Bivouac

Bivouac

Have you ever taken a long road trip with a military man?  It is more like going

on what they call bivouac.

Bivouac:( biv - wak) noun.  Meaning :

A military encampment made with tents or impoverished shelters, usually without shelter or protection from enemy fire.

Anyway, I always thought that was a funny word.  My mom on the other hand was the one that suffered.  My dad and the rest of us kids  took it all in stride and looked forward to the rustic adventures.

My first recollection of a bivouac was back in 1960.

Dad had just returned from Turkey where he was for a year.  I have a photo of him on a camel.  He is in his field uniform and holding a rifle.  The camel is loaded down with supplies.  A local man is leading the camel by rope out in a barren open terrain.   He is dressed in yards of loose fabric that wrap around his body several times then between the legs and then up over the shoulder.  He is also wearing a turban.  Dad was on bivouac for certain!

In comparison our bivouacs would seem like a luxury vacations!  

Dad started out changing the oil and checking the brakes on the station wagon.  It was new so was pretty nice for the times.  Sleek silver gray with red interior.  Big fins and a rear facing seat.  It was called "The Shark!"

 Next he would make sure there was a spare everything he might needed.  He stored these items under the folded down seats where there was some empty space.  String, Tools, rope, hatchet, small  foxhole shovel, nails, screws, large rubber bands made from cutting a bike inner tube.  You name it he had it stored in that car!

We were issued personal canteens to drink from.  Each one had a tag to ID

who's was who's.  Next there was a trip to the commissary.  Canned goods and some other nonperishables. There were cases of C-Rations which are now called MRE's ie: meals ready to eat.  They will always be C-rations to me.  Inside you had a small aluminum can opener.  It was about an inch long and the blade was sharp and folded in to store on a keychain.  I still have one.  This was indispensable!  Without it you couldn't open the can of brown bread.  You would have never had the hash or stew either.  Most boxes had chocolate.  The boxes we had were old so any chocolate was old, too. White around the edges and hard as a brick!  Some had cigarettes.  There was a small roll of flimsy toilet paper and matches.

Large paper grocery sacks for each day of the week went directly behind the back seat.  Rations then could easily be retrieved and passed up front to the Gedunk chef ie:  mom.

Duffle bags with our clothing stuffed inside went in next.  Every nook and crannie held something!

"All aboard!" he would announce when everything passed his inspection.

We would pile in.  The boys always won and got the window seats.  My sister

and I got the middle.  There were barf bags for the both of us.

Depending on where we were headed we knew we would be in that car for

at least an eight to ten hour drive. Bathroom breaks

were every three hours or so and not in between unless sick.

We entertained ourselves with car games and drawing pictures of some pretty

outrageous looking shoes we designed.  I think I have seen some of those styles lately!

Sometimes we would get an ice cream cone.  The kind that was soft served with a curly Q on top.  That was my sister's favorite way of getting my dad to stop by crying " Ceem Cone" for miles!

The smell of some substances still make my stomach turn.  One is gasoline and the other is tar.  Inevitably we would encounter both odors on a sweltering summer day.

The station wagon did not have air conditioning.  Going down the highway was fine on a hot, humid day.  But the moment we stopped the air was as heavy and stagnant as in a sauna.  Add the stink of gas or tar and I was using one of those puke bags!

Mountainous terrain takes driving skills not for the faint of heart.  First if all you can't ride the brakes because they will overheat.

Overheated brakes smell worse than gas or tar!  Besides they will wear out and you don't need them to fail at several thousand feet on a curvy narrow mountain road.  Hairpin turns required blowing the horn before the bend lest you be forced off the road and over a steep cliff.

Another thing, once on the mountain, get off before sunset or camp!

One time in the middle of the road on some mountain range my dad got sick.

He had malaria while a POW in WWII and this was a similar incident related to it.  He pulled over to the far edge of the road.  We had a tiny camper by then and he crawled inside and was sick as a dog for several days.  Mom did not drive and the rest of us were too young.  It was not a heavily traveled road.

Our bivouac experience was paying off and we all survived!

Once a camp spot was found we would unload.

"Yes, everything!"  Tents were pitched and shallow ditch dug around perimeter

in case of rain.  It always rained.  Load belongings into tents.  If still daylight, walk the area surrounding camp to become familiar. Designate where one should "go to the bathroom."

