The evening before my flight was my grand entrance. There were 30 condoms filled with 35 grams of hash oil. I was to swallow these condoms now. The knots were tested once again if everything were closed properly. I did not like the risk that some of them could open in my stomach.
Only much later I realized what I had gotten myself into. But there was no going back. My flight was to start in the morning at five o’clock from Katmandu.
With a short stopover in Bangkok and a change of aircraft, it was to fly to Sydney. The total travel time was going to be 18 hours and I hoped I did not have to go to the toilet during this time. But I first had to swallow these things, basically almost a kilo, not much.
It was as if you ate a roast pork with red cabbage and dumplings, and then have a Kaiserschmarren (sugared pancake).
I thought it would be a small thing.
But my stomach was not used to this food and so I felt a distinct aversion already while swallowing the fourth packet.
This gum taste was just too much. I tried it with dipping it in honey, then I tried it with ketchup. One of the Danes even brought me the Düsseldorf Löwensenf. I had more of a tendency for liquid chocolate.
But finally my stomach won and I vomited 6 packets after I had already swallowed 23 packets. After they were washed, I tried again and somehow I did it and swallowed 28 of these Parisian.
They stayed in there too - at least for the moment.
I couldn't manage any more even if I wanted; the last two packets could not be swallowed. If I had swallowed it, I was at a risk that the others would come out again.
It was time to drive to the airport. They had given me just a phone number to contact, which I entered in the last page of my passport in Arabic numerals.
My passport was fully scribbled in Arabic and numbers that I could read. So those numbers did not strike any attention.
I could not write Arabic but I knew the numbers. I was once told that we had the wrong numbers. Allegedly sometime back the Arabic, the Indian and the Western numbers had been swapped.
I did not care because I knew all three. I could also count in these languages, you learn it automatically when you had to.
The horror trip to Australia
On the plane to Bangkok I fell asleep immediately after the takeoff and was only awakened by the voice of a wonderful pretty Thai stewardess.
She brought me my breakfast but I told the nice hostess that I was not well and that I could not eat anything.
She disappeared with the fragrant scrambled eggs with bacon or tofu and no bacon, I don't remember any more. In any case, my stomach had announced a large belch and nausea at the smell of food that I had to literally swallow.
However the stewardess left an orchid on my folding table. I smelled these flowers and that was like balm for my stomach. She added that I should not drink so much next time, then it would not be so bad.
If the girl only knew what was rumbling in my stomach so much!
I cannot remember my connecting flight to Sydney. But I remember that the customs officer told me that I should never come to his country so drunk.
During the flight, I had probably only slept. I had not eaten or drunk anything. Strangely, I also didn’t have any appetite.
I scrambled up and just reached the connecting flight to Canberra, my last stop and the end of the trip. Again, I slept through the whole journey. My memory was totally lost. Eventually I woke up in a hotel room.
Slowly, the fog lifted in my brain and I realized that I had managed to reach Canberra. I was actually at the Lakeside Hotel.
I looked at the label of the breakfast menu, which I had filled and hung on the outside of my door. I was hungry as a bear after hibernation. How had I managed to get here?
My memory came only gradually gaining momentum but it came and I realized how lucky I had been that I had come without any damage.
And now the inevitable had to happen, I felt the urge to use the toilet.
Thankfully not too early, because now I could empty my bowels in the bathroom. I rinsed vigorously and found small rubber balls, which I then washed once again in the wash basin nicely. I was the owner of 16 small rubber bags, filled with hash oil.
But some more had to come out of course, since 12 more were missing.
I calmed down and knew that these things would certainly come out during the night. Because I was so tired again, I lay down and was asleep immediately.
The next morning at ten o'clock, I woke up and had to return to the toilet. Lo and behold, another 8 packets came out. Now I had already laid out my 24 golden eggs.
I was literally very relieved.
After my rather unpleasant work in the bathroom, I went for something more beautiful and pleasant, namely, the breakfast. I had to first try and recollect when I had eaten something the last time. I could not believe it, it had been nearly 36 hours ago.
We had expected it would be 18 hours.
Why had I slept so much? Why couldn't I remember anything anymore?
Why had everyone thought that I was drunk?
The answer was clear after another three days. The remaining 4 packets never came out.
That meant in good German, these things had come undone in my stomach and I had been totally stoned all the time.
How had I endured it at all?
I had the nature of an elephant because it had to be definitely 100 to 120 grams of this highly concentrated hashish oil in my blood circulation.
That was the explanation on why I wanted to sleep and had done it too. And so I was either totally drugged or had been in sleep mode. I noticed only now how incredible it was that I had not kicked the bucket on the trip.
Never, never again would I do such a shit job or be present when anyone had to or wanted to do such an idiocy.
That would have been definitely deadly for a normal body. I had been lucky several times during this trip, since if a customs officer had thought I was not drunk, I would have had to go to a hospital for X-ray fluoroscopy. Then everything would have been exposed. Or my body may not have tolerated the surge of narcotics. Was it what I had done stupidity or carelessness or was it just greed for money?
