Adrienne Gallagher
During the summer of 1973, between my junior and senior year of college, a classmate and I spent nine weeks in Europe. Starting in Copenhagen, we traveled through Denmark, Norway, Sweden, West Germany, Holland, Austria, Switzerland, France, Spain, Italy, and Greece. As interior design majors, our goal was to study design, art, and architecture. We traveled mostly by train, but occasionally by bus, boat, or ferryboat, using student rail passes. We carried everything we needed in stylish red compartmentalized backpacks. We managed on a shoestring, using money we earned ourselves.
Over time we perfected our travel routine. Karen relied on me to come up with the things we wanted to see and do, whereas I relied on her for logistics. We learned that we could travel overnight by train to save money, but that sleeping in youth hostels was preferable. A tall ship turned hostel in Stockholm was a standout because we got to experience the midnight sun from the ship’s deck. A low point was awakening to find young boys rummaging through our things in Pamplona. With no accommodations available before the running of the bulls, we had slept in a park.
Our quest to further our design education gave us focus. Beyond the obvious must-sees—the Colosseum in Rome, the Acropolis in Athens, La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, etc.—were unplanned delights. A train ride from Bergen to Oslo revealed panoramic views of Norway’s fjords. A stop to see modern furniture in Milan led to a factory tour in the Italian countryside.
Virtually every day another adventure unfolded. A chance meeting on a train led to a week in Mallorca. Hitchhiking in Italy got me as close to British royalty as I have come to date.
On the other hand, not every experience was positive. In Rome, my blond travel companion and I got chased and cornered by two Italians guys in a sports car. In Athens, we spent an uncomfortable night on the roof of a hotel. We had arrived too late to find another option. The hotel clerk to us: “Would you like a room or the roof?” Us: “A room.” Him: “We only have the roof.”
This summer marks fifty years since we made the trip. Today we would travel with a smartphone. From it we could be in constant touch with friends and family, instantaneously take and share photos, and research where to go and what to see, whereas we simply had an accordion-folded paper Eurail map, two guidebooks, our student identification cards, and each other. We lived in the moment. We occasionally met locals, more often students who were traveling same as us. We learned from each other and sometimes did things together. I know everything has its pros and cons, and that there’s no going back, but I look at my Eurail map and my student ID and feel lucky to have had the experience I had.