Marseille, France

Wednesday, December 5, 1928

We dock at Marseille at 6AM. After wandering all over the poor section of town, as I always manage to do, I found the good part. Only walked past the American Express Co. four times before I saw it but that is just like a man, I guess, so I’m excused. Got a letter from Dad, Mother, Lippy, Jean (2), Hory, and a paper with the glad tidings of Ind[iana]’s defeat by [Ohio] State, and last but not least, the funny paper.

I like Marseille even if I don’t think it very attractive. The imposing Notre Dame de la Garde reposing high on a rocky hill is very striking and commands a fine view of the city. The cathedral near the harbor is a mammoth affair of Italian Renaissance style and very taking. The Pont Transbordeur is a queer-looking affair—more like a huge crane than a ferry bridge. There are several forts on the harbor, lots of dirty narrow streets in the poorer sections, and some very beautiful gardens, etc. and interesting buildings. $1.31.

Nice, France

Thursday, December 6, 1928

Today I came on to Nice on the morning train, arriving at one. Dad has sent my 75 bones to Madrid so as not to get to me late. I hope it doesn’t rot before I get there. Thus, from wealthy I am reduced to being poor again, for I am a month behind on the allowance or rather will be nearly five weeks behind when I get to Madrid. Can’t lose any time now for every day counts. Have about $31 and a visa to get which means about $28 to get me nearly 900 miles. I’ll do it all right but will have to go easy.

Got my suit today, all nicely cleaned and pressed so it looks like new except a small rip in the seat of the pants, that looks like he–. Now I have to pack it away for some 8 or 10 days before I can wear it. The country is nice and level at least for the next 250 miles and the roads are fine, but it is freezing cold early in the morning and gets dark and cold at four. This cuts down the riding hours by two or three.

I am having lots of fun watching people’s faces for expressions and reading their characters. Lots of types to practice on. Yesterday afternoon I went to the Chateau d’If from Marseille, about ¾ mile out from shore. It was choppy and the boat small. We tossed about like a cork and often would be presented with a nice bath as a wave splashed over the side. One man in particular took things in a sour way that made me laugh. Maybe he didn’t want to get his derby wet or wetter. Just a mass of rock protruding from the waters, the Île is not so darned cheerful looking. The chateau is cold, damp and gloomy. Many of the prisons and dungeons are plain dark. Thus friends Edmund Dante and the Abbé F. had dark ones and the hole, so famous, is still there but strange to say it only goes through a few inches of stones plastered up with mortar. Each prison is marked, telling who was the unfortunate imprisoned there. It’s about time I was hitting the hay as I must make mileage tomorrow so I can get to Marseilles Saturday before four for my visa for Spain. Spent half the war debt today, $4.44.

Toulon, France

Friday, December 7, 1928

For some reason today I was bubbling over with enthusiasm and desire to get places. Got up at 6 and left a half hour later. I wanted to go fast so badly I about pumped my fool head off, always trying to get out a little more speed. By 12:30 I had gone 70 miles and at four 108 to Toulon. Couldn’t stop even once to rest and ate a bite of lunch as I rode. The road was fine all the way and between Nice and St. Raphael; on the last of the Rivière the scenery was splendid. Antibes and St. Raphael were very pretty towns.

From here, on the remaining 60 miles, the road did not follow the shore but followed through the broad valleys between the high hills. The morning was fine, but it clouded up in the afternoon and even a few drops of rain as I neared Toulon just before dark.

Forty miles from Marseille and I must get to the Spanish Consulate before noon or else wait over till Monday. Then I can it make Madrid by Xmas which I want to do. This busy city is of very decent size and has a nice main drag along which street cars travel. There are many cafés and restaurants with their sidewalk service, etc., and a mess of hotels. On the second try I got a nice room in a nice hotel for 18 francs tout compris, or 72¢. My French is improving with use—I hope. Guess I could gurgle like the natives if I lived here a year. Seem to have forgotten most of my Spanish but enough may come back to get me places. It is queer why every other bar or café advertises an “American Bar.” The country, rather the road, was gently hilly  today and as long as it is gentle, I’ll like it. My knees are sore and somewhat stiff, one especially. This one caused me some trouble this morning and handed me sharp pains every time I moved it. Not so hungry today for a change. $1.05.

Portbou, Spain

Sunday, December 9, 1928

Saturday I was again up before dawn and left Toulon at 6:30 AM. Hadn’t gone far before it began to rain but I had to keep on to get my Spanish visa before noon. It was strange how those gentle hills could go up at a steep pace for five straight miles. I was getting all wet when a man in a Ford truck, who had stopped on the road a moment to take a drink, offered to give me a lift—but not a drink. I gladly accepted. It was at the top of a hill and he took me about six miles, all downhill, but I was out of the rain. I rode the last ten, but the rain had ceased. It was nice and cold and I felt like an ad for the North Pole.

Once in Marseille I got all fixed up but in one thing and I found that out tonight. Was ready to leave at eleven, but rain put the clamps on it and so I spent the afternoon visiting Notre Dame de la Garde. It is situated on a high rocky hill in town and commands a fine view of all the surrounding country and the sea; also Île de Chateau d’If. There is an ascension lift, but as usual I hoofed it to save the 6¢. The building is of Italian Renaissance and has a tall square tower at the top of which is a large statue, gilded, of the Saviour. At night this statue is brightly lighted up and is very striking. The lower chapel is plain, of a low ceiling and pretty altar, and not very large. The upper chapel is somewhat larger, has a high ceiling richly worked in mosaics and an elaborate altar. The mosaics over and around the altar are very fine; in fact, these mosaics are quite noted. When the big bell in the tower rings when you are in the church, you really know it.

You see many soldiers from the French possessions in Africa traveling about and also some African soldiers that are really black. These French talk so blamed fast it is discouraging. On the train to Nice I forgot to mention that an Abbe started a conversation with me. Got his name and address in the old passport. Stanislas and the last name is Vach or Curé Le Brusc par Tours, Var. Not only a good church man but a well enough known painter to have his name in the guide books and to sell 45 in England for £4 per. [Can’t find any mention.]

Today I was up at 5AM and ready to leave at 5:20. However, it was raining and had been all night. Seems to be general in this section, rainy and cold. As I cannot afford to waste days on the way to Madrid, my only recourse was to take the train which I did, to Perpignan. Rained all the way. Then I had a happy idea that if I took a train the rest of the way to Barcelona and sat in the station all night, I could afford it. Thus two hours later after having put the O.K. on attractive Perpignan, I was again on my way. At the border town of Cerbère I had a rushing time trying to collect my 165 francs duty on the bike. Finally got about half a dozen officers stirred up and was ready when the train pulled out. In Portbou, the Spanish frontière town, we had to go through customs. They soaked me 49.12 pesetas or over $8 duty for the bike. I didn’t have any Spanish pieces of eight and after lots of trouble succeeded in getting some. Thus I paid for my sins in Marseille. Have been waiting ever since 8 PM for the 4 AM train. Dinner took up an hour and studying European History nearly three more. Still it is only 12:30 and darned cold in this little station. I have a brakeman’s lamp here and alternately warm my feet and hands by it. There are about 6 or 8 gypsies or Spaniards asleep in blankets in one corner and a dog in the other. This cold atmosphere makes me more studious than sleepy. It is still rainy here but I am hoping that on the other side of the Pyrenées there will be a change for the better. Have saved at least 5 days so far, granting good weather all the way. $4.00.

Barcelona, Spain

Tuesday, December 11, 1928

Sunday night was a long and cold one. Didn’t have a bit of fun. The train left at 4:40 AM and was warm, so I got mostly thawed out. We passed near the coast and could see the beautiful Pyrenees to the west, all snow-covered. After eight we arrived in Barcelona. The day was very nice and sunny—the morning—but also cold. After a long walk, I discovered prices are high here for hotels (and most else too). Finally got in one for 5 pesetas or 81¢. Decent room, but no heat. Spent the day sightseeing. In the afternoon I walked to the edge of the city where there is a 1,785-foot hill commanding a fine view not only of Barcelona but also of part of the Pyrenees. I climbed this and took a couple of pictures. Clouds had come up and even a few drops of rain. The wind was very strong and darned cold. My feet were darned sore from walking and the left one even had me limping.

Barcelona is a very pretty city. In its heart is the large Plaza de la Cataluña with its gardens, statues and chairs and benches. There are many wide beautiful boulevards and richly ornamented buildings. Some are very bizarre, one especially, having no definite lines. [Certainly the Casa Milà, or La Pedrera.] The walls are uneven and it gives the appearance of the side of a weather-beaten cliff. Many of the villas with their fine gardens are charming. At the entrance to the park is a large Arch of Triumph and farther on the imposing Palace of Justice and the museum. This park is very pretty. On its lake are bicycles for hire. Instead of wheels they have four pontoons and the pedals turn a small paddle. At the south end of the town is an arena for bull fights. It is across from this that the International Exposition is to be held in 1929. Extensive preparations are in progress. Many large and beautiful buildings are in the various stages of construction and the fine boulevard is being extended. Along the waterfront all is activity. Many boats are in the harbor loading and unloading. I stopped in the U.S. Shipping Office for a few minutes. There are many narrow streets and all is busy and interesting. $3.52.

Today I was up at 6:30 after 11 good hours of sleep, and started off for Valencia. For some reason or other I haven’t felt a bit like going there and had to force myself to it. Seven miles out the road, after gradually becoming worse and worse, degraded into a mud-hole. I finally came to a point where I could go no farther unless I either waded through water and soupy mud two to four inches deep or else walked through the muddy fields and over ditches. Thus, I returned to the city and am taking the 9:30 train tonight for Valencia. It is cold here, 49° in a sheltered place at 4 PM and, in the wind, much lower. Have had a hard time keeping warm and haven’t most of the day. In fact, I doubt if I have been completely thawed out since the first two days in Sicily and before that somewhere in France or Belgium. I’m getting tired of always being cold and will be glad to get south and roast.

Finished my 400-page History of Europe today. One place I’m in luck is the fact that both France and Spain ship my bike free of charge on presentation of my RR ticket. I fear the riding days are near an end and if the duty here wasn’t so high, I’d probably sell it. As is, I’ll carry it on as it doesn’t cost anything and if conditions improve, will ride some more. Financial condition and the fact that I would have to get an auto to go to Andorra put the clamps on that. Then, being winter doesn’t help either. $4.57.

Valencia and Madrid, Spain

Wednesday, December 12, 1928

At 9:30 AM after some twelve hours on a slow train, I arrived at Valencia. Didn’t get much sleep because of a hard wood seat and a crowded train. Near Valencia we passed through miles of orange trees, just one huge grove. The trees were loaded and oranges were everywhere on the ground. Being thirsty, I got out at one of the stations and picked up three. I started something. At the next stop a whole mob of soldiers raided a large pile and came back with armfuls.

I was a little disappointed in Valencia. The new section is very pretty and modern. The main business section is very new and attractive. In its center is a nice plaza containing many kiosks or little flower stands, 53 I believe. The old section has narrow twisty streets and is not so clean, especially near the market district. Here it is very crowded and busy. Stands are everywhere along thee sidewalks. There is a large market building in which is sold about everything from dishes and bread to oranges and meat. One section is devoted entirely to fish and kindred beasts and rightly. If one has a bad cold he can better enjoy it. Fish, large and small, long, slimy eels, alive, clams, shrimp, everything.

In this old section is the Cathedral Metropolitan, quite old and having a high tower from which a fine view of the city, country, and sea can be obtained. On a clear day you can even see the Isole Baleari far out at sea. The cathedral is not striking on the interior. I got permission to see the Santa Chalice or Holy Cup of our Saviour. Christ drank from this cup. Since then it has had a long and interesting history and has passed hands may times. It reposed on a sort of altar in a small chapel and is displayed in a gorgeous setting. The cup itself is rather plain, of gold, but very beautiful. [From Wiki: The Santo Caliz (“Holy Chalice”) is a simple, small stone cup. Its base was added in medieval times and consists of fine gold, alabaster and gem stones.]

Near the good-looking station is the Toros, three stories high, round, and of red brick. I bought some food for lunch and ate it inside the place while watching some men play around practicing bull-fighting. That night at 8:50 PM I was again off on a long journey, this time to Madrid, 16 hours. I was on deck early and got a good seat in a car that had leather cushions. $6.00.

Again the train was crowded. The people didn’t seem to crave any windows down, so I had to roast. Managed to get a little sleep. This train was slow too, stopping 4½ hours on a country siding with two other trains to wait for the mails and another train to pass. We finally got to Madrid, though, about one. I was immediately “sold” on the place, before I had walked a block. After getting a room in the Hotel Pilar on the main drag, I went to the beautiful Palace de Communicaciones or Post Office where I finally located the Poste Restante. I nearly hit the deck when they handed me 19 letters and two newspapers. Just couldn’t seem to remember I was in Madrid. Plopped right down and spent 2½ hours reading. It sure is great to get letters and cheers you up no end. It is not dark here till 5:30 or 6 now.

At night Madrid is very well lit up, not only with street lights but many large electric signs and store displays. I was really surprised at the place. Almost like an American city—very modern and clean; has a subway; many nice wide streets and shaded boulevards. Of these the Paseo de la Castellana, Paseo de Recoletos, and Paseo del Prabo really all one huge boulevard, is the most important and beautiful, having fine buildings and hotels, walks, a park and three large plazas along its extent. At its intersection with Calle de Alcalá, the main business street, is the large circular Plaza de Castelar with a large monument in its center. On one corner is the post office. The Puerta del Sol is another large plaza, the most important in the city, and very busy. There are many fine stores in the business district and some dandy pretty office buildings, one a skyscraper 15 stories high—the highest I have yet seen in Europe.