I think in my case it was a bit of everything. Also showing off in front of my buddies.
No matter how I saw it, it was one of my greatest stupidities, which could not be outdone!
I tried to reach this particular telephone number for three days but I always heard that the extension was not busy. My 24 times 35 grams were almost 850 grams of concentrated hashish oil. I could vouch for the quality from my experience, I could tell this to the boys. But even after a week I could not connect and I did not know what I to do. After a brief conversation with Katmandu I got the OK to take care of the sale myself.
If I had the money for the return flight, I would have flown back by the next flight without the stuff. However, I could not simply run through the toilets, I had to bring it to the man here in Australia and that was not easy.
On the contrary - it was dangerous, I was aware of that.
I had already taken a small precaution: it was too dangerous to have the stuff in the room. So I brought it to the men's room in the same floor, where I lived. I climbed up on the toilet bowl, loosened a ceiling panel, hid the stuff on the next one and closed the lifted one back in its place. So I felt a bit safer. After that I drove into town and looked for the suitable localities. In a billiard bar, I found a good listener, who was very interested that I came from Kathmandu and also asked about an office for cheap flights.
We had a conversation and I asked him if he had something to smoke, I would also pay well.
As something like this was very rare in Australia, and since I was an addict, I had to have something, I said. The boy fell for my drivel and brought out a small piece of hashish for a horror price, which we smoked together. Now I knew I could trust him, and pulled out a packet of my hash oil from my pocket and gave him a small portion of it on a piece of silver paper. He wanted t
o take it to his friends for testing and let me know the next day whether, how much and for what price I would get rid of it eventually. In the evening I went to a disco and met an Australian woman but did not go with her to the hotel. That would be absolutely impossible in Australia.
She would have come only if I had had a panel van.
Without panel van no love
In Australia, young people made love only in such a vehicle.
I did not know what a panel van was and when she told me the secret, I had to tell her that I did not have a bedroom on wheels. She was disappointed.
I was as well, and was even more surprised that a five star hotel room did not equal the quality of a panel van.
If I came to Australia once again, I would rent out such a pick-up vehicle with closed truck bed and side windows with sheer curtains and a rubber mattress. Then I would have had the chance to get a date on the beach in Australia. You could remove the hood during daytime and transport sheep or sacks of grain. In the evenings, you could drive with the canopy and mattress to the beach if you wanted to fuck your girlfriend. Other countries other customs.
After the disappointment, I allowed myself only some Cuba- Libre, then some whiskey and a couple of Jägermeister, which were actually available here down under. And because of the joy that there was Jägermeister in Australia, I allowed myself another couple more.
Then a gentleman came who told me that I had drunk enough and asked me to leave the discotheque.
If it had been an Australian, I would certainly have obeyed. But I did not react to the request of a black man, who was an African.
And that's what I told him, namely, that I would not let myself thrown out from the bar by a black man.
But the gentleman caught me gently by the arm and wanted to go towards the exit. That was probably the highlight, as he wanted to tell me that he was the manager. That was just too much and I told him that he was a nigger. Immediately he slapped me. In return, I gave him a boxing punch and there was suddenly a fight in progress.
Somehow I was sitting in a police car. They made a report or at least they tried to make me talk, but that was not possible of course.
So they adjourned this undertaking for the next day. Very gently I was woken up and they brought me a cup of coffee. I was in a drunk tank of the police. The nice officials told me what had happened. This African was indeed the manager of the nightclub and I had insulted him in the worst manner.
The officer explained to me again that there were no Africans, Americans, Germans, Yugoslavs here. There were only Australians in Australia. He repeated it to me emphatically so that I understood without fail. Every person who had done his naturalization in Australia, was an Australian! And it is not proper as a guest in the country to insult an Australian citizen.
That was clear enough!
Nevertheless, they wanted to drive me to my hotel.
I politely declined and asked for a taxi, because I did not want to be dropped by a police car in front of my hotel.
They understood it and wished me a pleasant stay in Australia. I had to settle my problems myself. Since I had some addresses from my hippie bus driving period, I tried to contact these people.
After several attempts, I had the right man on the line. We talked very carefully and only hinted what we had to discuss.
For me this whole thing was sickening. If only I had not made this trip.
Why did I always have to do such shit to myself? A meeting was arranged for the next afternoon in the restaurant of a shopping center. I had a surprise early morning on the next day. It must have been around six o'clock when I woke up to a very firm, persistent knocking and shaking of my bedroom door.
I opened it and four men in black coveralls walked past me and began to turn the room and the bathroom completely upside down.
Two plainclothes policemen told me that they were officers from the Drug Squad. They had received a complaint that I was in possession of a large amount of drugs.
The officials did not miss out even a small hiding place.
Not only the toilet and the entire bathroom but also the lighting, air conditioning, beds, sofa, chairs, carpets, my entire possessions including everything that was written, were very carefully examined.
