Not Amsterdam, but India in 1968
Posted: Sat 17th Apr 2010 01:55 pm
This is a travel report that's a bit different. I have enjoyed immensely reading reports here on trips to Amsterdam, and whilst I have been there many times and hope to make the 420 gathering (Volcanoes willing), I thought, as you do, rather than add to the Dam reports that you guys narrate so well, I should post details of a trip I made way back in 1968.
Yes, I am an ageing hippy (straight on the outside, hippy on the inside). I was born in August 1950 and in 1968 hitch hiked to India. Much has been written about the 60's, so you don't need me to tell you what a crazy time it was. At that time I was working at Heathrow Airport, for the Fortes group, stocking up the duty free shop from the bonded warehouse. My best est mate then, another Dave, and I had decided to see the world. Our plan was to hitch to India, make our way from there to Australia, earn a few sovs in Australia and then move on to America, where we planned to give it large and then head back home to the U.K. - thus circumnavigating the globe. It didn't quite pan out that way, but it was our dream.
A little background here. I was part of a group of 'heads' who's main purpose in life was working hard and playing hard. Our main high in London was marijuana from Pakistan, which in those days was £8 an ounce and very easy to get hold off. Most of us were also into amphetamines, the most popular being purple hearts (drimanyl). Back then speed was a prescription drug and we use to get older dudes to score them from doctors who use to say they wanted them to loose weight. A bad thing really, cause speed is something I am dead against these days. Still, back in those days we were young and foolish and use to dance the night away at a Blues club on a Friday and then get stoned until Sunday night before the weeks work began.
The Beatles and the Stones etc, far too many to mention, were filling our heads with love and rebellion. And John Lennon and George Harrison started to speak of the mystic East and in fact visited India around that time. So, it became a bit of a thing to do
the same and become part of, what the press at the time, called the 'hippy trail'.
So me and my mate, another Dave, decided to follow suite and we set off on our Phychedelic Overland Trip (P.O.T.) Back in those days, there was currency control (thanks to the then Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, - a bigger plonker than today's Gordan Brown) and you were only allowed to take £50 out of the country with you. We had been told that hitch hiking in France was against law ( no Internet then to check such details) so in September 1968 we set off from Dover on a Ferry to Ostend in Belgium armed with £50 each and a back pack.
We hitched from Ostend into Munich. Thanks to all the people who gave us a lift, wherever now you may now be. I do remember being thoroughly miserable as we tried to cadge a lift by the motorways and wondering if it was all worth while. Anyway, I think it took about 3 days to get to Munich. There I discovered that you could get a train ticket to Istanbul for £10. I do remember that my mate wasn't to keen to spend so much, but I had had enough of sleeping out by a cold highway and convinced him that when we get to Istanbul, money wouldn't matter and we could live off our wits. So we got the train. It took us through the then Yugoslavia and Bulgaria and we arrived in Istanbul some 3 days later.
Wow! What a site met our eyes as we walked out of the station at Istanbul! Its a pretty hazy memory now, but the shock of one minute being in Europe and then entering the beginning of the Orient was overwhelming. So many people. Guys with these back pack type things with goods tied to them rushing around (I learnt later that they were porters carrying goods from the docks) and the buildings painted blue and gold, so different from those back home. It was so busy and we were both awe struck.
We found a place to crash. A drop out kinda place, favoured by young people from all over Europe and the good ole USA. I cant remember the name of the hostel, but I do remember just down the road was Yenna's coffee house, where for about 10p, you could get some kind of stew that we lived on for many a day. Our first full day there we scored some smoke of some dodgy Turkish geezer who took us into the stairwell of a tenement block and we bought about a half ounce of MJ. It was a very thin light brown hash that blew our heads off. We then discovered that in the chemist you could buy any type of drug over the counter without question. So we spent the next few weeks taking uppers and downers in between blasts of strong Turkish hash. My mate Dave spent most evenings practising on his 6 string guitar that he lugged all the way from West London. (someone nicked it just before we left Istanbul). I spent my time meeting Americans, Italians - people from all over Europe who had the same dream that I did.