The large Parque de Madrid is very nice. In it is a huge monument erected to Alfonso XII, facing a pretty lake. The Toros in Madrid is similar to that in Valencia though slightly larger. The Senate is an imposing building and was, on the evening I left, surrounded for a couple of blocks each way by many cops. The King was probably in there. The Palacio Real, home of the King, is sure a large place and quite attractive. It is guarded by many soldiers.

I got my Portuguese visa near the Palacio and then walked to there to take a picture of it. Standing opposite the main entrance watching some soldiers parade down the street was the luckiest thing I did that day for I saw His Royal Highness with another man come breezing out of the gate in a nice new Packard sedan. Everybody didn’t miss snapping to attention.

The San Francisco el Grande is a huge church and very striking.

I spent Thursday afternoon and Friday and Saturday in Madrid. Friday I bought my RR ticket to Lisbon from Cook’s to save a last-minute rush with my bike and baggage. Right then and there I started in on a most discouraging financial time and it has continued. The ticket 3rd was 8 rocks. After dinner I went up to the hotel and wrote to Jean till time to go to the station. It was a mile walk but a pleasant night. As luck would have it, the darkened 3rd class palace was similar to the old boxcar—and again hard wooden benches to repose on. Pleasant prospects for the next 16 hours. It wasn’t so warm either, but for once it was not very crowded. I liked Madrid a lot and hated to leave. $1.42 — $1.75 — $12.49.

Train to Portugal

Sunday, December 16, 1928

After a jolly good night of warming the bench, I reached the border at nine. The country was hilly and rocky. Sort of a plain of low hills between two ranges of higher ones. Eroded fragments of rocks projecting from the earth everywhere, very few trees if any. The country was very desolate and devoid of inhabitants. The little towns were few and far between. These towns are rather interesting. They seem to be mostly walls, for each house is surrounded by a big high brick wall. This country is very unlike that near Madrid. This city is on a great plain, 2,500 feet above sea level, with the Sierra de Guadaramas a few miles to the north. At the border, financial setback No. 2. I tried to get the duty back for my bike. At first they wouldn’t listen to me about it. Next they said the Duanes was not open on Sunday. We argued around for several minutes till somebody got a gentleman out of the train who lived in South Africa and could speak English. Then we could get more understanding. They finally said I only had a receipt for money paid and not an order to pay back the duty. The only thing to do was to go on and see the American Consul at Lisbon. No. 3 came in now. As I was the only 3rd passenger left, they dropped that car. Maybe they do it anyway. The result was that I had to finish 2nd class and the difference I had to pay was about $1.50. I was sure fed up by this time! I decided right then and there to wage war on everything.

Got to Portugal about 3:30PM. After leaving the border we came to the Tago River in an hour or so. From here on the character of the country changed, being hilly but fertile. Many olive trees and a number of picturesque villages on the river bank, the white houses and walls in sharp contrast to the green hills. Near Lisbon it began to get foggy.

I got off to a good start by getting a decent room in a nice hotel for 60¢. It is an inside one, but the ventilation is good and I can sacrifice a little to save. Went back to the station to try to get my bike before Monday when the Customs opened, but it didn’t work. As I had only slept 3 nights of the last 7, I turned in early. In Madrid, and especially here in Lisbon, I was unfortunate enough to wear my knickers. Nothing like attracting attention. I told the American Vice-Consul about it and he had a big laugh. Seems as though here they go in for dark colors, mostly black; lots of black capes, etc. When I came parading down the Rua with my nice light knickers on and fancy socks, they all thought I was crazy and didn’t conceal the fact. Guess most of them never saw any such things before anyway. It was funny for a while but then got to be a pain. They would stop to watch me pass. If walking in front, would slow up to walk behind me. If a group were talking on a corner, they would all turn around and look at me like I was nuts. Lots would smile and some laugh. Gosh, what dumb people over here! $2.39.

Lisbon, Portugal

Monday, December 17, 1928

Today I got up at 9:30 and got out the old needle and thread. No use being so darned conspicuous, at least not when you want some peace for sightseeing. The big hole in the seat of my britches was the victim. I flatter myself that I got all sides together though I won’t say how. Looks like it’s pinned with a safety pin and I’ll have to sit down easy. Went to that darned Cook’s to find out the way to get to Seville, etc., then to the Post Office where I found 7 letters. Two from Mother I can’t open till Xmas which is rather hard but I have stuck them away for a week. Guess I should have saved Dudie’s too for in it I found a nice Xmas present of 5 clinkers. I’ll just pretend that I didn’t open it till Xmas. It’s great to get so many nice letters from your friends. I have been receiving letters from about 27 different people and have written to about 35, writing to some 18 people regularly. Keeps me pretty busy with all the other things to do.

After lunch I went to the American Consulate where I had a nice long talk with the Vice Consul, who is a dandy young fellow. He said they could do nothing to get my duty back on my bike. It seems to be a bad habit in Spain to collect duties and not give them back. He told me of a theatrical troupe which had paid several hundred dollars in duties which they were not able to recover. He also said the same thing would probably happen in Portugal. Thus the cheapest thing for me to do is to forget my bike and leave it here. A pretty darned lowdown dirty practice I calls it and hard on a thin pocketbook. I’ll make it up along the line somewhere. Hope it is in Spain. I’m going to write some Spaniard a mouthful—don’t know who it will be yet, but he’ll get my opinion of his country and Spaniards in general and particular. Next I went to the British Consulate where it took me an hour and three-quarters to get a visa for Egypt—and 220 escudos or about $10.75. That’s hard to take too. The English Consul or Vice Consul, whatever he was, was a nice chap, very English and therefore very interesting. It was five before I left there. Next I went to Wagon-Lits to get the dope on how to get to Seville, not trusting Cook’s. I have two ways to go. The cheaper is by a train, taking some 22 hours I believe. I think I’ll leave here Wednesday night, travel all day Thursday, reaching Seville in the evening, stay there two days, take a bus to Gibraltar Sunday and so be there the 24th. Another fortune shot.

The downtown section of Lisbon is between two hills. The streets are narrow, the buildings old, and things are rather dirty. I am near the market which is the old story over again. The Place du Commerce with its large arch and statue is unattractive and on the waterfront. $11.59.

Lisbon, Portugal

Tuesday, December 18, 1928

This morning I went to the Post Office and found a newspaper, scandal sheet, OSU Monthly, and funny papers for me there. Sure was great to dig into them. Lots of football dope, etc. Then I started out along the main drag downstream, still the object of much curiosity though I had my old khaki outfit on. Sometimes it strikes me funny and I laugh right in their faces as I pass. This usually produces a funny result and turns the tables. I shall not forget one ditch-digger who I laughed at. I’ll swear he jumped a foot from surprise. An hour’s walk along the unattractive street and I came to the Museu de Coches where there is a fine array of old coaches and outfits. Most all are very elaborately [made] of wood with much gilding. Don’t know if they charge to get in or not. However, I didn’t take a chance. Went in with a group of tourists on some tour.

Walking on a little farther I came to the famous Jeronimos Church and Monastery of Bélem where the tombs of Luís de Camões, poet, and Vasco da Gama, famous navigator, are to be seen. There is much fine fancy stonework in the interior of the church. The tall pillars are very striking. I next spent a couple of hours reading my newspapers etc. in a small park opposite, and started back at two. Went to see Mr. Childs, the American Vice-Consul and he gave me, as he had said he would, the name of a very good friend of his who lives in Sintra and will show me around tomorrow when I go there. Condessa de Castanheiro is her name. Her husband, a count, died some time ago I believe. After leaving a forwarding address at the post office, I walked through the streets looking in the lighted windows. Signs of Xmas are not lacking. Several trees all decorated with ornaments and many ornaments and lots of tinsel for sale. The candy and pastry shops look like Xmas. I am all in the spirit and am getting a big kick out of it, especially since Mother and Dad have made possible a happy Xmas for my poor friends in S-?, Hungary. They don’t go in for Xmas here, though, like we do in America. Lisbon is certainly a city of hills. Not attractive as far as beauty is concerned, but interesting. In the morning hundreds of women come up from the docks to market with large baskets of fish on their heads. Dozens and dozens of people along the street pester you, selling lottery tickets. American cars prevail here as in Spain. This is due to a better development of retail marketing organizations than the British or other European dealers have. The Americans have finance companies both to aid dealers, and for customers to buy on the installment plan, these companies being controlled by American money. Lots of new hot models. More Studebakers than anything and some dandies—all of which makes me miss Pretty Lips the more. Nice and sunshiny today. $0.76.

On the train from Lisbon, Portugal, to Seville, Spain

Wednesday, December 19, 1928

Today is one of the most enjoyable I have had, and in all my wanderings I have not seen a more thoroughly charming place than Sintra. [Hall spelled it Cintra.] The train arrived at ten. After stemming the descending wave of guides, etc. (I must look prosperous in my glad rags), I took the winding road in the wake of Sintra’s lone trolley-car. Soon, rounding a bend, the most picturesque [scene] greeted me. Across a ravine is the village, built on the side of a high, steep, rocky, wooded hill. Far above the town along the rugged summit, one can see the old walls and ruins of the Moorish Castle. Farther back on an adjacent hill is the fine Peña Castle, commanding a marvelous view of the beautiful rolling country, little white villas far below, and of the faint blue ocean in the distance, gradually fading into the misty infinite. Facing the town plaza is the National Palace, romantic in its setting far above the surrounding country. Its fountains, its Moorish arches, windows, doors, the fancy stone decorations, the two tall cone-shaped chimneys, all add to the charm. Entering the large sunny plaza you see a small hotel and numerous stores and houses richly decorated with designs in many colored tiles, blue being predominant. There are the several loafers or old men lounging on the stone benches in the sun. Occasionally a barefoot woman slowly walks up the street leading a protesting donkey. The usual mob of guides immediately descend and pester you for a while. When they have given up, the loafers try their luck at bumming cigarettes. (I am writing this every time the train stops which is plenty. Now 4:40AM and it’s cold as blazes. There are about 10,000 currents of cold air coming through this old box-car. Wonder if I’ll ever spend a warm night again.) (Not to be misconstrued.)

There is a friendly and peaceful atmosphere about the place. As you look up into the wooded hills high above, you can see interesting towers of private villas protruding above the trees. Or perhaps half a villa can be seen, its white walls and colored roof shining in the bright sun. One escudo gains you entrance to the National Palace after the ticket seller has tried to sell you a dozen different kinds of souvenir booklets. A very obliging Portuguese guide meets you at the door and from then on it is up to you to translate Portuguese into English. The Palace is of Moorish architecture. Once within, you are transported back to the 15th century. Many delightful courts, the arched doorways, balconies overlooking broad rolling plains, the splendid glazed tile paintings which form the lower half of the walls of most of the rooms. These are mostly done in shades of blue and deep red. Each picture has a historical significance. (5:40AM—14 hours to go. Gentlemen of poverty circulating about car trying to get warm—including HL.) The ceilings are richly decorated.— (6AM) —Several rooms are named after the animal whose picture appears in each panel of the ceiling, such as swan, pigeon, etc. (If I don’t get some warm weather soon, I’m going to take a boat around the Horn or to South America near the equator.) There is a nice large shower in one of the courts. It is in a room enclosed on three sides by blue tiles, the fourth being open to the court. The water streams out from the whole surface of all three walls. Some of the rooms are most elaborately designed. The kitchen is of great size, the roof consisting of two tall funnel-shaped chimneys. Some of the furniture must be nearly priceless. Beautifully carved desks inlaid with ivory, marble tables all inlaid with fancy designs, an old iron treasure chest, huge glass chandeliers and dishes from all countries. Some of these latter are of crystal ornamented with gold—and heavy?! There is also a large crystal window, and chandeliers and mirrors of pure crystal.

Leaving the palace I walked along the shady winding road out of town. The luxuriant ferns, palms, and all kinds of plants grow in great profusion on the hillsides. High walls along the roadside are all moss-covered. The villas, of Moorish design, are all surrounded by attractive gardens. I walked to a point where I could see the Quinta de Monserrat, a gorgeous Moorish-styled palace with gardens famous for their beauty. At two I presented myself at the home of the Condessa de Castanheira. She is a very delightful lady and interesting. As she had a meeting at three, we walked half way to the Peña Castle, where I left her and continued alone. It was an awfully pretty walk up the steep road through the woods. Gigantic boulders were everywhere showing above the thick tangle of underbrush. Passing through a gate I entered a small courtyard of the Palace. It is exactly as you have always imagined a castle from storybooks—a drawbridge, high walls, the many turrets and towers, and the graceful Moorish lines enhancing the charm. Peña Palace was built in the 14th century by James I on the site of an old Moorish palace, its older part being in a Moorish style. It is fascinating to climb about the walls and towers, or to wander in a small courtyard higher up, from which you can see probably 60 miles. Far down the wooded slope lies Sintra. Way out over the plain to the north, 15 miles, is Mafra, famed for its magnificent monastery, which cost the equivalent of 4 million pounds to erect in 1717–1730, bringing the country to the verge of bankruptcy. To the east is a line of big wooded hills stretching to the sea. To the west nothing breaks the broad expanse. Dozens of tiny white villages dot the plain.

Close by to the north on a neighboring rocky hill, stands the ruins of an old Moorish castle, once a mosque. Few towers and some of the walls are all that remain of this once formidable stronghold. Many shady walks run in all directions through the great park about Peña Castle. It is a hard place to take leave of. I took the path to the old ruins and after getting past two locked gates, was stuck by the third, right under the towering walls. So I climbed out on the huge boulders under the north wall overlooking Sintra. The view is equally  beautiful here. Byron called Sintra “a glorious Eden;” Southey extolled it as “the most pleasant spot on the habitable globe,” while according to a Spanish proverb, “to see the world and yet leave Sintra out is verily to go blindfolded about.”

