Tour

It was three-meal restaurants all the way, what maybe four days. At the borders she was always making sure she used the right passport, which was British, except when we entered Turkey.

Yugoslavia had an open border and the only, under the Russian-thumb country that did. Yugoslavs could leave and come and go if they could afford it. There had been some in Rome I remembered. An early recollection was in a Yugoslav evening, we were in some-city on a street where a factory let-out at five. My American media-inspired impression of communist countries was discipline, following-orders, obeying the fascist-law, jay-walking punished severely for instance by firing squad as well as any not-acting in-cadence. The street became flooded with factory workers. We had to stop the car, shut off the engine and sit and wait. It was like a street-fair. No-one obeyed the law. Everyone was in the street. I had worked in a factory. This was a factory crowd. Out at last. The light of failing day. I get to get home, if they weren't going to a bar. How could this be ? This was suppose to be a dictatorship. People couldn't willy-nilly. They'd-be lined up and shot. That's the disappointment of on-the-ground engagement. Things were never as-advertised.

I was in love with her. She was my dom. She gave the orders. I just drove. She told me where and fed-me cigarettes. She was much more worldly than I. She knew so much that I didn't. She was the boss. She knew where she was going. I was an out-rider. I loved it. This was my dream that was more or less sublimated. I probably kept it in the basement, but I think it crept upstairs in the night, and lived in the closet-space the other side of the wall, my upstairs room as I got older.

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