Unbelievably for those youngsters on here who dream of packing off from Mum and Dad or ditching the office routine to go travelling the world, once upon a time, that was a readily available choice - many called it the 'Hippy Trail'.
It was based on a fairly widespread acceptance of hitch-hiking, easy-going camp sites, hostels and even just being invited to stay and bed the night with complete strangers.
The main routes from the UK were ferry to France, then hitch down to Spain, pssibly via Pamplona and/or Barcelona, maybe a diversion to the Balearics which were almost uninhabited, and onwards south, across the Straits of Gibraltar to Nirvana itself, Morocco, espeically Marrakesh.
By the 1970s, this route had fallen out of favour. Francoist clampdowns in Spain and mega-tourist develpment meant hippies were no longer welcome, whilst the beginnings of a clampdown on drugs, espeically hashish, meant Morocco was not so friendly either - towards hippes.
So it was the really long-haul south-eastern route that beckoned. Again you got acros to France on a ferry and stuck your thumb out aiming for Yugoslavia usually via Austria. Trains were cheap, and plentiful and quite easily fare-dodged. Just pretend you couldn't speak the lingo.
Everything was cash. No phones, No cards. No computers. Poste Restante for vital top-ups of TCs - the currency of the Hippy Trail - Travellers' Cheques - insured money - if lost or stolen then instantly refunded.
You wended your way through the Balkans, taking in some Adriatic islands like Hvar, Korcula and Mljet, again almost completely non-tourist, only Yugoslavs. Wonderful wonderful places.
The first mega-destination was Athens, where of course you paid homage to the classical forefathers of western civilisation whilst sleeping on some hostel roof in Plaka, at the foot of the Pathenon, for a few drachmas a night.
Next stop, real adventure: Istanbul. Here was the Terminal of the (real) Magic Bus. Painted yellow and starting from Istanbul, Magic Buses offered cheap and easy rides to all points east.
You would bed down somewhere in the Sultan Ahmet district, get some dope, blow some cash on food, supplies, visas perhaps, check out your Post restante in the hope of some more TCs from Mum and Dad, send a few postcards, and negotiate your ticket to ride.
Firm favourite as a first stop was Tehran - yes, Istanbul to Tehran for maybe a fiver, no sweat.
Some went to Israel to do Kibbutz for a while. Some just stayed in Turkey and went back eventually.
But for many the Trail was only just starting so off you went to Tehran, a teeming, booming, hustling city which was the gateway to the seriously mysterious East, the East the Hippy dreamt of, alternative life values, karma, nirvana, peace, love, no money, no work, drugs, heaven on Earth.
And so the Magic Bus would start off once more - to Kabul!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, you read it right, Kabul, capital of Afghanistan, the epicentre of hippydom.
Tens of thousands of Scandinavians, Germans, Brits, all west European countries really, saw armies of young people, perhaps two-thirds men, arrive by bus in Kabul, with a rucksack, a straggly beard, and a clutch of TCs, looking for dope, smack, a hut to stay in and some music and vibes.
Again, Kabul lent itself to this bizarre pilgrimage. No harm was done. The place was stable enough. It was utterly unspoilt, beautiful and totally out of the world experience of western Europeans. Of course, the underlying poverty and feudality of the place was the real reason people bartered goods, offered incredible hospitality as a duty, and did not obstruct these strange westerners.
From Kabul, most headed to Nepal - Kathmandu - to get the Buddhist fix. And thence, at last down the Himalayan plateau to Thailand, which was so unspoilt that for a while it truly was a Paradise on Earth, not the chasm of shyte it has become today.
The other route from Kabul was south to India, whilst there was an Iran-India route as well. The Magic Bus itineraries must be collectors' items now.
There is hardly an inch of the old Trail which is not now a war zone hellhole of death, brutality and savagery, oppression, and cruelty.
It would almost be an incredible challenge for anyone to actually try and do the old Hippy Trail today.