Returning to the Condessa’s house (only once getting lost on the way) I arrived just as she was returning from her meeting. We had an enjoyable tea, talked of travels, language, and some of her Russian friends, princes, etc. At 6:30 I left to take the Express back to Lisboa where I changed my outfit; and now here I am one hour out from Lisbon and 21 more to go to Seville. Thank goodness the train isn’t crowded. Same old hard seats and cold, though!!  $7.80.

Seville, Spain

Friday, December 21, 1928

I won’t do any daydreaming over Wednesday night. There were about 20 farmers in the car and one or the other of them always had to be opening a window to look out, thus freezing everybody else. Maybe his motive was hidden. It was a question with me whether to endure the sweet-perfumed atmosphere inside or put my head out the window and freeze. My cold helped, so I survived by the former. All in rags and patches, they were sprawled all over the car with their luggage. A hunter got on about 2 AM, then I had a dog under my feet. It was light about 6:30 and soon after the Portuguese customs officer came aboard. He was a hard-boiled babe and made the peasants step, who in turn loved him like a dose of castor oil. I paid no attention to him except to smile at his hard-as-nails attitude and for some reason he didn’t even ask to see my passport. At 7:30 we arrived at the border where there was a long wait, so I walked a kilometer to Badajoz. There was a very dense fog. This town’s chief distinction lies in its large tower gate at the end of a long bridge leading across the river.  It is really not a bad place at all.

In the new train I had a compartment all to myself. Did I say a compartment? I meant a Frigidaire. Got hot on the Charleston, though, and all warmed up. [??] The car soon began to fill up and it wasn’t long till I was holding a squawking mess of chickens while the owner climbed aboard. Lots of local color at the numerous stations en route. The first warning of an approaching station is a general upheaval of the car by those collecting their grips, chickens, dogs, bags, sacks of food, hams, and what-not. Then they walk all over you to get out. When they are gone, the tide comes in. Boxes, umbrellas, blankets are tossed up through the door and passed along by those inside to a vacant place. In pile the newcomers after their junk. When things are in order, out they climb to say goodbye to their friends and when the whistle blows, in they scramble once more. In the meantime a goodly portion of the town has assembled at the station. The beggars walk alongside the train rattling off their pet phrases. A little stand nearby is doing a thriving business selling drinks (hard). At one station two enterprising young lads with a violin and a dilapidated guitar would tear through a popular piece, then pass the hat. Old women walk through the crowds selling “lotterie tickets.” And the way they yell would immediately sink a fog whistle. Perhaps a couple of smartly dressed soldier-police are parading up and down, conscious of their dignity. A half-dozen little donkeys, heavily laden, stand patiently by. Somebody blows a tin horn. The platform is transformed into a mess of excited people all in each other’s way. Boxes and chickens go banging through the crowd. Young hopefuls get their last instructions and go the rounds kissing everybody wholesale. (The men kiss each other here.) Two minutes later the olive-tree orchards and pretty green hills are slipping by once more. The broad rolling plains gave way, near Seville, to the picturesque hills or mountains of the Sierra Morenas. The little towns with their houses clustered about the cathedral are typically Spanish. Every larger town has its Toros on the edge of town. Occasionally you see the old ruins of a monastery or castle high on a hill.

Near Seville a man tore into our section, handed each of us a little piece of hard candy wrapped in paper, and made his exit. This was nice of him. A moment later he reappeared, giving each of us a slip of paper upon which was printed the picture of four cards. It was as I suspected. The third appearance was for 10 centivos. I forked it over as it was only a cent and a half. The next time he came, he brought me to prize—two handfuls of candy. I couldn’t have lost though, for the night before I had found a 5-centivos piece in the station. Always have to find the smallest denomination in circulation. It has happened four times now.

Breaking away from the pesky mob of hotel “advance agents,” I set out to look things over. It makes me mad the prices they ask for nothing, and in 2nd-rate hotels. $1.60 and $2.00 is common. A clerk in the 2nd hotel I turned down took me to another, Hotel Ambros-Mundo or something similar. It is probably 3rd-rate, but is OK and I got a cheerless but clean room for 80¢ plus, I suppose, some taxes.

While passing through Portugal and Spain I was struck by some of the wide roads they have—as wide as the fields are. These trains are painful. Many stations consisted of but a small stucco house, and a row of cactus on each side of the track. Another bad habit in the order of things over here is the practice of selling shrimp. They are cooked alive, dumped in baskets whole, and sold on the streets. You have to break the tail, head, etc. off before eating them.

Today I arose late (ahem). After purchasing my bus ticket for Gibraltar, I went to the bank for some English pounds. Then I set out to see Seville. Either the people here are crazy or I am. Not to be conspicuous, I put on my suit, but my suede jacket instead of the coat. Still business is good. I’m sure now it is either the crease in my trousers or the color. Must be the latter, but I don’t think they look funny. Some of these purple or lavender suits or caps are much more comical.

Seville is a peach of a town. The capital of Andalusia, it possesses all the beauty and charm of southern Spain. [Copped straight out of the guidebook. . .] She is a city of flowers and sunshine, on the banks of the navigable Guadaquivir. She shines with a brilliant luster that the charms of nature have bestowed upon her. The beautiful parks, monuments, artistic treasures. A romantic atmosphere invades the city. The narrow winding streets of the old quarter, the pretty courts, the mantillas, they all recall past civilizations. Everywhere in the parks are rose trees, palm trees, orange trees by the side of quiet pools or bubbling fountains. Such is the place where the Iberian-American Exhibition will take place next spring. Huge, elaborate palaces are to house the exhibits. Beautiful, wide palm-lined boulevards branch in every direction. The place is too pretty to be described. Everywhere the Spanish artistic touch has asserted itself. The Alcazar with its far-famed gardens is one of the prettiest in the world. The cathedral is a magnificent temple, one of the most beautiful in the world. XV century Gothic for the most part, it astounds the senses by the splendor of its architecture, by the majesty and beauty of its lofty naves, as well as by its wonderful wealth of paintings and sculptures, ironwork and stained-glass work, in precious metals and embroideries. It is said that when the Chapter decided to build this cathedral, they declared “Let us raise a temple of such huge proportions that the generations to come shall think us mad.”

By this great cathedral stands the Giralda, a famous tower and the most striking monument in the city. “A notable XII century Almohade minaret with renaissance belfry of the XVI century.” There are several plazas, chief among them the Plaza San Fernando. The narrow streets present busy scenes until late at night. A great many women wear the mantillas; many more just black veils. The men, many of them, are guilty of what we call a Puritan Hat, tall, round, stiff, and with a wide straight brim.

Seville is a clean city. The old houses in the old section are kept in good condition, and no matter how the place looks on the outside, there is always a charming court with palms, balconies, and perhaps a fountain, to be seen through the door or gate. The daytime is nice, but the nights pretty chilly. $5.13.

Seville, Spain

Saturday, December 22, 1928

Last night I was taking a walk when a man asked me if I were American. He, his wife and daughter and I went in a café and had some coffee.  Cabello Pedro Larrión del Arco, it turned out, is a professor of history here and in Madrid. He evidently has been doing much research here in Seville about the city, etc. and also knows his stuff in several languages, painting, art, and history. [Because Hall didn’t mention it, here’s a little Carmen.]

This morning I visited the inside of the cathedral. It is a mammoth place and is elaborately done. The striking Tomb of Columbus was interesting to me. Four large figures in the robes of the church and coats of arms on their breasts carry the coffin on their shoulders. The cathedral has much wealth. The Columbus library is also interesting, having some old prints, etc.

At three I met del Arco and he showed me about the maze of streets. First some fine mosaics in the court of a countess. Then the home of the Duke of Alba, one of the richest men in the world. He spends most of his time in the U.S., though. His place is a beauty. Pretty courts, gardens, etc. You would never dream of seeing such a place in the neighborhood, but such surprises are common. We visited a school for bullfighters, saw the old Roman walls 2,200 years old, an old tower where the kings used to keep their gold until the place was robbed in the XIV century. The section where all the bullfighters live and St. Lawrence Church where is the famous figure of The Good Christ carrying the cross. This Christ is supposed to have great powers and the church has become the richest in Spain, about 300,000,000 pesetas. It is an unimpressive place, though. On the walls are wax models of arms, legs, etc. put there by people who have had those limbs cured of ailments. All this time I was learning loads more. For instance, some 3,000 bulls are killed in Spain a year and about 5 toreadors. The pretty chapel in the Duke’s place was one of the two places of the Inquisition in Seville where that practice was the worst in Spain. Centuries ago the churches used to act as banks and hold people’s money for them for a payment of some 3% or 4% charges. Thus the power drifted into the hands of the church. But in 1852 the government appraised all church property in Spain at 100,00,000 pesetas, took it all away from the church, and paid them about 43,000,000 p.a. year interest. This has recently been increased to 90,000,000 on which the church must support its bishops, some 60 cathedrals, etc.

Bullfighters are sent to an elementary school where they practice on regular bulls. Then they go to a higher school after which they make their appearance in sort of a local arena. From here they go to the Royal Arena. A good toreador makes about 10,000 a fight and has near 100 fights a year, about 1,000,00 pesetas or $160,000. Some make much more. Also saw a small place where they hold cock fights here.

The biggest lottery of the year came off today, the winners getting into the thousands of pesetas. The lottery is run on a nationwide-scale basis and comes off every ten days. The people go for it. There are lots of beggars in Spain. It seems as though a long time ago to get rid of beggars they permitted gambling, taking money made from this to give the beggars. However, the workingmen immediately gambled away their wages so the law had to be repealed and begging permitted again. At present there is no shortage of work in Spain, but wages are very low—about 10 or 12 pesetas a day—and a family can hardly be supported on that.

Another interesting custom is the “student’s glass.” This consists of a little milk or wine in a glass to which is added water and sugar. When you get a drink, this extra bit is always given free. The custom originated way back in the time of Henry V (?). He noticed that only foreigners were enrolled in the university at Salamanca. Inquiring the reason, he was told it was too expensive for the Spanish to afford to go there. To help reduce the price of living, he ruled that in cafés, etc. the first drink will be paid for regularly, but the second shall be free. This custom has been handed down and exists today.

I am staying over here Sunday to see a bullfight and will go to Gibraltar Monday. Met an American boy, Jimmie Tingle, at the professor’s today and the three of us are going out to see some Spanish dancing, etc. tonight. The professor is the author of a couple of Spanish grammars for Americans and has promised me copies.

The professor got things mixed up, as usual, and Tingle didn’t come. We went to a show to see some Spanish dancing. A rather small place built like a theater but with tables around so you could drink while looking on. The show runs all night and each performance takes about two hours. More of a cheap burlesque in my estimation. The stars are all large and stout, contrary to those in the U.S. There were three or four good Spanish dances, but the rest was mostly Charleston in various forms. Gosh! The way those babes rolled their eyes and put on this goo-goo air! It was funny. The Prof. left to get Tingle and never did show up. Must have forgotten to return or fell asleep. And such late hours as I am keeping—one o’clock now. It is actually true that there are quite a few attractive girls in Seville.  $1.52.

Seville, Spain

Sunday, December 23, 1928

Won’t be long now. Santa will have a deuce of a time finding any snow around here. Every day is the same—perfect—warm and a clear blue sky. Today was no exception. I waited an hour for the professor, then gave it up. Perhaps he forgot to breathe this morning. I do not mean to be unkind toward him, but he is really a very trying person. Way late twice and failed to appear twice. Thus I missed the bullfight. It was not a big public one and I didn’t know where it was. I spent much of the day in the park and around the exposition buildings. Had a walk about town later and then visited the gardens of the Alcazar. They are very pretty. Lots of flowers, shrubbery fancily cut, palms, orange and lemon trees, and nice quiet shady pools. The gardens are quite large. I swiped five oranges. Put them under my vest and got past two sets of guards all right. These royal oranges are not very sweet at all and I have made a pitcher of orangeade of them. It tastes more like lemonade, though. The thing that strikes me most in Seville is the places you find the beautiful courts, etc. The streets are almost all very  narrow, excepting the newer sections. All one-way traffic and often hardly a sidewalk. The buildings are all low, to admit the sunlight. As you look down a street it would not take a whole lot of imagination to think there was but one long house on either side, so closely do they resemble one another. In one perhaps a family lives in poverty; next door may live a very wealthy family. As you walk along the street and look in the wide doors through the big iron gates, you very often see beautiful courts done in mosaics in what looks to be the worst sections. Such friendly people, too. While standing on a corner or looking in a window, I have been approached several times, asked if I were an American, and invited to come have a drink. Of course, it would be my treat. Guess the spongers can’t make a living off me here.

Many windows are decorated for Xmas, but mostly the candy and pastry shops. These have the cleverest cakes, etc. I have ever seen. They represent houses, whole landscapes, windmills, etc., often three feet high. The fancy cakes are very large and plenty tempting. Often they have a glazed clay statues in their center as part of the decorations. In the big lottery run off yesterday the winner received 6,636 pesetas for each pta. Only $1,070 for 16¢. There were some 60 tickets subdivided many times. If you held, say, 20 ptas in the winning ticket, you would make only $21,400 for $3.20. Guess there’ll be a few happy people in Spain at Xmas anyway.

I had a pleasant surprise today. My room cost 48¢ instead of 81¢. Maybe those high rates were pension rates at the other hotels. Have to catch a 6AM bus to Gibraltar tomorrow. Hope I wake in time.  $0.89.


