Europe on $5.00 a Day: True Stories

Europe on $5.00 a Day: True Stories

By Rich & Fran Juro

Madrid and Tangier

It was July, 1966. I had just taken the NY Bar Exam, and Fran had spent a year working for the Welfare Department of New York City. In addition to talking to clients in what would soon become Fort Apache, The Bronx, Fran had planned a four months long journey through Europe – on $5 per day per person for food and lodging. Here’s some of the highlights, and the low lights:

We flew from NYC to Madrid, Spain. Fran had made reservations at a first class hotel for $3 per night. It had marble steps and marble bathrooms. We went through El Prado Museum and the other capital city’s touristic sites. The only problem was that all the restaurants, including the one in our hotel, did not open for dinner till 9 pm. So sometimes we skipped that meal, which kept us within our budget.

In law school Andy was one of my friends. He received a law degree from Columbia University with me. The next day he received a doctorate in history from Princeton. Pretty bright guy, but different: during the summer he ran a bar in Tangier, Morocco. During the winter, Andy brought his Moroccan friend Abdul to live with him in NYC. We weren’t sure if Abdul was Andy’s servant, slave, or just his sex partner, but we didn’t ask.

Of course, we had to visit Andy in Tangier, so we flew there from Madrid. We found our cheap but comfy hotel, and the next day set out to find Andy in his bar, “Ibn Battuta”. It was named for a 14th century Muslim Moroccan scholar and traveler. He visited Central and Southeast Asia and China, like Marco Polo, plus the Muslim lands in between. He wrote a book of his travels. (Now we have a blog about ours: FranandRichsTravels.com.)

We knew that the bar was on the beach, and the quickest way to get there was through the Casbah. But we got completely lost in the maze of tiny meandering streets. As smart Columbia and NYU grads, we figured out a solution: we spotted a European woman, obviously heading for the beach. So we followed her for a few rambling blocks…until she entered her home. Then we had a better inspiration: we gave $1 US to a local youth, said “Ibn Battuta a la playa” (Spanish for “Ibn Battuta at the beach”, since Tangier had been part of Spanish Morocco). The boy showed us out of the labyrinth and to our rendezvous with Andy.

A narrow alley in the Casbah (but its straight)

Switzerland and Holland

Fran had booked us on a Royal Air Maroc flight to Geneva, Switzerland. We arrived and stowed our luggage at the train station. Next we had a lovely walk on the shore of Lake Geneva. Then we headed back to the train station for our dinner. Throughout Europe, it was always a good, inexpensive place to eat. We boarded out late night train for Zurich, planning on sleeping on the train to save the cost of a hotel.

In Zurich, our budget hotel (there’s no such thing as a budget hotel anymore in Zurich) was clean, and right by the Limmat River. We walked to the department store nearby, and bought our lunch: loaf of bread, cheese, lettuce, tomato, and wine, and ate it on the sloping grass banks watching the swans swimming on the Limmat. Nowadays, the Limmat still runs through Zurich, but the city is dominated by a different kind of banks.

We took a bus tour for a day through the Alps. It was a big bus, and there were many hairpin turns overlooking the valleys thousands of feet below. Fran, suffering from acrophobia, sat on the inside seat, but still didn’t enjoy it.

After a few days, we boarded another overnight train for Amsterdam, Holland. No, we didn’t stay in the famous “red light” district. Instead, Fran had reserved a room in a canal house. The boardinghouse had five steep flights, and no elevator, but thankfully we were staying on the third floor. After dragging up the luggage, I was exhausted but I was young, and you couldn’t complain for $2.80 a night.

One evening the owner asked us to watch the front desk while he went out (to the red light district?). A large African man walked in from the street and repeatedly asked in a loud voice for “la clef”. Neither Fran nor I had seen him before, nor did we speak French, so we just shrugged and ignored him. Only after the proprietor returned did we learn that the stranger was a regular renter and he was asking for “the key”.

In 1966 there wasn’t a big line to get into the Anne Frank House, the famous canal house where the young girl’s family hid from the Nazis and kept a diary of her tragic life. After a memorable visit, we signed the guest book. We noticed that a few names above ours was Elliott Pollack, a not uncommon name in New York. A nice surprise was meeting him and his wife outside on the street. Elliott had been in my year at Columbia, but had skipped his senior year and went right to law school (another very bright guy). We enjoyed lunch together and compared notes on law school and touring Europe.

