It all started off innocently enough with an off handed comment by Frank, one of the geophysicists in the data processing office in Calgary where Mary and I had been working for about a year. “Hey, why don’t you guys travel somewhere warm next winter – you know sun and sand.” Who us, we thought, a couple of land locked Alberta prairie girls traveling to the south pacific, what WAS he thinking? However, Frank’s little off the cuff remark soon set my wheels in motion, and they have never really stopped since. However, in the spring of 1968 both Mary and I were ready and willing for some adventure. Frank’s seemingly meaningless office chit chat was just the spark we needed to get us out of the work-a-day world and into the real one.
Over the next several weeks the destination for our impending adventure moved from the south pacific to Europe. Both Mary and I had a keen interest in art and we each had contacts in England, so we changed our plans and started to check out maps and plan our way across Europe, to take in the prominent galleries and works by the masters. But in the end we decided that a structured “tour” was not what we wanted, so we decided to go to England first and visit my cousin Ernie at the Canadian Embassy in London, and her pen pal Dave in Canterbury. After that we would head south to Spain for the next few months where it was warmer. We left our itinerary very loose so we could take in what was interesting, bypass what was not and travel at a leisurely pace; after all we had given ourselves a year to explore Europe. We were to discover that many of the “flower children” of the late sixties were on this same quest.
I gave up my bachelor apartment in the Beltline area and moved into Mary’s rooming house just a few blocks away for a few months so we could save more money, and to see if we could stand spending so much time with one another. We had been quite diligent in saving and selling what we could for our travel fund. Our original thinking was to travel and work if the opportunity came up. Our current employer, Geophysical Services Incorporated also had an office in Croydon near London, and although we couldn’t be officially transferred, we did have in hand recommendations from our Calgary supervisors which would help us in Croydon. However, we really didn’t want to work if at all possible. I think by the time we left I had saved a total of $1500.00 for the trip.
We pooled our money, packed our bags and on December 10th, 1968 we started our big adventure. After our first Christmas away from home in Britain and New Years in France, which I will share at a later date, we were finally on our way south and to the warmth of the Mediterranean.
Our first experience with the Spanish people was a warm welcome we had not expected. Shortly after we crossed the French border into Spain, the Volkswagen van started making awful noises and eventually the noise was so bad we had to stop. There we were in the middle of the country side with no town or garage in site. It was getting late and so we decided that we would just sleep by the side of the road again, and so we started making preparations for a night under the stars. From across the road a family, who operated a small pension, saw what we were doing. The lady of the house insisted that all 8 of us to come into her home. She fed us and found us places to sleep, for free. In the morning her husband, who happened to be a mechanic of sorts, worked on the van and we were on our way by 1 pm. Wow, I was really impressed with the friendliness of these Spanish people. As we were leaving these wonderfully generous people, I’m thinking to myself if this is what Spain is like; I think I’m really going to love this place.
You may be wondering exactly what Mary and I were doing in this VW van, where we got it and who the other 6 people in the van were… well I’ll back up just a bit and fill you in. It was an early January morning in Paris; we were just about to leave the Youth Hostel when we met Sam and Jan two girls from Vancouver. They said that there was a Canadian fellow from Prince George BC who was going to Spain later that day, and if we waited around until noon we could join the group, split the gas costs and get a ride to Spain. Sounded like a good deal to us, so we waited for everyone to gather and at 6 PM we were on our way. Our new traveling companions consisted of Sam and Jan, Gary from Prince George the VW owner, Dave from Vancouver and his girlfriend Linda from England, and yet another Dave from South Africa. Dave and Linda had been to Torremolinos the year before and it sounded like our kind of town, so we decided on Torremolinos as our next destination. The first night traveling in the VW was more than a little rough, as we drove all night sitting upright. There just wasn’t enough room to do it any other way. Imagine 8 people and all of our baggage crammed into that VW van. It still ranks high as one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life! This was the last night we all shared the VW, the next night 3 slept in the van and 5 slept on the beach.
It was a mostly an uneventful trip to Torremolinos, except that due to South Africa’s apartheid policy at the time, we had to delay our border crossing into Spain so that Dave from South Africa could get a special entrance visa. We made lots of stops on our way along the south coast of Spain. In Barcelona we stopped at the American Express office to see if Dave from Vancouver had any mail and for a bite to eat. The bakeries in Europe are fantastic!
I took this photo in Barcelona
In 1968
Torremolinos was a mere sliver of what it is today. Yes, it was an international tourist destination with 7-8 high-rise apartments on the road to Malaga, and more hotels being built. However, the small fishing village of Carihuela to the south was picturesque and very quaint, and except for a few old beach bars and small guest houses was basically undeveloped. Still, there was a very active night life and tourist trade up the hill in Torremolinos. Passengers arriving on the weekly flights from Germany and Sweden quickly filled the bars and restaurants along Calle San Miguel the main tourist street. It was very evident that the “tourist community” was an eclectic assortment of vagabonds from various origins, sprinkled with some locals to
make a very interesting mix. It was possible to experience some of the local Spanish people in the bars - dancing, singing, playing guitars, clapping rhythms, - not for the tourists, but because that’s how they spent their evenings. We didn’t feel like the European tourists here for a weeks’ vacation. We were here to experience life, and not just a week at a time. In our group, according to Mary and I, Sam and Jan were “The Tourists”, Dave and Linda were “The Hippies”, and Mary and I… well we were just there to have a good time, and that’s just what we did.
