India. It naturally follows that there are many different costumes, customs and religions. The terrain varies from the highest of mountains, in the north, to one of the most tropical areas in the world, near the southern tip. Some of the people are quite fair, while in the south, many are black as midnight. One tribe in the mountainous interior are fair with blue eyes and near chin the unmistakable facial characteristics of Jewish ancestry. Basically, the alleged outlawing of the cast.e system has made no change in their way of life. Some of their innumerable religions feature idol worshipping and weird ritualistic incantations. The native Indians, as a whole, are mild of manner and friendly. Begging, as encountered in India, can become quite an annoyance. Many times we saw natives dip a wet finger in the filthy dust of the street and scrub their teeth, nice and clean.

In several of the have-not countries, the great majority are poor but not hungry. In India they are under-nourished at best and too many live on a starvation diet until they die. There

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are very few wells that are not open and dug by hand. They vary from 5 to 80 feet in diameter and are as deep as 100 feet. One of the many antiquated methods of irrigation, to be seen,, is the raising of a large leather bucket of water with a rope pulled by oxen. The fact that some local individual says the water is good does not make it true even in good restaurants. Natives drink contaminated water without ill effect because they have an inborn immunity. Those who were born without this advantage are dead. Mosquitoes had not been too objectionable so far but we had been taking pills for the prevention of malaria for some time. The many strange sights seen in India makes it an outstanding tourist attraction. A mild callous attitude is a desirable asset.

Agra, India, noted for its majestic Taj Mahal, is an easy day's drive to the south of Delhi. Nothing constructed by man has surpassed the majestic beauty of this magnificent 300 year old edifice. Several other splendid structures in the vicinity warrant a close inspection.

The Eastern fairy tale "Pink City of Jaipur," is a day's drive to the west. This large city was constructed almost entirely of pink sandstone several centuries ago. One of its many elegant structures is an extraordinary building with one hundred one-room apartments, each facing the street. It is seven stories in height and tipped with decorative pagodas. The ruler who was in power designed this place to house his hundred wives in such a manner that each could watch when he rode by on his elephant.

At Pushkar, there is a small, holy lake surrounded by

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forty second class temples. This lake is literally alive with fish and the sick, dying, and devout pilgrims buy grain to feed these "sacred" fish which, of course, they dare not eat. Bathing in, and drinking, this sacred putrid water cleanses their souls, and when they die, their ashes are thrown into the lake. The highway past the lake was ten feet wide and lined on either side with primitive open shops. Cow chips and basic foods were piled next to each other. There were 200 flies to the cubic foot in that street. Some paving on the road to Udiapur consisted of two strips, each wide enough for a wheel. There were ancient structures in the cities that we passed through but in too many instances an English speaking guide was unavailable.

In Udiapur, quite by accident, we met an American, Dr. Robert M. Reeser, who was Farm Management Advisor at the Rafasthan Agricultural University. His amiable wife insisted that we stay at their charming home. He explained that one of the problems in upgrading agricultural methods was, that after a student received his education and returned to his home, he dared not get his hands dirty demonstrating proper procedures to those below his caste. Mrs. Reiser took us to see the 250 year old Lake Palace which had been converted into a lavish hotel. The daily rate for a suite was from $17.00 to $65.00 American plan. Nothing out of the Arabian Knights could have surpassed their splendid decor. Each suite was decorated in an individual manner that would befit the most exacting taste. One had all crystal furniture (made in Belgium) with a mirrored ceiling over the bed, and the others featured intricate, inlaid wood and ivory interiors.

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Native women, in this area, wore a short covering over their shoulders that left the lower half of their breasts exposed. Their skirts consisted of a short, sarong type, piece of cloth. They wore heavy silver anklets, many junk bracelets, and large gold rings through their noses. The smaller children were naked, and shoes were not considered a necessity. The majority of both men and women chewed betel nut which turned their tongues and teeth, a nice, brilliant shade of red. The Sikh men wear their long hair in a bun, but it is usually covered by a turban.