The next day we took the train to Rotterdam, then and now the biggest port in Europe. We ate at the “Seamen’s Retreat”, which was good, cheap, and open to the regular public.

My brother Evan had given us a travel gift: a coupon book for “Buy 1, Get 1 Free” at famous restaurants in Europe. We tried one: d’Vijff Vlieghen (the Five Flies), located, of course, in another canal house. After a delicious dinner of Dutch specialties, we presented the coupon to the waiter. He brought over the maitre d’. Obviously, the gentlemen had never seen a coupon book before, and he rudely said he couldn’t accept it. We demurred, saying this was valid for one free dinner with one paid. The maitre d’ got so upset that he shouted: “Get out of this restaurant!” So we complied, paying for neither dinner. (Years later we went back to d’Vjiff Vlieghen Restaurant, paid full price, and it wasn’t as good.)

Amsterdam was full of wonderful museums and attractions. Yes, we did the Rijksmuseum, Royal Palace, and the Portuguese Synagogue. Then and now, you can go around with canal boats, trams, or just walking. Finally, after a wonderful but exhausting week, we took the train to Dusseldorf, Germany.

Germany and Denmark

My brother Evan also arranged for an apartment for us for $5 a day in Dusseldorf. The apartment belonged to the secretary of one of his associates; she moved in with her parents during our stay. Dusseldorf was an industrial city that had been bombed to smithereens by the Allies during WWII. So the apartment, like virtually all of the buildings in the city, was new. It had a nice furniture, TV, and all other modern appliances…except a refrigerator. The Germans still liked to shop every day and any refrigerated product was put in a cool place and used in a day or two. Even then Europe had shelf stable milk, and continue to use that product today.

Cologne, near Dusseldorf, was a day tour. The difference was the magnificent Cologne Cathedral was not bombed during the war. Fran and I had ambivalent feelings, admiring all the Germans had rebuilt while remembering how the Nazis had started WWII and conducted the Holocaust.

We took the railroad to West Berlin, which was divided in 1966 into four separate sections: US, Britain, France, and USSR. Surprisingly, it was easy it to take the U-Bahn subway from West Berlin to East Berlin. The Rathskeller (City Hall) was right outside the station, and we ate there. It was basically the only thing we could buy in East Berlin, as the stores were empty.

We were looking for “Nefertiti’s Bust”, the famous Egyptian sculpture of the Pharaoh’s wife carved in 1340 BCE. It was then (and now) in an East Berlin museum. After a long walk, we found the museum complex. None of the museum attendants spoke English nor were interested in helping our quest. Finally, we gave up. So much for customer-friendly in Socialist countries. Another clue in our political education was how hard it was to take the U-Bahn back from East Berlin to West Berlin. Even as Americans, we had to change subway trains, and were subjected to several East Berlin security officers checking documents and rudely interrogating us.

But then followed the single best airplane flight we’ve ever had. Back then, there were student flights, especially in Socialist countries. Fran had booked us on Czechoslovak Airlines from East Berlin to Copenhagen, Denmark. The airline sent a bus to pick the students up in West Berlin. We were all busy taking pictures when we went through Checkpoint Charlie, the infamous border security station between West and East Berlin. A big East German police officer boarded the bus. “Who vas taking pictures?”, he demanded in a thick German accent. No one answered. Again he asked, in even a deeper, more ominous tone: “Who vas taking pictures?”

A timid voice from a small girl answered: “I was.” The East German border official walked up the aisle to her, ripped her camera from her, and tore the film from the camera. (Yes, boys and girls, way back then you had to use physical film in cameras.) Everyone felt sorry for the girl who had her pictures confiscated, but everybody felt glad that they still had photos in their camera. Finally, we proceeded to Schonefeld Airport in East Berlin.

When we boarded the prop plane from Czechoslovak Airlines, we were given delicious Czech candy and a Czech bandanna. Once we were in the air, they served Czech beer and food. Now do see why we described this as the best flight we’ve ever had. Oh, the cost? $10 each!!

Scandinavia

Landing in Copenhagen without reservations, we rushed to the clearinghouse office which assigns visitors places to stay. We were given the name of Pension Klokken, and it turned out to be cheap and convenient for our week of sightseeing. Walking and taking local tours, we were delighted with:

• Tivoli Gardens, the huge amusement park;
• Kronborg Castle, referenced in Hamlet as Elsinore, which is the Danish name of the town of Helsingor;
• The Little Mermaid, the small bronze statue based on the Hans Christian Andersen story, which has become the iconic symbol of Copenhagen;
• The royal palaces and museums;
• The friendly Danish people, most of whom spoke English even then.