After we arrived in Torremolinos, Gary the VW owner and Dave the South African ventured on to other places, which left the tourist, the hippies and us. So we checked around and rented an apartment in a local neighbourhood, just a few blocks from all the action on Calle San Miguel. Our apartment, which was in a modern building, came completely furnished including kitchen wares and linen, at a cost to us of $8.00 a month – each! We appeared to be the only “foreigners” in the complex, which consisted of 5-6 six story whitewashed buildings. Some of the buildings had retail business on the main floor such as a drug store. Our building had a bar.
Mary and I didn’t waste any time in getting to know where the good night spots were, as we had met Pepe on the beach our very first day in town. He was a local bar tender and our personal nightlife guide. We never paid for a single drink in
The Bousito Club as long as Pepe was behind the bar – more Spanish hospitality. After all Pepe and his friend had treated us to a steak dinner that very first day, and took us to the very popular Tina’s Bar and the El Copa – what a guy…with ulterior motives.
What a sweet sound - “Welcome to TIIIIIINAS’s, in TORRRRRRRE-MOLINOOOOOOOOS” …the night was about to begin; Kevin and Tina would pick up the microphones and sing along with Marvin Gaye.
This Photo of Sam, Jan Willie and Jose was taken outside of Tina's Bar
Tina: One can have a dream, baby
Kevin: Two can make that dream so real
Tina: One can talk about bein' in love
Kevin: Two can say how it really feels
Tina: One can wish upon a star
Kevin: Two can make that wish come true, yeah
Tina: One can stand alone in the dark
Kevin: Two can make the light shine through
It takes two, baby
It takes two, baby
Me and you, just takes two…
“It Takes Two” is still one of my favorite songs, as is Gordon Lightfoot’s “Early Morning Rain” and Aretha Franklins “Natural Woman” which were also part of the repertoire. Tina’s Bar was always an exciting place to me as it had “live karaoke music” by Tina and Kevin, an international feel, lots of interesting people and everyone interacting. We were all strangers in a common situation, away from home, on holidays and wanting to have a good time.
Over the next month and a half we made many friends, played cards and chess, celebrated birthdays, sang, danced, walked down town and down to the beach. We partied all the time, only with a rare “day off” to catch-up on sleep. On the Costa del Sol very night was Saturday night. We usually got up in the early afternoon and headed out to the bars by 9 PM, and sometimes didn’t make it back to our apartment until 6:30 in the morning as the sun was coming up. We went to the popular discos of the day, Tiffany’s and The 27 Club. But mostly we hung out at Harry’s Bar, El Copa and Tina’s. In Harry’s bar they actually played Johnny Cash and even had an Ian and Sylvia record which we used to request the bartender play, it was just like being at home.
The famous American writer James A. Michener chose Torremolinos as the scene of one of his most famous best-sellers, "The Drifters." (Random House, published in 1971) The novel is about Torremolinos in the sixties as a favorite place for conventional tourists and young bohemians who were looking for an idyllic place to hang out. Like our little band of travelers, the characters in the novel also happen to arrive in Torremolinos in a VW van, so of course it was of particular interest to me. In researching the book, Michener is reported to have spent quite a bit of time in Torremolinos. This appears to be the case, as we often went to Harry’s Bar, and I would notice a small nondescript man sitting by himself in a quiet corner near the door, saying little, just observing. Many years later, after I had read The Drifters, I recognized the detailed descriptions of the décor of the bar in the novel, which were curiously similar to the furnishings and interior design of Harry’s Bar. When I viewed photos on the book jacket, and I believed this quiet, observing man, whom I saw in Harry’s bar all those years ago, to be none other than James A. Michener. If I had only known then!
Part of our ritual was going for the mail, this usually happened late in the afternoon as this was when we rolled out of bed and started our day. Everyone I met travelling always looked forward to getting mail from home with a passion. It took weeks for Mary and me to get our first bit of mail from home, because it went first to the Canadian Embassy in London first, then they forwarded it to us in Spain or where ever we requested it be sent. The embassy would just address it to us c/o Poste Restante (or General Delivery hold for pick-up) in Torremolinos. Sam and Jan had sent a sample of the toilet paper they had got in England to their family in Vancouver telling them that “things were a little rough”. By return mail c/o Poste Restante Torremolinos they received 4 rolls of Lady Scott, the best toilet paper brand of the day. The contents of this parcel, which were very soft and magically white, disappeared into their room as soon as it was unwrapped and displayed to us, ‘the deprived”. In my personal experience Sam and Jan had been too kind in their description of the texture of the British toilet paper. It was more than just a little rough it was like tracing paper and downright scratchy!
