That evening I arrived at the youth hostel in Salzburg and met Caroline, a lively Australian girl that had ‘done’ Europe on her own and now was heading for Tehran. As Istanbul was on the way we decided to hitch together. We hiked through the sleet all day and by the evening passed Graz. Just before the Yugoslavian border we ran out of luck. We sought shelter for the night on a construction site. The house had neither roof nor windows, but at least we were out of the wind. It got colder and colder so we broke camp and called upon a few farmhouses for refuge, but everywhere we were met by dogs howling. Until we were allowed to sleep in a loft with even a stove burning.

Only just on the road the next day two Mercs halted. Oval regs. This had to do with export tax and mostly meant they were going a long distance. Tehran it was and too good to be true. Five k’s up the first car ground to an abrupt standstill and Caroline tumbled through the open door. My driver, the good guy, heaved a sigh and raised his arms to excuse his blasfeminizing partner.

That evening we reached Zagreb. Caroline continued for a few hundred k’s, but I wanted to visit a business relation of my father’s, Mr Zerjavic, who also stayed at our house occasionally. But his housekeeper told me Mr Z was in Ethiopia and did not invite me in. That night I spent in an absurdly cheap hotelette and the next day I swiftly acquired some ‘Yugoslavian’: pointing at a cow in a meadow I said: ‘Dobre’, which means ‘Good’.
Likewise for churches and filling stations. When the road forked towards Bulgaria I pointed: ‘Dobre’. He stops, I get out, he hands me my rucksack. ‘Dobre’, I raise my hand, ‘Dobre’ and close the door. Not an ill word spoken.

The next ride I do not remember too well, because, custom- contrary, but instigated by the driver, at least half of the 1,000 k’s to Istanbul I slept in the back of the station car. I do remember that we stopped in Sofia. He had a business meeting and we would meet again in four hours’ time. In a pub I innocently entered I was besieged by students inquiring how much a doctor, lawyer or economist would make in Holland. Everyone wanted my address, but nobody has ever shown up.

To be continued: 'Turkish Delight'.