Ebook Hippie, by Paulo Coelho

Ebook Hippie, by Paulo Coelho

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Hippie, by Paulo Coelho

Ebook Hippie, by Paulo Coelho

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About the Author

Paulo Coelho’s life remains the primary source of inspiration for his books. He has flirted with death, escaped madness, dallied with drugs, withstood torture, experimented with magic and alchemy, studied philosophy and religion, read voraciously, lost and recovered his faith, and experienced the pain and pleasure of love. In searching for his own place in the world, he has discovered answers for the challenges that everyone faces. He believes that within ourselves we have the necessary strength to find our own destiny. His books have been translated into 81 languages and have sold more than 225 million copies in more than 170 countries. His 1988 novel, The Alchemist, has sold more than 85 million copies and has been cited as an inspiration by people as diverse as Malala Yousafzai and Pharrell Williams. He is a member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters and has received the Chevalier de l’Ordre National de la Légion d’Honneur. In 2007, he was named a United Nations Messenger of Peace.

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Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The stories that follow come from my personal experiences. I’ve altered the order, names, and details of the people here, I was forced to condense some scenes, but everything that follows truly happened to me. I’ve used the third person because this allowed me to give characters  unique voices with which to describe their lives.  *** In September 1970, two sites squared off for the title of the center of the world: Piccadilly Circus, in London, and Dam Square, in Amsterdam. But not everyone knew this: if you asked most people, they’d have told you: “The White House, in the US, and the Kremlin in the USSR.” These people tended to get their information from newspapers, television, radio, media that were already entirely outdated and that would never regain the relevance they had when first invented. In September 1970, airplane tickets were outrageously expensive, which meant only the rich could travel. OK, that wasn’t entirely true for an enormous number of young people whom these outdated media outlets could see only for their outward appearance: they wore their hair long, dressed in bright-colored clothing never took a bath (which was a lie, but these young kids didn’t read the newspaper, and the older generation believed any news item that served to denigrate those they considered “a danger to society and common decency”). They were a danger to an entire generation of diligent young boys and girls trying to succeed in life, with their horrible example of lewdness and “free love,” as their detractors liked to say with disdain. Well, this ever-growing number of kids had a system for spreading news that no one, absolutely no one, ever managed to detect. The “Invisible Post” couldn’t be bothered to discuss the latest Volkswagen or the new powdered soaps that had just been launched around the globe. It limited its news to the next great trail awaiting explorationby those insolent, dirty kids practicing “free love” and wearing clothes no one with any taste would ever put on. The girls with their braided hair covered in flowers, their long dresses, bright-colored shirts and no bras, necklaces of all shapes and sizes; the boys  with their hair and beards that hadn’t been cut for months. They wore faded jeans with tears from overuse because jeans were expensive everywhere in the world—except for the US, where they’d emerged from the ghetto of factory workers and were worn at all the major open-air shows in and around San Francisco. The “Invisible Post” existed because people were always going to these concerts, swapping ideas about where they ought to meet next, how they could explore the world without jumping aboard one of those tourist buses where a guide described the sights while the younger people grew bored and the old people dozed. And so, thanks to word of mouth, everyone knew where the next concert was to take place or where to find the next great trail to be explored. No one had any financial restrictions because, in this community, everyone’s favorite author wasn’t Plato or Aristotle or comics from some artist who’d attained celebrity status,the big book, which almost no one who traveled to the Old Continent did so without, went by the name Europe on 5 Dollars a Day. With this book, everyone could find out where to stay, what to see, where to eat, where to meet, and where to catch live music while hardly spending a thing. Frommer’s only error at the time was having limited his guide to Europe. Were there not perhaps other interesting places to see? Weren’t there those who would rather go to India than to Paris? Frommer would address this failing a few years later, but until such time the “Invisible Post” took it upon itself to promote a South American itinerary ending at the once-“lost” city of Machu Picchu, with the warning not to mention anything to those who were outside of the hippie culture, lest the place be invaded by wild animals with cameras and extensive explanations (quickly forgotten) about how a band of Indians had created a city so well concealed it could be discovered only from above—something they considered impossible, since men did not fly. Let’s be fair: there was a second enormous bestseller, though not as popular as Frommer’s book, which appealed more to those who had already flirted with socialism, Marxism, and anarchy; each of these phases always ended in deep disillusionment with the system invented by those who professed that “it was inevitable that the workers of the world would seize power.” Or that “religion is the opium of the masses,” which only proved that whoever uttered such a stupid statement understood little about the masses and even less about opium: among the things these poorly dressed kids believed in were God, gods, goddesses, angels, that sort of thing. The only problem is that the book, The Morning of the Magicians, written by the Frenchman Louis Pauwels and the Russian Jacques Bergier—mathematician, ex-spy, tireless student of the occult— said exactly the opposite of political manuals: the world is made up of the most interesting things. There were alchemists, wizards, Cathars, Templars, and other words that meant it never had much success in the bookstores. A single copy was read by—at a minimum—ten people, given its exorbitant price. Anyway, Machu Picchu was in this book, and everyone wanted to go there, to Peru, and that’s where you could find young people from all over the world (well, all over the world is a bit of an exaggeration, because those who lived in the Eastern Bloc didn’t have the easiest time leaving their respective countries.)  ***   Anyway, getting back to our story: young people from all corners of the globe who had managed at least one priceless good known as a “passport” met up on the so-called hippie trails. No one knew exactly what the word “hippie” meant, and it didn’t much matter. Perhaps it meant “a large tribe without a leader” or “delinquents who don’t steal,” or all the other descriptions we already covered earlier in this chapter. Passports, these tiny little books issued by governments and placed along with cash (a lot or little, it doesn’t really matter) inside a belt worn around the waist, served two purposes. The first, as we all know, was for crossing borders—as long as the border guards didn’t get caught up in the news reports and decide to send someone back because they weren’t accustomed to those clothes and that hair, or those flowers and those necklaces and those beads and those smiles belonging to people who seemed to live in a constant state of ecstasy—a state normally, though often unjustly, attributed to diabolical drugs that, according to the press, these young people consumed in ever greater quantities. A passport’s second purpose was to get its owner out of extreme situations where they’d run out of money and had nowhere to appeal for help. In such cases, the “Invisible Post” always provided much-needed information regarding locations where a passport might be sold. The price varied according to the country: a passport from Sweden, where everyone was blond, tall, and blue-eyed, wasn’t worth much, since it could be resold only to those who were blond, tall, and blue-eyed, and so these were never the most sought-after. But a Brazilian passport was worth a fortune on the black market—the country was home not only to the blond, tall, and blue-eyed, but also to those who were tall and short, black people with dark eyes, Asians with narrow eyes, others of mixed race, Indians, Arabs, Jews; in other words, an enormous cultural melting pot that made a Brazilian passport one of the most coveted on the planet. Once he’d sold this passport, the original owner would go to his country’s consulate and, feigning horror and distress, explain that he’d been mugged and everything taken—he was completely out of money and had no passport. The consulates of wealthier countries would furnish a new passport and a free flight back to a traveler’s country of origin, an offer immediately declined under the allegation that “somebody owes me a hefty sum, I need to get what’s mine before I go.” The poorer countries, often governed by harsh regimes in the hands of generals, would conduct a veritable interrogation to determine whether the applicant wasn’t on a list of “terrorists” wanted for subversion. Once they’d verified that the young woman (or man) had a clean record, these countries were bound, against their will, to issue the new document. And they never offered a return flight, because they had no interest in having such derelicts influence generations that had been raised to respect God, family, and property.  ***  Returning to the trails: after Machu Picchu, the next hot spot was Tiahuanaco, in Bolivia. Then Lhasa, in Tibet, where it was difficult to enter because, according to the “Invisible Post,” there was a war between monks and Chinese soldiers. Of course it was difficult to imagine such a war, but everyone took it seriously and wasn’t about to risk an endless trip to later end up a prisoner to the monks or the soldiers. Last the era’s great philosophers, who had just split up in April of that year, had a short time before proclaimed that the greatest wisdom on the planet was to be found in India. That was enough to send all the world’s young people to the country in search of wisdom, knowledge, gurus, vows of poverty, enlightenment, and communion with My Sweet Lord.The “Invisible Post,” however, warned that Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, famed guru to the Beatles, had tried to engage in sexual relations with Mia Farrow. The actress had always been unhappy in love through the years.  She had traveled to India at the invitation of the Beatles,possibly in the hope of finding a cure for other traumas related to her sexuality, which seemed to hound her like bad karma.But everything suggests that Farrow’s bad karma had accompanied her, John, Paul, George, and Ringo on their trip. According to Farrow, she was meditating in the great seer’s cave when he grabbed her and tried to force her into sexual relations. By this point in the trip, Ringo had already returned to England because his wife hated Indian food and Paul had also decided to abandon the retreat, convinced that it wasn’t doing anything for him.Only George and John remained in the Maharishi’s temple when Mia came looking for them, in tears, and told them what had happened. The two immediately packed their bags, and when the Enlightened One came to ask what was going on, Lennon gave him a bruising response:“You’re the fucking Enlightened One, are you not? You ought to be able to figure it out.”  ***  Now, in September 1970, women ruled the world—or, more precisely, young hippie women ruled the world. Wherever they went, the men did so knowing these women weren’t about to be seduced by the latest trends—the women knew much more about the subject than the men did. And so the men decided to accept once and for all that they needed these women;they constantly wore an expression of yearning, as though begging, “Please protect me, I’m all alone and I can’t find anyone, I think the world’s forgotten me and love has forsaken me forever.” The women had their pick of men and never gave a thought to marriage, only to having a good time enjoying wild, intense sex. When it came to the important things, and even the most superficial and irrelevant, they had the last word. However, when the “Invisible Post” brought news of Mia Farrow’s sexual assault and Lennon’s reaction, these women immediately decided to change their itineraries.A new hippie trail was created, from Amsterdam to Kathmandu, on a bus that charged a fare of approximately a hundred dollars and traveled through countries that must have been pretty interesting: Turkey, Lebanon, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and part of India (a great distance from the Maharishi’s temple, it’s worth noting). The trip lasted three weeks and an insane number of miles.  

