Tripping 1975: Falling in Love One Country at a Time

By Marshall Hockett and Debbie Hockett

Tripping 1975 tells a couples’ compelling story of love, travel, and of each other. Filled with good, hilarious, and yes, bad experiences that happened in real life to real people who thought they could (and did) travel Europe, Egypt, and Israel in a yellow VW van affectionately called “The Banana.” Their best times were had when they had no idea where they were. Travel along and have fun getting lost on unfamiliar roads, big cities, and in beautiful little hamlets along the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marshall Hockett
• Release date: Jun 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463930991

Marshall Hockett

Marshall graduated from Stanford University in 1969 and thereafter attended the University of San Diego law school, graduating in 1972.Although both Debbie and Marshall are now retired, Marshall continues to take his bride of forty-three years on their tour of the world. They happily reside in Encinitas, California, very close to their son, Will, his wife, Dana, and two grandsons, Jaxson and Memphis.We wish you all safe travels.

Book preview

1.png

Tripping 1975

Falling in Love

One Country at a Time

Marshall Hockett

With

Debbie Hockett

DMH Press

San Diego, CA

Copyright © 2020 Marshall Hockett

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and review. Requests for permission should be directed to DMH Press.

Book Cover and Interior Design by Monkey C Media

Copyediting by All My Best

Proofread by Adrienne Moch

All photos courtesy of Marshall Hockett

First Edition

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-7331445-0-6

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019913624

Contents

Prologue

Germany/Luxembourg: March 6, 1975

France: March 8—April 4, 1975

Amsterdam: April 8–11, 1975

France: April 14–18, 1975

Spain: April 20—June 3, 1975

France: June 4–10, 1975

Great Britain: June 11—July 5, 1975

Scotland and Wales: July 8–30, 1975

Germany and Switzerland: August 6–15, 1975

Austria: August 19–30, 1975

Yugoslavia: September 3–7, 1975

Yugoslavia and Bulgaria: September 10–13, 1975

Turkey: September 14—October 17, 1975

Greece: October 18–27, 1975

Egypt: November 1–11, 1975

Crete: November 4–16, 1975

Greece: November 18—December 8, 1975

Israel: December 12–18, 1975

Italy: December 25, 1975—January 20, 1976

Germany: January 22—February 8, 1976

Paris: February 12—March 7, 1976

Epilogue

The Books I Read Along the Way

Prologue

That night in early 1975, Debbie and I were very excited. We had sold our cars and gotten our passports, vaccines, new clothes, maps, etc. Leaving in less than a week, we were ready for our one-year trip to Europe.

We were out to dinner with our good friends, Jim and Marian Malkus. As I recall, Marian was concerned about our safety traveling all over Europe and living in a van. After all, neither Debbie nor I had ever even camped a day in our lives. Jim thought we were gutsy to leave our jobs, living off money we had wisely saved but now apparently were willing to risk all, with no assurance of jobs when we got back.

My parents knew we were crazy. After putting me through college at Stanford and then law school, they were expecting my legal career to be off and running, rather than my running away to Europe for a year. My mother was positive we would be back in a month. My dad was concerned that I would be setting back my career as an attorney. However, Debbie and I knew this would be the last chance in our lives to really live and experience what the world was offering. We both felt that children and jobs could wait at least a year.

Back to the dinner—I was totally surprised when Marian handed me a red bound book that was completely blank. She looked at us and said, Fill it up, and be totally honest. Her second wish was that she must be the first to read it. Up to that point, I had never even considered keeping a journal of the journey ahead. I agreed to her conditions. Marian beamed and we toasted the future.

Upon our return, she was the first to read the journal. What once was an empty book was now filled with wonderful adventures. She said she loved it and that others would also. Unfortunately, Marian did not make it—she lost her battle with cancer. Her bright light is gone, but not her spirit or her enduring influences on her many friends.

Of course, once our yearlong adventure had come to an end, a new one awaited us. The journal sat forgotten in my library while I got busy building that career. Recently, a court clerk and I were talking about travel. She thought I should perhaps write a book about our experiences. Something clicked. I looked at the clerk and said, I did! Afterwards, I gave her the red bound book. She then read the journal and soon it was being passed throughout the courthouse.

Marian, this one is for you.

—Marshall

Germany/

Luxembourg

March 6, 1975

March 6, 1975

10:00 p.m.

Luxembourg

What makes two kids give up well-paying jobs and a beautiful penthouse apartment overlooking Mission Bay in San Diego to travel eight thousand miles to the heart of Europe? A dream—one that began in 1968 when I studied at Stanford’s campus in Britain. I swore then that I would come back and really see this place called Europe, but only if I could spend the proper amount of time and only if I had the proper security to put me at ease during the trip. So off to law school and my first legal job at Legal Aid Society of San Diego—which I left just seven days ago.

I probably would have been here a year ago, but I met and fell in love with the prettiest court clerk in San Diego, Debbie. Two weeks after I met her, I knew I wasn’t going without her.