On November 19 we arrived at the Ajanta Caves. This was 540 miles south of Udiapur via Chitorgarth, Ratlam, Mandu and Julwania. These were just a few of the larger cities en route. Most of the terrain was flat and productive but some high hilly sections were encountered. The scenery became more tropical, bananas sold for ten cents a hand, and papayas a foot long were fifteen cents. In one locality we were forced to work our way past approximately 2,000 nomads and their 10,000 animals who monopolized the highway. Medieval temples and forts were commonplace along this route.

The Ajanta Caves date from 200 B.C. and were carved by Buddhist Monks. The 29 Chapels, hewn out of living rock, cover a distance of half a mile and represent 1,000 years of painstaking labor. The carvings depict a wide variety of subjects from flowers to a 40 foot long reclining Buddha.

The road to Bombay twisted around hills and through an ever changing kaleidoscope of intriguing sights. It was necessary for

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us to flash our headlights, in order to get half of the road from approaching trucks, even in the daytime. We avoided driving at night. Most of the oxen had crooked tails, caused by their drivers who twisted them unmercifully in order to get either more speed or a change of direction. As we drew near the big city, the pavement became congested with trucks and too many accidents were in evidence for our peace of mind.

The gigantic city of Bombay is an unattractive but fascinating melting pot. Most of its five million souls struggle for bare survival. Through trial and error we ultimately arrived at the Bombay Headquarters of the Home Guard, in the center of the city. Chief Advani of Delhi had arranged with Mr. M. J. B. Maneekji who was Commander of the Guard, for us to park on the parade grounds. Mrs. Marieekji invited us to her magnificent home for lunch. Every Sunday morning, hundreds of men and women in uniforms drilled on the immense parade grounds. They were dedicated to their voluntary Home Guard Duty. The threat of war with Pakistan, Indonesia and Red China was the source of inspiration. Black market rupees were for sale on the street at six for a dollar. The banks gave four. Purveyors of illegal money hawked their wares from the sidewalks to foreign tourists. A $100 bill would get a better rate of exchange than a $20 bill or a traveler's check. A jeweler who charged me $2.00 to clean my watch and install a new main spring completed the job in one hour. A haircut cost twentyone cents. (That is not what it costs in a tourist trap hotel.) We discovered an exclusive beach resort called Breach

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Candy Baths, where only Caucasians were admitted; one of its nice features was a good restaurant that served a $1.00 steak dinner. We received a tentative confirmation from the British India Shipping Co. that we could sail from Madas to Singapore with our camper on the Rajulla.

We spent six eventful days just scratching the surface of Bombay and then continued south toward the isolated colony of Goa, previously owned by the Portugese. As we neared the sparsely populated, mountainous, coastal area in the vicinity of Londa, our paved road disintegrated into a dusty unmarked lane. Maps of this section were undependable and we failed to find an English speaking person. Primitive aborigines inhabited these mountains. They lived in small shelters made of grass and sticks. Visually we were in the time of the cave man, and how incongruous it seemed, to be listening to President Johnson, on our short wave radio, speaking of vast national wealth and prosperity. After 40~ miles of dust, we found paving again, such as it was. The narrow road twisting through impenetrable tropical jungles dropped 3,000 feet into Goa. The capital city of Panjim was a refreshing change after seeing so much poverty for the past two months. The architecture was more European in nature and private cars were parked on the wide, tree-lined streets. The native Goans looked well-fed and under Portuguese rule had enjoyed a protected tax-free existence. Since the forced take-over of Goa by India their good life had ended and they were understandably most unhappy. For one thing only the wealthy few would now be able to own an automobile and the good tax-free imports were gone. The little country had been rich

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in natural resources. Ninety percent of the population were Catholic and there had been virtually no illiteracy.

Back over the mountains, and 410 miles to the semi-modern industrial city of Bangalore. The road passed through many fair- sized cities, some of which had rather substantial buildings but nowhere did we see any sign of collective prosperity. The second day's travel was through red dirt country, with six foot high ant hills dotting the terrain. On several occasions, it was necessary to sound our horn to clear the road of monkeys. One of the outdoor sports, for women and girls, was for two or more to form a daisy chain and pick the lice out of each other's hair. Outside of Nelahalu, there was a 2,000 year old Temple, still being used as a place of worship; the ancient paintings on its ceilings depicted the most lurid pornography. On the ground stood a 4O-foot long juggernaught with stone wheels which were eight feet in diameter. Every little stream or mud puddle was filled with soaking water buffalo, natives getting drinking water in stone jugs, bathers and laundry receiving a vigorous pounding but little soap.

