To sleep is a necessity and a powerful medicine. To sleep anywhere is an attitude which, with practice, develops into an art form.
As kids, we spent our summer holidays camping in home-made tents of bean sticks and plastic tarp, sleeping on bails of straw. As we grew older, we would just crash around the campfire, tranquilised by alcohol, sometimes waking up in the morning to sobering sound of pouring rain, whilst lying in a puddle of mud. Though it wasn’t until I went backpacking on a shoestring budget, that I developed and refined the art of sleeping out. True to the saying “you have a nose for it”, the most important task was finding a suitable place to roll out your sleeping bag. The beach was sufficient in fine weather and so was the roadside, especially when hitchhiking. Inclement weather drove us to seek shelter under bridges, in semi enclosed bus stops, or the roofed entrance of some building among other facilities, such as public toilets. I have wistful memories of the night in Brussels in 1980 when my girlfriend, Anita, and I shared a bottle of Johnny Walker with another backpacking couple followed by a good night’s sleep, on the well sheltered front steps of a bank.
Now my mind drifts back to 1977;
After a long dusty bus trip we are rewarded with a phenomenal orange coloured sky at sunset directly to the west and a full moon rising in the east – a group of us hippies lay our heads to rest in the desert at the Iranian/Afganian border.
Fate assured, the weather God decided to turn on his heavenly tap around midnight, sending me wandering to locate the roofed entrance steps of the only building far and wide. Park benches, the trade-mark bed of the homeless, travellers and drunks, always made for a good sleep, depending on climatic conditions of course. In big cities, we had to compete and score one before nightfall. Then there was the railway station. In Venice we globetrotters would snooze on the floor until the railway guards ordered us to leave but kindly let us sleep on the steps outside. Munich central station had its own special touch. We would doze off on some bench in the cosy waiting room to a rude awakening at 1am, and the shouting of the guards in rhythm with the barking of their German Sheppard dogs moving us on across the road where we dispersed into the old botanical garden, and continued our slumber party under a bush – I liked to call it my second home since it was familiar surroundings for me when I visited Munich! Water fountains and ponds came handy when sleeping out. It was a place where we ‘bush people’ met for our morning wash and a chat. It was one of the busiest spots I found during my travels the other being ‘En Gedi’ beach by the Dead Sea in Israel. The unexpected often plays a role when sleeping out. For example, one night in 1976, after a long day’s travel, my friend ‘Otz’ and I arrived in Tehran late. The cheap backpacker’s dormitories had shut-up shop for the day, leaving us to find some alternative patch of soil to sleep on. In the dark of night, we found what seemed to be some kind of a park, sheltered from the road by a large building, the ideal ‘open air accommodation’ on a warm summer night. ‘So far-so good’, until we woke up to a foul smell and hordes of rats basking in the warm morning sun. Our ideal resting place had turned out to be a rubbish tip, “lucky breakfast wasn’t included in the deal”. Rats of course, weren’t the only vermin we had to tolerate when sleeping out. Mosquitos and an array of other creatures paid their nightly visits. One night in 1979, unable to afford to stay in the only hotel around, four of us decided to spend the night under the stars in the ancient, abandoned desert city of Petra in Jordan. Later, as I woke up for an ‘open air toilet visit’, something slimy slid over my hand. Thinking ‘snake’, I jumped out of my sleeping bag and shook it out, the next morning, to my relief, I found a dead giant centipede nearby. Later a local Bedouin told me it was highly venomous. Needless to say: when sleeping out, security and vigilance is of utmost importance. When you travel, all your belongings are in your backpack, valuables on your body, hidden and zipped-up in pockets and belts, 24/7. The backpack double-functions as a pillow and an alarm, should anyone try and steel it. In certain situations, it may be wise to sleep holding a knife in hand, concealed or visible. This worked for me but don’t take it as gospel. One night in 1977 in Nanital in the Indian Himalayas, I planked down under a tree, next to a ‘Holy Cow’ with her calf. The place was riddled with howling wild dogs, so I decided to sleep ‘at the ready’ holding my pocketknife. My dreams were interrupted by a batten poking my ribs. There were two policemen on patrol, inquiring what the knife was for. They accepted my explanation, ‘protection from the dogs’, hung around for a friendly chat then moved on letting me sleep in peace without any more interruptions. On another occasion in 1980, Anita and I, returning from three months in Africa, arrived in Gaza City late afternoon. Wandering the streets, several locals warned us to ‘get out before nightfall’ if our lives were dear to us. Following the motto ‘always listen to the locals’ we managed to make it to the Israeli border by dusk. We made our bed on a sand dune across the road from the floodlit, sand bagged border station, re-assured by the heavily armed Israeli soldiers, should we get into trouble. True enough, during the night we woke up to find a Palestinian had creeped up and was rubbing his hand over Anita,s sleeping bag. After ignoring my repeated threats to ‘Fuck-off’ (I guess he didn’t understand English), the sight of my branding knife conveyed the message more clearly and made him bolt off into the dark.
Of course, not all sleeping out happens at ground level. For example, circa early 1980, the semi enclosed lifeguard tower on the beach in Eilat at the Red Sea in Israel provided an elevated level of comfort for Paddy the Irishman and me, later joined by two Israelis who had walked the length of Israel from north to south. We made it our dormitory for a week, then moved on trying to score a job on a yacht bound for Djibuti. When, walking up the jetty, Paddy told me he couldn’t swim! A few months later and still on solid ground, I was travelling with Anita in Africa. We hitched a two-day lift in a truck from Kenya all the way to Kampala, the Capital City of Uganda, a country in turmoil, suffering in the aftermath of Idi Amin’s tyranny. Ours was one of the last few trucks to pull into a designated truck depot at the outskirts, just before the night curfew. Nightly killings and looting were the norm, so for a small fee, the place was protected against insurgents by guards carrying the good old AK47. The tiny, high velocity insurgents known as bullets however, called for a different method of protection. With no shielding fixtures around, we slept under the truck, the two drivers, Joseph, Raffael and us, taking one wheel each for partial cover. We dozed off to the rattling sound of machine guns, which we were well used to from our travel through Israel. Next morning as we walked into the city, they had just finished the daily task of removing the corpses. Now, I could go on telling countless other stories, such as sharing the night and a smoke of dope with some visiting Iranian Kurds on the footpath in Tehran, or sleeping in the company of leppers in the streets of India etc. Not to forget the comfortable accommodation on conveniently booked third class, overnight trains, busses and ferries, and of course, the dirt- cheap, indoor and open air Backpacker dormitories throughout the Middle East, Asia and Africa. Well, I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the life of the ‘Humble Backpacker’ in the 1970’s and 80’s.
Mastery of the ‘art of sleeping out’ coupled with other survival skills I have acquired during my travels, has liberated my mind from worry about loss of property, possession or lifestyle. Metaphorically speaking: “I have slept under bridges before, and I can do it again”; anywhere, anytime.
Recommended reading: Real, Bold & Simple
Chapter 3 – born to be free
E-Book Download from this