Today's travellers have absolutely no idea of what a glorious time they have missed, what amazing days, unbelievably all gone in a few decades of humna development - ruined, destroyed, gone.
It was based on a fairly widespread acceptance of hitch-hiking, easy-going camp sites, hostels and even just being invited to stay and bed the night with complete strangers.
The main routes from the UK were ferry to France, then hitch down to Spain, pssibly via Pamplona and/or Barcelona, maybe a diversion to the Balearics which were almost uninhabited, and onwards south, across the Straits of Gibraltar to Nirvana itself, Morocco, espeically Marrakesh.
By the 1970s, this route had fallen out of favour. Francoist clampdowns in Spain and mega-tourist develpment meant hippies were no longer welcome, whilst the beginnings of a clampdown on drugs, espeically hashish, meant Morocco was not so friendly either - towards hippes.
So it was the really long-haul south-eastern route that beckoned. Again you got acros to France on a ferry and stuck your thumb out aiming for Yugoslavia usually via Austria. Trains were cheap, and plentiful and quite easily fare-dodged. Just pretend you couldn't speak the lingo.
Everything was cash. No phones, No cards. No computers. Poste Restante for vital top-ups of TCs - the currency of the Hippy Trail - Travellers' Cheques - insured money - if lost or stolen then instantly refunded.
You wended your way through the Balkans, taking in some Adriatic islands like Hvar, Korcula and Mljet, again almost completely non-tourist, only Yugoslavs. Wonderful wonderful places.
The first mega-destination was Athens, where of course you paid homage to the classical forefathers of western civilisation whilst sleeping on some hostel roof in Plaka, at the foot of the Pathenon, for a few drachmas a night.
Next stop, real adventure: Istanbul. Here was the Terminal of the (real) Magic Bus. Painted yellow and starting from Istanbul, Magic Buses offered cheap and easy rides to all points east.
You would bed down somewhere in the Sultan Ahmet district, get some dope, blow some cash on food, supplies, visas perhaps, check out your Post restante in the hope of some more TCs from Mum and Dad, send a few postcards, and negotiate your ticket to ride.
Firm favourite as a first stop was Tehran - yes, Istanbul to Tehran for maybe a fiver, no sweat.
Some went to Israel to do Kibbutz for a while. Some just stayed in Turkey and went back eventually.
But for many the Trail was only just starting so off you went to Tehran, a teeming, booming, hustling city which was the gateway to the seriously mysterious East, the East the Hippy dreamt of, alternative life values, karma, nirvana, peace, love, no money, no work, drugs, heaven on Earth.
And so the Magic Bus would start off once more - to Kabul!!!!!!!!!!! Yes, you read it right, Kabul, capital of Afghanistan, the epicentre of hippydom.
Tens of thousands of Scandinavians, Germans, Brits, all west European countries really, saw armies of young people, perhaps two-thirds men, arrive by bus in Kabul, with a rucksack, a straggly beard, and a clutch of TCs, looking for dope, smack, a hut to stay in and some music and vibes.
Again, Kabul lent itself to this bizarre pilgrimage. No harm was done. The place was stable enough. It was utterly unspoilt, beautiful and totally out of the world experience of western Europeans. Of course, the underlying poverty and feudality of the place was the real reason people bartered goods, offered incredible hospitality as a duty, and did not obstruct these strange westerners.
From Kabul, most headed to Nepal - Kathmandu - to get the Buddhist fix. And thence, at last down the Himalayan plateau to Thailand, which was so unspoilt that for a while it truly was a Paradise on Earth, not the chasm of shyte it has become today.
The other route from Kabul was south to India, whilst there was an Iran-India route as well. The Magic Bus itineraries must be collectors' items now.
There is hardly an inch of the old Trail which is not now a war zone hellhole of death, brutality and savagery, oppression, and cruelty.
It would almost be an incredible challenge for anyone to actually try and do the old Hippy Trail today.
Today's travellers have absolutely no idea of what a glorious time they have missed, what amazing days, unbelievably all gone in a few decades of humna development - ruined, destroyed, gone.
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