Whilst in Istanbul we heard of a scam, organised by the Hostel owner, to smuggle cars into Istanbul from the adjoining border. To cut a long story short, the smugglers just wanted your passport. They took us to the frontier and we then walked over the border. We were then met by some guy in a brand new Chevy, or whatever, drove back into Turkey, had our passports stamped as the car owner, and then back to Istanbul after being well fed and given a wad of Turkish Lira. A few days later, the Hostel owner gave us back our passport that had all these weird stamps in them - but we were too stoned to give a shit and had made a nice little earner.
After about 3 weeks in Istanbul, we were itching to travel further East. I had met a couple of Americans guys who I got on well with. I remember they gave me the nickname ' Grouber ' ( don't know what that meant and maybe a few older Americans would know - probably something like plonker or dickhead). Anyway, these 2 American guys (can see their faces now, but can not remember their names) had brought a 2nd hand Mercedes in Istanbul and there plan was to drive to Tehran and sell it for a profit. I told them that if we could come along with them then we would share the petrol cost. They were amazed as many people had asked for a lift, but we were the first to offer to help pay for the fuel.
So, a few days later we found ourselves as passengers in the back of a Merc taking the ferry across to mainland Turkey driven by two stoned Americans. At our first fuel stop, and after the tank was filled, the Americans never asked us for any contribution, nor did we offer as we had to watch the pennies. Bless those two guys, wherever they may be now, they drove us all the way to Tehran without question. On the journey we had so many punctures (not us, the wheels of the car!), but there was always a place just further on that fixed the tyres for a cost (Coincidence!?). I also recall eating these huge tomatoes brought from the roadside, along with some cheese.
We finally reached Tehran (can not remember how long it took), but I do remember being disappointed about the place. Back in the 60's it was run by a Shah and the place was, in my eye, very Westernised and it was bloody expensive compared to Turkey. Even the smoke was expensive and you had to be very careful who you dealt with. We stayed in an Hotel there for a few days and then headed off to Afghanistan. I recall that I nicked a Persian blanket from the Hotel (shame on me) as I left and was glad I did so as, later, it served me well.
We hitched to the border between Iran and Afghanistan (can you imagine doing that today) and were then faced with miles of no-mans land. At the border we stayed at a rest house and met up with quite a few fellow travellers. After resting, a group of us headed across the border into Afghanistan. It was a nightmare. There was no traffic where we crossed so we just had to keep on walking. That was the longest walk of my life. I think that my mate was glad that someone had nicked his guitar - one less thing to carry!
Several hours later, and way after dark, we reached the crossing into Afghanistan. Again, there was a rest house there that the crowd of us descended upon totally knackered. There was a catering place there, not yer McDonald's, no, it was better! They were grilling these beef kebabs and we were all so hungry having walked for hours with no substance. That has to be the best meal I have had ever. Nothing mattered anymore, we were safe, well fed and still alive.
And so into Afghanistan. You didn't hitch for free there in those days. Well, you did hitch, but you had to pay the driver. Most of our lifts were on these big Mercedes lorries that had a kind of cabin thing above the drivers cab. Normally full of Water Melons or something, that you sat between and hanged on for dear life. God, I was glad that I had nicked that blanket from that hotel in Tehran. Wrapped in it, the coldness of the Khyber pass was more bearable.
From memory, we travelled to Herat, Kandahar and Kabul. I might get the order wrong here, but i cant be asked to check the map on google to make sure. I do though remember our first stop , I believe it was Kandahar. We hit this hostel and all went out on the streets looking for some smoke. I had split from Dave and the rest and quickly found this dealer who sold me a block of hash (it was kinda half moon shaped, cost about 50 Afghanis).
