on the road less travelled in Ireland and france

By Conal Healy

I had finished high school in Ireland in June 1978 – and was waiting for the results of Leaving Certificate – when I returned to Paris. I had been there the previous year and was eager to explore more of the French capital.

This time I was going there with my girlfriend (later wife) Anna. We had been together for over a year when we decided to grab a tent and backpacks and make the long trip to Paris.

One of my stronger memories from the trip was my mother handing me a packet of condoms before we left. She didn’t say a word, just handed them to me and walked away.

What puzzled me (and still does) was where did my conservative, Irish Catholic mother, managed to procure condoms?

I should explain that in the 1970s any kind of contraception was illegal in the land of police and priests. This was at a time when The Pill, Playboy and Monty Python’s The Life of Brian were all banned in Ireland.

Condoms? They were contraband. If you wanted French Letters you had go overseas and hoped that your bags weren’t searched and your supply of “rubber johnnies” confiscated (with a possible appearance in court too.)

I never found out where I mother got the prized prophylactics. The subject of contraception was never mentioned again between my mother and myself.

Back in the 1970 there was no internet. The concept of being an independent traveller was new. The Hitchhiker Guide to Europe, Europe on $5 a Day were only starting to become common.

I had to use my father’s Automobile Associations (AA) membership to find us a place to pitch our tent in Paris. And there was required paperwork and permits to be obtained and paid for before we could visit France.

The AA published motoring guides to France and directed us to a campsite on the backs of the Seine in the Bois de Boulogne. (The campsite is still there.) (At the time, we were unaware of the area’s “interesting nighttime activities”).

The weather in Paris (in the summer of 1978) was glorious. Coming from Ireland where rain is a summer constant, France in summer (and early autumn) was paradise. Men were wearing shorts, women were wearing summer dresses – this is what nice sun and heat can do to people. I loved it. This was the “joie de vivre”.

Once again we were warned about the French police. This was France in the 1970s and France still believed in strong borders. The gendarmes were notorious for picking on tourists, especially if they looked like low-life students. We had to carry our passport at all times, our tent had to display (on a wooden board) our permits to be in the country.

Decades later I can still feel the sandy/stoney soil that we slept on, and see the cheap litre bottles of beer we bought from the camp store. During the day I showed Anna the sites of Paris – the flea market at Porte de Clignancourt, Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame and the rest of the tourist trail.

 That trip to Paris were the start of our backpacking adventures – in the following years we would travel around Europe (usually by train), have holiday in England and eventually have a honeymoon in Crete, Greece.