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O.k., I 'll play. My grandma's brother had emigrated to the US and returned to Germany in 1964. I grew up with him telling me stories about how wonderful America is, so I saved a little money, worked a few months after high school and then my the girlfriend and I flew over to San Francisco, hitchhiked over to El Paso, then by hitchhiking, bus and train through Mexico, from Yucatan to Miami and back home to Germany, a 4 month trip.
Of course, we were young and naive and didn't have enough money, so we mostly slept outside or in a small tent, at least in the US (more in the tent after awakening in New Mexico one morning with a tarantula walking by a foot from my face...). This was 1981 when this was already crazy but not suicidal like today. Lots of wacko stories on that trip, one to remember was this:
We had hitchhiked and arrived in a godforsaken town somewhere, I think in AZ but don't even remember, on a Friday evening around 8. It was like a scene out of American Graffiti, one Main Street and cars cruising up and down, checking out the girls on the sidewalks. We walked around a bit, hung out at the 50s diner for a while, eventually got tired, and decided not to look for a hotel. In a side street we found an obviously unoccupied house with a back yard that was protected a bit from open view, so we rolled out our sleeping bags and went to sleep.
Next thing I know, there was a bright light when I woke up. After adjusting a bit, I realized that the bright light came from a spotlight on the Sherrif's cruiser which was pointed on us. Two officers were standing there in shooting position with drawn guns, telling us to get up - very very slowly and with our hands in plain sight all the time... Turns out, the priest across the street did not do the Christian thing (invite poor foreign travelers
) but called the Sherrif . There was a lengthy check of documentation, some discussion, some education about private property even if deserted (which I as an avid socialist at the time wanted to dispute but then thought better of it when my girlfriend started hitting me...). In the end, the Sherrif called a cab and had us driven outside of the city limits. The cab driver was stunned and told us that the Sherrif was known for shooting or booking people first and asking questions later, so we were very lucky.
Exhausted, we rolled up our sleeping bags again on the first lawn outside the city limits and went back to sleep - until we were woken up by noisy insects, and it started to rain. While we, groggily, were wondering whether we should put up our tent, it stopped raining and we went back to sleep - only to be woken up by rain and insects what seemed a short time later. At that point we realized that the insect noises and the rain were an automatic sprinkler which neither of us had experienced before, something for rich folk... It was a short night, but that picture of the Sherrif aiming at me with a pretty big revolver has been burned into my memory...
Stefan
Of course, we were young and naive and didn't have enough money, so we mostly slept outside or in a small tent, at least in the US (more in the tent after awakening in New Mexico one morning with a tarantula walking by a foot from my face...). This was 1981 when this was already crazy but not suicidal like today. Lots of wacko stories on that trip, one to remember was this:
We had hitchhiked and arrived in a godforsaken town somewhere, I think in AZ but don't even remember, on a Friday evening around 8. It was like a scene out of American Graffiti, one Main Street and cars cruising up and down, checking out the girls on the sidewalks. We walked around a bit, hung out at the 50s diner for a while, eventually got tired, and decided not to look for a hotel. In a side street we found an obviously unoccupied house with a back yard that was protected a bit from open view, so we rolled out our sleeping bags and went to sleep.
Next thing I know, there was a bright light when I woke up. After adjusting a bit, I realized that the bright light came from a spotlight on the Sherrif's cruiser which was pointed on us. Two officers were standing there in shooting position with drawn guns, telling us to get up - very very slowly and with our hands in plain sight all the time... Turns out, the priest across the street did not do the Christian thing (invite poor foreign travelers
) but called the Sherrif . There was a lengthy check of documentation, some discussion, some education about private property even if deserted (which I as an avid socialist at the time wanted to dispute but then thought better of it when my girlfriend started hitting me...). In the end, the Sherrif called a cab and had us driven outside of the city limits. The cab driver was stunned and told us that the Sherrif was known for shooting or booking people first and asking questions later, so we were very lucky.Exhausted, we rolled up our sleeping bags again on the first lawn outside the city limits and went back to sleep - until we were woken up by noisy insects, and it started to rain. While we, groggily, were wondering whether we should put up our tent, it stopped raining and we went back to sleep - only to be woken up by rain and insects what seemed a short time later. At that point we realized that the insect noises and the rain were an automatic sprinkler which neither of us had experienced before, something for rich folk... It was a short night, but that picture of the Sherrif aiming at me with a pretty big revolver has been burned into my memory...
Stefan
