Tour

I must have spent a lot of time on my ship-bunk reading would suppose. If only I could remember what. This would be-important. What was I reading-when, and how was it affecting interpretation, of my everyday tourista tasting? What concepts was I looking for and mooding about? I was a walking-philosopher trying to read the signs, sights and sounds of the travels am.

I was with the Guess-Who girls of York and Ire. A 'heart's of suit-and-tie', from New York, latched onto-me ship-wide. Obviously this was Mr. Brindisi again, an out of college-quickster, well-educated, but of the type, I-thought, might watch the Lawrence Welk show with Grandma - on TV. He and my Roman Holiday Guess-Who girl-friends, all took our meals at the same-table, hung-out together, and enjoyed each-other's bridge afar friendship - platononeus. He was about six-feet tall, thick-waved - black hair, dressed to the wines, and from New York. He became my-guide, when we got to Israel. This guy was some kind of sharpie I could no-tell, or just the way, the mid-upper-middle classes, does-well. He of Manners, and She of Mentalbliss - Yorkinshires - both. Could not-figure out why he-had latched onto Bohemian-me? But-he was a good-guy, and the two Jews touristed-us, two non-jews, around the-sites, in-some of Israel.

There may have-been another guy in here, from Southern California, my-first from there, something of-a-phony; I was lately-come to uncover from the last-letters of travel. He was Jewish as well, but Kibbutzin or not, the letters say he wanted to go to Africa. Most all these passengers, on the ship, maybe fifty in all, were kibbutzers. Some may have been-going merely for Christian-Christmas. I didn't keep-up, the memory of what.

We stopped in Cyprus for a day, the four or five of us, and wandered the streets for a say. It was split in-two, Turks and Greeks. When I was in Greece, I didn't know that Greeks hated Turks. When I was in Turkey, I didn't know ditto conversely. Now - of whatever Cyprus City- it was the divided pity-again. The place divided right-down the middle, and there were barbed-wire fences, search-lights and machine-gun nests, in the streets and on the roof-tops, of the border-line, between Turks and Greeks, as it may have been, all the long-Iliad centurions ago. Times were not-a changing, but the walls-forever were. We tourists did the sites together.

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