Analyzing a Puzzle

“Why France?” Thrim asked as we took our walk in the desert.

The question was so strange to me that I couldn’t think of an answer. I didn’t blurt out my first thought, a puzzled “Why not France?,” but kept walking and, odd for me, trying to figure out “why?” I’m impulsive rather than analytical.

Why, indeed, did Mary and I want to ramble around France for five weeks?

Stalling for time instead of answering his question, and curious, I asked, “Where would you go?”

Without hesitation, he replied, “England. The castles, the history, the stories. England.”

What a great idea, I thought. Why didn’t Mary and I think to do that instead of France?

Maybe it’s because France is where we first hitchhiked, taking just a week to get in close touch with people and places. It was such a good experience that hitchhiking became our main type of transportation throughout Europe except in Spain and southern France where we rode our motorscooter.

We had so many friendly, harrowing, exciting experiences that the time stretches in memory to take up a much larger space than ordinary weeks or even years do.

In addition to that first week, we found jobs for six months near Chambley, a tiny town in Alsace-Lorraine, at a U.S. Air Force Base. Waking up every morning in the French countryside, walking the farm road to St. Julien (the sketch above is of a roadside shrine near St. Julien), eating at Renee’s tiny restaurant where I first discovered quiche Lorraine, shopping in Metz and Nancy, also endeared France to me.

The jobs came about because Russia began constructing the Berlin Wall in August 1961, and in October detonated a 58 megaton hydrogen bomb known as Tsar Bomba that still holds the record for the largest man-made explosion. President Kennedy, judging those to be unfriendly acts, called up the Air Force National Guard and sent them to Europe to man a few old unused bases from WW II.

At that same time in bleak December we hit a low point in our adventure, hitchhiking on icy roads, cold all the way through, and maybe even a bit homesick. When we heard that the Air Force might be hiring, we immediately went to Wiesbaden (or Frankfurt?) to apply.

I was hired as the Service Club Director and Mary was my Assistant (they didn’t check qualifications, so desperate were they to have us). For the six months the base was open, we did a good job of running the recreational activities and planning trips for our guys all over France and Europe.

Since we were being paid on a U.S. government payscale and had housing on the base, we were able to save enough to keep us traveling cheaply and slowly for another five months as far as Japan.

“That’s what I mean,” Thrim continued, still puzzled. “You went all the way around the world, you saw all those places, and yet you want to return to France?”

“Yes. Yes, we do.”

My attempt at analyzing the “why” only came up with, “We both loved our time there.” That’s it.

Choosing Adventure

At 14, I dreamed that one day Tom Rogers would send his lopsided smile my way and say “Hey.” It was a hopeless crush, me being a lowly nothing and Tom being gorgeous, smart, and on the football team.

Books were an escape. One day after school I discovered The Royal Road to Romance in my parents’ library. Why had I never noticed such a lusty title before? I pulled it from the shelf, hoping it would lead me into forbidden territory and help me forget about Tom. The cover was dark green, old, and worn. The author had the romantic name of Richard Halliburton. What juicy scenes must be inside!

Even though no-one else was home, I felt unseen eyes upon me as I moved the other books around to fill in the empty space where it had been. Hurrying to my room, I peeked at the first words: “May had come to Princeton.” Princeton, wherever that was, in springtime, seemed like the right place for royal romance to happen. I slid the book under my pillow, hiding it till later.

That night, lying in bed, face to the wall, I began to read in earnest. There was a moment of disappointment when I discovered that “romance” meant adventure and following dreams, but Halliburton’s story was so compelling I couldn’t stop. He searched in the farthestmost corners of the earth for the beautiful, the joyous and even the love type of romance. He sailed to foreign ports, swam the Hellespont, climbed great mountains, communed “in solitude with the moonlit Taj Mahal.” My obsession with Tom Rogers faded as dreams inspired by Halliburton began to take its place.

In the 11^th grade, a Career Day counselor asked what I wanted to do in my life and I replied, “Travel the world.” He shook his head and actually smirked. Maybe he didn’t believe that such dreams could be achieved, especially by girls from poor families. I knew otherwise.

I knew from Halliburton’s example that a person can do anything if they work hard enough for it. His parents had been wealthy, but he worked his way to Europe on a steamer, and then earned money as he needed it. He had planted a seed that began to grow and become a part of me.

Six years later, I graduated from UCLA with a BA in Theater and a job offer to work as a secretary. My roommate Mary and I chose adventure instead. Working through the summer, we saved every penny we could, sold all our belongings including my car, and drove her car to New York. From there it was logical to go on to Europe. Icelandic Airlines flew us to Prestwick, Scotland, the first stop on what became an around-the-world journey.

I had loved how Halliburton traveled with no reservations and no itinerary, seizing opportunities as they came. That’s how Mary and I did our trip. We took trains, hitchhiked, motorscootered, walked, and rode rickshaws. We worked when we needed to. Our accommodations were hostels, train stations, native hotels, and YM- YWCAs. After more than a year away, we sailed home on a Japanese freighter with six passengers and a delightful captain who baked us an apple pie.

Other fine adventures came along including living and working in new places, getting married, and raising four children. The most recent adventure was moving from tree-rich mountains to the Mojave desert.

On my morning walks down unpaved Royal Roads I see the mountains to the east aflame with sunrise. A tarantula might meander across my path. Frequently I pass a sidewinder curled up digesting last night’s meal. Bright red scorpions have danced their mating dance, taking no notice of me. There is adventure here! The summer air is rich, smelling of spices and warm sand. There is time for meditation under the stars.

Sometimes, though, when the west wind feels as if it comes straight from the ocean, I find myself stopping in mid stride to taste it, to imagine where it has been, what it’s bringing to me. Then I’m aware that Richard Halliburton is still at my side giving me a lopsided grin and saying “Hey!”

April in Normandy? Hitchhiking again?

Why not!

The right book can do that to you.