Monday, December 24, 1928

‘Twas the night before Xmas, and all thru the hotel, not a creature was stirring, only little Hally who was hanging his socks up—but not for Santa. Tonight is the big clean-up night. Got the 6 o’clock bus in plenty of time this morning. The first two hours were cold ones. About 9/10 of the road was n.g., but the bus tore right along, doing about 200 miles in 6¼ hours. At first the country was a broad, rolling prairie, partly cultivated and much used for sheep and cattle grazing. As we got farther south, it became very hilly, almost mountainous, and the rocks, close to the surface, cropped out in many places, making the country look rather rugged and desolate on the whole. This region is but thinly settled. In Algeciras there was a wait of an hour for the boat. It is right across the bay from Gibraltar and you can get an excellent view of the big rock. To your right as you cross the bay looms a mountainous coast, Spanish Morocco. Landing, the herd of hotel agents descended. I had to take pension rates to get a hotel—$2.25 a day. It’s a good hotel, though, and as cheap as I can get here, so Cook’s says. We’ll call it an Xmas treat. They don’t miss feeding you. About 6 courses of everything under the sub. But they’ll sure lose money feeding me.

Gibraltar isn’t a bad city and is certainly a lively one. The sailors and soldiers seem to be having the biggest time. Dancing with each other in the cafés, half tipsy, all singing and yelling. I can hear them singing and raising the roof of some joint right now.

I am headed for a big Xmas tomorrow. Got 7 letters and three packages and two newspapers today and have (using lots of will-power) saved all but one newspaper for tomorrow. Signing off at 11:45PM.


Friday, December 28, 1928

Still here. Xmas morning I climbed into the parade dress and went to the Scottish Presbyterian Church where I sang all the hymns. After the service the Rev. I. BrownSmith [perhaps Rev. John Brown Smith, St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church] and his wife invited me to coffee the following evening. Returning to the hotel, I opened my presents and mail. My check and 25 extra clinkers from Mother and Dad, and a big box of cookies, candy, figs, and stuffed dates. Also an Xmas tree and a stocking full of candy. Dudie sent 5 berries and Dick Huggard a dandy pocket-knife. Jean’s box was a surprise. Some plenty good-looking golf socks from her; a nice pair of gloves from Bobby, something I have been too dumb to buy for myself for the last two or three months and much needed, even here, in the winter. Deedie Mama sent me some pretty handkerchiefs. Had a letter and card from Grandmother Mac, a letter from Dad, Eleanor, and Bob Lewis and a card from Harry Fitzgerald, Sis Sullivan, and Frances Huggard. And such mushy cards!!! Lots of devilment going on in Columbus and something rotten in Denmark besides.

For lunch the same 7-course endurance test and for dinner soup, eggs, fish, steak, french frieds, peas, turkey, boiled spuds, coffee, and cake and cakes. In the afternoon I walked around a bit. The soldiers were having a good time and many were all dressed up in crazy costumes. I took a picture of a couple, talked a while, and went on, soon to meet a soldier and sailor who saw my kodak and wanted their picture taken. Both had indulged too heavily in Xmas cheer and were so comical that I crashed through with a picture. The soldier was very talkative and was going to do lots for me. Wanted to show me through the hospital. Said I would be unexpected but welcome. I couldn’t let him be so kind to me, though.

In the evening and all through the night it was more like Halloween. Gangs parading up and down the street yelling and singing. Lots of street fights, etc. They have an affair here they use to make noise and accompany their singing that isn’t at all musical, but it is not unpleasant to hear. Sounds something like a primitive war drum. It is a clay urn, but instead of the regular bottom, one of a parchment membrane through which a slender bamboo stick is worked up and down like a piston. [It’s called a zambomba.] The day was nice and a little cloudy.

Wednesday most everything was closed so I spent most of the day on the other side of this big razor-back and on the beach. In the eve I went out for coffee. Had a very nice visit.

Thursday morning I went up to the Lower Galleries with a guide from the hotel. Guides are required. The lower galleries don’t take you far up, but that is all that is permitted. The walk is practically all through a big tunnel cut through the solid rock in 1789 and thereabouts. The tunnel leads up at a fairly steep angle. At intervals are holes through to the outside for the guns. Only a few old ancient guns are in this part now to appease the many tourists. But 400 soldiers are at Gibraltar now and somewhere in the rock is a supply of food sufficient to withstand a siege of ten years.

On my way back, I stopped to see the American Consul, Mr. Sprague. He is very nice and called up a passenger line to see if I could get a job, but n.g. I then went to several agencies and shipping companies, but not much luck. I could have had 3rd-class passage to Port Said on a passenger boat for £11, but it is too much. Most of the freights want £22 to £25 to Alexandria 1st or 2nd class. One line has a deck passage for a little over £4 to Alexandria and if I can’t get a job or do better, I’ll probably take that. I will have to wait, though, till about the middle of January. Deck passage promises to be lots of fun, especially if it is cold or rainy. Have to live on the deck for ten days and carry your own food. One stop en route, at Malta in four or five days.

At three I took a boat for Tangiers and arrived after dark at six-fifteen. Got in a good hotel, English, for 8 pesetas dinner and breakfast. The Hotel Cavilleon on the Big Market. Took a walk before dinner. Started into one of these darned mosques but only got inside the outside door for everybody in the shops across the busy street yelled at me. At dinner I met a Mrs. Sammet of Boston who has been traveling about alone for nearly a year, 59 years old and as lively as a kid.

Tangiers is a complete change from Europe in about everything. It is made up of English, French, Spanish, Moors, Bèrberians, Negro slaves, Jews, and about everything. All languages are spoken there, all money used,, dollars, pounds, francs, pesetas, and Moorish coins. The streets are very narrow, twisty, quite dirty, and very busy. Life is decidedly Oriental. Most of the natives wear the flowing white robes, many the brown or black robes, all the hood over the head. Few wear stockings, just sandals and bare legs. Turbans or red Turk hats on their heads and lots of beards. The women are all in the  robes too. Some in the higher classes wear the drapes across their faces. The little crowded shops that line the narrow ways are full of goods and curios. Many oriental bazaars have lots of beautiful things to sell, but they ask plenty. In the little coffee dens you can see the natives all sitting around on the floor in a circle, legs crossed, sipping coffee and smoking long pipes. You can look in at many shops and watch them work, making jewelry, sewing, etc. The little dirty kids are all over and the small donkeys do overtime on big heavy loads. There are lots of beggars. Even the kids beg, turn flips, do acrobatic stunts, and then pester you for money. The Moors are too lazy to work much and this accounts for lots of begging. Some parts of town are distinctly Moorish, others Spanish, and others English. In the market square the natives have their stuff spread on the ground before where they are sitting. At night, and Thursday is a big market day, they all sell by the light of the little lamps or coal-oil jets placed on the ground. The whole thing looks like a big witch scene and those in white robes like so many ghosts moving about. A wonderful moon came up over the bay and Spanish Morocco. It was so bright that it was like day, and from my window overlooking the market-place I could see all the city bathed in the moonlight, the white houses, buildings, and churches standing out very distinctly—and all of those white figures moving about below. The inside downstairs of the hotel was in Moorish style and one room especially in which were lots of interesting and pretty things.

Today Mrs. Sammet showed me about the city; the Alcazar where a fake sultan and harem are living to help poor innocent tourists see the sights of oriental life. The place is far from striking and has only the Moorish style to take it from the ordinary. The old fortress is the scene of a former battle and I believe the Battle of Trafalgar was fought just off this coast. There are several mosques. The men step inside the outside door (as far as I got). In stepping over this step they leave their sandals on the outside, turn, pick them up and walk in barefooted. Thus I suppose I committed a crime by entering the threshold in my boots.

As today was Friday—their Sunday—many shops were closed. We went in one that was open to buy a leather cushion cover I wanted to send Mother. They have some beautiful patchwork in leather and all done by hand. Talk about salesmanship and jewing down. I took a fancy to a leather cover and the Moor asked, I believe, 35 pesetas or nearly $6 for it. We said too much and I offered him 20. He came down to 30. Well, it went on for nearly 15 minutes. I stood fast and Mrs. Sammet was right with me. He thought he was talking it up by calling it common leather and we promptly hopped on him and told him it was no good. They have plenty of time and like to talk. When he was down to 23 pesetas, I gave him 20 and the blue leather was mine, $3.20, and a real bargain at that price. As Lucy would say, “Je l’ai pour rien.”

At 11 AM the boat weighed anchor under a cloudy sky. The wind from the Atlantic was pretty cold. From the bay the city is very picturesque. It is built on a sloping hill and you can see the white houses all over the town rising one above the other. Three hours later I again was in Gibraltar. No mail today, though I had a letter from Harry Fitz Thursday.

The next thing was to cut my 9s per on hotel and meals. After talking to the manager, we cut it to 6s per, but with only lunch which is the biggest meal. I have a hunch the hotel will also furnish about enough for another meal a day but doesn’t know it. Now, with expenses at $1.50 a day, I can live here and save a little while I wait for a job or boat passage to Alexandria.


Saturday, December 29, 1928

Today has been cloudy with occasional drizzles and a steady drizzle late this afternoon and evening. With the change in rate, my room changed. Moved up to the 2nd floor or 2nd pisa. The new room is many times better and more cheerful than the other. Now I’ll get some sun. Looked all around for more shipping lines, but n.g. Got more dope on a deck passage. The cargo boat leaves London, or England rather, the 9th of January and will probably arrive here the 14th or 15th. It will cost £4.1 plus a few small extras. Chances are I’ll be able to negotiate with the cook for food and possibly get a bunk.

After my lunch—the meal—I walked through No-Man’s-Land to the Spanish town of La Mineos(?). It is not much. Went to a dentist here later and had my hunch confirmed. Had the cavity filled and went to the post office, but n.g. Wrote Hory a letter, read some history of Gibraltar, and am now eating a little one-sided lunch in my room, all the lunch being on the right side. The history of Gibraltar is a long succession of wars, sieges, naval battles, plagues, etc. beginning years ago when the ancients called it one of the Pillars of Hercules, the other being Apes Hill directly across the channel in Spanish Morocco. Two skulls have been recently found, one (of a woman) about 200,000 years old and the other of a young boy, 10 or 12 years old, and about 20,000 years old. Some 350 species of birds are found in neighboring Spain and Africa, and a large part of these are seen at Gibraltar. Lots of small, harmless snakes, lizards, toads; foxes, hares, and monkeys probably introduced from Northern Africa and around Apes Hill. The interesting thing about these latter is that their skins or skeletons are never found and are undoubtedly carried away and hid in inaccessible crevices by their companions.

The Rock shows clearly the different geological periods of its formation and of the vertical and angular upheavals. It is of a dark gray, late Jurassic limestone for the most part, with layers of red sandstone and debris deposited. At one time the Rock was higher than it now is, 1,400 feet.

Have just eaten the last Xmas cookie and hated to see it go. These “luxuries” don’t miss being good. The cat here at the hotel is called Snuggie like our fond animal at home. Just had a dandy time cutting my hair—the part I can’t see on my neck. It feels hot and I got lots of hair off. Heaven help my looks.


Sunday, December 30, 1928

Today I arose too late to go to church—on purpose. It was a fine day and cool. I got interested in some mad fiction book and read it till lunch, finishing it this evening. After stowing away seven courses and a little more, and bringing some fruit to my room for dinner (got more food later), I rode to the great football game with the hotel clerk and advance agent in a horse and buggy. A championship game between the Europas and Prince of Wales. It was a pretty good game and a 1–1 tie, the Europas winning the tie due to a 1-point lead before the game. Only 3 men carried off the field. Football here means what we call soccer or speedball. Tomorrow the last of 1928! Suppose I had better be gathering some leaves to turn and digging up the annual resolutions to fail in. What an easy life I lead here. Wish I could find a job. Maybe I can.


Monday, December 31, 1928

The last day of 1928 is or was not at all a cheerful one. Rainy, cold, and windy. I went out for a few minutes walk in the rain and a couple of times for mail, but n.g. There has been nothing else to do but read. I read a book yesterday and about 35 pages of Les Miserables and 340 pages of a fiction book today. Have been nibbling on bread, stuffed dates, fudge, and oranges for the last five hours. It has been a quiet day. A gang of coal-heavers with their noise-makers paraded all around in the rain this noon singing this Spanish song I’m going to learn. There is a gang parading about in Main St. now singing it—in the rain. Three minutes more of 1928.


Tuesday, January 1, 1929

1929—The new year’s two minutes old. The old one passed out amid a few feeble peals from the church bell. The gang parading up and down Main St. is singing the Spanish song and making lots of noise—all in the cold windy rain. Here go lots of whistles and sirens.

3AM Gang just went up the street singing. Just finished second novel. It’s still cold and very windy outside.

9:45AM Things are off to a good start today. It is a fine day, though cool and a little windy. Now that I have a couple of heroes happily married off and the villain sent to Siberia, I’ll feel at peace with the world if I get a letter, especially. Would go to church today but don’t want to get dressed up. Maybe I’ll go in my monkey suit; name borrowed from that given to the military suits at Ohio State by their loving owners. One black mark already. It’s poor taste to be subtle so early—and I have several leaves to turn over yet to find the golden resolutions on the back in small type. Last year the leaves were from a rubber tree in Brazil. This year the leaves are from an Ironwood tree at the old Indian Spring Scout Camp.

1. Be kind to all dumb animals, black cats, Spanish customs officers, cats belonging to the fast set who howl under your window all night, hotel advance agents, lying roosters that crow at 12 instead of 5AM (this is a hard one to keep).