Help gather wood for a camp fire.  Open your designated C-Ration and eat.  Apply mosquito repellant.  Brush teeth.  Crawl into sleeping bag and don't move all night on the hard ground.  

In the morning help with the fire.  Eat a small amount of dry cereal or have an apple or boiled egg.

Boiled eggs travel well and often were cooked while driving using a heating element plugged into the cigarette lighter secured to a coffee can of water.

Mom was a master of many culinary skills like that while riding shotgun on these trips.  Many a sandwich was made and passed back to the hungry natives in the back seat.  She never once cut or burned herself.   She should have been awarded a medal for her valor under pressure and extraordinary circumstances.  While we zipped along the highway passing Stuckey's and Howard Johnson's, we were munching stale sandwiches, jerky and sleeping on the ground!  What a thrilling vacation for her!

In Europe we continued to flex our skills to meet the challenges of the country we were visiting.  Dad had decided by then that we could sleep in a bed at night.

We found some pretty nice places to stay and some that made us wonder where the hell we were.

The out houses in Europe were something I had never seen before.  Two block

platforms for your feet and an opening in the floor to aim for!  No thank you!

In Austria there was a cute chalet.  We revisited it every time we traveled from

Germany to Italy.  Mom called it Dr. Zhivago's Chalet.  It was so cozy and had huge feather comforters on the beds  and lace curtains on the windows.  Geraniums grew in the window boxes.  The view was stunning of the Austrian Alps with their snow capped tops.  The proprietors were friendly and the small village was picturesque. 

Another favorite was Waggital, Switzerland.  This town was at the top of the mountain range between Austria and Switzerland.

Coming down into the town from the mountain was like looking at the scenery from "The Sound of Music!"  I half expected to see Julie Andrews and the Von Trapp family at any moment.

There was a large lake in the center of the valley surrounded by the mountain range.  The steep hills extending up from the lake were emerald green and lush.  Herds of sheep and goats dotted the area. Lazy cows chewed their cud down at the water's edge.

At the far end of the valley a white steepled church chimed it's bells.

We stayed at a hotel as a special treat.  A small stream was across the street.  One could walk or drive around the lake.  We walked each evening.  There was a waterfall and the coldest, freshest water I have ever tasted.

To me I'd gladly sleep on the ground on a bivouac a whole year to be able to go back to Waggital, Switzerland for one night!

Portugal was another treasure.  There we were able to stay in a small flat.  It was complete with a pool just a short walk away.

Further down the winding path was a sheer rocky cliff to the ocean.  To the left of the cove you could see the crescent shaped beach.  Large waves broke upon it's shore.  Wild peacocks roamed among the underbrush at the cliff edge.

Further to the right was an area where the local fishermen brought their daily catch right to the shore.  We would be waiting early in the morning with newspapers and a grocery sack to take home fresh shrimp and fish to make for dinner that night.  Local women sold their hand embroidered linens.

There are no radio stations in English in the middle if Spain! The best we could do was Moroccan as we drove along in the triple digit weather!  It was that or listen to dad sing "Yes, We Have No Bananas!" "No, not that song again!"

Here again we found the unexpected retreat.   A small hotel along the coast of Barcelona.  My parents used it as a base for their daily drives to explore the area.  We hung out at the pool or ocean.  That year I endured the worst sunburn of my life but came home with tan bragging rights the like of which I have never had again.  I also had to put up with the car ride and someone next to me touching my sore arms because we had four of us in the back seat.  My cousin David made that trip with us when he was in the Army.  I remember a woman flirting with him and asking for his bottle of beer to rinse her hair!  Apparently that was supposed to help give it shine and body?  I think it was way for her to lure him.  He of course being a very cute, eligible young man gladly gave up his beer to spend some time with her!

The torsion bar broke on the way home from that trip.  We crawled along at  a slow speed until we got somewhere to get it fixed.  Big huge American station wagon parts are not readily available in the middle of the alps.  The remainder of the trip was miserable but we finally made it home going slow.

So, the next time someone suggests going on a bivouac, you better be ready for anything from a sleeping bag in a tent in the rain on the cold hard ground to a feather comforter in the pristine Swiss Alps!

Cathy Windham

3/20/13