When I graduated from music school, I was twenty-one. I left Detroit, the city I'd grown up in, and went to live in Europe for six months. First, I spent about four months in London, working diligently everyday on composition. But the winter was coming on and my money was getting low, so I figured I better head south.
I'll never forget getting on a plane in cold, rainy, dark, and miserable London, and it seemed like about twenty minutes later walking off that plane onto the warm, sunny, brilliantly blue-skied, Majorca, an island off Spain, in the turquoise-blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. Wow! I'm sure I must have said to myself, good move, Ross, this is more like it!
Slept in caves in Ibezia (when it was the Isle of Hippies), and had a little romantic adventure in the back of an abandoned school bus on the very first night (which is more than I'd had in my four months in London). Back in Barcelona I met a couple fellow travelers and we headed down the coast of Spain. Destination Morocco, North Africa.
(to be continued....)