2. Help the poor—fools who climb all over you in 3rd-class cars to reach terra firma more quickly, sometimes very quickly; orchestra in Budapest to learn its second piece.

3. Keep clear of all sudden-death carts tearing around the streets. This includes taxis in Paris, bicycles in Copenhagen (though they do not come under this title), and Flivvers in Madrid.

4. To take stories about warm countries with a barrel of salt and some unripe olives.

5. To establish fund for those Italians who, guzzling guzzlable spaghetti, were guzzled into unguzzlability, being guzzlers.

6. To personally slay the cuss that first thought of putting dining rooms in the poop of a ship.

7. To not be automobilized by anything less than a Cadillac.

8. To personally choke this tailless cat at the hotel that is always squalling; also, all guides and postcard sellers.

9. To always be a great cycler, parlor cycler.

10. To enjoy punctures, tire trouble in general, rocky roads, and winds and rain and cold and hills always up, and getting my head chopped off.

11. To do unto hotel men as they try to do you dirt by. (Golden yardstick, but it bends.)

12. To love, honor, and evade all Italian cops, who are always stopping you and trying to make you believe you aren’t who you are.

13. To declare the 18th Amendment in force and all Americans do over here, drink only soup, tea, and coffee.

14. To improve my technique without inspecting any jails. To get more things for nothing and less nothings for something.

15. To weekly tease the Royal Order of the Most Noble C.—at OSU and to daily rake up the leaves that have gone by the boards.

9PM—Same day, third chapter. Met two men who were American and traveling about some, one an architect. The other has been living in Edinburgh for about 2–3 years, and both from San Francisco. It was a glorious day and I showed them around, through Irish Town to the Southern point near the Governor’s Cottage. Had a good time and coffee on the way back at the café.

Have written most of a letter to Jean and am about to read another novel. A novel a day makes one more happily married hero and heroine per. Better add another resolution.

16. Resolved—to always carry at least one book about with me to make people believe I’m the student I claim to be.

Thus ends the first day.


Wednesday, January 2, 1929

The book I was reading last night, The Valley of Voices by John Marsh, turned out very interesting so I just finished it, getting to bed shortly after five this morning. Came to at noon and after lunch took a walk in the sun for a while. The wind is still strong and it is pretty cool. N.g. on the mail again. Later I studied a bit and then got a book of a series of lectures on Mesmerism and Electrical Psychology. These are extremely interesting and so far seem consistent with one exception. He calls the mind “that substance which has innate or living motion; and the result of that motion is thought, reason, and understanding and, therefore, power.” He proves the world was not made of nothing, but something, and states that the Creator is a real substance or being, possessing personal identity, and is infinite in every perfection of his character. But then he says electricity, which he regards as the primal form of matter, is an emanation from Spirit, Gods. God, then, must be of a more primal form; or is he the motion, function, property of this primal matter? If so, he is not mind—a cause—but an effect; otherwise, spirit is wholly distinct from matter of every form.

Not much doing here. Wouldn’t care if it warmed up a bit. Guess I’ll try turning in at 10 instead of 3 and 5. Good start for 1929.


Friday, January 4, 1929

12:35AM. Such hours! But then these social hounds, you know. Thursday was another marvelous day but still a strong cold wind blows. This morning I spent walking with my two American friends, Mr. Hahan, G.G., and M.L. Miller. After lunch I saw them on the boat for Tangiers. Both are dandy fellows. The former is studying medicine in Edinburgh and already has his Ph.D. The latter is traveling to study architecture. When they had departed I took a walk along the beach, returning to still find the n.g. K.O. S.O.L. on the mail. I had met Rev. and Mrs. BrownSmith on Main St. at noon and received an invitation to coffee in the evening. Putting on, among other things, Jean’s socks and Bobby’s gloves, I sallied forth. There were five other guests there, including a young man from Scotland. Had lots of fun. They all tried singing. My cold made my singing flat in more ways than one. Then we had a ping pong tournament. HL wasn’t so red hot, only crashing through in one out of three games.

Another round at tea, etc. and then I took two of the women home. (Both married.) They were really jolly good fun. Guess I’ll have to buy a date book. Mrs. Yarde asked me for dinner tonight and Mrs. Bailey for luncheon Sunday. The mile-and-a-half walk home was great. All dark with the sky full of stars and the lights of the city and boats far below. (I was on the upper road) and far across the bay the lights of Algeciras. The park here is very pretty and has an amazing variety of flowers and plants, many of which are in bloom now. Oxalis, roses, geraniums, lilies, morning glories, palms, lemon trees, several varieties of the century plant, iris, several kinds of vines all in bloom, violet, yellow, red, white, and blue in colors, and many more kinds of flowers and bushes.

10:45PM The wind died in its tracks today, for the most part, and the result was a splendid day. I spent the morning along the east coast of the Rock and in the afternoon played washerwoman for a while. Mail n.g. for 8 days. Had a very delightful time this evening at dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Yarde and another gentleman whose name I did not get. Mrs. Yarde is a very pleasant hostess. Mr. Yarde and the other man were very humorous. The former is quite a photographer and is going to send some pictures and an article to get [National] Geographic magazine to try to get it in—about Southern Spain, the cork industry. He showed me the pictures and they are really good. The other gentleman is going to take me to the top of the Rock tomorrow, stopping for lunch at Mrs. Yarde’s on the way. The people here are surely kind and hospitable. Flivvers may stop, hearts may flop, but school goes on forever. The second quarter at OSU isn’t any exception, either.


Saturday, January 5, 1929

After a search of several days for something to send Rudd, I finally crashed through with a book today. At one I met Mrs. Yarde and Mr. Merrick picked us up in his car and took us to his house where we had lunch. Mr. and Mrs. Yarde are living in it at present till they return to England in a fortnight. After lunch Mr. Merrick and I, and Mr. Yarde, a British subject, drove up the steep road well up the Rock. Leaving the car, we walked up a path to the Mediterranean side. Although the day was not absolutely clear by any means, the view was magnificent. By a winding path and some steps we reached the south end of the Rock. Although it was windy below, there was no wind at the summit. And such a view—with Gibraltar far beneath, and Algeciras across the craft-dotted bay. Way off in the distance was Morocco and directly across the channel, Spanish Morocco. Far in the distance I could barely make out the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Had the day been a clear one, I might have seen snow on them. Along the Spanish east coast you could see to a point near or beyond Malaga, some 60 miles. There were many boats coming and going, but they were as toys. To the north ran the narrow back of the Rock, dipping down a ways and then rising to the peak which is always shown in pictures of Gibraltar. There were a number of large camouflaged guns in advantageous positions, three being along the top ridge. Everywhere was a great profusion of flowers, bushes, and [h]erbs, especially the white Rock Lilies which were in bloom. It is a shame that cameras are not allowed up there for the scenery is perfect. The people here don’t think much of [Richard] Halliburton and he has made it very hard for Americans to gain entrance to these upper parts. In fact, they are not allowed here except by pass, and they can’t get the pass, so it’s too bad.

Descending on the other side, we reached the car and returned to Mr. Merrick’s for tea. There I met Miss Culvert, a doctor I believe, and Miss Collier, both of whom have just returned from Marseilles and Nice. They and Mrs. Yarde have invited me on a picnic Monday into Spain. Looks as though I would have to hold down the job of chief cook and only man.

Mrs. Yarde is expecting me at the Methodist Church tomorrow to meet Dr. Brown, the minister there. He is quite a hiker and things look suspicious. Mr. Merrick wants me to go to Malaga, not only to see the city and Andalusia, but [to meet] one C.E. Scoggins, an American novelist staying there with his family getting local color for a novel. I’m afraid the trip is too expensive, though, for me. Besides, I have no clothes and Malaga is quite a fashionable place, but this latter deficiency wouldn’t cut much ice if the fare were not so dear. I have one of Mr. Scoggins’ books here to read now, The Red Gods Call.

All of this chasing about is durned hard on my supply of clean clothes. So far, I have held out on a haircut, but in a week or so I’ll look like I’m on Barnum & Bailey’s payroll. The people here are certainly more than kind to me. I am missing the British Atlantic Fleet by about ten days or so. It will come here on the 25th, 10 ships. I can’t wait over that long, though, and maybe longer if I couldn’t get a boat right away. Well, I’m truly religious now, so it seems at least, and must go to bed now so I won’t be late for church tomorrow morning.


Sunday, January 6, 1929

What a church man I turned out to be. Hauled out in time to go to the Presbyterian Church this morning. There I met Dr. Bailey who took me home to dinner. A Miss Elliot was also there. We all felt like cracking wise and it was a jolly good time. They have three children, Kathleen, 7½, is the older and the prettiest kid I have seen in many a day. She’ll sure be pretty when she grows up. A perfect little lady now, she surprises you sometimes with her vocabulary and speech, which are both very good, much better than an ordinary girl much older would have.  The other two are twins and about two. Betty has very blue eyes and Johnny very brown. Both are really pretty and also full of the old nick like their mother and father. Mrs. Bailey told them I was their uncle, so now they call me that. Well, I’m glad to get a nephew and two nieces like that. The dinner was a great success, after which we repaired to the  garage, mounted Maxwell, and away we went, top down and everybody happy. Rode through La Linea in Spain, San Roc, and through  the great Cork Woods to a picnic grounds by a small river. Here we had tea or a picnic, returning about five. They invited Uncle out Thursday afternoon again.

At seven I turned up at the Methodist Church. The service was very good and Dr. Brown is a fine man and a real one. Straightforward and outspoken, yet a calmness and gentleness about him that gets you. He wears four war medals on his robes. After the sermon, I met Mr. and Mrs. Yarde and we took Communion. Then I met Dr. Brown and he invited me to dinner tomorrow night after I return from the great picnic. Darn, but this is hard on my clean clothes. Still holding out on my haircut. Guess I’ll sport the knickers and loud socks tomorrow and give the natives’ necks a little workout.


Tuesday, January 8, 1929

Yesterday was a swell day, not a cloud in the sky. At ten the great band of picnickers, Mrs. Yarde, Miss Culvert, and Miss Wright (who is leaving Sunday for Alexandria) and lastly the chief cook and bottle washer that failed to function, set sail for Algeciras, and arriving there proceeded up the railroad track for a short distance, then took to the fields. After a swim through the mud (it had rained the night before) for nearly an hour we arrived at Elcobre in a fair state of preservation but with a nice collection of real estate on our shoes. Elcobre is a club belonging to the Eastern Telegraph Co. for which both Mr. Yarde and Mr. Bailey work. It is rented from some marquis or duke. Situated at the entrance to a narrow, winding valley and by a dashing stream, it commands a fine view of the rolling fields and the high scrub- and tree-covered hills to the north and east. The house or villa is large, roomy, open and comfortable. It is surrounded by a wow of a garden of flowers, vegetables, and fruits including orange and banana trees and date palms. There is also a shelter house and small swimming tank. After the great fatigue of the swim, it was necessary to immediately have tea. This over, the women tackled the lunch in the kitchen while I burnt up the Victrola because there were some good old American jazz pieces there. All during lunch I kept it going and I fear I shocked the two Misses with That’s a Good Girl, which I claimed was all O.K., and some Charleston.

After lunch it was necessary to have tea again. The we walked up the stream a ways to an old mill where the woman explained how it worked, croaking in Spanish. It was an old primitive one run by water power from the stream. Leaving the women, I followed the boulder-strewn stream up to the first falls, leaping from stone to stone and only going in once. More luck than sense, though. My watch didn’t get wet, but it got nasty and refused to travel. It is still sour grapes. After finding a lucky penny on the path, we returned to Elcobre for the third round of tea. Met some younger folks there, three boys from Gibraltar and a couple girls from Tangiers. At five we hit the trail home, though by a road which was less muddy. The boat arrived at Gibraltar late and I didn’t get to the hotel to dress for dinner till ten of eight. However, I got to Rev. Brown’s 25 minutes later and we had a dandy dinner and talk afterwards. He is a wealthy bachelor and has a beautiful house furnished with rare antique pieces beautifully carved and some inlaid with ivory and ebony. He has lots of personality and knows Southern Spain like a book.

Today I slept late because I sat up reading late the night before. Mrs. Yarde got me up and I had to dress in nothing flat to get down to the phone. She wanted me to come out for a little while, which I did, stopping at the shipping agency and the romantic old shoe shop en route. Mrs. Bailey and my nephew and two nieces were there in the garden, so that’s where I basked in the sun for an hour till they left. Mrs. Yarde, Mr. Merrick, and Mr. Sprague, the American Consul it seems, are or were at least somewhat worried over my deck passage to Alexandria and also because I wanted a job. There is really nothing to worry about. I’ll take food enough for 3 or 4 meals aboard. Then if I can’t arrange for food there, I’ll go dry for about 3 days to Malta—but I’ll fix it up all right. If I can’t get a bunk or a cabin, I’m s.o.l. and will drape my bones over a vacant hatch or any other equally soft place.

Lunch at the hotel and then I broke down and had my ears set out—way out. The way that bird ran those scissors through my hair made me uneasy, but he left a little, which was OK with me. I got my 12¢ worth all right. While at lunch the party from Elcobre came in and a couple of the boys invited me to drop around to the office about “gin time.” I asked what time that might be and it seems to be about six. That reminds me that Rev. Brown served coffee. 6 cups of tea and 4 of coffee (2 at breakfast) isn’t so bad for one day.

But to get back—after the haircut I called on Mr. Sprague. He is certainly doing his best for me. Spoke of an American girl painter from Toledo by the name of Williams who has cycled down from Paris to Algeciras and all along. Lots of nerve for a girl to do that in these countries, Spain especially. I actually got mail today from Mother and Uncle Billy and a card from Pat and an Xmas present from Aunt Katie. Just 14 days to reach here. Wrote Uncle Billy a letter and packed a box of films, etc. to ship home. Have but 16 more letters to write this week.