Our next transportation was something we had never ridden before. A train that went right on to the ferry from Copenhagen to Malmo, Sweden, and then went on the railroad tracks directly to downtown Stockholm. There we stayed at an alcohol-free hotel run by the Women’s Temperance Union. Sex was ok, but no booze! Fran loved the Swedish clothes and bought a sleeveless green velour A-dress, leather boots that were half-white and half-black, and some other items. They were the envy of young women in the USSR, and even back in the USA. They were not in her $5 daily budget, but she figured she deserved it for giving up wine whilst in Sweden.

To get to Helsinki, Finland, we rode the Baltic Sea ferry. Arriving safely, we headed to the Hotel Sakatuntatelu, which was a student dormitory for the University of Helsinki. We remember that it was quite a ways from downtown. Recently, we went back to Helsinki. Now the university is in the middle of the city.

Being August, there were very few students present. Being Finland, we had to try the sauna in the lower level. My thermal went without incident. But when Fran went down, there were already a bunch of Finnish women there, mostly cleaners for the dormitory. They insisted that Fran have an authentic experience. So first they “beat” her with birch branches. Then they made her plunge into the very ice cold small pool. Its a sauna Fran has never forgotten.

Finnish is a language barely related only to Estonian and Hungarian, neither of which we speak. But there is a 10% minority of Swedes in Finland, so all the public signs are printed in Swedish as well as Finnish. We don’t speak Swedish either, but that language is related to German. We don’t speak German either, but had just spent two weeks there, and so we recognized some of the basic words.

We had a problem leaving Helsinki. The taxi headed, we assumed, from our student residence towards the train station. Fran noticed that the cab seemed to be going in the wrong direction. She gestured wildly and got the driver to pull over, but he didn’t speak English, and we didn’t know the Finnish word for “railroad”. Finally, the driver flapped his arms in imitation of a bird or airplane. Fran shook her head, then said the magic words: “choo choo”. Our driver promptly made a U-turn and headed for the train station.

The USSR

Fran had made arrangements for the tour of the Soviet Union at the New York City office of Intourist, the USSR travel agency. It was $15 per day per person, but it included all rooms, food, beverages, tours, tour guides, and transportation: air flights from Moscow to Leningrad, Kiev, Yalta, and back to Moscow.

The train trip from Helsinki to Moscow was a preview of the USSR. On the advice of Thomas Cook, Ltd., the travel agent, we splurged and got Class A; that included top-and-bottom sleeping berths, chai (tea), food in the dining car, and a couple of other luxuries. One of our neighbors in the sleeping car was an American diplomat and his family. He asked us what we were carrying into the country as there were strict controls. So he took our James Bond books, Vogue and other fashion magazines, and some other decadent contraband material that would have been seized by the border inspectors, and put them into his official USA diplomatic pouch.

Our other “neighbors” were two Soviet officials who were returning from Europe. They were extremely nervous what the customs agents would find. They were literally sweating about the questions they would be asked. We didn’t know how the two fared, but all our illegal items made it through in the diplomatic pouch. When the customs officials went through our luggage, they discovered Fran’s jewelry bag. They pulled it out triumphantly. Fran emptied it. All it contained was the hollow silver beads we bought in Mexico for $8. “Phoo” (or maybe it was the Russian equivalent), said the inspector disappointedly.

Our hotel in Moscow was the Metropol. It was a cavernous, square block of a pre-revolutionary hotel. A heavy Russian lady sat in a chair on every floor, 24 hours a day, and collected your room key if you left (and hopefully gave it back to you when you returned). The public bathroom and shower were down the hall. We were sure the room was “bugged” so that the KGB could listen to everyone, especially Americans. On the radio, you could hear announcers saying stuff that we recognized as “Vietnam”, “imperialist”, “Americanski’s”, and other worrying news. We were also sure that we would be followed anywhere we went.