December 3 found us in Mysore, 23,000 miles from London. We were permitted to make a tour through the Maharaja's Palace. He is one of the world's richest men. The interior presented a lavish display of silver, gold, crystal, precious stones, inlaid ivory, wood and marble. His private wrestling arena seated 3,000 guests in splendor. Our English speaking native guide told us his 400 pound Royal Highness was a wonderful man because he hired

2,000 servants (he paid them $20 a month) and acted as Governor of

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the State of Mysore without salary. The fact that he had vast real estate and industrial holdings in the State arid made laws favorable to himself, was overlooked. I took pictures of a mahout riding one of the Maharaja's white elephants. He forced it to follow me up some marble steps until I gave him some coins.

The Mudumalai Wild Life Sanctuary was at a 3,000 foot altitude, in a tropical rain forest. We hired a guide for $3.00 who gave us a ride through the mountain jungle on the hurricane deck of his elephant. It was a thrilling experience to see the many species of wild game in their native habitat.

The large city of Ootacamund is farther south, at an elevation of 7,500 feet. Tea and quinine plantations owned and operated by the British cover the terraced mountain sides. The terrain is a bit like Switzerland and the weather and architecture is definitely English. In the city of Coimbator we were welcomed at a luxurious private English Club. Fortunately we were just in time to participate in the big Saturday night gala dance. This State had prohibition and the only liquor available was Scotch at $16.00 a bottle. Only foreigners with a special $10 permit could take advantage of this bargain.

The road was swarming with natives and their animals on our way to Cochin. Here was the true South Sea atmosphere, with high humidity and heavy rain. Rice, bananas, and coconuts were grown. The small, black-skinned men wore only a G string and many women were bare to their waists. It was too bad that Betty had not learned to drive our camper so that I could look at the interesting scenery.

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In the busy harbor city of Cochin, we parked back of the acceptable Malabar Hotel. A good dinner at the hotel cost us $1.25 and to my surprise a warm bottle of beer was the same price. It was incredible but south of Cochin the density of the population increased and the moment we stopped, hundreds of men and boys would surround our camper. In places such as this, we were reluctant to step out of our camper. Few white tourists are seen this far south and we were an object of curiosity. The changing picture showed people a bit more presentable in this immediate vicinity, probably due to the influence of the several Catholic schools.

There were fewer animals, per capita, here, and man-power was utilized to pull rickshaws, two wheeled carts, and freight wagons. In the vicinity of Kottayam five percent of the adult natives were afflicted with Elephantiasis. This disease was caused by infestation with a parasitic worm. It was a startling sight to see people whose legs were twelve inches in diameter below the knee. The highway was bordered by magnificent white sand beaches for the next 200 miles. Mile after mile, the ultimate in tropical beauty unfolded before us. Coconut and banana palms were interlaced with navigable channels, cluttered with unique craft used for both cargo and living accommodations. Typical palm thatched houses, nestled under the trees in idyllic settings, crying out to be photographed. Slender fishing boats resting high and dry on the beaches were trimming on the golden frame. The fly in the ointment was the omnipotent stench of copra and the smell of drying fish.

On December 11 we reached Cape Comorin, the southern tip of

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India. There is little of interest here, except an ancient Temple and a new, domed building dedicated to Mahatma Ghandi whose ashes were thrown into the sea at this spot.

Heavy gold ear rings were a status symbol for the ladies here. The weight of these ornaments had caused their ear lobes to stretch as much as 5 inches. The tall Meenakshi Temple, in the city of Madura, was a startling sight. It was covered with thousands of carved figures, each glistening in a different, vivid hue. Domestic animals usually roam at will along the highways and the pigs, dogs, sheep and goats are habitually of questionable lineage. Lawn mowers are nonexistant residences have four-legged beasts to keep the grass cut. Women here wore a sari draped over one shoulder. This gave them a one in, and one out appearance. An additional impediment to our progress was encountered locally. Farmers winnowed their grain and spread it on half of the paved roadway to dry. Because of religious beliefs, they would allow flocks of crows to eat their fill without molestation. The fact that they might die of starvation before they grew another crop did not alter the case. The large, muddy river we crossed on the edge of Madras had both banks covered with drying laundry as far as the eye could see.