They dissected my fountain pen and a small flashlight.
Of course, they found nothing because I had nothing in my room.
But they did not think of examining the toilets in the floors, I was lucky. My appointment was in the afternoon. So I had time to think about who had screwed me. Certainly it had to be my friend from the previous day, who had sold me hash and had smoked with me.
The day before I had a suspicion already that he could not be a seller, since he did not know anything and always had to ask someone else for advice.
Nevertheless, I should be very careful. On the whole, this little game was very exciting with the police and I did not worry at all about whether I could go to jail eventually.
I remembered the Greece stay. I had really nothing to do with the matter there but had to be in jail for a year for something I had not done.
As compensation, I got the stupid answer that I had better be careful so that no one put something into my car.
If I had been caught now, I would have at least known why.
But I was so convinced that nothing would happen to me. Somehow it was a game with the authorities. Up to this point I had fooled the police, the customs and the investigators, I liked that! And even now, on the way to my appointment, I behaved as if I was taking part in a spy movie.
I assumed that they were watching me.
I took a hotel taxi and drove to the German Embassy because I had to get a new passport, as the present one almost did not have any space for a new Nepal visa.
I took another taxi and drove to a departmental store and then to a hotel where I drank a cup of coffee in the coffee shop. Then I took the elevator up to the third floor and taking the stairs I went back outside using the stairway. From the road I then took a taxi, with which I drove to the department store and met my eventual buyer.
The boy was competent, I got rid of my merchandise and got proper Australian dollars.
It was hard-earned money and I did not want to give away anything.
I just had to invent a story for the Danes. I had to prove to them that not only Andersen, but also a German Hans was good in storytelling. In my new passport you could now enter many visas.
Back in Kathmandu, there was once a huge discussion, who had done something wrong. I made it very clear that I had done my part and more.
It had been foolish to have only a phone number and no address.
Should my service, the risk that I had, have been in vain? The Danish gentlemen had lost the stake, i.e., only the money. But I had gambled with my life and with my freedom.
The only sensible thing was that I had buried the stuff in the toilet, I did not justify myself regarding the stuff that was not there anymore.
They were not fully convinced by what I said. Nevertheless, it was impossible to prove the contrary to me. I argued that I could not sell the stuff and also that my visa for Australia was no longer valid. So I had to leave the country. And so I kept the Australian dollars and they also gave me half of the amount of my transport money after endless whining and haggling. So I was reasonably happy.
It had been worthwhile for me in the end after all.
My pig-dog was proud of me once again.
I proved once again that I could not be completely normal.
I learned later that the man who had the phone number, which I was to call in Canberra was under police surveillance and had fled to the interior of the country. Perhaps he had emigrated to Ayers Rock. Fun for me! That was so positive, I thought now. I made it clear to my Danish friends that I was fed up and told them I would be going back to Germany in the near future.
I wrong a long letter to Miming and explained to her that I was flying home for Christmas and would come back to
India only in the New Year.
In the last letter from Mother, she had written that Father was not doing particularly well, he had asked for me and it was his wish that I spend Christmas at home. I promised that I would celebrate it with them this time.
Somehow I had a feeling it must have been a longing for home. Never in my life had I felt what people called homesickness.
I did not know this, but all at once I had such a feeling that I yearned for the small village, where my parents and also my daughters lived. That had to be homesickness!
Since I did not have a homeland even as a little boy and had been just a refugee and had moved for my apprenticeship very early at the age of just 14 from my parents’ house in Marburg, I could not have such sentimental feelings. The more I thought about it and also about my daughters, I had this sensation, which was unfamiliar to me.
I was suddenly so fed up of this gypsy life that I only thought of home and wanted to go there. Moreover my father, who was so ill that he was desirous of seeing me, was also there. I did not have a special intimate relationship to Father anyway. That was probably because I did not have any contact with him when I was a child, when he came from the Russian captivity, when I was already 12 years.
I suddenly realized that my children probably felt the same way.
I also had little or no contact with them since I was constantly on an escape route.
First it was fleeing from creditors and then from Chitra, or should I rather say from responsibility?
I was still not divorced from this bitch! I really had to do something.
I also realized suddenly that this dope smuggling could not have any future. I had nothing against a joint.
I could handle it and when there was nothing available, I did not need anything.
It was somewhat more difficult with my cigarette - I could not stop it. Since the fusillade in the Greek jail, I smoked, and not too little!
I did not have anything to do with the needle or any chemical substances. I hated junkies and in
no one was allowed to have a spoon or a syringe near me. This shit was an absolute no-go! The same was true regarding tattoos. Although I had been to the sea and even in jail, there were no such marks on my body. I never had the feeling that I had to look like "someone". No Elvis or Beatles hairstyles, no clothes, which had been worn by famous personalities - I wanted to be just me and I was admired by others anyway, that was enough for me!
My Dream to Be Free Page 36