I grew up in New York and was an expert on using subways. So we got a map of the famous Moscow subway system and promptly entered, barely noticing the exquisite decoration of the below-ground station. The plan was to go three stations, exit, cross the street, and go back the other way the same stops. We counted the three stations, and went up the steps to the street. But, there was no kiosk for us to re-enter in the opposite direction. Then we expected the KGB agents who we were sure were following us to appear and laughingly show us how to get back. There were no agents; we were alone on a big street. Luckily, we were wearing Western clothes. A taxi pulled up. The driver said “Dollars?” We said “Da (‘yes’), Metropol Hotel”. The driver immediately threw his customers out of the cab and drove us to our hotel. Lessons learned: the Moscow subway stations are set up differently than New York’s; Russians really want U.S. dollars; and KGB agents were not following us everywhere.

The Russian language uses the Cyrillic alphabet. It has Greek letters augmented by some Slavonic sounds that were made into letters. I was in a fraternity in college, and knew most of the Greek letters. (I was expelled by my college fraternity, later gave Fran my fraternity pin, and even later the fraternity became co-ed.) So just like we were happy to see Swedish signs in Finland, we could read many of the Russian signs phonetically, and then figured out what some meant. For example, PECTOPAH phonetically reads RESTAURAN, and, yes, it means restaurant.

There were flavored drink machines in parks. The sign said VOBA, but we figured out what they were. The problem was after you put in a one kopeck coin, instead of dispensing a can or bottle, you were supposed to reuse the “community cup”. Fran knew it wasn’t conducive to health, and quickly bought two collapsible plastic cups that we carried.

After seeing the Kremlin, Lenin and Stalin’s tomb (Stalin is no longer there after his de-heroification), and the other sights of Moscow, we flew up to Leningrad. That city was founded by Tsar Peter the Great in 1703, and was the capital of Russia for about 200 years as St. Petersburg, until the Russian Revolution of 1917. It was then called Leningrad until 1991, when a city referendum renamed it St. Petersburg again. Whatever you call it, the city is beautiful with canals and the Neva River flowing into the Gulf of Finland.

In Leningrad/St. Petersburg, we stayed at the Astoria Hotel. It was better than the Metropol in Moscow, but not much. Recently we went back, and the Astoria has been transformed into a luxurious 5-star hotel. The city is filled with royal palaces, wonderful art and history museums, and other attractions.

Probably the most famous is the Hermitage Museum, filled with Impressionist and other world-famous paintings collected by the Czars before 1917. In 1966, there was only one room open to the public. Here’s how we got a complete tour of it:

The Great Synagogue of Leningrad was, I believe, the only synagogue that continuously operated in the USSR during the whole Communist period. Atheism was the official religion, and unofficially it was the deification of the leaders Lenin and then Stalin. It was not till the 1970’s that thousands of Jews were permitted to leave the Soviet Union for Israel, the USA, and other Western countries.

One night I went to a concert performance. Fran didn’t, and stayed at the Astoria Hotel. She was wandering around, and pretty soon was invited to a graduation party by some young people (we were young then too). When the Western music played, she taught the others how to dance the Twist. She was the hit of the party. Luckily, she wasn’t arrested for bringing decadent dancing to Leningrad. Fran had a much more enjoyable time than I had.
Then we flew Aeroflot Air (we called it “Aeroflop” because of the old planes and terrible on-time performance) to Kiev, the capital of the Ukraine Soviet Socialist Republic. Back then, the Ukraine was one of about 15 Russian-dominated Soviet Socialist Republics. They ranged from Estonia in the Baltic to Mongolia in Eastern Asia. It was not until 1991 that the Soviet Union collapsed and those SSR’s became truly independent countries.
But even in 1966, Kiev was more cultured and progressive than Moscow. Some people in Kiev dressed in fashionable clothes imported from Hungary, a Russian dominated nation bordering on Western Europe. It was 20 years before Chernobyl, the terrible nuclear catastrophe near Kiev. It was also before the Ukrainians started conducting tours of Babi Yar, the ravine outside Kiev where 33,000 Jews were massacred by the Nazis in 1941. The synagogue was also still closed in 1966.

My father’s parents were from Kiev, or the region nearby. I heard there was an office where you could look up your ancestors. I went there but the office was closed. It might not have given me much information anyway. My grandparents, like millions of Jews in the “Russian Pale” in Eastern Europe, left in the 1890’s to escape pogroms and oppression. Their name was not Juro then, probably Jurofsky (sp?) or something different. I’ll probably never know.