Madras is the largest seaport in Southern India; barefooted stevadores, wearing loin cloths, work cargo on the largest of ocean vessels. They carry bags and bales weighing as much as 200 pounds on their heads. Heavy wagons are pulled through the streets by men and oxen. The city has some substantial architecture and fairly modern stores, but few imports are available. One of India's

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largest universities is on the wide Marina Boulevard. In spite of the comparatively small number of college graduates, there are not enough desirable job opportunities for the students. The best position many graduates can hope to obtain is a civil service job with the Government.

We were permitted to park in a large lot in back of the U.S. Consulate. On December 15 we were informed we could not sail on the Rajulla. The Captain claimed he could not lift our heavy camper on board with his winches. The British India Co. told us we might not get a ship for months, so I investigated the possibility of going to Ceylon and shipping out of Columbo. After three days of negotiations, I was informed our camper was four inches too wide to be put on the train that runs to the car ferry dock. After making the rounds of the shipping companies, I discovered that a Jugoslavian The Jesenice was sailing for Singapore in approximately eight days. Without further investigation, I contracted for passage. I found a department store by the name of Spencers where I was able to buy 20 gallons of distilled water for $6.00. This would relieve us of the necessity of boiling water for a while.

In a local English newspaper, we read that the Government had raised the minimum pension for the destitute to the equivalent of $4.20 a month. Some citizens told us they were better off under British rule. They said that taxes are now higher, their Government was full of corruption, and the directors of prohibition were getting rich manufacturing tonics containing alcohol.

At times, poorer natives (who could speak English) would

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inquire about our family; when told we had three children and ten grandchildren, they invariably asked why we didn't bring them on the tour. Generally speaking, poverty stricken natives consider that they possess only one thing of value: their family. Naturally they hope for a surviving son, and considering children's chances of survival, a man must have at least three living sons. This obviously calls for a minimum average of six children. This is one of the reasons why the few family planning clinics in India are not more successful. In large cities there are individuals and families who have no home other than the streets. These people can be seen cooking, eating and sleeping in the open and no one gives them a second glance. The streets are clean only when it rains.

We made reservations at the tourist bureau for a room in a new Government Bungalow at Mahabalipuram. This historic locality is 53 miles south of Madras. Our room and bath had private balcony and the comfortable twin beds were canopied with mosquito netting. Swimming in the warm water at the tropical beach was a delight. All of this, plus three acceptable meals a day for a total cost of $8.00 was too good a bargain to pass up. We needed a rest and this was an opportunity for us to stretch our legs until we sailed for Singapore. The other guests were of various nationalities but most of them spoke English. The German and Japanese Ambassadors, with their families, were also registered for a short stay. A native walked off with my shoes while I was swimming at our beach; on my return to the Bungalow, I so informed the manager. He spoke excitedly to three servants and in one hour

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my shoes were returned. On one occasion we were treated to a keystone cop episode when all of the employees banded together to catch a chicken. Guess what we had for dinner an hour later? One afternoon, a bus filled with college students came to our beach. Ten of them were exchange students from the University of Wisconsin. On another occasion, a party of thirty Germans spent the day on the beach and left the debris from their box lunches strewn on the clean sand. Four small foreign cars arrived, containing a happy group of 39 natives, with adequate supplies for a picnic lunch.

The uncertainty of our shipping arrangements was disconcerting. Every few days we drove to the shipping company offices to check on developments. On December 23 they notified us that we could sail on the Jesenice on or about the thirty-first but final arrangements must be made on the twenty-sixth. We met some tourists from New Zealand who had been trying to get a ship to their home for two months. All ships to Australia were booked for the next six months with immigrants.

Mahabalipuram was famous for its extensive carvings in living stone, dating from the seventh century. There were pagoda shaped temples and life sized carvings of animals. While sightseeing in the area, we saw a wild monkey attack a young native boy who was walking with his mother. The three servants and two cooks who worked at the hotel slept on the bare dining room floor. No formal preparations were involved--they just lay down and went to sleep.