Back at the hostel, I found that everyone had scored. We all compared deals and sat there all night getting well stoned. During the course of our smoking activities, and I kid you not - this really did happened - The manager of the hostel knocked on our door. Now we were weary of the 'man' after Tehran and tentatively opened the door to our host. "Are you smoking hashish?" he asked in a gruff Afghan kinda way. "No." or words to that effect we cried as people scurried to hide the lumps of gear in front of them. "Then your want some of this then buckoloes." He held his long gown open and had a waist band from which hanged 2 slabs of the biggest amounts of slabs of cannabis I had ever seen.
Well, of course we all fell about laughing our socks off! And out came the hubbly bubbly pipe and the rest is a kinda blur. Surfice to say that the Hostel manager was the best and cheapest guy to score from.
Eventually, Dave and I carried on towards Pakistan. We hit Lahore around early November. I don't know what its like there now, but back in 68 it was a shit hole. Having said that, it was a Mecca (pun not intended) for scoring hash. We found this dealer who sold us a weight (1 Kilo ) of Paki black gold seal (and it really did have a gold type official seal stamped on the slabs) for next to nothing. We bought loads of it - well wouldn't you! - and carted it off to our digs, where we were staying on the outskirts of Lahore.
At out digs, some Italian guys were busy cutting out the inside of a volume of a set of Dickens novels (pirated copies) and filling the gap with hash. Sniffer dogs, had not been invented in 1968, and sending the loot back home care of the holy father Jan Luca.
Dave and I had similar plans, but we were so stoned we just couldn't be asked. Our big mistake was to show one of our shopping trips of the finest hash to the manager a local eatery where we ate most days. Turned out he was a bit of a nose, and the next thing we knew, we were being followed all around town, by people, whom we nicknamed the 'G' men.
Another complication was that in those days a British Passport was worth a few bob, as it is now - but Abdul Gordan Blimey Brown who works in the government printing office these days and gets you in for a few Rupees no questions asked in it - but back then ,my mate Dave decided to 'loose' his passport for the sake of queen and country and a few dollars.
Suffice to say, we left Lahore rather sharpish after coming clean at the British Embassy to get Dave a new passport. (that really is a long story how we convinced the G man etc...) But folks of this forum, I have to say there is a gaff on the outskirts of Lahore that Dave and I stashed a fair few weights of the finest Paki Black in our effort to flea that is probably there to this day.
I remember we headed South for a while and were befriended by a rich family who took us in to their home (about 200 Ks from Lahore.) I think the two of us were a showcase for that family as they use to invite all their rich friends around to meet us. The 'Memshaib' of the family took a shining to me and, after looking at my picture in my passport, said that she was going to fatten me up and make my own Mother proud of me. I was rather gaunt by then, and feed
me she did! She also use to get her cute Daughter to dance for us in all her finery of an evening. Such great people, bless them.
After a week or so there they drove us back to Lahore. The wife's parting words were ' Take care Bucklelow'. The fathers parting words were ' Have you got any more of those Dollars to exchange?'
At Lahore the heat had died down. Dave had his new passport and our 5 Kilos of hash was underneath the foundations of of a hostel in down town Lahore..... and is probably still there there now, but hey ho.
So Dave and I headed off to India. It gets a bit hazy now as to what actually happened (hey, it was 40 odd years ago and I think I'm doing OK considering and all) but suffice to say we found ourselves in Delhi, early December 1968. Christmas we thought, got to do Christmas! So we decided to head for Goa as it is an ex Portuguese colony and all Catholic and all. Besides, that's where all the hippies were heading for. So we hitched to Bombay and had a gas there for a few weeks. At that time the Beatles had released the White Album, and the Stones had out Let it Bleed. What more do you want out of life hey? Beats the socks of Lady Ga Ga.
At Bombay we boarded a train for Goa. Really cheap because we didn't buy a ticket - getting street wise by then. I remember the scenery that I observed from the train. It was just too much. I think we landed in a place called Panjim.
And that's where we spent Christmas back in 1968. Many more stories to tell. My mate Dave headed off for Katmandu in February, and I hanged around in Goa for a while fucking these amazing American chicks. Afteral, aids had not been invented then.
