With the three
of us…
We could not trust Keith to write this one on his own!
It’s interesting – when the three of us circulated our notes prior to writing this chapter – none of us could remember anything of the trip between Le Mans and Biarritz – and then only the glitzy lights as we drove straight through. And that includes the Bordeaux wine region – such impetuous young men! So much wine, so little time…
We were headed for the sun – and away from a North European winter. We crossed the Spanish border at San Sebastian – turned left at Bilbao – through Burgos – and the first stop was…
Madrid – we found the sun there. Wonderful rich old architecture – carved doors – and we sat in the sun on stone steps – still dressed in sweaters and greatcoats – for hours.
Election posters everywhere – urging people to vote – “Vota Si.” Franco was still in power and was holding a referendum on his presidency (his was the only name on the ballot) – but the advertising was powerful!
It was approaching sunset when we drove around a steep escarpment and saw the old, Mediaeval City of Toledo below us. We camped on that escarpment. Between us – we’ve seen a few sunsets – in a huge bunch of countries – but the three of us remember that one! We spent the next day amongst the steel works and old buildings. Keith still has his sword on his basement wall – but somehow John wound up with two clay water pots – which he carried around the world for years – giant pain in the jars!
South again – we had sun – we needed warmth. Down through Castilla La Mancha (we’ll get back to that!) – Granada and the Sierra Nevadas – to Malaga and the Costa del Sol. Sun, warmth and cheap red wine – we had arrived!
Torremolinos – too many Poms (but David liked it). We found a camp-site in Fuengirola – and for the next couple of weeks we partied. Not like we might party these days – we were 20(ish) – it was the 60s – and we PARTIED! So you will understand a little difficulty in total recall (not ‘selective’ – just difficult.) There was something about a lonely, wealthy Norwegian lady – and one of us disappeared for three days – but none of us can remember which one of us that was!
There were moments of lucidity however – meeting up with David’s friends and Peter’s cousin Jane. Riding in the hills on horses that were a touch over-energetic – they had not been ridden since the previous summer. Peter was on a donkey – looking like Sancho Panza (The Man from La… forget it). David was on a very ’spirited’ horse. He made the fatal mistake of sticking his heels in - and went off like a rocket – yelling for help from the guide. “Hey Senor – Hey Senor” – arms and legs flailing the air!
We went to our first bull fight in the small mountain village of Mijas.
The only square bull ring in Spain – and yes – the bull lost!
But it made some sort of sense – when the bulls were cut up and the meat sent to the local orphanage.
We didn’t know it at the time – no one did – but the Matador on that day was billed as ‘El Cordobes’ – now acknowledged as the greatest bullfighter ever!
Keith found a Canadian athlete who was training for the Mexico Olympics – because the altitude was similar in Mijas.
The night before we left Spain for North Africa, we moved the old blue truck (it didn’t have capital letters then) into Torremolinos – and parked near the beach. Three of us went into town for a last Malaga red and left John to guard our stuff. It was dark on that patch of the beach – and someone came knocking – loud knocking. John – not knowing the Spanish for “Please go away” – used the English vernacular… The back door flew open and a VERY animated Guardia Civilia – climbed in – with his torch – and his rifle…
The Sahara beckoned…
Now go to the next page – Torremolinos to Tunis…
