A skinny blond woman had attracted me. But after I drove her home a few times, it became clear to me that I would be in a terrible mess if I slept with her.
She was still too young, so I left it at that and put it off till later, when she would be a few years older.
But that did not mean that I had to forego an affair, since our cloakroom attendant Ellinor was very attractive and I tried it with her. I offered to drive her home after work ended in the evening. I noticed that she always booked a taxi. Since her apartment was only about 2 km detour, I didn't mind and I noticed that she could save the money for the taxi. Lo and behold, I was her driver and a little later her boyfriend, rather her lover because she had a fiancé, as she confessed to me.
This was problematic because her fiancé was Thai, very ill and was in Thailand at that moment. Perhaps he could not come back more. How nice that I was not the only one who had problems, I thought, but said nothing. Ellinor fell in love with me, or was I the one, who was in love with Ellinor - I don't know about it anymore today. Perhaps our problem was that we understood one another so well.
I cancelled the rental contract for my apartment and moved in with Ellinor, which she liked very much.
She needed every Deutschmark, to be able to pay for the ticket for her fiancé to come to Germany, so that he could be treated in a German hospital. That is why she worked at night with us as a cloakroom attendant and during the day she was secretary at Siemens. She was very happy about the money but not so happy about the current situation with me. But I could not have had it better: room with full service!
Since I had a lot of free time, I strolled very often in the city and went to cafés, which were the favorite hangouts of the Turks and the Palestinians.
And so it happened that I met friends or buddies here like in those days in Offenbach. A Turkish car dealer was looking for drivers, who here ready to drive to Turkey in used pickup vehicles with him. I reported for duty and offered to ride along with him, if the price was right. The price was alright and moreover I was allowed to take my Mercedes on a truck in piggyback and to sell it also eventually or to drive back in it.
Saying goodbye to Ellinor was very easy for me, though I had been wracking my brains about how I should say that I was leaving her. Before that she came and explained to me that her fiancé would come to a special clinic in Germany because the ticket had been paid by his friends in the university. She said I could not imagine how happy she was, but I should not misunderstand her, if she asked me to leave the apartment. I played the part of the abandoned one, but promised her that I would move in two days. But at that moment I was terribly sad that I felt like an outcast, I told her. In turn, she could not allow that and she comforted me in the last two nights with such devotion that I thought what would remain for her Thai fiancé who would arrive two days later. Women!!
Gradually I noticed that something had changed for me with regard to women.
I could not be so open and honest to Ellinor any more after what had happened with Chitra. I did not trust anyone anymore and did not have confidence to anyone as well.
My little swine-dog sat more often on my shoulder and gave me advice but I did not take them. I was aware that one day he would have victory on this as well.
I vowed to myself: I will not let anyone get me down - and especially not a woman! Perhaps I should get myself a boyfriend? Perhaps I should become gay? But I suspect they have more of a monkey business with one another or among themselves than you could have with a woman. And moreover, I did not think that I would have been able to smooch a man or to get myself fucked in the ass.
No, thank you, I would rather have a circus with ten women, that would be probably better for me. Saying goodbye was rather cooler than I wanted. But I was glad that I had it done with and was free again now. Free from what?
I had not even taken care of my divorce. The woman in Frankfurt still bore my name, but it was just a matter of time and the authorities would take care of her, I was sure of that.
Traveling with my new Turkish friend was without any setbacks and we were at the Turkish border very soon, where we ran into the first trouble.
Without asking me, the small pickup vehicle and my Mercedes had been entered in my passport.
It was agreed that duty had to be paid for the trucks or that they would be placed under customs supervision - but not in my passport.
This meant that I could leave the country only if the passport was clean again and when the truck is no longer entered in my passport.
This could take days or even weeks.
At my insistence, a person came, who stated that he was a customs officer, who took my passport, and gave it back to me the next day with the assurance that the stamp was now affixed and that the truck’s duty had been paid for.
Strangely enough, the same customs official came once again and wanted to buy my Mercedes.
My friend, the car dealer was with him and assured me that the procedure would be OK.
So the sales deal was perfect and this time, I had to go with him to the customs office in Istanbul, where the formalities would be completed and also the removal of my name as owner from the passport. But there was a totally different stamp and manipulation, which I did not know of.
But I had my money and so I didn't care. And without a car and with a lot of money in my pockets again, I felt like a real man.
So I stayed still in Istanbul and looked for a small hotel, very close to the workshop where my tires got stolen in those days when I was traveling in my Mercedes 230 to Ceylon. My daily visit to the "Pudding Shop" became a routine and I could eat probably the world’s best rice pudding thrice a day. The crowd was the most international one, as one could only imagine.
I had a lot of dough, but didn't know what would happen next. I had to return to Germany but what I wanted to do there? Did I want to give my parents money for the education of my daughters? Work as a chef?
