"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
(From "The New Colossus", by Emma Lazarus, 1883 - inscription inside the pedestal of the Statue of Liberty, New York)
The tempest-tossed itinerant eco warrior who was living under my dining room table has eschewed the lamp beside my golden door and rejoined the huddled masses yearning to breathe free. 
Scrumpy set off in the general direction of India the other day, although I don't think a metro ticket is going to get him all the way there. I packed him some cheese sandwiches, an apple and a Mars bar for the journey. He had a dog-eared map on which Afghanistan was still coloured red. He has decided he is a swami, or a yogi, or something, and has taken the name Mahatma Manatcanda Ji. I don't think he'll take to drinking his own urine but one must let the young people find themselves, mustn't one?
I was something of a roamer myself at his age. I remember setting off to see the world equipped with a backpack and a copy of "Europe on $10 a day". I had visions of spending the summer in an ashram going "om" and meeting the Beatles, but had to settle for an Inter Rail ticket and a series of dingy youth hostels, where I had to sleep in bunks underneath large ruddy-faced lasses from New Zealand who wore long johns and were already bedded down at 8 pm, pretty much around the time I was pulling out my platform heels and make-up bag and getting ready to go out on the town. Still, I bet I got more fun out of my $10 a day than they did.
I didn't see much in the way of culture, I have to admit, but once you've seen one Michelangelo you've seen them all. (You didn't think I'd forget to put in a photo of a naked man did you?). In one month I managed to stagger from the Sistine Chapel to the Munich beer festival via Lake Geneva, and ended up in Paris where I ran out of money and had to resort to fan dancing at the Folies Bergère to make the fare back to Blighty. I burned my sleeping bag on my return and like Scarlett O'Hara vowed only ever to stay in five-star hotels in the future.
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" sang Janis Joplin, mind you she also sang "Oh Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz", so I'm not sure I'd take her as a reference. If we're reminiscing about the Woodstock crew, let's listen to the great Richie Havens on the subject of freedom.
Scrumpy set off in the general direction of India the other day, although I don't think a metro ticket is going to get him all the way there. I packed him some cheese sandwiches, an apple and a Mars bar for the journey. He had a dog-eared map on which Afghanistan was still coloured red. He has decided he is a swami, or a yogi, or something, and has taken the name Mahatma Manatcanda Ji. I don't think he'll take to drinking his own urine but one must let the young people find themselves, mustn't one?I was something of a roamer myself at his age. I remember setting off to see the world equipped with a backpack and a copy of "Europe on $10 a day". I had visions of spending the summer in an ashram going "om" and meeting the Beatles, but had to settle for an Inter Rail ticket and a series of dingy youth hostels, where I had to sleep in bunks underneath large ruddy-faced lasses from New Zealand who wore long johns and were already bedded down at 8 pm, pretty much around the time I was pulling out my platform heels and make-up bag and getting ready to go out on the town. Still, I bet I got more fun out of my $10 a day than they did.
I didn't see much in the way of culture, I have to admit, but once you've seen one Michelangelo you've seen them all. (You didn't think I'd forget to put in a photo of a naked man did you?). In one month I managed to stagger from the Sistine Chapel to the Munich beer festival via Lake Geneva, and ended up in Paris where I ran out of money and had to resort to fan dancing at the Folies Bergère to make the fare back to Blighty. I burned my sleeping bag on my return and like Scarlett O'Hara vowed only ever to stay in five-star hotels in the future."Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" sang Janis Joplin, mind you she also sang "Oh Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz", so I'm not sure I'd take her as a reference. If we're reminiscing about the Woodstock crew, let's listen to the great Richie Havens on the subject of freedom.
12 comments:
Ah splendid! Tales of a roving Daphne! I bet the Folies Bergere has not seen your like since.
Tell me what you know about absinthe. Can you buy it in Belgium? You can't sell it in shops here but it is legal to order it online from Europe. Is one sort better than another?
Is Scrumpy coming back? I expect he'll probably go wherever the river of life takes him. And why not? That's probably a nice way to live your life if you're not bothered about having weevils in your clothes. Me, I'm not so keen on the weevils, but horses for courses and all that. Do you miss his matted presence under the table?
Poor chap. He'll find nothing but cow dung where he's going. Yogic flyers in Holland are the latest thing. Details to follow in a forthcoming post.
I suppose Scrumpy will be searching for that Tantric Sex thing too. Shouldn't be too hard to find, doesn't move around a lot I think.
The image of you in a sleeping bag is a bit scary though - I'd always assumed you were the 'four-poster' type, even starting in a four-poster cot. Still, experience expands the mind.
Folies Bergere. Impressed.
Although I'm not sure I'd be queueing to Rouge your Moulins...
I know it makes the heart grow fonder, Sam. I saw it on sale in Prague. I don't think it's the same stuff as made them go mad in the old days - can't get the Old Janx Spirit any more, you see.
GB, I suspect the local plant life in Holland might cut his journey short fairly soon. It's legal to grow your own for personal consumption apparently.
Goth - I had my sleeping bag held off the ground by a small Filipino boy at each corner.
Tippler - likewise.
Aha ! I knew the, not the four-poster, but the 'four-filipino' bed.
All makes sense now
Goddamn it
knew IT not knew the
Wow... I've always dreamed of doing the world on the cheap!
And maybe sneak into a Michelin starred resto every now and then.
Once a Greek friend of mine and I set off Sunderland to Greece in an old Land Rover...
The engine blew up just outside Darlington... 50miles away...
Oh Cream that's so sad:(
Could have been worse. If it had conked out in Middlesbrough you wouldn't be here now to tell the tale.
Morning All. I'd like to draw your attention to this blog, written by an English mother living in Tanzania who is feeling rather isolated. She would greatly appreciate a sisterly visit.
Honestly, Daphnée I don't know why you give the Boro such a bad reputation.
My best friends got robbed there.
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