My parents knew a couple of Swedish University students, Tommy and Péle, that would come every summer and live in our “casita”, on the corner of our property. These two rakishly handsome, 6″ plus men, would drive from Stockholm every summer and stay with us. They drove a red Porsche 356 B with a backpack, guitar and a couple of bottles of schnapps in the back. They were probably 10 years older than I was, so they didn’t pay much attention to me. Our house had an underground garage, and the Porsche stayed in the garage most of the time. I spent a lot of time inside the garage checking out the car. Compared to the Dauphine mom had, this was night and day.
Occasional Tommy, had to go to Gibraltar to buy something they could not get locally and I was invited to go with him. Tommy drove FAST, really fast. It was mesmerising to go along for the ride. The road from Malaga to Gibraltar, in the early 60s, was a two lane road with dozens of blind corners. Tommy drove as if he was racing all the time, or maybe he did it just to impress a young kid. I still feel that emotion just remembering the drives along the coast. He scared the shit out of me…and I loved it.
By the time I could have driven the car, Tommy and Péle got married and stopped coming down. I never forgot the red 356. I heard they both had kids and now drove a couple of Volvo station wagons. Go figure.