Memories are made of this

We explored Europe as we liked it. Zooming down autobahns, winding through the Alps, shivering with shock and awe at the treacherous Susten Pass. But recovering, to leave our initials on the snowy walls, to think of Heidi in the Swiss Alps. Pitching our tents at camping sites — relishing my mother’s camp-fire kichdi, cooked between sessions of table-tennis with her children. Plucking juicy red plums from laden branches. Exploring “Neckermann and Quelle” — Germany’s department stores. We thrilled to the sights, sounds and history of Europe. Mona Lisa smiling, Checkpoint Charlie and the Berlin Wall. Seafaring Holland and the inspiring story of the little boy and the dykes… Roman Holiday — ecstasy in Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, agony at the plight of the Gladiators at the Colosseum, at “Vesuvius-ruined” Pompeii. We lost our way at Pisa, where French and German were of no use in asking the Italians for directions. Then a brainwave — my father held one hand upright, then bent it 45 degrees. The urchin grinned widely — and instantly pointed out the route to the Leaning Tower of Pisa! Floating on gondolas — down the canals of Venice, where a “traffic” policeman stood on a boat! Vienna, Danube, and the Sound of Music.

Euro 1968. No whistles to stop us!