Suddenly, it was early December. Tom and Jim spent a day exploring Florence: the Duomo, the Galleria dell'Accademia (home to Michelangelo’s David), the Basilica De Sante Croce (final resting place of Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli, and Galileo), and Giotto’s Bell Tower with its spectacular views.
During dinner that evening, they began planning the rest of the trip. The realization that less than two weeks remained on their Eurail passes hit them like a slap as cold as the weather was getting in Northern Italy. Both hated the thought of their trip coming to an end, and they talked for hours that night—at dinner and, later, in the youth hostel—about how they might extend it.
One problem: money. Specifically, the lack thereof.
They had done well with daily budgeting, and both still had enough for the rest of the trip and a flight back to the States. But the thought of staying, working, and continuing the adventure was more than a little appealing. Tom had met a backpacker who told him that there were probably seasonal jobs available in Garmisch-Partenkirchen, a ski town in Bavaria. In the heart of southern Germany. Tom wanted to check it out, but Jim feared it might be a wild goose chase. He was eager to see Spain—not on that many backpacker itineraries at the time—and wow the Spaniards with the few Spanish sentences he knew. He was also ready for some warmer weather.
They decided to travel separately for a few days and meet up in Granada, Spain. In this post, each writes about how they spent those days apart.
First Up: Tom Bingle
Long journeys on trains can force one, when not admiring new landscapes, to look inside. This introspection seemed to come easily to me and often, as my journal attests. Yet, maybe Garmisch was too long a journey, as my mental explorations led to acknowledging my low feelings about myself as a human being. As a world beyond Europe started to enter, I spilled a lot of ink on my own inferiority complex when in the company of other travelers and people. I was finding myself shying away from other people or relationships, as this was a way to appear strong, to fool people into thinking I was dynamic.
Adding to the negativity, I was dependent on my family back in the USA for my glasses (lost in the canals of Venice). I felt so vulnerable, so upset at myself, highlighting my lack of self-confidence and inability to handle matters myself. I was also focusing on my struggle to master the English language, especially the written word. Jim wrote and thought so clearly, succinctly, and powerfully, but my struggles with expression really hinted at an inability to make up my mind and then to express it clearly. And this deficit was strong, even after a degree from a wonderful university. A lot of questions were brewing in my mind about my strength as a person, especially now as I faced a major transition.
But in a rare moment of decisiveness, it seems, I decided to head to a town in Southern Germany to see about work for a couple of months. In Bavaria, each town seemed to have an Arbeitsamt, an employment office, which was reassuring and highly organized. With some unsolicited help from a German local who for some reason really really liked Americans, I felt I was all but guaranteed a job in a hotel if I would just come back prior to Christmas. There was talk of free room and board and wages of about $250 a month. This helped bolster my decision.
While in Bavaria, I did go back to Munich to visit the Wuscheks, a husband and wife team that were friends of Fr. McMenamin, the gifted German teacher at my high school, St Francis de Sales. What a wonderful gift were the Wuscheks, as they were greater and lovelier than presented and their unconditional hospitality helped support my decision to spend time in Garmisch, as I visited them several times more.
Back to Munich's Marienplatz, now filled up for Christmas with Holiday stalls everywhere and music flowing above. This festive world gave way to being back on the train passing through the Italian and French Rivieras, thinking just how crowded these areas would be in the summer heat.
One final train through northern Italy caused moments of reflection. Memories of this lively land and its people came rushing through as it seemed there were so many unexpected glories and so many enlivening characteristics that we had heard about before entering.
Into France via train and eventually Monaco. The magic words of Monte Carlo provided a special moment as the smooth sound of French being spoken arose, along with thoughts while walking the streets of Formula One drivers of Nikki Lauda, Mario Andretti, and, of course, Grace Kelly. That one night stay captured the wonderful international flavor of this petite principality, especially after soaking up the fruits of a Mediterranean Sunset.
Onto Granada, Spain, our designated meeting point. Crossing the border, I knew Spain would be very different than what I had or had not thought of.
Now Up: Jim King
I told Binks that the
trip to Garmisch might be a wild goose chase, but I didn’t really believe that.
It was a ski town, Christmas was approaching fast, and of course, they’d need
seasonal workers in the lodges and restaurants. But along with the holidays,
the expiration date of our Eurail passes was now just days away, and I wanted
to get to Spain ASAP.
My desire to go to Spain
was fueled by James Michener’s novel, The Drifters, which I had read while
preparing for the trip. The novel was about a group of counter-culture,
pleasure-seeking wanderers. Their travels took them to Spain; specifically, the
town of Torremolinos. That town would later be where I made my final decision about
staying or going home. It was also where I had the most difficult conversation
with Binks I’d ever had before or since.
But that’s grist for
another blog.
As I had learned from traveling
with—and without—Binks, striking up a conversation in a train compartment can
lead to the most memorable parts of a he trip. On the Italy-through-France leg
of the journey to Spain, I found myself in a compartment with a young couple
and two other Americans. The young woman asked me where I was going. When I
told her Spain, she asked if I planned to travel straight through or stop in
France.
“Straight through,” I
said.
“That’s a long,
uncomfortable ride,” she said. “You should stay the night with us. My dad has
an apartment in Nice.” She then addressed the other two backpackers. “You can
all come. Plenty of room on the living room floor.”
There was. The one-bedroom
apartment, just a few blocks from the Mediterranean, was spacious, the walls
lined with books. As it turned out, her father was a famous American writer. He
wrote 31 books, six of which were made into movies. One of his most recent
books was enjoying several weeks on the New York Times bestseller
list at the time. I hoped that he’d be there, but he was apparently back in the
States on a book tour.
After a night of pizza,
beer, and laughter with my serendipitous and all-too-temporary travel
companions, I left early the next morning for what felt like an endless train
ride to Valencia, Spain. I spent most of the following day searching for the
beach. After numerous wrong turns, I missed Binks’s map-reading skills. When I
finally found the beach, dusk was approaching, and it was too cold to sit. So
far, Spain was a bust.
The next morning, I went
to the train station to board the train to Granada, where I was to meet up with
Binks the following day. But there, on the platform, I spotted a familiar orange backpack,
attached to the man himself.
We reunited
unexpectedly, happy to see each other, and ready for whatever the final leg of
our journey (or maybe not final) had in store.
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That was the "Then." Watch the Video below for the "Now" reflections the solo trips to Spain.