Tour

I was to drive her to Istanbul. We would drive through communist Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, this last even then with Gulagian connotations. She would pay all expenses for the journey there. She would pay for my train-fare back to Venice. What a deal, plus she was the best girl I had met perhaps ever. An offer I couldn't refuse. So I got a free ticket to the Bosporus.

Of course one might wonder: how did this come about ? How was it that she picked me ? Imagine the thinking. She mailed off her car to Venice, all the time knowing that she would need to find a man, that was free to drive across four countries. Or maybe it was just as she said. Her boy friend in London was suppose to do it, but cancelled for dire reasons, a death in the family perhaps, which might not in this case be even a half-way plausible excuse. But still she had to find a guy. I suppose their might be professional drivers from agencies of a kind. It was interesting because the connotations were a swamp, and by the distance in memory are still a murky slew. At the time I believed her. I thought about it. A definite change in fortune. A new undertaking without the scooter.

Was there any man that if could, would not do this ? Actually Ginsberg was all tied up with fame, but perhaps not of this gender-inclination anyway. Most men were married. There were some like me, bachelor-bums seeking adventure, the pre-eligibles, nights-out. She was very beautiful, dark, fine face, straight-black-hair, somewhere mid-twenties, close to my chronological age, a given Candora's dream. She had leather luggage, was just slightly on the rotund side but barely, full-shapely, maybe five-six, fluent in British-English, Turkish, French and German.

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