Our group consisted of eight people:

• Fran and myself;
• A nice young man named Ted, whose family lived by themselves in Wichita, Kansas, on a street they named Easy Street, and changed the address every year to reflect the year they were in (e.g. 1966 Easy St. that year);
• Mr. George and Mrs. Eileen Cribbes, an interesting older couple from Edinburgh, Scotland; he was the founder and chairman of the Edinburgh Festival:
• Maria, a lady from western Canada, who had escaped from the Ukraine, and went to visit relatives surreptitiously when we were in Kiev;
• Dr. Ernst and Mrs. Betty Schmidt; he was born in Switzerland, moved to the USA, and worked as a physician in southern California; he had a couple of kids and had married Betty later.

Two of the eight spoke Russian fluently. Maria was originally from the Ukraine, but she wouldn’t ever speak Russian or Ukrainian (they are similar), lest it gave away her past to any official that she had escaped to Canada years ago. Dr. Schmidt was fluent in 33 (yes, 33) languages. Growing up in Switzerland, where there are 5 official languages, and then learning 28 more. Whenever we met someone foreign, we induced them to speak to Dr. Schmidt in that language. He always knew it. But Dr. Schmidt was also growing quite deaf in 33 languages.

For only 8 people, Intourist wouldn’t furnish a guide to fly around with us. Maria wouldn’t speak Russian, and Dr. Schmidt didn’t hear. So Fran and I were named de facto tour leaders. Occasionally, we would ask Maria privately what something meant, or more often, we would ask Dr. Schmidt to translate a written memo. Being tour leaders didn’t mean much except when it came to food. (Fran is, then and now, very concerned with food.) The food had been pretty blah in Moscow, mostly cabbage and potatoes and “mystery meat”. The tasty products were black bread and chocolate (!), and, of course, the vodka, which was served in prodigious quantities. But we rebelled in Kiev when we were served terrible Chicken Kiev two dinners in a row. (There was no edible chicken in it.) Fran and I went to the local guide and complained. Turned out they were submitting coupon-vouchers for the food they selected. From then on, Fran selected the menu, turned in the vouchers, and had enough left to have a big party at the end of the tour.

The famous resort of Yalta on the Black Sea was next. Yes, there were beaches, but the beaches were not sand but rocks. That didn’t deter the Russians who were on vacation. Most of the men were large, and most of the women were larger (at least around the waist). Plus, the large women didn’t have bathing suits. They wore bras and panties! (No, I won’t subject you to a photo.)

In February, 1945, the leaders of the Allies met in Yalta to negotiate what would happen after WWII ended (the Germans surrendered 3 months later). Joseph Stalin, Winston Churchill, and Franklin Roosevelt agreed that both Germany and the city of Berlin should be divided into 4 parts, administered by the US, France, Great Britain, and the USSR. Russia was “given” the Eastern European countries it had recaptured back in return for promises to hold free elections in those nations (they never happened) and also to join in the war on Japan. The atomic bomb that brought Japan to surrender had not yet been tested, and FDR thought that the war in the Pacific would go on for years. The new United Nations was also planned successfully. Roosevelt was sick and died two months later.

I was walking around wearing a short sleeve white business shirt that I used to wear in law school. A man stopped me, and in good English, said: “If you sell me your shirt, I’ll take you into the Hermitage.” Turns out he was the Director of the museum, heading for a conference in Stockholm, and felt funny because there were no white business shirts for sale in Leningrad in 1966. Fran said: “If you take us all around the Hermitage, I’ll give you two white shirts.” So that’s what we did the next day; and he gave us an amazing private tour.

Leningrad had been besieged from the German Nazi Army for 2-3 years in World War II. People died from starvation and disease in the hundreds of thousands. After the war, the Soviet Union spent its money on heavy industry, not on museums, so the Hermitage was still in bad shape 21 years later. On our private tour of the museum, we saw renowned paintings laying on the dirt floor. When we went back years later, the Hermitage was restored to its former glory as one of the world’s finest art museums. Fran talked to a woman curator, who told us that the museum director wore his white shirts proudly for several years before retiring.

Another Czarist landmark was Peterhof, which was the Imperial Palace and Park started by Peter the Great and expanded by later rulers. Versailles outside Paris was the inspiration, but most people consider Peterhof even more magnificent. It is in the suburbs of Leningrad, and the Germans savaged it during WWII, but 1000 Russian volunteers helped restore parts of it soon after. In 1966, the palace wasn’t open, but the park was. There are glorious statues and fountains throughout. The natural gravity of the surrounding area causes the hundreds of fountains to erupt in beautiful cascades of water.

