We met Roger and Prakash by accident. So much of our contact with them was an accident. They had a Volkswagen they bought at the factory and were driving it around Europe. We said hello to them in Paris and goodbye to them in that same city. Then several weeks later in San Sebastian. Travelled in Madrid and said goodbye but then hello on the Spanish Riviera and then most of the way to Nice. Prakash was a terrible driver and Roger was always yelling, ‘shit to you I’m new in town.’ We met up again at the juncture of Yugoslavia and Italy and then travelled through Northern Italy and then goodbye once and for all. All of it was by accident. Sometimes our Zigs and Zags were in sync and sometimes not. Days went by, weeks, months. We drank and ate and sang and loved. But Rom got homesick. He was forming a budding romance with my sister Faith and missed her. We went with him to the airport and said goodbye but I could tell our days ere numbered. We had traveled around and met people and had a good time. We saw all the sites and the art and participated in events. Kelly was getting bored and Ron was gone – it was time to go home so the two of us got BOAC seats to New York.
But then there was a strange thing, there was a BOAC strike. We were stuck in England with dwindling savings. One day complaining to BOAC at the airport about our plight Kelly and I were adopted by a United Nations scientist from Malawi who said a few words to BOAC and we all got hotel rooms free of charge. Ditto on a driver and an allowance for meals. Treated well, the positives of standing and of money. Eventually the strike ended and the three of us had the first plane out of England.