In 1994, I did what most white South Africans my age saw as a right of passage. I went on a tour of Europe with a schoolfriend and her girlfriend. I was in my early 20's.
These are the letters and faxes (this was before everyone had email, Children) I sent home. They are all real. I couldn't make this shit up.
The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.
7 April 1994
Chatelaillon La Plage
Letter
Dear Family,
I am sitting in a laundromat in Chatelaillon La Plage.
As we were in the car leaving the B's [friends of my parents that we stayed with in Paris], Mrs B told us that the North coast is lovely and we should go there. So we changed plans at the last minute (they thought we were mad) and decided to head towards Brest instead of Bordeaux.
We went up to St Malo and camped just outside it at St Servan. If you look France you see a headland on the Northwest which juts out. That's where we were. Anyway, the campsite was on a hill overlooking the sea and was beautiful. We cooked on our little stove. Next day we braved the showers (YUK). Camping the night cost us 62 French Francs.
We drove to Dinan and walked around the medieval bits of the city. Had a hamburger for lunch. We needed to taste familiar food again. We then drove to St Brieuc and took the subsidiary road which winds along the coast. We got lost and were driving around in the dark [this was before GPS, Children]. We kept seeing signs saying "Camping", following them and not finding anything. Eventually we found ourselves on a road in front of which was a tiny patch of grass next to a river. There were boats parked and houses behind us. So we stopped and slept. I will never know where were were that night.
In the morning we drove to Camaret and saw a circle of menhirs.
Seems they don't really shape them as well as Obelix does.
We drove to Point de Penhir which is a point that juts out [into the sea]. We parked at the flat parking which is about half the size of a soccer field and encircled by rocks put down as markers. There were rock faces down to the sea all around us and it was very misty. We could only see about 50m out to sea. It was a very weird scene.
We drove to Quimper, bypassed it an went on to Nantes. Argument as to whether to carry on to Bordeaux or not. By heading West from Paris we had completely messed up our planned budget and it irritated me that we only saw 1/10 of Paris and now suddenly we were slowing down and seeing every damn coastal hamlet. It is still cold here and I think it's pretty pointless to seek out the seaside when we'll be on the Costa Brava and South coast of France when it's really hot.
Also, I don't want to end up bypassing Bordeaux. I don't care where we go in other countries but, in France, I have certain demands. Carrie and Varla are interested in totally different things to me. For instance, I don't see the point of spending an entire morning at a marche [outdoor market] no different to the Bruma Lake Flea Market.
So, anyway, Carrie suggested the compromise of stopping half way to Bordeaux, so we ended up here. The beach is boring, empty and cold. You can imagine how charmed I am. I am beginning to think I really should take advantage of the face that our visa is still end of August and come backpack by myself. The way visas are going we will only do France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland and Austria, anyway [HAH! We ran out of money way before that].
Well, we will hopefully be in Bordeaux by tonight and, if they'd rather go to a beach than on a wine route tomorrow, I swear I will pack my backpack, buy myself a Eurorail pass and do this thing PROPERLY.
Missing you (and the sun)!
Love to all
Post Script
In Varla's defense, she was much younger than us (about 18) and had lived inland all her life, so I guess seeing the sea was important to her. She had come on this trip to be with Carrie - they were each other's first true loves - and I had come to absorb as much European culture as I could. These two goals clashed, as did our girlfriend vs. old friend claims on Carrie, who was constantly torn between the two of us.
In truth, there was no way I would have had the courage to go backpacking on my own. I needed them, and I could probably have been nicer. If I had to do it again, I'd have left them alone for a day or two and then met up somewhere pre-agreed. But this was before cellphones and email and IM and Facebook and so, if you weren't where you were supposed to be, when you were supposed to be there, you missed each other. A real deterrent for striking out alone.
I was, of course, a total gooseberry, because they wanted to spend time together. They ended up buying a tent and letting me sleep alone in the camper van. Score for me!
There is also a story to tell about the visas.
This was before the official unification of Europe so currency and visas were a real pain. But that's not what caused the real problem. That came from a total bitch who I hope rots in hell, experiencing constant pain and degradation.
She ran a visa agency and, instead of telling us at, on the 5th of April (four days after we left), the Shengen visa came into effect, which meant we only needed one visa for Belgium, France, Germany, Luxemburg, Portugal and Spain. Instead, she charged us for a visa for each country. So she made three young women, who were using a currency that was very weak against the pound, by 4 visas they did not need. That's 4 X 3 X £10, plus each embassy's fee. She made over £200 out of us, unethically. That was enough for us to travel an extra week.
Fucking bitch.
When we were in Spain trying to get a visa for some country or other that we didn't even get to, a nice young man explained to us that we didn't need it. We had been worrying about visas for later countries and spending whole days at embassies.
I don't do voodoo or juju but, if I did, I'd have cursed that woman the day I found out.
My only solace was the knowledge that her piss-ant visa agency was probably going to go bust, because holiday travelers to Europe wouldn't need her, and business travelers that went further afield would probably not use a small company like hers.
BITCH.
Yes, I'm STILL bitter.
BITCH!
The trip started in January 1994. To read the posts in order, go the Itinerary Post.