Page 155 - Exile-ebook

154 AN EXILE OF THE MIND THE HIPPIE TRAIL 155

The legendary Hippie Trail dwindled out with unrest in the East. A street market on the Kabul River.

amiable bear of a man as wide as We set our watches by the old bleak shadow of Mount Ararat. refused to work with women aboard
an ox across the shoulders, had a Salzburg Glockenspiel clock, playing Some of us slept on the bus which and matters were made worse when
balding head and a long black beard out its melodies since 1704, and was cleaner and more comfortable they exposed pink knees in public to
that dusted the steering wheel. made a point of not stopping in than the local hostelry. A mechanic indignant Turks.
His front teeth, knocked out by an Zagreb which I visited by accident Threatened by villagers throwing
Iranian brick on a previous trip, on my last trip. Sofia in Bulgaria stones, the girls hid their offending
was a little misunderstanding, he was of more interest with enough limbs within the modesty of their
grinned. Not an encouraging sight architecture from the fourth century jeans. Kev’s remaining teeth were
for the long journey ahead. to fill several art books. now seriously at risk from the angry
In Munich we visited the Hof- Over three thousand kilometres mob, and the situation came to a
brauhaus Beer Hall where buxom were covered on reaching Istanbul head the next morning when a bullet
barmaids carried fistfuls of steins. and the bus still motored along. We shattered the windscreen of our bus
Beer frothed as strong as wine and visited the Pudding Shop near the in warning. To our relief another
not a drop did they spill. I staggered Blue Mosque, with its bulletin board overland bus came to the rescue and
out into crisp Teutonic air to clear plastered with love letters to fellow Nicole and I, with our brazen girls,
my head and suddenly felt the cold travellers earlier smooched en route. continued our journey.
chill of a pavement through the coat Our bus didn’t motor for long. In Iran, overhead fans whirled
on my back. Lamp posts swung After bouncing from one pothole to years of dust into our Persian stew at
crazily under a sky about to drizzle another along narrow and hazardous a restaurant. Blatantly overcharged,
out its rain on my head. roads, it rattled to a halt under the Nicole telling off locals in Turkey. we refused to pay and the staff