On Christmas Eve we attended a concert at the American

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Consulate. An appreciative, well dressed, native audience was in attendance. A significant incident, during the program, was the dead silence that greeted an innocent little joke about Russia. We were happy to accept the invitation of Mr. and Mrs. Coward of the U. S. I. S. (United States Information Service) to have Christmas dinner with them in their spacious, Americanized home, in its park-like setting. They paid each of their four servants a wage of $21.00 a month. When the one who cleaned the modern bath and toilet became ill, the other three considered themselves too high in caste to clean the room.

We inspected a little grass shack village in the country that the local American Womens Club was sponsoring. They taught the children how to embroider fine articles which they exported to Africa. They gave them surplus food, medical care and taught them modern sanitation. The village would have made a charming setting for a south sea motion picture. We made our final arrangements for shipping to Singapore and the total charges amounted to $470.00. Only six out of thirty-seven banks in Madras were authorized to sell Rupees for dollars. It was difficult to get a permit to enter the harbor area without being in possession of a ticket to ship out.

Native fishermen went to sea in boats constructed of five, eight inch square curved timbers, about twelve feet long, lashed together with rope. When they returned to the beach, these rafts would be dismantled and carried above the high tide mark. Occasionally, when an off-shore wind suddenly raises to a gale, many fishermen are lost. We saw three men, walking down the street, carrying a large refrigerator balanced on their heads. On one occasion, I held out

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my left hand to accept a watch from a salesman in a jewelry store. He pulled it out of my reach,but quick. The left hand is considered unclean in India. They ought to know. Our ship docked on December 30 but we were informed she would not sail for two or three days.

New Year's Eve was one of the gayest nights of our lives. We had met an Englishman by the name of Chambers, who was married to a beautiful girl from South America. He was a prominent local business man and also the Consul of Costa Rica. They invited us to their home for dinner and later in the evening we were their guests at the plush Gym Kahana Club where a formal New Year's eve party was in full sway. The beautifully landscaped lawn, at the side of the ballroom and swimming pool, was ablaze with lights and bubbling with good fellowship. It was a fascinating sight to watch the handsome, bearded and turbaned men, wearing dinner clothes, dancing the twist with their bejeweled ladies gowned in gorgeous saris. These sophisticated people were wealthy, educated, had perfect manners and spoke English. Only a few caucasians were present. When we left the party at 5 a.m. more than 100 merrymakers still remained, dancing to the very good orchestra. On New Year's afternoon, we attended an open house at the home of Mr. Abraham Sirken. He was an official of the U.S.I.S. A good cross section of whose who in Madras were drop-in guests.

At long last, we boarded the Jesenice Line second of January. (24,300 miles) Our shipping agent escorted us through customs. We filled out one little card, no questions were asked, we were not required to show our money declaration, and none of

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our luggage was searched. This procedure was consistent with India: no matter what we expected, the opposite had always occurred. This ship was making a round trip cruise from Rijeka, Jugoslavia to Japan and several of the passengers were on board for the duration of the cruise. The Captain and steward spoke English and most of the passengers were either English, Australian or American. The ship was scheduled to sail at noon on January 3 but at this time, there was still cargo to come on board, including our camper. Our agent still had our carnet but he kept assuring me that I would get it as soon as our car was on board. She was hoisted on deck at 10 p.m. and then our agent stated that he would have to mail the carnet to Singapore. I grabbed the poor guy by the throat and threatened to kill him. He screamed for the Captain and that unhappy official refused to sail because without the carnet he could not unload the vehicle in Singapore. Ultimately, the customs agent, who had the paper, was found in a theatre and the ship sailed at midnight with the valuable carnet in my possession.