We sat on the concrete bench that the three Allied leaders sat on, and immersed ourselves in history. Many years later, we returned to Yalta. The bench was roped off so you couldn’t sit on it, and the women at the beach were young, slim, and wearing bikinis.

In 1966 the Vietnam War was ramping up. It was the height of the Cold War between the US and the USSR. There was military conscription then in the USA. When I graduated law school I lost my student deferment. Even though I had volunteered three years ago for the US Marines’ law program, I had been rejected as my eyes were too weak. When we were in Yalta, my father received a letter from the Selective Service asking me to report for a physical for induction in the US Army. My Dad replied that I couldn’t appear for my physical exam because I was in the USSR. I’m sure the service officials weren’t expecting that answer.

We flew back to Moscow and stayed in a different “old barn” hotel. Our group enjoyed the party that Fran had saved coupons for. A day later, Fran and I went to the Moscow airport. It was crowded with Chinese students who had been evicted from their studies in Russia. Apparently, Communist China and the USSR were now feuding too. Still, Fran and I boarded the evening plane for Prague, Czechoslovakia.

Prague, the Orient Express, and Belgrade

In 1966 Czechoslovakia was still one country and enjoying the start of the “Prague Spring”, which was the relaxation of the strict Socialist controls of the country. There were private restaurants and other small businesses, and a general softening of the Soviet daily rules. We had a reservation at a small private hotel in the middle of Prague, but our taxi driver stopped at 2 AM in the middle of a neighborhood plaza and indicated our hotel was somewhere up one of the streets. Fran stayed with the luggage while I tried to find our place to stay. It was dark on the dimly lit streets. I wasn’t so concerned with being assaulted as I was just worried about searching endlessly. After about 20minutes, I found the small hotel in the middle of the block. I rang the bell repeatedly. The sleepy manager finally appeared and disspiritedly showed us to our room.

Prague was and is a wonderful city to visit, filled with attractions: Prague Castle, Wenceslas Square, National Museum, National Library, St. Vitus Cathedral, National Gallery, Charles Bridge, Old Town Square with the Astronomical Clock, and on and on. Our favorite was probably Josefus, the Jewish Quarter, including the Community Hall, the ancient cemetery, and four old synagogues. The Old-New Synagogue is the oldest synagogue in Europe that still has regular services. It was built in 1270, so it will be 750 years old! There are two big outside clocks on the main Jewish square. One has Latin numbers, the lower one has Hebrew letters/numbers.

Next stop was Vienna. It too has numerous museums and attractions. We went to the opulent Schonbrunn Palace and attended classical concerts, but we appreciated Vienna more when we revisited there later. Soon it was time to board the Orient Express, heading south for Belgrade and Istanbul. Started in 1883, the Orient Express ran from Paris to Istanbul, and became the subject of novels and movies of intrigue, like the famous “Murder on the Orient Express”. It shortened its distance over the years, and stopped running in 2009, the victim of high-speed trains and cheap air fares. (There is still a “Simplon Orient Express” that operates only for tourists.)

After an uneventful night, we arrived in Belgrade, the capital of Yugoslavia. In 1918, after World War I, the Allies decided to form a new nation in the Balkans from parts of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire and the old Ottoman Empire. The new nation was called Yugoslavia, literally the Land of Southern Slavs. During WWII, Yugoslavia was occupied by the Fascist countries of Germany and Italy. After WWII, the monarchy was abolished and the partisan leader Josip Tito became leader. But Tito, unlike the other Socialist heads in Eastern Europe, broke with Stalin in 1948. He embarked on a neutral, “non-aligned” policy, and accepted aid from the USA. Yugoslavia did OK till Tito’s death in 1980. In the late 1980’s, nationalism reigned supreme. After some wars and negotiation, in 1991 five independent republics were created from the former Yugoslavia: Serbia, Slovenia, Croatia, Macedonia, and Bosnia and Herzegovina. Later Montenegro and Kosovo became independent countries too.

That’s the history of the Yugoslavia in a paragraph. But we were there in 1966, during Tito’s “independent Communist” phase. We didn’t have a reservation in Belgrade and the places we contacted didn’t have any rooms. A local man took pity on us: “I think I have friends that will rent you a room.” He called them, and pretty soon a middle-aged couple picked us up at the station.

