Chapter six

We were on a train speeding west toward Paris. It was still early and it wasn’t until we past Rennes, that we finally spoke.
"We’re not going to let this ruin our holiday are we?" asked Gary."We’ve still got another three weeks."
"Hell no! I said." But inside I was still sick to my stomach. After this how can I ever visit Helene again? So in an effort of bravado and self delusion I said "To hell with Monsieur le Cam. We going to hit Europe and have fun."
It was a long way from "The hole in the wall" Waterloo, where several months earlier we had met to plan "The great British trans-Europe expedition." or "Operation, lets tread boldly". We had sat at a small round beaten copper topped table. Gary laid a large map of Europe over it.
"OK where do you want to go?" I said.
Gary studied the map carefully and finally said "Zagreb. We’ve got to go to Zagreb."
A train thundered overhead.
"Where the fuck is Zagreb?" I said.
"Here. "he said pointing to a place just west of Belgrade, or Beograd as it was named on the map.
"What’s there?"
"I don’t know."
"So why Zagreb?"
"It sounds a great name." and he said the word over and over "Zagreb. Zagreb Zagreb."
"So you’re basing our whole trip on the sound of a name?"
"Have you a better idea?"
"Well......." I was struggling for an idea. I knew everyone else did the usual thing of visiting famous places. Seeing the sights. Doing the tourist trip. But somehow I didn’t want that. I wanted reality. I wanted to see Europe from a different angle. From the inside. I wanted to see the things that other people didn’t bother with. I wasn’t interested in famous places or culture. I wanted to see the people. And, so did Gary. "..... it’s a great idea."
"Good so where do you want to go?"
"I’d like to visit Helene."
"Why?"
"I haven’t seen her in five years that’s why."
"But she’s history."
"Since when?"
"Since five years. Come on. Why go to France when you have hundreds of girls here you can shag?"
"But those hundreds of girls aren’t Helene."
"She probably fat and ugly by now. You haven’t seen her for five years. How do you know she’ll want to see you?"
"I just know. That’s all."
"OK we’ll go and see Helene. Then we’ll go to Zagreb."
We sat and drank our beer quietly . The Hole in the wall is a dark pub, but cosy.
After a while I asked "How much money do you think we should take?"
"A hundred each." came the quick response.
"Will that be enough to last us the month?"
"If we’re careful." Gary said taking another swig of beer.
"Why a hundred? Why not two hundred?" I enquired between mouthfulls of beer.
"Because, that’s all I’ve got."
"Can’t argue with that."
We hit Paris. And despite our high flown ideals of avoiding the tourist traps, we saw the sights. Notre Dame, Monte Marte, with the pavement cafés, street artists and cobbled streets. We went to La Place de la concorde, then walked along Les Champs Elysées looking at al the shops. Shops that were way beyond our budget, but even so we window shopped. Our as the French say " Leche les vitrines," licked the windows. At the end we stood under the Arc de Triomphe. It was getting late and we looked up to the darkening sky and saw a search light flashing to south. We turned to investigate and soon caught glimpses of the Eiffel tower through the gaps in the tall buildings. It had to be visited. Over the bridge on the Seine were street traders with blankets laid on the pavement covered in miniature Eiffel towers. Later that evening we wondered where we would sleep. We had not planned anything. No hotels, no youth hostels, nothing. So to get some sleep we went to the train station and got on a train bound for Frankfurt. We slept in our seats.
The next morning we woke up in Germany. Shell shocked and crazy we made our way to Garys brothers house in Frankfurt. Luxury. He had a first floor flat. Nice and cosey. Real food and a bed to sleep in. Garys Brother, Alan, was a teacher. He taught English in a German school. He was short with light brown hair and a moustache. He was quite serious and listened carefully to our tales of the journey so far nodding occasionally. his wife Mary, an american, was petite and slim with short blond hair. She was laughed nervously and fidgitted about her chair, when we got to the part of our story with the shotgun, she put her hand to her mouth, Alan just sat and nodded. "Yes, carry on." as if he was a police inspector listening to a confession.We stayed the night there and next day, promising to come back, we left for Switzerland. We boarded a train. By midday we were in Switzerland.
We stood by the side of lake Geneva. We’d been to a bar and the beer was incredibly expensive. One hundred pounds suddenly seemed totally inadequate.
"This is not good." I said to Gary. "We could blow the whole lot in one day. When’s the next train out of here?"
"Three hours." replied Gary consulting our European train time table.
"We could be broke in three hours staying here."
"So what do you think we should do?"
"We’ll busk." I said getting out my mouth organ. I threw my hat on the pavement and started playing. I only knew a few tunes.
We collected a few francs.
"Do you know we must be the only people in the world who have left Switzerland with more money than they arrived with."
We got on a train to Yugoslavia. Next stop, Zagreb!
Europe is a big place, we spent the rest of the day travelling through Austria. Marvelling at the beautiful scenery, the snow capped mountains and green valleys. The sun started to set casting huge shadows and turning the white tops of the mountains to glow like fire. Finally all we could see was faint dark shapes and we fell asleep. The next morning we were still moving across the flat plains of Yugoslavia. For hours we stood with our heads out of the windows, watching the world go by, until our hair was stiff. Mile after mile of fields and more fields, the occassional hamlet, cars at level crossings, waiting patiently for our train to pass.
At midday the train pulled into a station.
"It’s Zagreb!" shouted Gary. "We’ve got to get off here."
I didn’t argue. I was so tired. I would do anything to get off the train. We’d been travelling for nearly twenty four hours.
We didn’t get far from the station. We found a park where students were sitting on the grass. We sat on the grass near them. We could hardly think we were so tired. We lay down on the grass in the sun and fell asleep almost immediately.
I woke up suddenly. Someone had hit me like a cricket bat on my ribs. I doubled up in pain. I opened my eyes to see two Militia men standing over us. Armed with machine guns. One of them kicked me again.
"OK! OK!" I screamed. "I’m awake."
The other was kicking Gary. The students were all gone, we were alone. It was late afternoon. They shouted at us. I didn’t understand a word. They kicked our rucksacks. Then one of them picked up a rucksack and threw it. We were kicked again.
"We’re English" I screamed. "Nous sommes Anglais."
But they were not to be argued with. Being English was not special. It held no immunity. I remembered my passport it said "Her Brittanic Majesty’s secretary of state requests and requires in the name of her Majesty, all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without let or hindrance............" Bollocks. We were being crucified. The beating didn’t stop. We were frog marched to the railway station. We were told to leave in no uncertain manner. Zagreb. A great city. A great sounding name. I could say that name over and over again. Such mystery. All our plans and expectations at "The hole in the wall" destroyed. So this is Zagreb? Didn’t they know we had planned our whole trip around visiting Zagreb? Doesn’t that mean a thing to them? The whole point of our being there was because Gary had said it sounded a great name. For fucks sake. Give us a break here. We come in peace. So shaken, bruised and terrified we left for the second time at gunpoint. And we were still innocent.