It was a 1966 Volkswagen Bus which cost me $300 CAD.
(Mine was maroon and white)
She was found in a junk yard near the Three Country Border near Vaalserberg in southern Holland.
The Junk Yard's owner was a guy who's phonetically sounding name was Oobahly Kanoope.
During our dickering on a price he asked me what my plans were for the van. My reply was that my plan was to move fellow travellers between Barcelona and Algeciras, where they would be coming and going by ferry to and from Morocco.
He asked when my departure would be. "Right away!", was my reply. That seemed enough to seal the deal for him and we shook hands to finalize the sale.
As it turned out my half Dutch friend got an offer for the two of us to work construction. We would cross into Belgium, each day, for work. As it was outside of country we did not need work permits from Holland. As we were working for a Dutch company, Belgium could care less who we were. The only one who would have cared was Oobahly Kanoope, for breaking my pledge to leave for Spain immediately.
It was our first Friday night after starting work and we thought we'd celebrate by buying a few grams of hash. About a block away from my Dutch friend's dealer a police car appeared in the rearview mirror. We kept driving right past the dealer's house, yet they kept on our tail.
Two blocks later their blue lights started flashing and they pulled us over.
At this point in the tale it is required to go into the very dry subject of the bureaucracy of vehicle registration in Holland at that time. It was a three part registration. There were the ownership papers, of course, as well as the plates, front and back like in most countries in that era. Both would be required for any international travel with the van.
The third part of the registration was a sticker on the top-middle of the front windshield. This could be thrown away once outside of Holland, as it should have been, for the officer who stopped us found it to be for an Opal, not a Volkswagen.
After following the officer back to his station, a police mechanic found out that instead of buying one Volkswagen, my purchase had been for two half Volkswagens. That is, one from the front bumper to just behind the front axel and another from there to the rear bumper.
Needless to say they wanted to keep the van as evidence. Needless to say they had my agreement provided they would let me go. We shook hands and my second best deal of the century was complete.
(Mine was totally maroon)
It took another three months or so yet eventually my dream came to fufillment, though it was in a much later model (and much more expensive) Volkswagen van. She treated us well and moved many a Hippie, at prices cheaper than a railway ticket, along Spain's Costa del Sol, but she would never have the love that had been felt for my Split Window; may she rest in piece(s).