Tomorrow eve it is dinner with Mrs. Yarde and then to a lecture by Rev. Brown on “Ants.” Sunday it will probably be an all-day picnic with the Baileys. There were a bunch of sailors in the café below tonight turning on. I think they must have been American from the way they sang. A Britisher never pronounced words like that. I have an annoying hunch that I’ll have to play washerwoman again tomorrow. Gosh darn, but that hombre sure lopped my hair off, but I’m proud of it because it shows up Gus more, Gus being les moustaches, singly and collectively. My 7½-year-old niece Kath surprised me by quizzing me on Spanish today and durned if she doesn’t know more than I do.


Wednesday, January 9, 1929

Not much doing today. Among other things, I wrote three letters and read Scoggins’ book some. Had a letter from Eleanor postmarked the 24th. Seems as though my spelling has gone off on a tangent. But anything is likely to go that way in some of these places. Played washday and then got cleaned up and went out to Mrs. Yarde’s for dinner. Rev. Brown is in bed with an influenza cold so his “Ant” lecture was called off. I think I got some of his cold the other night for mine is a little worse. Played the radio tonight, getting Sweden, Germany, and France, and read the paper and magazines. I am fed [up] on my being fed so well for I’m sure I have gained several pounds since arriving here. Well, they will start to melt tomorrow and especially aboard the boat or I miss my guess. Cloudy and cool.


Thursday, January 10, 1929

Read late last night, so got up late today. Bought myself some white shorts for Egypt if it is warm enough. In the afternoon took a ride with the Baileys, my nieces and nephew, and Mr. Yarde whose birthday it is. Went to another place in the Cork Woods, had tea and a real good time. At noon Mrs. Yarde called up and said that Sir and Lady Nettleton had invited me to a party tomorrow afternoon. I am going with Mr. Merrick—dressed as a pirate—as near as knickers, loud socks, my skean dhu and les moustaches can make me look like one, and whatever Mrs. Yarde has to add. I know I’ll be a hot number. Sir Nettleton is the judge in Gibraltar.

Have written four letters today with plenty more to go. No mail. It’s pretty cloudy and also cool and windy. Never saw so many black cats in my life as here.


Friday, January 11, 1929

Today we will call successful. I mean we shall call successful. My spelling and grammar have gone to the bow-wows it seems. But to continue, I arose, donned my monkey suit and took a brisk walk to the other side of the Rock where I perched myself high on a rock overhanging the rocky surf-pounded shore, much to the argument of some workmen repairing a wall a short distance away. From here I watched the Augustus, sister ship of Roma, sail out, bound for Naples I believe. Returning to the Victoria, I wrote a letter to Vance before lunch. The 10th letter in the last few days. Then I washed my hair for the third time in four days and climbed into my knickers, loud socks, and white sweater. Quite a pirate get-up, but my moustache and skean dhu carried the day. Mr. Merrick was waiting for me and we soon entered the pirate stronghold. Of course they insisted on our disguising some, so they tied bandannas about our heads, curtain rings on our ears, and a big red sash about our waists. We must have looked warm. Mr. Merrick claimed he was an organ grinder and I his monkey. One man did bring a monkey who took his milk and gin like a man.

The party was really lots of fun. About everybody was there, from grown-ups to kids, and all dressed in a many-colored array of outfits and a blood-thirsty-looking outfit it was. Sir Sidney and the Attorney General, Capt. Anderson, were the best-dressed and acted the part. There was a treasure hunt, a canvas chute all closed in to slide down, a pirates’ den, and a burning at the stake, etc. Lots to eat and drink. I didn’t miss the chocolate cake and dissipated to the extent of two cigarettes. The fact that I have had two cups of tea, two glasses of lemonade, one cup of coffee, and two glasses of White Horse may account for the sore throat I have now. I doubt it though.

Sir Sidney and Lady Nettleton are very nice and jolly. They invited me up Sunday, but I can’t do that. I’m going into Spain with the Baileys. About all the first people of the Rock, from the Admiral, Colonial Secretary, etc. on down were there and Mr. Merrick made sure I met about all of them. But he always had to go and tell them about how I had bought a bike in Liverpool and had ridden 5,000 miles through Europe, etc. etc. It seemed to be hard to understand how and why I would spend so much energy. Well—all went well. 40 throats cut, 7 hanged, 1 burned at the stake, and the floors all bloody. Somebody tipped all the baby carriages over and the monkey—the real monkey, not me, didn’t get tight. Mrs. Yarde was waiting dinner for us. [So, why weren’t the Yardes at that party??]

Tomorrow Mr. Merrick and I are going to play some golf if it is OK including the weather. It was very cloudy today and drizzled a little on my way home. No mail today. These instruments that make a noise like a cello rummaging around in the basement are called zombombas [??] and are used at Xmas time and at weddings where a widow marries a bachelor or a widower marries a maid.

I’ll hate to leave Gibraltar next week for I am having a real good time here. It’s after midnight now and nearly bedtime. Unless my ears deceive me, the person in the next room as a darned bad cough.

Gibraltar and golf in Spain

Saturday, January 12, 1929

The weather took a turn for the better today. The sun came out and it got warmer. The big Conte Grande arrived shortly after noon from New York. Old Gib shook itself and woke up. The main drag became lively with something besides loafers. American tourists were thick, some walking, some riding in carriages and taxis. After lunch Mr. Merrick called for me and we rode over to Spain for a game of golf on the Cowpasture C.C. I can’t decide whether the clubs or the course were worse. I don’t think I broke the course record, unless it was the dub’s record. I started out with a ten and two sevens. Then I began to keep my silly head down and wound up with two fours, two fives, a seven, and a five for fifty-four. The so-called caddy got his peseta and we drove back to the library where we played the tenth hole in the lounge over tea cups. I have a guest’s card there.

No mail today. Wish my accounting book would come. Gosh durn, but I am a good American. Just refused a drink the hotel manager offered me. R.O.C.A. [No idea what that means.] Wages here as in Spain are terribly low unless you hold a government position. The waiters at the hotel work 15 hours a day for 22¢. The rest must come from tips which, as a rule during winter, could not be over 50¢ or 75¢. Servants and cooks are so cheap that most everybody can afford to have one or two.


Sunday, January 13, 1929

The Baileys with Mrs. Yarde called for me at 10:45 in the chariot and we rode the bumps for some 8 or 10 miles to a nice beach along the shore some 13 kilometers this side of Estepona. A number of other people appeared from time to time and after lunch we played at cricket till time for tea. It was a dandy, warm, sunny day. Got back to Gib about 6. Beside the France with 4 stacks, another large boat from London was in the harbor today. They don’t stay long here.


Monday, January 14, 1929

I am still holding the Rock down. The morning I spent on the trail of cargo boats. My best bet won’t arrive till Friday. There is one tomorrow for Malta and Greece. I would go on to Greece if it were not for a $10 visa fee. I have a hunch the P&O Lines rates for deck will be much higher than the Ellerman’s. However, I shall go talk to the Captain tomorrow morning. Don’t even know whether I want to leave here tomorrow.

No mail today and there must be some on the way which might not be forwarded. Also, I’m having a good time here. Went up to my relatives this afternoon after seeing the Am. Consul, and was promptly put to work. Tonight I returned for my job and paint-washed nearly a whole room. Makes me feel at home to do something like that and reminds me of a night during Hell Week when orders from The Most Omnipotent and Almighty Ruler of the Universe and Bearer of the Effervescent Torch made it necessary for 4 or 5 of us worms to spend a night paint-washing the whole third floor hall. After a couple of coffees I started my Sherman’s March to the Victoria. The weather is very mild and the night a dandy. I always enjoy this walk home. I must here confess I am no longer sweet (???) 17 and never been kissed (??) for my niece Kathy gave me the first one today I have had in over a half year. Today also marked my first music lesson in about 8 years—and given by my new sweetheart. I was so bum that I couldn’t get the fingering right so she made me practice all pieces with one hand first.

It being 1:45AM, I had better turn in. Make hay while the sun shines but hit the hay when it doesn’t.

The Rock

Tuesday, January 15, 1929

Today was another of those nice sunny days that make the bay and the hills of Spain seem as though they were painted. All morning I was on the go, figuring expenses and getting dope on a trip to Greece and Turkey via Malta. I finally decided no, but went around to see the Captain anyway. He wasn’t in but had told the agent he wouldn’t take me deck. I’ll have to get that Friday boat whether the Captain wants me or not. I have lots of good ideas as to where I am going in the next few months and what I will do in Egypt and Palestine. Rumor hath it there will be a little walking connected with my visit. I’ll have to build up a big reserve for I’ll need it along about the middle of March.

Had tea at Mrs. Yarde’s and then let myself into a job of hanging curtains after which I took Kathy for a walk. Later, after a hurried trip to the hotel to get cleaned up, I had supper with Mr. and Mrs. Yarde. Mail n.g. encore.

The Rock

Wednesday, January 16, 1929

The Baileys called to take me riding a bit this morning but I wasn’t in and so missed out. After lunch I got wash day off my hands and started out for a long walk. I had only gone about a mile when I met Mrs. Bailey with her sister just arrived from London today, Aunty Kathleen, or Mrs. Nelson. My walk fell flat and instead I went with them to tea. The weather continues perfect and the mail continues to be a minus quantity. Les moustaches continue to flourish and I’m durned proud of it now.

The Rock

Thursday, January 17, 1929

The Resolute from New York on a world cruise stopped here today. The town came to life and the Americans swarmed the streets, very conspicuous, chasing in all directions buying all sorts of things mostly from oriental bazaars. I stood in front of the post office a long time and could not keep from smiling. I bought one lady 3¢ worth of stamps as she had no English bobbies. Also, was an information bureau. Didn’t see a person I knew.

After lunch I went up to the levanter hanging over the city [the perfect link—do click on it!]. Tonight it is not so cloudy and the moon is very pretty reflected across the waters of the bay. I made a visit to the ship agency this morning and feel fairly sure I’ll leave tomorrow—today now. Most all these people I meet here know Egypt and Africa from Cape Town to the Suez, and many Europe, etc. I get lots of suggestions as to where to go and what to see but it is not so easy to get there. In spite of my mustache, I’m still taken for 18. Well, I don’t care. In fact, it’s rather fun. 1AM and bedtime.


Friday, January 18, 1929

Sure had worse luck heaped on already rotten luck today. The Captain of the Kyno absolutely refused to take me deck because of the great danger of being blown overboard by the wind or washed over in the bad weather. As he is responsible, you can’t blame him much, but still if he were game he would take a sporting chance on it. I’m willing to take the risk. He put me in a hole right. With no way to go except by passenger boat, which is cheaper than cargo by half, I found I had £15 after paying the hotel bill. As the best I can do is a £14 third class passage next Wednesday, I didn’t have enough. Had to ask the hotel manager for credit till I got to Cairo. Guess I have barely enough now if all goes well. This is a pain, but I can’t stay in Gib forever and I can’t get a job or deck passage over. My $45 reserve is all gone and some of next month’s too. Looks like I would do a bit of walking in Egypt.

Cooler today. Rainy this morn but nice this afternoon. No mail. While sitting in the Alameda this afternoon along came the Baileys who were rather surprised to see me still here. All I need is a trunk of clothes and I would be a native.


Saturday, January 19, 1929

This morning I found out for certain that I had a reservation on the Ormonde of the Orient Line. [ Sorry, but there’s no good link: During the entire war, the Empress of Australia enjoyed very good luck. In 1941, it was widely reported that she’d been torpedoed off the coast of Africa, but she survived that brush with disaster. She was only seriously damaged once, when she was holed by the Orient Line’s 14,982 ton Ormonde during the North Africa campaign in January 1943.] About 2:30 I went up to the Baileys, fooled around on the piano for a while, and after tea we all took a walk. Taking a walk with Betty and Johnny keeps you plenty busy. Back again, Uncle was busy in the nursery acting like a zoo full of animals and there remained till the three kids had finished their bath. Then I had to beat it for the hotel to get dressed up. Went up to Mrs. Yarde’s. The Baileys and the Birds were there and Kathleen (elder). The idea was really a dance. Had lots of fun and everybody was acting crazy and foolish. Kept us all laughing all evening. As Kath doesn’t dance, we all made her learn and she is doing very well. Mrs. Bailey is a good dancer and a good golfer, to say nothing of good looking. Grace Bird was good and could follow me pretty well. It’s a wonder anybody can follow my shuffling about. Coffee, more dancing, and then the wireless alias radio. Got London and heard Big Ben strike twelve. Then some good dance music from Lisbon, Portugal. I got the night watchman up at one after a half hour’s walk in a light rain. Very cloudy today and a strong east wind.


Sunday, January 20, 1929

Played lazy this morning and read The White Lie Company in bed before getting up. Had dinner at the Yardes and later went down to the Baileys with Mrs. Yarde. There we had tea and took a ride around the Rock. Went to church with Mrs. Yarde tonight to hear Rev. Brown again. A heavy levanter hung over the west side of the Rock today and it drizzled off and on. We are due for lots of rain for the Mediterranean and Atlantic fleets are due here in a few days. Over 100 ships. Two large aeroplane carriers were in today, one the Furious. The Adriatic from New York was in too with American tourists. It was a very pretty sight as it sailed out just at dark.