When I got home in July 1969, my mom said ' You've got a bit of a tan, where have you been?' Bless her. She's 84 now and still giving it large. This is for you Mother dear. Love you.
______________
Dont Bogart that joint Phyllis.......
Yes, I am an ageing hippy (straight on the outside, hippy on the inside). I was born in August 1950 and in 1968 hitch hiked to India. Much has been written about the 60's, so you don't need me to tell you what a crazy time it was. At that time I was working at Heathrow Airport, for the Fortes group, stocking up the duty free shop from the bonded warehouse. My best est mate then, another Dave, and I had decided to see the world. Our plan was to hitch to India, make our way from there to Australia, earn a few sovs in Australia and then move on to America, where we planned to give it large and then head back home to the U.K. - thus circumnavigating the globe. It didn't quite pan out that way, but it was our dream.
A little background here. I was part of a group of 'heads' who's main purpose in life was working hard and playing hard. Our main high in London was marijuana from Pakistan, which in those days was £8 an ounce and very easy to get hold off. Most of us were also into amphetamines, the most popular being purple hearts (drimanyl). Back then speed was a prescription drug and we use to get older dudes to score them from doctors who use to say they wanted them to loose weight. A bad thing really, cause speed is something I am dead against these days. Still, back in those days we were young and foolish and use to dance the night away at a Blues club on a Friday and then get stoned until Sunday night before the weeks work began.
The Beatles and the Stones etc, far too many to mention, were filling our heads with love and rebellion. And John Lennon and George Harrison started to speak of the mystic East and in fact visited India around that time. So, it became a bit of a thing to do
the same and become part of, what the press at the time, called the 'hippy trail'.
So me and my mate, another Dave, decided to follow suite and we set off on our Phychedelic Overland Trip (P.O.T.) Back in those days, there was currency control (thanks to the then Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, - a bigger plonker than today's Gordan Brown) and you were only allowed to take £50 out of the country with you. We had been told that hitch hiking in France was against law ( no Internet then to check such details) so in September 1968 we set off from Dover on a Ferry to Ostend in Belgium armed with £50 each and a back pack.
We hitched from Ostend into Munich. Thanks to all the people who gave us a lift, wherever now you may now be. I do remember being thoroughly miserable as we tried to cadge a lift by the motorways and wondering if it was all worth while. Anyway, I think it took about 3 days to get to Munich. There I discovered that you could get a train ticket to Istanbul for £10. I do remember that my mate wasn't to keen to spend so much, but I had had enough of sleeping out by a cold highway and convinced him that when we get to Istanbul, money wouldn't matter and we could live off our wits. So we got the train. It took us through the then Yugoslavia and Bulgaria and we arrived in Istanbul some 3 days later.
Wow! What a site met our eyes as we walked out of the station at Istanbul! Its a pretty hazy memory now, but the shock of one minute being in Europe and then entering the beginning of the Orient was overwhelming. So many people. Guys with these back pack type things with goods tied to them rushing around (I learnt later that they were porters carrying goods from the docks) and the buildings painted blue and gold, so different from those back home. It was so busy and we were both awe struck.
We found a place to crash. A drop out kinda place, favoured by young people from all over Europe and the good ole USA. I cant remember the name of the hostel, but I do remember just down the road was Yenna's coffee house, where for about 10p, you could get some kind of stew that we lived on for many a day. Our first full day there we scored some smoke of some dodgy Turkish geezer who took us into the stairwell of a tenement block and we bought about a half ounce of MJ. It was a very thin light brown hash that blew our heads off. We then discovered that in the chemist you could buy any type of drug over the counter without question. So we spent the next few weeks taking uppers and downers in between blasts of strong Turkish hash. My mate Dave spent most evenings practising on his 6 string guitar that he lugged all the way from West London. (someone nicked it just before we left Istanbul). I spent my time meeting Americans, Italians - people from all over Europe who had the same dream that I did.