I found life at home boring and that is why I could not decide what my next goal would be. What did I expect in Germany? My wife had become a prostitute and I did not want to have anything to do with her business, not even as a pimp, in the capacity of which I could have certainly earned a lot of money without work, or better said, collected money. But I couldn't go down to that level. I could not simply look on, if some old sod or a pervert pig shagged my wife. I still had not gotten over with the situation with Chitra. But slowly I had to reconcile myself to the thought that I did not have a woman anymore. I also did not have any friends, which was not surprising because I kept moving places. My parents were mad at me anyway, no matter what I did or didn’t do.
So thought I would stay a little longer here.
My new shoes looked chic, they were really nice ankle-high boots. But they were a bit dirty and that was not good.
So I had to get a shoe polisher to do this work.
I enjoyed some Efes-beer in a small street café and gave my new ankle-high boots to the Boyaz-boy for cleaning. In the meantime, I enjoyed the bustling activity on the street and of course my beer and my cigarettes, since I had become a smoker. My feet were on the cardboard, which the boy had laid out, as he took my shoes. But somehow I had the feeling that I already had been waiting too long for my cleaned shoes.
A somewhat older boy came and wanted to palm off chewing gum or sunflower seeds to me but I chased him off and he ran away. The shoe-shining boy had also probably done the same - run away since he was nowhere to be seen.
The little devil had run away with my shoes!
This was now certain, after the waiter confirmed to me that he was not in the vicinity anymore. Of course nobody knew the new shoe-boy. Some laughed and with my clumsy Turkish I even understood what the card players were saying, namely: you have to first give one shoe and then the second after the first one had been brought back. But not both at once! I asked the waiter to get me a pair of flip-flops in size 42. My ankle-high boots would be definitely sold to some hippie for less money a
fter my departure. But how was that again? Trust is good but monitoring is better? Had I forgotten everything?
Now I was determined: I would go back home! I would treat myself to a trip from Istanbul to Munich or Frankfurt like those days, by the Orient Express. Of course the cheaper version, so to say, an imitation. But as often was the case in life, it turned out differently than how I had planned it. Again there was this devious laugh on my shoulder. The leprechaun came back. My hotel room had had a visit. Everything was in chaos and a pile of clothes that had been rummaged lay on the floor and on the bed. Someone has searched for something, I guessed it was my money. But he didn't have any luck because I had a money belt and had always worn it on my body. The dollars were certainly on my body. Whoever wanted to come so close to me, would have to first kill me or make an attempt.
What did they want otherwise?
What I other valuable objects did I have in my possession?
After an inventory, there were actually a few things missing and they were my important documents.
The passport, my health passport, address book, driver’s license and a booklet with traveler’s checks, which I arranged for freezing immediately.
I had my seafaring book in another bag and it was still there.
After three days I had a new passport. Since I was able to provide my ID with the seaman's book, I could get the new passport issued very quickly. But I had to apply for my driver’s license in Germany.
The pudding shop in Istanbul
I sat in the pudding shop, as always, and ate my second rice pudding. A German spoke to me and wanted to know if I was the one who transported cars.
I told him that I was only the driver and was without license for the past few days and so I could not take up transport work anymore. He only grinned and wanted to know if I would be prepared to drive a bus to travel to India if I had a driving license.
I needed a truck driving license and I did not have that either.
Whether I wanted to do this?
My answer was yes and immediately the guy sent me to a photographer to get some passport-size photographs. I also have to give my personal data and was told to be here in the shop the following day in the morning. I would get a driving license with which I would be authorized to drive everything except a tank. Man - he got cracking - this was not a talker who did not know what he did or wanted to do.
I liked this guy and I was at the Pudding Shop early next morning. But I had to wait for the German till lunchtime. He apologized and explained to me that it took somewhat longer to get the driving license. He produced an envelope, took out a paper and handed it over to me. My name was clearly there and the class of the authorization to drive a motor bike, a bus, a limousine and a truck.
I was German, but with residence in South Africa, Cape Town in the Werke Straat 123 and it was a South African driving license. Now he introduced himself and I came to know that he was a German Jew and that he had lived in South Africa till he got to know his Indian wife and then had to emigrate because the apartheid did not allow him to be married to a "colored" woman.
His name was Martin and the pretty woman’s name was Mala, who originally came from New Delhi. They had lived the last few years in Germany and were now on the way into a new future. The three buses, which he had bought and had to be taken to India, was his new business, which he wanted to do in India.
He wanted to establish a bus company.
A driver here had not been interested anymore in driving and had gone back to Germany and he needed a new driver. He had the blank licenses for a long time and now it was of use, which Martin much appreciated. Only now I could tell him that I had never driven such a long and big bus. I was told if I could not, I could drive at least up to Ankara or he would need a new bus or most probably a new driver. Martin took it all very casually. He was a clever fox. He had sold tickets to hippies, who wanted visit to India wanted. Already two buses were full of hippies. But the bus I was to drive, was without passengers, which was fine with me. So I did not have to blame myself if there was a noise while changing gears. Normally the hippies drove in the "Magic Bus" or they took local buses from city to city and from country to country. Hitchhiking as a passenger was from here, in the Orient, was almost impossible.