“We have room because our kids are grown and gone,” they explained as they drove us. Their home was small but comfortable, although it had only one wooden stool in the one bathroom (but it was inside!). Our hosts in socialist Yugoslavia were nice, but the most capitalist couple we’ve ever known. Their two kids were doctors, relocated to Germany and to the Menninger Clinic in Kansas, because that’s where they got the best salary. The house was furnished nicely and with appliances, but they intimated that they were either smuggled or were acquired at well below-market rates.

Istanbul and Athens

We re-boarded the Orient Express toward Istanbul. Most of our train-mates were heading home, including the members of the Turkish National Bike Riding Team. We shared food and beverages. We learned some Turkish. We showed them how to shuffle playing cards using a “bridge”. They showed us some Turkish games. Only later did I learn that the captain of the team had made Fran an honorary member of the team with a pin, propositioned her, and wanted her to come back to Ankara with him. She said “No” (although I think she was tempted).

In the next car were over 20 young people from Communist Cuba. They were mostly singers and musicians, heading for Sofia, Bulgaria, to give performances and perfect their art. We talked with a couple of them, including an opera soprano whose goal was to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. But a strange thing happened at the Yugoslav-Bulgaria frontier border: all the Cubans were forced to get off the train. Apparently, their tickets were routed through Romania, and even though all were Socialist countries, they needed about $1.00US per person to stay on the train. We offered the $20 to them, but their leader refused. He was a Communist hard liner who had been a manager for Sears in Havana, and it was beneath his dignity to accept help from USA people. So we just left all 20 Cubans standing on the tracks with their luggage at the border crossing. Hopefully, they made it to Sofia eventually.

Reaching Istanbul, we headed for our pension. But it looked a lot more decrepit and bug-infested than the others we had been staying at. Fran got physically sick just looking at it, so we went to the deluxe Divan Otel. The manager of the first place got even: we had told our family to write to us there, and when we went to pick up our mail, the proprietor demanded $5 to hand over the mail. We paid it, even though that was two nights’ lodging.

Istanbul is another top place for tourists: Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, Hagha Sofia, Grand Bazaar, Suleymaniye Mosque, etc. We took the ferry across the Bosphorus so we could walk around a neighborhood in Asia. Istanbul is the only major city in two continents, and now, counting Tangier in Africa, our journey had been to three continents.

We flew from Istanbul to Athens, Greece, and found our economical hotel included a great view of the Acropolis. After going around Athens for a couple of days, we stopped in a tour agency that had a poster advertising four days around Greece for $39! It was true, and included some breakfasts and lunches. It was only $49 to stay at deluxe hotels. We declined, but since we were the only couple staying at the cheap hotels, the tour leader decided to put us at the better hotels with everybody else. Oddly, what we remember best from that classical tour is walking by the Corinth Canal.

Fran had not been feeling well in Istanbul or Greece. We had been on the journey for 3 ½ months. The plan was to fly from Athens to Rome, stay a week, and then fly TWA home. Fran noticed that our TWA plane, after stopping in Rome, continued onto New York. The TWA agent in Athens must have said “Crazy Americans” under his breath when we asked if we could just stay on the plane to NYC. He kept his aplomb, changed our tickets and our baggage receipts. We flew across the Atlantic, and so ended our long but rewarding trip.

Epilogue

It turned out that the reason Fran was feeling sick was that she was pregnant. Remember the overnight on the train into Russia? That’s probably when it happened, and our son, Kevin, was born in May, 1967. I was reclassified “head of family” and didn’t have to go to Vietnam.

Years later, we went to visit some of our Russian co-tourists. We saw Mrs. Cribbes in Edinburgh (her husband, George, had passed away), as did our son Kevin when he was on a college rugby trip. Betty Schmidt died too, but we went to see Dr. Schmidt at his nursing home in California. He still couldn’t hear, but he still beat me in chess. Our friend Andy, who ran the bar in Tangier, became a history professor at the University of Puerto Rico.

Six years later we were supposed to go with a group to London. It was canceled due to a coal strike in England. We had vacations and baby sitters lined up, contacted Andy, who suggested we go to Haiti, so naturally we did. We’ve been traveling to strange places ever since, with only about 15 of the 196 nations to go. For accounts of 20 of our journeys to Haiti, North Korea, Nauru, and the Congo, you’ll have to go to our blog: franandrichstravels.com. Bye for now.