Whilst in Istanbul we heard of a scam, organised by the Hostel owner, to smuggle cars into Istanbul from the adjoining border. To cut a long story short, the smugglers just wanted your passport. They took us to the frontier and we then walked over the border. We were then met by some guy in a brand new Chevy, or whatever, drove back into Turkey, had our passports stamped as the car owner, and then back to Istanbul after being well fed and given a wad of Turkish Lira. A few days later, the Hostel owner gave us back our passport that had all these weird stamps in them - but we were too stoned to give a shit and had made a nice little earner.
After about 3 weeks in Istanbul, we were itching to travel further East. I had met a couple of Americans guys who I got on well with. I remember they gave me the nickname ' Grouber ' ( don't know what that meant and maybe a few older Americans would know - probably something like plonker or dickhead). Anyway, these 2 American guys (can see their faces now, but can not remember their names) had brought a 2nd hand Mercedes in Istanbul and there plan was to drive to Tehran and sell it for a profit. I told them that if we could come along with them then we would share the petrol cost. They were amazed as many people had asked for a lift, but we were the first to offer to help pay for the fuel.
So, a few days later we found ourselves as passengers in the back of a Merc taking the ferry across to mainland Turkey driven by two stoned Americans. At our first fuel stop, and after the tank was filled, the Americans never asked us for any contribution, nor did we offer as we had to watch the pennies. Bless those two guys, wherever they may be now, they drove us all the way to Tehran without question. On the journey we had so many punctures (not us, the wheels of the car!), but there was always a place just further on that fixed the tyres for a cost (Coincidence!?). I also recall eating these huge tomatoes brought from the roadside, along with some cheese.
We finally reached Tehran (can not remember how long it took), but I do remember being disappointed about the place. Back in the 60's it was run by a Shah and the place was, in my eye, very Westernised and it was bloody expensive compared to Turkey. Even the smoke was expensive and you had to be very careful who you dealt with. We stayed in an Hotel there for a few days and then headed off to Afghanistan. I recall that I nicked a Persian blanket from the Hotel (shame on me) as I left and was glad I did so as, later, it served me well.
We hitched to the border between Iran and Afghanistan (can you imagine doing that today) and were then faced with miles of no-mans land. At the border we stayed at a rest house and met up with quite a few fellow travellers. After resting, a group of us headed across the border into Afghanistan. It was a nightmare. There was no traffic where we crossed so we just had to keep on walking. That was the longest walk of my life. I think that my mate was glad that someone had nicked his guitar - one less thing to carry!
Several hours later, and way after dark, we reached the crossing into Afghanistan. Again, there was a rest house there that the crowd of us descended upon totally knackered. There was a catering place there, not yer McDonald's, no, it was better! They were grilling these beef kebabs and we were all so hungry having walked for hours with no substance. That has to be the best meal I have had ever. Nothing mattered anymore, we were safe, well fed and still alive.
And so into Afghanistan. You didn't hitch for free there in those days. Well, you did hitch, but you had to pay the driver. Most of our lifts were on these big Mercedes lorries that had a kind of cabin thing above the drivers cab. Normally full of Water Melons or something, that you sat between and hanged on for dear life. God, I was glad that I had nicked that blanket from that hotel in Tehran. Wrapped in it, the coldness of the Khyber pass was more bearable.
From memory, we travelled to Herat, Kandahar and Kabul. I might get the order wrong here, but i cant be asked to check the map on google to make sure. I do though remember our first stop , I believe it was Kandahar. We hit this hostel and all went out on the streets looking for some smoke. I had split from Dave and the rest and quickly found this dealer who sold me a block of hash (it was kinda half moon shaped, cost about 50 Afghanis).
Back at the hostel, I found that everyone had scored. We all compared deals and sat there all night getting well stoned. During the course of our smoking activities, and I kid you not - this really did happened - The manager of the hostel knocked on our door. Now we were weary of the 'man' after Tehran and tentatively opened the door to our host. "Are you smoking hashish?" he asked in a gruff Afghan kinda way. "No." or words to that effect we cried as people scurried to hide the lumps of gear in front of them. "Then your want some of this then buckoloes." He held his long gown open and had a waist band from which hanged 2 slabs of the biggest amounts of slabs of cannabis I had ever seen.