Although we were on the Mediterranean, the weather in the winter of 1969 was not all that great. We had lots of overcast days, a few sunny quite warm days and a fair amount of rain. However it was wonderfully warm compared to a Canadian winter, and as we slept most of the day anyway, the weather was of little or no consequence to us. The apartment had no heat, but we were warm enough. On the cooler stormy days we just added a layer.
It was not unusual for us to meet people in the bars in Torremolinos that we had previously met on a plane, in a youth hostel or on the road. It seems like everyone migrated to the Costa del Sol in the winter, ready to party on. There was no “Girls Gone Wild” in those days, and most of the time we felt very safe, even though in 1969 we were aware that General Franco the dictator of Spain had declared Martial Law, and many political leaders had been arrested and thrown into prison. Universities and militant students were treated with harsh repression so we were mindful of this situation as we had heard some stories of other “tourists” being jailed. We were affected because it was required by “the government” that all foreigners were to carry their passports at all times. If you were stopped by the Civil Guard, the police with the funny black patent leather tricornio hats, you could be taken to jail without cause. Dave, a long haired hippy, was constantly being asked for his ID. In the stores or supermarket he was told to leave the shoulder bag he carried at the door, as they thought he would shoplift.
There was an abundance of relationship opportunities in a party town if you wanted to participate, but for the most part we were a group of friends and spent a lot of time going out with different groups of people, mostly Canadians, Americans, local Spanish guys and those British blokes, who were a lot of laughs. Some of the guys we hung out with had apartments, cars and boats in Torremolinos and we got to know some of them. There was way more young guys travelling than women, and we actually did not meet any local Spanish women, but their men sure did like to come out and play!
La Carihuela, the picturesque old fishing district of Torremolinos was a popular place for the hippies. A beach bar called Smugglers was filled with huge dripping candles in bottles. One step out the back door of Smugglers and you were on the beach, out the front door and you were in a small village with donkeys and old men. If you got up early enough, it was a great afternoon to walk down through the whitewashed houses with their curtained doors, and zigzagged brick patterned sidewalks, for some conversation and a few drinks or whatever your recreational vice was. They were such relaxing and idyllic days.
Some of the local characters we met in the bars were very interesting. Like Rafael, a young man who showed a particular interest in me. He took me fishing, dancing and for lunch, bought me drinks and flowers, but when he told me he was the son of the chief of police, he was dropped like a hot potato. After all we did not want a visit from his father, or for Rafael to get “wind” of some of our social activities. Sam and Jan had also attracted the attention of a couple of local guys, Jose and Willy who they met in their first days in Spain, the locals continued to show the Vancouverites the town, take them on short excursions and were very hospitable. We had an interesting house guest for a while in the person of a tall dark and handsome American draft dodger Dave, who with a 12 string slung over his pinkish cape, struck quite a figure. The very first time I heard the Beatles tune “Rocky Raccoon”, was when draft dodger Dave played it on his 12 string while sitting on our living room floor. I’ll never forget that candle lit night, as Dave sang many of the popular and protest songs of the day, it was very magical evening.
At the end February, 1969 our stay in Torremolinos had come to an end, for now. The lifestyle was a memorable experience, and we knew it could not go on forever, so reluctantly we started making plans for our next leg of the journey. I have always remembered my time in Torremolinos as one of the “best times of my life” and one I think of with fondness. I’m finding that the mindset is quite similar to being retired, except without the night clubs and all the drinking. The mantra “Possibly Mañana” is, what Martha Stewart would categorize as a “good thing,” and very easy to assimilate to – then and now.
Rick and George, a couple of geologists from Winnipeg, arrived in Torremolinos about the time we were ready to go to Morocco. So for the next part of our little adventure we decided to hook-up with them because they were nice guys and tons of fun. Mary was a bit more adventurous than I and was game to go to Morocco by ourselves, but I didn’t feel good about going without some male presence. So, George and Rick agreed to come with us and it turned out to be a good arrangement. I will write about our Moroccan adventures in a later installment.
Hasta Luego,
Delane
We did a day of sightseeing on what was to be our last day in Paris, of course first on our list was the Eiffel Tower. We met three Spanish guys as we climbed to the second level on a cool partly cloudy day. They were studying French and it was lots of fun to hang out with them attempting to comminicate to the guys in their limited English. As we were playing tourists in Paris, we met a guy from Calgary and a brother of someone Mary knew. He took us to the Sir Winston Churchill Bar for a drink. The Sir Winston is situated on Rue de Presbourg next to the Arc of Triumph. It is the oldest pub in Paris and was not as trendy in 1969 as it is today.
Our elephant was outfitted with a Sudan type chair. To get in the seat, the elephant it was led up beside a platform the height of her back. We climbed the stairs and waited our turn. I was paired up with John one of my fellow travelers. Our trip would take us into the jungle on a loop up the side of the hill near the camp. The path was very muddy and slippery. I was a bit concerned about the animals slipping or getting stuck in the mud, but much to my surprise these lady elephants were very graceful, sure footed and never missed a step. Each elephant stepped into the footprint of the elephant before her, swaying back and forth as they lumbered up and down the paths between the tall trees. There was so much traffic over this route that the footprints were well worn, full of water and appeared to be about a foot or more deep. 