So, we’re here! We arrived this morning at 4:00 a.m. after a plane flight I was beginning to think would never end. We landed in Frankfurt, Germany, and after going through a very easy customs check we took a very nice, warm, and slow train to Luxembourg via Mainz, Wiensbaden, and Koblenz. Beautiful scenery lined the route most of the way, with several castles overlooking various rivers. But we were both so tired that the second we arrived, we got a taxi and headed straight for the Hotel Molitor on Avenue de la Liberte. We sacked out from 1:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. and then went out for a pizza dinner I wouldn’t serve the family dog. But the wine was excellent, our spirits are high, and we are looking forward to a most exciting trip.

We pick up the camper van tomorrow.

France

March 8—April 4, 1975

March 8, 1975

10:00 p.m.

Paris

Tonight, I am writing you from one of Europe’s lousiest hotel rooms. It has no heat; however, there are plenty of roaches. I’d say it is about 9 feet by 18 feet, with windows overlooking a very noisy street.

You’re probably asking yourself how we happened to find such a paradise. Well, it wasn’t easy.

It all started yesterday when we bought the van. I tried to get the van to the gas pumps, but failed to get her to start. Debbie had problems, too, so the salesman took it to the pump for us.

Then Debbie took over the driving after promising to give me lessons on stick-shift driving. Man, what an ego deflator.

We bought some camping gear from an old fellow about a hundred years old. I really liked him; however, I liked him less when we discovered that we had been shortchanged about forty dollars. I don’t think it was on purpose, just a funny old fellow who couldn’t add right.

We spent that night camping at Dommeldonge, Luxembourg. Have you ever wondered what a sardine feels like when it’s in the can in your refrigerator? Yep, Debbie and I found out. But, despite the rain and cold and the thousand-hour night, Debbie and I were up at 7:00 a.m. and off to Paris.

We stopped at Verdun and saw the memorial, etc.—longest battle of WW I. We drove through the beautiful scenery with great expectations, as we knew that the camping in Paris had to be better than last night.

Naturally, since I still can’t drive the van, Debbie drove the whole way. And once arriving in Paris, well—it was sort of like being on all the rides at Disneyland at the same time with hundreds of people trying to drive into you. But, I want you to know, I was right there helping Debbie out by looking through my fingers from time to time and screaming that we were about to die.

Yet Debbie pulled us through like a champ. Not a mark on either of us or the van—however, neither of us can sleep tonight. We searched for the campground for about an hour, following signs that led us to just about everyplace else. Finally, we found our open all year round campground. Unfortunately, it looked like no one had been there for ten years. Completely deserted.

Well, then it was back across the city to our standby; the hotel I stayed in as a student in 1968. From the graffiti on the windows, I think we missed its demise by about a year. Next, we carefully searched the surrounding area. Actually, we got lost and stopped at the first available parking space. From there it was an easy hour and half trying to visit every filled hotel within walking distance. Finally, we settled on this paradise—the first room available.

A somewhat humorous event occurred in our hotel on our first night in Paris. In the middle of the night, there was a sudden, huge commotion. Since the walls were paper-thin, you could hear every word. Apparently, the gentleman who was yelling and screaming had a dispute as to the status of the relationship between him and the woman he was addressing. Basically, the gentleman was seeking a credit for services to be performed immediately as he was without funds. He assured her that he was a man of honor and he would raise the funds before noon tomorrow.

The young lady’s position was quite simple: The gentleman had not paid on several different occasions. Then, all hell broke loose. Screaming, name calling, and kicking in doors. It was a wonderful introduction to Paris.

After consulting with Debbie, we decided to put the bed in front of the door—after all, the door didn’t have a lock. The next morning, the woman running the hotel was bright and chipper. She asked if we would be spending another night. We said that, unfortunately, our plans simply wouldn’t allow it, and we departed.

Naturally, all the cards are going home saying, Having a great time! and we really are—well, sort of, anyway.

March 10, 1975

Midnight

Paris

We searched everywhere for two days trying to find a nice place to stay for a month and finally settled on Hotel Daguerre.

It’s fairly cheap, but our room is clean and it overlooks a backyard rather than a busy street. Unfortunately, it has no heat and we are seven flights up without an elevator. Debbie described the place in her log as charming; however, I really wouldn’t know. By the time I get to the top of 115 steps, I’m so tired and dizzy I couldn’t care less what it looks like.

The other side of the room had much more ambiance.

Last night, we ate in a small hole-in-the-wall type place that I discovered as a student seven years ago. It’s an Algerian place that serves couscous. What a pleasant surprise to see that it was still there! And, still being run by the same old fellow! Since you sit wherever there is a seat available, we ate next to a Scotsman and a Frenchman. The Scot said this was going to be the first and last time he tried couscous. However, I find that with a couple of glasses of wine, it’s great—and also, it’s cheap!

We walked down St. Michael Boulevard, and I found things pretty much as I remembered them in the old days, except twice the price. It’s so nice to walk around and watch the cars banging into each other rather than participating. Debbie and I agreed that one of the worst jobs