Well, of course we all fell about laughing our socks off! And out came the hubbly bubbly pipe and the rest is a kinda blur. Surfice to say that the Hostel manager was the best and cheapest guy to score from.
Eventually, Dave and I carried on towards Pakistan. We hit Lahore around early November. I don't know what its like there now, but back in 68 it was a shit hole. Having said that, it was a Mecca (pun not intended) for scoring hash. We found this dealer who sold us a weight (1 Kilo ) of Paki black gold seal (and it really did have a gold type official seal stamped on the slabs) for next to nothing. We bought loads of it - well wouldn't you! - and carted it off to our digs, where we were staying on the outskirts of Lahore.
At out digs, some Italian guys were busy cutting out the inside of a volume of a set of Dickens novels (pirated copies) and filling the gap with hash. Sniffer dogs, had not been invented in 1968, and sending the loot back home care of the holy father Jan Luca.
Dave and I had similar plans, but we were so stoned we just couldn't be asked. Our big mistake was to show one of our shopping trips of the finest hash to the manager a local eatery where we ate most days. Turned out he was a bit of a nose, and the next thing we knew, we were being followed all around town, by people, whom we nicknamed the 'G' men.
Another complication was that in those days a British Passport was worth a few bob, as it is now - but Abdul Gordan Blimey Brown who works in the government printing office these days and gets you in for a few Rupees no questions asked in it - but back then ,my mate Dave decided to 'loose' his passport for the sake of queen and country and a few dollars.
Suffice to say, we left Lahore rather sharpish after coming clean at the British Embassy to get Dave a new passport. (that really is a long story how we convinced the G man etc...) But folks of this forum, I have to say there is a gaff on the outskirts of Lahore that Dave and I stashed a fair few weights of the finest Paki Black in our effort to flea that is probably there to this day.
I remember we headed South for a while and were befriended by a rich family who took us in to their home (about 200 Ks from Lahore.) I think the two of us were a showcase for that family as they use to invite all their rich friends around to meet us. The 'Memshaib' of the family took a shining to me and, after looking at my picture in my passport, said that she was going to fatten me up and make my own Mother proud of me. I was rather gaunt by then, and feed
me she did! She also use to get her cute Daughter to dance for us in all her finery of an evening. Such great people, bless them.
After a week or so there they drove us back to Lahore. The wife's parting words were ' Take care Bucklelow'. The fathers parting words were ' Have you got any more of those Dollars to exchange?'
At Lahore the heat had died down. Dave had his new passport and our 5 Kilos of hash was underneath the foundations of of a hostel in down town Lahore..... and is probably still there there now, but hey ho.
So Dave and I headed off to India. It gets a bit hazy now as to what actually happened (hey, it was 40 odd years ago and I think I'm doing OK considering and all) but suffice to say we found ourselves in Delhi, early December 1968. Christmas we thought, got to do Christmas! So we decided to head for Goa as it is an ex Portuguese colony and all Catholic and all. Besides, that's where all the hippies were heading for. So we hitched to Bombay and had a gas there for a few weeks. At that time the Beatles had released the White Album, and the Stones had out Let it Bleed. What more do you want out of life hey? Beats the socks of Lady Ga Ga.
At Bombay we boarded a train for Goa. Really cheap because we didn't buy a ticket - getting street wise by then. I remember the scenery that I observed from the train. It was just too much. I think we landed in a place called Panjim.
And that's where we spent Christmas back in 1968. Many more stories to tell. My mate Dave headed off for Katmandu in February, and I hanged around in Goa for a while fucking these amazing American chicks. Afteral, aids had not been invented then.
When I got home in July 1969, my mom said ' You've got a bit of a tan, where have you been?' Bless her. She's 84 now and still giving it large. This is for you Mother dear. Love you.
______________
Dont Bogart that joint Phyllis.......
It was just a dodgy place in those days and we trusted nobody.