But riding in these busses was an opportunity that many people made use of. Here you had the possibility to sit from Istanbul to Delhi in the same seat and to travel with the same people. You could also sleep in the bus at night – that was another advantage. Altogether there were 60 hippies, out of whom each had to pay 70 dollars up to Delhi. Martin got 60 x 70 = 4200 American dollars. Not bad, since the buses had to be taken to India anyway.
I also saw a Spaniard for the first time, who wanted to go to Delhi. He told that Franco was not there anymore and they also could travel now. After all it was 1975 and not 1945. I did not even know that the Spaniards similar to the East German citizens did not get passports; only specialists were issued passports.
I knew some "special" citizens of the GDR. But the Spaniards?
I had agreed with Martin that my fee was to be $300, plus food on the way and 100 dollars for the journey back across land. Provided that I brought the bus in one piece to Delhi - with a few dents, as Martin estimated.
Something could go wrong. I would have 400 dollars from Martin and 1300 from selling my Mercedes, i.e. 1700 dollars. I could start something reasonable with that. Now everything was OK with my world again. I had to just bring this damn bus safe to India.
The first kilometers from the parking lot in front of the Hagia Sofia to the ferry was an adventure.
After the double clutch that I had forgotten first and the howling of the gear and gear wheel, I felt very strange and I thought that it was over.
But I soon found out how it worked:
Honking and driving, honking and driving, like the Turks did. All kept a respectable distance from my bus and everyone knew that someone was driving a bus through Istanbul, who had no idea, where he was going, or how to drive.
I managed to make it to the ferry without ruining the gear and without running into other cars. The trick was quite simple: I stuck to Martin’s car bumper and did not leave even a meter space so that no one could come in between. The third bus was coming behind me. So I could not get lost.
As Martin had said, I had found how the changing of gears worked, by the time we reached Ankara. It also did not make any noise any more. The feeling for the length and width of the bus came very slowly but it came. At first I always drove too much to the right when a vehicle came in front of me because I feared a frontal collision. But very soon I stayed in the middle of the road and the oncoming vehicle had to go almost in the ditch on their part.
I soon realized that I had the larger object and could put some fear into the other person – except trucks. I was not quite so sure if they would drive into the ditch or would rather risk having a frontal collision. So I braked and drove somewhat slower while passing these kamikazes. Driving in the night was a veritable test of courage.
The dipped beam headlights were totally useless for many, because most of the cars had totally misaligned headlights anyway. Thus it didn’t matter how they dazzled, whether by dipped beam or without it.
Since I still had headlights in this bus, which was installed by a German automotive electrician, I dazzled each person of course, when I did not use dipped beam. Thus I did this and was always at a disadvantage if I then drove into this darkness after the other vehicle had driven past me.
Every time I had my full light on, the driver in the oncoming vehicle changed his light to parking light or sidelight and I could drive fantastically past him and see if there was an obstacle in front of me. I did the same also because the lighting system was coupled to the ignition key and you had to turn the lights on to parking light or main beam light with the ignition key and the high beam could be activated with the foot. So I left the high beam lights on and turned towards the left or the right with the ign
ition key.
That worked out great. Once I drove for a few seconds using parking light, then again the one who was in the oncoming vehicle, so you saw the other passing and could detect if eventually there was an obstacle on the street – you did not drive into a dark hole. If you get used to the system, that is the safest way to drive in the night. In the evening, after our journey, we sat together, ate, drank and chatted.
So Martin came to know very soon that I knew the route. He then came to me into the bus with Mala and we drove as the first ones together. Of course, the Amir Kabir - Hotel was the right place to stay overnight for us and for some of the passengers who did not want to sleep not in the bus. Since Martin put in a three-day stop here, there was a chance to get a visa for him for Afghanistan.
Only in Kabul we had a longer stop again for three days. Here too, I suggested an accommodation, the Mustafa Hotel, as the place to go. Of course the visas for Pakistan and India were procured here again.
But I was looking for something else.
I was looking for the particular workshop where my Mercedes had been repaired and where I had bought the contaminated Mercedes 190 from the French people.
But I searched for this workshop in vain.
Also the French were not there anymore.
But the Ferhadis knew what had happened and could give me more details. So I went into the Café Munich and actually met my old friend Dahoud, who had made the prepared chess boards.
But he had no idea either where the French had gone, at least he said so. According to him, these people had been a very bad sort. They had ended up here in prison in Kabul but some people with a lot of money had bailed them out and brought them out of the country.
At the same time Dahoud asked me if I wasn’t interested in doing a business with him. Very politely but firmly I refused to do a business with him. Not with him and or with any other Afghans. For the moment, I was fed up of anyone and even of speaking of any business, let alone do a business. I told Dahoud my story with the Mercedes 190, which I had bought from the French. He was not surprised, because he knew what the French did since he had bought the hashish for them and had also had them installed for them.
My Dream to Be Free Page 23