Monday, January 21, 1929

Such rotten weather. The levanter hangs low over the city. There has been a fine drizzle off and on all day and it is windy and cold. I am rather bored for something to do. After seeing the Yardes off to England, I spent the rest of the morning reading. After lunch it was drizzling bit. I took a walk and watched a football game between some sailors. No mail. Washed some clothes and read some more. The Roma from Naples for New York stopped here a while this morning. The plane carriers got out some planes but the weather is so poor they didn’t fly. Saw Sir Nettleton in his car. He followed me in Cook’s to find out why I hadn’t left.


Tuesday, January 22, 1929

Again the levanter hung low and showered Gib with a misty rain off and on through the day. I met an American and his wife, [Delano] Ames by name, at the hotel and we drove all over the Rock in their little “Alex” as they called it., taking pictures. Both are authors or novelists, the wife writing under the name of [Maysie] Greig. Ames knows the Seymour boys, Helen Nicholas, and Ann Outhwaite. After lunch I said goodbye to Mr. Sprague but could not find Mr. Merrick. Had a letter from Jean. Went to the Baileys for dinner. Pressed my suit there, Mr. Bailey’s and everything else I could lay my hands on. No brains—forgot to return Kathleen’s (big) book and now I’ll have to trot up here before the boat leaves in the morning. Haven’t an idea when that is. Must be 12:00 now and I am nearly through packing.

Gib — At Sea

Wednesday, January 23, 1929

As I didn’t know when the boat left, I was up at 6:30 to return Kath’s book. But as I had until 10:30, I didn’t go there till nearly eight. They insisted on my having a bite of breakfast and then we took some snapshots. Kath wanted to give me a 10-bob gold piece for luck but I didn’t want to accept it. We argued, but I had to give in finally or else hurt her feelings. [Where is it???] She sure is a peach and so are Mr. and Mrs. Bailey. After kissing the three kids goodbye (the third time I’ve kissed them goodbye) I left a little after nine.

On the tender going out to the ship I saw a woman whose face seemed familiar. She spoke and we were friends when we reached the ship. She is living in Gib and came on board to see a friend. We looked the whole boat over, sat on the 1st-class deck with the friends and a gramophone till noon. She gave me an introduction to an Egyptian of the upper class in Cairo. The day was perfect—not a cloud and nice and warm. I hated to see Gib fade out in the distance for I have had such a good time there. I got in the second shift at lunch. The boat is a good one and third class is not at all bad—but of course not worth the £14. The passengers aren’t such a bad-looking lot, in fact the contrary. Some are pretty crude and most forget their table manners somewhat. The food is good. My inside cabin is about 7×7, with a double berth and a camp stool in it. I have it all to myself, though.

Sailed along the Andalusian coast passing Malaga this afternoon. Very picturesque and hilly scenery. A nearly full moon tonight. We are sailing up a silvery path. It’s a marvelous night—and nobody to spend it with. There is a whist drive on in the dining room, but I’m sleepy and shall hit the hay soon—at 10:45.

On S.S. Ormonde, just leaving Toulon

Saturday, January 26, 1929

Thursday was a fine day. A cloudless sky and warm sun, but just a little cooler than Wednesday. I got a deck chair for two bob and spent most of the day in the lazy row basking in the sun along the starboard rail. In the morning there were games for the kiddies. I read astronomy and French and Nash’s Magazine. After dinner, a dance was held on the promenade deck, but women were scarce and the men were forced to struggle around together. About noon we passed Ibiza Island of the Baleric group, on our starboard. It was a very charming looking place with high rugged cliffs to the sea, capped by trees that look like toys in the distance. At four we had Majorca abeam. It, too, is a lovely island, very picturesque, and the largest of the group. Palma, the principal town, was hidden from view by a jutting point of land at the extreme southern tip of the island. The Geographic has some dandy scenes of these islands of Spain’s.

Just before dinner the big red sun dipped into the sea, tinting the clouds from a fiery red to a delicate pink. At the same time the moon shone forth from some clouds, making a silvery path away to the northeast. We were but a mile off the coast and the high rugged cliffs and uneven hills presented a somber charm in the gathering twilight. Here and there a small light twinkled, marking the crude hillside home of some farmer or shepherd. There several lights betrayed a small village. A short distance to the north rose a great hill, lightly sprinkled with snow and over 1,300 feet high. By 7:30 we were rapidly leaving the lighthouse on the northern cape in the distance.

I had retired late Thursday, so when my steward brought me tea at 6:30 or 7, I was still sleepy. Wisely he leaves the light on, though, so you can’t go to sleep again. The boat was rolling and pitching a good bit and I had much difficulty in keeping on my feet while shaving. The tea and I didn’t get along together at all. I went on deck. We were heading into a driving gale of wind which whipped icy sprays across the deck. I was very cold and it was next to impossible to stand in the wind. I would hate to be a bum sailor this late in the game so I played it safe, as I left a little unsettled, and flopped on my bunk. When I awoke it was 9:30, so I went on deck, glad I had refused breakfast. The sun was out and I stood in a sheltered place talking to a boy from just south of Edinburgh till we were in the harbor at 10:30AM. Scotch isn’t so easy to understand. The weather, two bob, and the fact that I had already seen Toulon kept me from going ashore. Didn’t do a whole lot all day, but read astronomy and spent the evening in my cabin with Jim Speight, of near Preston, England, bound for Sydney, who had been ashore exercising French words with the help of my dictionary. He is a dandy boy, 23, and a joiner and mechanic. The evening was beautiful. The moon, nearly full, over the bay, the lights of the city along the distant shore far below the black towering hills in the background. I wrote a letter to Bob Bruce and some on Jean’s and Dad’s and didn’t turn in till pretty late. One boy of 21 has got in with the wrong crowd on the boat and is dead drunk every night. He was drunk ashore and last night he fell down the 15 or so stairs outside my cabin. Some fool.

The mails didn’t come till this morning, so we have just left port a few minutes ago and are leaving the shores of France in the distance. It is still cold, but the sun is out and it should warm up some near Corsica. Still fairly rolly with a respectable wind. 9:30AM.

8:30PM —The fine morning turned into a cloudy afternoon with drizzles. Tonight it is cloudy but the moon is out. Awfully cold. Haven’t done much all day but read—French and the Egyptian life customs, superstitions, etc. written about 1842. Rather rolly most of the day and quite a number were “down.” I was rather sleepy and too much reading has given me a headache. Have a ravenous appetite, though. Jim is in bunk with a cold. His three roommates, Jim, Jim, and Jock are keeping close watch over him—bringing him food, then throwing the plates and silver out of the port-hole for the fishes. We have just passed the northernmost tip of Corsica and will soon be near Elba. Naples at 11AM and a four-hour stop. There are lots of nice people on board in 3rd and many dialects of English, from Scotch, to those from Lancashire, Liverpool, Preston, London, etc., all different.

On S.S. Ormonde 2 hours south of Naples

Sunday, January 27, 1929

I forgot to mention that we passed Monte Cristo last evening. This morning dawned cloudy, rainy, cold. All morning we sailed between picturesque rocky islands and down the mountainous coast of Italy, these mountains being white with snow. One good-sized island was especially beautiful, its high hill covered with snow, the terrace vineyards, the white houses of the small town and just off the island an ancient castle perched high on a projecting rock. As it was awfully misty, it was impossible to see Vesuvius until we were docked and the mist lifted for a few moments. It was awfully pretty, entirely covered with snow, and from its crater a dense white steam issuing slowly forth. It was a miserable day, but Jim and I went ashore. We were pestered to death almost to the point of impatience (and I am patient) with guides, etc. They were almost impossible to lose. You have to insult them to get rid of the pests. One kept hanging on till Jim was getting fed [up] so I told him Jim was about to give him a boot. He left at the next corner. We walked down to the castle and Royal Palace, then followed the bay drive to the park, cutting back through town to the boat. My feet were soaked. I washed my hair and the boat sailed about 4:30.

Met the Ansonia, White Star Line, coming out of the harbor as we entered—bound for New York. It was certainly rolling some. We are too, as the scrawl here testifies. The waves beat against the portholes in the dining room and once a nice big roll sent lots of dishes sliding off the tables onto the floor. My steward says that plenty are sick, but I still have my appetite. At lunch I sat next to a Scot who expounded the beauties of Scotland at great length. We get to Port Said Wednesday at 1PM. I have been missing a meal—supper— of bread, cheese, cakes, and cocoa. A miserable day this, rain and sleet. We pass Stromboli volcano at 1AM and enter the Straits of Messina at 6PM.

On board S.S. Ormonde off coast of Crete

Tuesday, January 29, 1929

The French gentleman in the next cabin was very sick all night. Monday morning we were through the Straits, so it became calmer and also milder. I was asked to coach a tug-of-war team but later on got in one instead, the Irish team. They had a lottery on the distance traveled from Naples, which I entered. I was signing up for some sports on board when a man who saw my name asked if I hadn’t won a prize in the lottery. It was all news to me, but upon looking on the board, I found I had won first prize, 35 bob or $8.75, two bob of which I donated toward prizes for the sports. Lucky number 318. My lucky half-sovereign is OK. After lunch the Irish waded through two teams, winning four pulls and losing none. Only preliminaries though, and as I go tomorrow, I’ll miss out on the real times. There are several very good piano players aboard, including Jim. Strangely, they have taken a liking to this low-down jazz I play. I am leaving the ship much too soon. The people are very nice and I have made friends with a lot of dandy boys and men. They have a good time on board.

This morning about 7:30 we passed Gavdo Island (Ancient Cauda) 20 miles south of Crete. It is just a big rock protruding some 1,000 feet from the sea. Behind can be seen the Madara Range mountains (ancient Leuce). We are soon to pass Cape Littinos at the most southerly point of Crete. Behind it is Mount Psiloriti (ancient Ida), rising to a height of 8,060 feet. The visibility is rather poor this morning.

11PM — A man who has taken a great liking to “my piece” said he would print it if I would write it out for him. Jim and I tackled it for a couple of hours, but finally gave it up as a bad job. Wrote a letter to Dudie after tea this evening. When I had finished, Jim and I started out to have a look at the dance on deck. A couple of young women grabbed us before we left the writing room and so we were partnerized for a few dances. I think they are married—at least they are the best looking in third. The palace lists slightly to starboard, and as she is rolling some, everybody slides right across the deck and into the deck chairs along the rail. Lots of fun. There is a gorgeous moon, nearly full, sailing through a cloudy sky. It is pure gold in color and when behind a cloud, perfectly outlines it with a silver lining. And the band plays “There ain’t no sense, sittin’ on the fence, all by yourself in the moonlight,” so I’m going to bed. I didn’t win anything in the sweeps today. It has been a nice day, though rather cloudy, cool, and windy. Haven’t had a drop of agua to drink for seven days, a la [dumb] camel.

Port Said, Egypt

Wednesday, January 30, 1929

Outside of a very strong, cool east wind, the day has been perfect. We sighted land about 9:30AM and by twelve were slowly entering the canal by the city. At the canal’s entrance is a large monument to de Lesseps. There is a marvelous big sandy bathing beach along the seafront. Flocks of small motor boats followed us down the canal, where we finally landed a little below the town of Port Said. I just had time for lunch before the tender went ashore. Talk about porters! I had to fight them off until I had left customs. They try to take your suitcase away from you and won’t go away. I parked my stuff at Cook’s and walked all around with Jim. Men and boys selling jewelry, candy, cigarettes, canes, postcards, etc. in the street crowded around us and followed us up the streets, refusing to leave. You would have eight or ten after you at once. It was funny for a while, but it got to be too much so when they hung on I got sore and pointed down the street and told them to beat it. If they refused, they got a nice helping on their way by force. [Dad???!!!] Once Jim got sore and rolled up his sleeves and started after one pest, who didn’t lose any time making tracks. Out of the main streets, the kids all followed us. Jim gave one a 25-centime French coin which he refused. To stop it all, he threw a ha’penny way down the street. There was a regular street fight for a couple of minutes and then they all came back for more. I gave it to them by starting after the whole bunch and chased them down the street. I bought a helmet for 6 bob and a pair of sunglasses to protect my eyes from the glare and sand, for 4 bob. Landing charges 3 bob 3d.

We met some more boys from the ship and looked  around until nearly five when I took leave of them. “Fools do come and fools do go, but I’m as dumb as e’er they grow.”

Leaving one bag at Cook’s, I started out for Cairo carrying the other. For a number of miles the canal, road, and RR pass along south with the sea on each side. By the time I had reached the Ormonde, it was getting dark and the wind was filling les yeux with sand. When I had gone 4 miles, I decided it was foolish to walk to Cairo, especially walking all night. I had no idea of the roads and my shoes had big holes in the soles. I walked back to town. The Ormonde was just ready to sail and looked a fine sight all lit up.

Got a 4-bob room in the Continental Hotel for 3 bob. Most people speak English here, but French and of course Arabic are also spoken. The natives are of dark complexion and wear their fez and robes and some turbans. Oriental shops are thick here. This is a pretty cool night if you ask me.

Port Said and Cairo, Egypt

Thursday, January 31, 1929

I spent the morning inquiring about cargo vessels to Bombay. At noon I left for Cairo. The train, road, and canal followed side-by-side for many miles with a great expanse of low mudflats on either side. At Ismailia, or whatever the place is, we picked up a load of natives who came in my 3rd-class palace not only through the doors but also the windows. I was the only white person in the car and although it was crowded, they kept their distance from me. From this point we cut across the Arabian desert to Cairo and the delta of the Nile. A strong cool wind blew the sand and dust through the car till I was filthy. Even my glasses could not keep the sand from my eyes. The small homes were of dried mud or of mud bricks. The roofs were usually of straw, but a few had no roofs. There were several of these small mud-house villages en route, the passages narrow and uneven, and all very dirty looking.