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Product details

Hardcover: 304 pages

Publisher: Knopf; First Editiion edition (September 25, 2018)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 9780525655619

ISBN-13: 978-0525655619

ASIN: 0525655611

Product Dimensions:

5.8 x 1.1 x 8.5 inches

Shipping Weight: 1 pounds (View shipping rates and policies)

Average Customer Review:

4.4 out of 5 stars

57 customer reviews

Amazon Best Sellers Rank:

#33,036 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

I'm a Paulo Coelho enthusiast. I've read all the books available in English and taught several of them in my college classes. I've been hoping for some time to see newer works that matched the quality and impact of his earlier ones. Coelho's new book, Hippie, comes close to this. -- beginning about half-way through its 284 pages.Without giving too much away, I would advise readers to begin this book on page 183 (not all pages are numbered; you'll need to find 184 and who back one!) Beginning here, the book truly gets interesting in terms of the personal/spiritual journey of its main characters. In some places , it approaches The Alchemist in terms of insight and beauty. But the previous 100 pages or so verge on the tedious. Yes, as someone who lived through the hippie era, it was interesting to see Coelho's take on it, especially as a participant. But that wore thin rather quickly. This is another journey story, and unlike The Alchemist or The Pilgrimage or other such tales, we see little to engage a reader in the day-to-dayness of this journey. The vicissitudes of hippie life, both in urban centers and on the road, have bee already explored to death over the decades since, and Coelho adds nothing new to this; neither do we really experience much of an inner journey -- until page 183. The rest of the book is stunning in places, engaging throughout, moving in its conclusion, and leaves a reader asking, "Where was all this on the ride here?"Coelho's characters often comment on the tedium off their ride on the Magic Bus, once the initial fascination had worn off. In this book, we get just the opposite -- the tedium comes first, and then the magic happens. Still, I found this book well worth reading, but for best affect, start in the middle and go to the end. By then, the characters and their experiences will matter to you sufficiently to want to know their route to arriving there, no matter how mundane and repetitive it might seem.

Like the majority of Paulo Coelho’s lovely stories, ”Hippie” takes the reader on a journey of self enlightenment.The book begins with a bit of a diadactic, history lesson that helps its reader to learn about so called Hippies. It also goes into detail about the MAGIC BUS, its destination, its stops, its monotony, and its extremely cheap fare.Some readers have found the beginning of the book to be a bit long. But I, (coming from a part of the USA where it would have beenstrictly forbidden to ”ride on a bus like that with ’characters’ like that,”) found it quite informative.As is common in his books, the character, Paulo, wants to experience and to find answers to his deep and insightful questions. In true fashion, the Universe delivers the ”Invisible Post,” the book ”Europe on 5 Dollars a Day,” the character, Karla, and the cheap transportation for the two of them to climb into as they explore the inner and outer peace that they desire.Once the two begin the journey, the ”page turner” part of the story evolves and culminates with some of most illuminating description that Coelho has penned.I recommend it whole heartedly.

The writing flowed. The read went by too quickly. How unexpected moments make us who we will be.

This is one of my all time favorites! The story is a journey we all can take part, identify our own self, and be swept away.

This book is based on Coelho’s experiences as a young hippie in 1970. It begins as Karla meets Paulo in Amsterdam and persuades him to accompany her on the “Magic Bus” to Nepal. The story vacillates between several points of view in the group traveling on the bus but as soon as I became invested in a character’s story, it switched to someone else seeming never to complete each story. Still, I found it an interesting and enjoyable read. Free love, drugs, freedom, searching for meaning, and being judged for being non-conventional in appearance and life choices immerses the reader in a blissful, innocent, and fleeting moment in time. Where have all the hippies gone? We sure could use some love and peace, generosity and acceptance.

From my era; really enjoyed the narrative and the way the story was told in the third person.

I love books like this. I loved this book, and I really wish it was book 1 of a trilogy. It's amazing when a writer leaves just the right amount in our hands and guides us on a fantastic journey. I got this after reading the Alchemist because that book was so good.... This book was a lot better for me.

A young man from Brasil - the author - is trying to find himself in Europe. Unlike other Coelho' novels, I do not find a compelling message in this voyage. Rather than travelling to Nepal, he ends the trip by exploring Sufi mysticism. I wish I had been travelling like that, but at the time I was making a reverse trip - coming to the USA and experiencing a culture shock with the hippie culture here and the Vietnam war (perhaps, I should write a book). But, it is always the journey, not the goal that matters.

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