January 4 was a gorgeous day at sea, a moderate swell had made Betty a little squeamish, and we had dinner in our cabin. We had paid for first-class passage but were forced to take a cabin in the crew's quarters, due to the fact there were sixteen passengers on a twelve passenger ship. The steward warned me not to leave valuables in my cabin but to give them to the Captain for safe keeping. I had $1,000 in cash with me so I took the money to the Captain's cabin and knocked on his door. When I handed him the currency he put it in his pocket, without counting it, and

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unceremoniously shut his door. I returned to our cabin and told Betty what had transpired. She hit the ceiling and demanded that I go back, immediately, and get a receipt. When I made the request the Captain stated he did not give receipts but if I wanted my money, I could have it. I accepted his generous offer and from then on enjoyed the reassuring feel of a money belt around my waist. We soon learned that a feud was brewing between the dictatorial Captain and his passengers. The trouble had started over the air conditioning. When the Captain ordered it turned down at night some of the passengers opened their port holes; in retaliation, he would order it shut off. An American author, Alex Elliott, was on board with his wife and two children. They had been living in Greece land now he was taking this cruise for a working vacation. As passenger representative, he requested proper control of the air conditioning. The disgruntled Captain responded by ordering "no more room service." What a pleasant cruise across the hot, humid Bay of Bengal! No music, radio,or news service was available and the happiest passengers were those who could get their pleasure out of Gordons Gin at $1.60 a quart. Our camper, lashed on the foredeck, began showing rust spots the second day. The same easy sea and soft wind accompanied us through Ten Degree Channel. Tropical islands on either side of the Malacca Straights showed no sign of habitation. All passengers were ordered to surrender their passports but most of us ignored the request. Since the ship was scheduled to sail direct to Singapore in four days, we were surprised, when on the fourth day, we dropped

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anchor in the harbor of Penang, Malasia. One passenger requested permission to disembark and take the train to Singapore, but our Captain would not let him off the ship with his luggage. Passengers were permitted to go ashore for one hour, without their passports, while cargo was unloaded onto lighters. Six, nice looking Chinese girls came out to the ship in a small boat. They carried small trays of coke to sell (I think) but spent all of their time on board, down in the crew's quarters. The coke business must not have been good because, when they left the ship three hours later, they still had most of their coke. The ship sailed at 6 a.m. The weather was sultry and the glassy sea between Malasia and Sumatra was dotted with many small fishing boats. Enchanting islands were endlessly sliding past and in one region the ship plowed through millions of jelly fish. A card game or cocktail party occasionally relieved the monotony. Still no room service and most of the passengers were suffering from the effects of unfiltered water that had been taken on board in India.

The Hell Ship Jesenice dropped her hook in the huge harbor of Singapore at 7 a.m. on the ninth of January. She did not go to her dock till 6 p.m. and it was 10 before our camper was lifted to the dock. All passengers slept on board and in the morning, the Captain would not allow us to eat breakfast on the ship. I blew my top, and while pounding on his door, called him every uncomplimentary name I could think of, much to the delight and applause of my fellow passengers. He refused to unlock his door and all I accomplished was to raise my blood pressure.

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We moved into our camper, on the dock. Before I could drive the car I had to get a special driving permit, liability insurance, and permission to import the car. Then I had to go to the Post Office, buy a 25 cent stamp, and take all of these papers to the Automobile Club for final O.K. Thirty-six hours and twenty cab rides later, we paid $13.00 in harbor fees and drove through customs. To our surprise, they just looked at our passports and waived us through the gate.

Singapore is one of the best places in the world for shopping. Tax-free imported merchandise is on display in thousands of stores, and bargaining can be quite successful at times. Taxi drivers will charge the unwary four times the minimum fare. The city is clean and bustling with prosperity compared to like places in India. Seventy percent of the citizenry are Chinese. Undoubtedly most of the population are poor but they appeared to be well fed.

We received permission to stay in the parking lot at the U. S. Consulate, which had a night watchman on duty. Arrangements were made for a guest membership at the very nice American Club on the edge of the city. How delightful to cool off in the swimming pool and eat in the attractive, palm shaded, open air restaurant. The unexpected sight of a woman attendant in the shower room was a bit disconcerting.

The first order of business was making the rounds of the shipping companies. On January 16 we made arrangements to ship home on the President Taft. Sailing day was to be about the eighth of February. Our passage would cost $1,035 and freight on the

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camper would be $1,238, if it could be taken on board. Reporters from the Singapore Straights Times interviewed us and took pictures. They printed a nice write-up in the Sunday paper. Cathay Keris Film Studios shot a movie short of us and our camper for