The train followed a canal most of the way and on that side of the track there was some growing of green-stuffs for the sheep, goats, and cattle to eat. In the delta, though, the land was fertile. Occasional camels passed, laden with a heavy burden or a boy on a donkey went trotting down the road. Once in Cairo the fun began. Never saw such a lot of downright liars and people trying to get your money—if any—as there are in Egypt.

Got a nice room at the Luna Park Hotel for 5 bob a day. The porter who carried my stuff from the station tried to charge me way too much. At the Am.Exp.Co. I found twelve letters, a postcard, and a newspaper, and the OSU Monthly for me. Was plenty glad to get them.

Cairo, Egypt

Friday, February 1, 1929

I walked some seven miles out to the pyramids, pestered all along the way by guides who refuse no for an answer and hang on and on. About half of them claim to be sons of the sheik. Then I know they are worse liars than the other half. Some, though, are really nice young men and now that I have their number, I hand back everything that they hand me. It often ends by their finally giving up, shaking hands, and calling me their friend and a good fellow and leaving me with their address, etc. But they are pests, as are the multitude of street vendors of canes, jewelry, etc., all refusing to go away.

I started to climb Cheops but a cop called me back because I had no ticket. Then I got a ticket for 10 piasters and after a royal argument with guides, who told me of people who had taken the quick way down because they had no guides, started up by myself. The old sheik who sold tickets waived all responsibility, so I guess I was a sure goner. However, I had no trouble getting to the top, even though I met an American and his guide coming down who told me of a guideless man who had recently  descended rather in a hurry. The view from the top is splendid. 451 feet up, and you can see a number of other pyramids, the Sphinx, some old temples, the ruins of an old city, and Cairo in the distance. To the south and west the desert stretches unbroken to the horizon. An old Arab selling tea up there pointed out the things of interest and took my picture.

The real danger lies in the descent—which is natural enough. The old side looks nearly straight down and one slip and it may be too bad. The thing I was especially careful of was the wind for it was so strong that it might easily catch you off balance. A crowd gathered to see me meet my maker, but were disappointed. Next, after much haggling, I got a guide and ticket and visited the inside. First up a long galley six feet wide and about 90 feet high to the king’s chamber, 225 feet up and in the center of the pyramid. The entrance to it was through a tunnel. The room was plain, with two air shafts and the solid granite coffin in which the king was laid. The blocks of stone are 5 x 8 x 11 and weigh 19 tons. The queen’s chamber is directly below the king’s and is entered through a long tunnel some three feet high. It has a sloped ceiling, two air shafts, and a tunnel in back of where her coffin was, where her jewels etc. were placed.

Next we descended a long steep tunnel some 200 feet or more to a very low tunnel full of dust where I nearly had to crawl. At the end was the Temple of the Sphinx where the priest was buried. It is very interesting, far down below the ground, and is more like a cave. In it is a deep well. The pyramid is quite warm inside. When I had seen all I could inside (there are five rooms—one above the other—above the king’s chamber but very hard to get to), I took a camel ride for a while, spending most of the time arguing about the price with the driver. They are queer beasts, but fun to ride. We rode around the Sphinx and saw its huge claws, recently excavated, and also the temple by it. I started back about 3 and took a streetcar the last 3 miles. Saw a funeral on the way back. Four Arabs carrying a plain wooden coffin draped with a piece of cloth and preceded by some 50 men and women, all walking, the men sometimes singing a chant. The day before I saw a wedding procession by some 30 persons including some eight or ten musicians who played as they marched along.

Cairo, Egypt

Sunday, February 3, 1929

I started out this morning at nine with all good intentions of going to church. These fell through, however, when I found the Museum open. I spent two hours in there looking at a really wonderful exhibition of ancient Egyptian relics, stone statues, sarcophagi, etc. King Tut‘s things were all on exhibit, a fine array of a great variety of objects, mostly all gilded. Also some beautiful alabaster vases. In another room were the jewels, etc. Many beautiful pieces wrought in finely hammered gold and splendidly designed. Many gold ornaments were inlaid with colored stones. The outside sarcophagus was of a delicate workmanship with much gold used, while the inner one containing the body is all of brilliant gold and inlaid stones, a most striking and fascinating object.

From 11:30 to 3, I spent in the native quarters. Wending my way through the narrow, crooked maze of passages and streets, I at last arrived at the foot of the Mahommed Ali Mosque, second only in the world to one in Constantinople. I put on some slippers over my shoes and with a guide entered the large court where the fountain of the holy water is. The inside of the Mosque is very pretty. A huge rug covering all the floor on which all sit faced toward the alabaster indentation in the east wall, king included, or sultan. Much fine decoration and a huge chandelier in the center of the room with many other lamps arranged about it in circular formations. These are all lit some five times a year. The beautiful tomb of Mahommed is also to be seen by looking through a glass window into the tomb chamber.

Nearby is the old mosque, now out of use and slowly going. Also, a garrison of British troops is stationed in the fort there on the hill. Toward the east, way up on a high sand cliff at the edge of the Arabian Desert, stands an old French fort and farther on, a mosque. The view of Cairo from Mahommed Ali Mosque is an exceedingly fine one. To the south are the old Roman aqueducts and the broad rolling desert. To the west the Nile and the native section with its dozens of minarets rising far above the surrounding housetops. Directly at the foot of the hill are two large  mosques, and in the center of the native quarter is a large one having a great square court. Farther on are some sand hills, sites of an ancient Roman town, but now completely surrounded by the growing city. The strong wind blew the sand and dust in great clouds so that you could not see for great distances clearly. I had so much in my eyes I could scarcely see at all.

I next went down into the filthy, dirty, smelly native quarters and for an hour and a half didn’t see one white man or European. The streets are narrow, unpaved many of them, twisty, and full of dirt and filth. Chickens and goats are walking about and donkeys drawing two-wheeled carts pass by, with an occasional camel laden with straw or alfalfa. The kids run about under your feet and are hopelessly dirty. A hundred years ago they were dirty for a purpose, as a protection from the evil eye. Now they have no such excuse. The women are almost invariably in black and veiled. Often they wear a brass ring fixed to the lobe of their nose and some wear rings around their ankles. Many still adhere to the old custom of dying their fingertips and often the palms of their hands with red henna. The poorer wear no stockings and have but a wood sole with a canvas thong for sandals, or go barefooted. Many of the men, especially the blacks, go barefooted and consequently have surprisingly large and broad feet. Most all these blacks have three long scars down each cheek. This is done by cutting the cheek, and when the scab forms, I believe they break it and rub dirt or dye into the wound.

You seldom see a bareheaded man. If Egyptian, he wears a fez; if negro a rag wrapped around his head for a turban. Egyptians of the better class wear European clothes, but in the poor native sections all wear their robes of black, white, or striped. You often see some miserable person stretched out by a wall, asleep. My kodak proved to be a great curiosity and the kids would always stand right in front of it and pose, some in all seriousness. I came across several schools where the little kids were all seated at their desks or else raising the roof during a recess time.

Many, many old buildings were falling down and half demolished. Seemed as though the place had gone through a war. All was activity in the main streets. Little shops lined both sides of the narrow streets. They were all open to the front and here you could see the weavers and tailors sitting on the floor, busy at their work. Or a carpenter or fez maker or a brass shop. It was all more than interesting, but terribly dirty and dusty. Back at the hotel I was black and even had to wash my hair.

Cairo, Egypt

Monday, February 4, 1929

A rainy, cold, windy day it has been, by gosh, so I didn’t go to Memphis and Sakkarah. Got four more letters in the morning and spent most of the afternoon and evening writing 6 or 7. Have 7 or 8 more to send off yet. Got my shoes resoled—second time—this evening and as I was feeling a little lonely, stopped to talk to my good guide friend and dragoman, Attia Mohamed Mahmoud. He is really a dandy fellow. Has quite a wealthy father who is a farmer.

Cairo, Egypt

Tuesday, February 5, 1929

Had a nice little walk today. Started out a little after seven and followed the levee of the  Nile south from Giza. It was a beautiful day, mild and sunny. I walked through many villages along the bank of the river. At this hour in the morning the paths and roads were full of people coming the going. Many riding donkeys and camels. The donkeys here are very small. I have seen dirty places and people before, but never anything to compare with these people who live in little mud villages in the fertile narrow strip near the Nile. The villages are built of mud. Few houses are of a baked clay brick, but most are just a dry plastered mud with corn stalks for a roof, or boards. These villages are always either in or by a palm grove and are most interesting. The people are the last word in being filthy. Ample proof of their habits of living can be seen in the great number who are either blind in one eye or in both; and by their decayed teeth or their toothless jaws. Never cleaning themselves and living in such filth, they suffer from diseases and plagues often. They sit in the streets which are, of course, never cleaned. By streets I mean very narrow dirt streets or else dirt passages between the mud houses. The children roll around in the dirt and dust and are really pitiable sights. In one village I saw two mothers sitting in the middle of the dirt road nursing babies. Most every village has a pond in or by it by which chickens, donkeys, dogs, and goats stay when they aren’t roaming the streets. It usually smells fierce. Often, if the village is back from the river, the women wash their clothes and their cooking utensils here too. Saw some pounding away in an old canal of dirty water and nearby, in the water, lay an old dead horse, half decayed.

Inside most shops and houses the dirt is even worse than outside. The furniture is nil in many, only some corn stalks spread over the floor to sleep on. Creatures supposed to be humans lay in the dust alongside the roadway, asleep. In the hot weather I imagine swarms of flies and bugs add to the wretched conditions. It made me feel dirty to go through such places. I finally came out on the main road and walked on several miles more to Budrashane, once cutting back to some villages on the river for a picture of the Nile and the great sand cliffs opposite across the river. Leaving the guides behind, I took what I supposed to be the road toward Memphis and soon came to the site of this once capital of Egypt, now reduced to a few piles of bricks here and there, old foundations and bare dusty ground under a great large grove of lofty palms. There was a 1,000-ton granite statue of Ramses II, knocked down in the 8th century and now resting on its back. Nearby a sphinx, not so large and much worn.

Walking on farther I came to Sakkarah. I didn’t go out through the town or on the desert for I had a splendid view of all from a knoll near a dry canal. To the right was the Step Pyramid, the oldest of the pyramids. In front, a large affair that looked like an oven; in it are some tombs. To the left were the two large pyramids of Sakkarah. Then there were a number of small ruins of pyramids or else some sort of mounds used for tombs. As I had already waked 20 miles, I didn’t feel like tramping 5 or 6 more through the desert. Returning to Budrashane, I walked back toward Cairo three miles, then got a bus, really a Chevrolet truck holding together by a miracle. It tore back to Giza where I got a car into the city. I’m worse than a Scotchman. Walked 25 miles to save from 30 to 60 cents and would have walked the other 15 to save the two bits, but my feet were hurting. I wouldn’t trade it for anything, though. It was the best way of seeing how the country people existed.

On the west side of the Nile, just south of Cairo, are some mighty fine homes with large gardens. The architecture is not so pretty, but they are rather imposing. One of my guide friends has invited me out to his home by the pyramids for an Arabic lunch. Can’t accept, though, as I’m leaving tomorrow. Can’t hand [handle?] an Arabic meal I had last night so much. The country people all chew sugar cane all the time.

Thus the second book ends sweetly in Cairo, y[ours] t[ruly] having traveled 17,288 miles and visited 26 countries in the last 6 months and 26 days.

Cairo, Egypt

Wednesday, February 6, 1929

Didn’t do much all day except get my visa for India, Australia, Ceylon, and Straits Settlements. That cost me $10.50. Packed my stuff and wrote a letter till 5 when I went to Cook’s. Met a boy there from Akron, Wm. Warden, who had been traveling from West to East for 14 months. Later on the train I met a man from Chicago, Mr. Wm. Andrews. We had a nice talk till we reached Kantara where I changed for Palestine. Crossed the Suez Canal on a ferry and had a two-hour wait before the train left. The police and people in authority sure treat the natives and peasants with no respect and use a strong hand or stick rather than words. The trip was a cold one. I stood in the second-class car all night because there was less draft there. Read French and tried to keep warm. We made several stops at small stations at oases in the Sinai Desert.

Jerusalem, Palestine

Thursday, February 7, 1929

At seven we changed trains and came the last two hours on a side-line winding first through broad rolling hills and then large steep rocky ones. In Jerusalem I went to the Majestic Hotel where I got a nice room for 75¢ or 150 mils a day. Spent the day going around the city with its narrow maize [sic.] of narrow streets, blind alleys, and crowded bazaars. You go up steps and down, under arches and through regular tunnels. The main bazaars are in these dark, damp, cold tunnels with perhaps a few small square holes in the roof for light.

It is very cool here, especially at night when it gets downright cold. Today is the first sunny day in a long time, there having been some snow and lots of rain recently. The cobblestones and slabs of these streets are very slippery. All things imaginable are sold in these bazaars and you can watch then make shoes, jewelry, tin ware, and what-not here. The people throng through the narrow passages, black-dressed, veiled women, native Arabs and shepherds in their robes, Jews and better-to-do Moslems in their fezzes, not to mention the little kids and an occasional ass laden with vegetables, etc.

The city is surrounded by walls of good height and thickness, built in 1542 by the Turkish King Solomon. From these you can get a splendid view of the Mount of Olives and up the hills and valleys surrounding Jerusalem. The soil is all rocky and not much can be grown but olives, figs, and grapes. There are many churches and mosques. There are also many colonies here—Russian, American, Jewish, Armenian, and Moslem. The Jaffa Gate is a busy place. By it is the Citadel. It is certainly interesting to watch all the different kinds of people go by, from the wild-looking native peasant boy to the many tourists.