Things I Can Tell: January 2015

Thursday, 1 January 2015

The 80's in Wellington

Moving to Wellington

I remember moving to Wellington from Christchurch. I spent first night at the Waterloo hotel and then moved to the youth hostel before finding a basement flat on Glenmore Street. After Sumner it was very cold and dank, I knew nobody and felt and depressed enough to see the doctor and to go on dreadful antidepressant pills at the time.

This was the doctor who stated on inquiry that "there's only anecdotal evidence that food has anything to do with allergies" (sic)

I don't really have a lot to say about work that time.

I was working in the Trade Services section of the Department of Trade and Industry, something to do with the promotion of New Zealand trade abroad and I was involved in the Canadian section. I do recall they were permitting our orange roughy fish to North America as if there was no tomorrow. Now it's practically extinct.

As always I gravitated towards the outsiders and befriended a Cambodian man, Sokha Duong, who drove an old sports car and I remember him coming through the newly built tunnel on the motorway to come off at Glenmore Street and drive up to visit me in the evenings. I remember drinking Steinlager beer (that was not a patch on German beer of course), in a pub in the popular Oaks complex. Now it's empty and practically derelict. There was a band that played musi that was like the original Django Reinhardt and that I enjoyed.

The wonderful thing that I will remain eternal ya grateful to my parents for, is that they set me up with a home of my own. They found provided money for a deposit for a home and the best took out the mortgage (the rates at the time for 18%!) Unfortunately, (in hindsight), they have their own ideas about where I should live and unfortunately the flat and Island Bay semidetached that I quite liked didn't come into their view of what was appropriate,so we ended up buying a sunless semi-detached flat in Broadmeadows

I had regular trips back down to Christchurch to see my parents and they visited me on more than one occasion.

When I went back home to Sumner for Christmas at the end of 1983 the family was together, as it turned out for the last time.

I recall Kathy's family stayed in the wonderful old stone house down the bottom of Whitewash Head Rd, ( has subsequently been destroyed ), while Jeremy and I stayed in the retreat house next door.

This was the first time that my mother had seen Kathy's third child Georgie. Mum had spent many hours preparing a dolls house for Georgie but unfortunately got lost amongst all the other Christmas presents that year– mum felt quite disappointed.

Just before I was getting ready to leave to go back to Wellington I went down into the garden with mum to pick some roses. I didn't know at the time but she felt quite dizzy and the next day with the hospital for tests. Tests showed that she had secondary cancer that manifested as a tumour in her head.

Later on she revealed to me that at the time when she had the scans she had an out of body experience. She explained that she been drawn by the lights but had come back because this saw my father looking so helpless.

For my mother this meant undergoing chemotherapy during which she lost all here she loved and had to wear a wig. So then later she obviously tried juicing and alternative therapies, but I can die was cast and she didn't have long to live.

I went home to Wellington and went through the pretence of working. I wasn't at all prepared, in any way emotionally to go through this transition. I'm sure that I felt suitably anaesthetised and disembodied through much of this time. I do recall, however telephone conversations with my mother in which she experienced exasperation with my father and his inability to accept her illness ("you won't get better unless you exercise") and planned a trip with me to Australia.

The illness however progressed quickly.

I still treasure Mother's Day card that I have in my position in which she said in her now shaky handwriting "I like being your mother".

Losing my mother was like losing a confidant, someone was home I could share what I was going through, I plans, my emotions etc. there was nobody else in the family with whom I could share anything in anything the same way.

Remember that coming home from the hospital at first time, all I wanted to do was go back to the hospital and set with her. I father, my brother and my sister to refuge in classes of June well I felt isolated and very alone. I felt that nobody understood me – a feeling that has been with me so many times through my life since then.

My mother's death

Remembering back to May,1984, when my Mum died Jeremy gave me a ring at work to say that we been summonsed down to Christchurch. In those days there were indirect flights from Auckland and Christchurch so that Jeremy could fly down pick me up in Wellington and then we would fly down together to Christchurch.

We were, I think picked up at the airport by our father and taken directly to the hospital.

Our Mum was in bed and I remember her saying directly that she had swelling in her ankles and had chosen to die. I can’t really remember any more of the conversation at the time – it was probably quite awkward but I do remember that Jeremy and dad left and mum and I were on our own.

I remember saying to her “I don’t know what to say “to which she said there is nothing really much to say. We must have spent quite a lot of time just in silence, perhaps I held her hand – I don’t really remember clearly. In any case we were both able to say in our own way that we loved each other. I probably felt quite numb.

When the time came for her to have her last meal I said her and I distinctly remember her saying “don’t force me” with some humour.

At some stage soon my father came back to the hospital. Mum was obviously in pain and my father held her while she had an injection of morphine. I now know that she was given an overdose of morphine for very soon after that she went into a coma from which he never awoke. Nothing was ever said to me at the time – there was no explanation.

I don’t remember the details but Dad must’ve gone home again for I was left on my own with my mother. I sat with her from many hours – I must’ve felt quite a lot of anxiety – I just remember that her breath came infrequently and wondering whether this would be her last. By this time it was long since dark and I really was on my own with my mother. I must’ve at some stage other fallen asleep in the chair alongside her at.

After a good few hours – it might have been two or 3 o’clock in the morning I was fetched and taken home. I don’t remember whether someone stayed with her – perhaps my father – but I had a little bit of time to rest in bed. God knows if I slept – probably not – but quite early in the morning I drove in with aunt Barbara driving her car extremely slowly between red cliffs and the hospital with me following.

I spent the whole of the next day with mum. Events are a little hazy now but I remember two things.Firstly I remember Jeremy and my father at the hospital. My father insisted that Jeremy drive him to see Archdeacon Pastowe presumably to make some sort of arrangements for the funeral.

What that really meant Jeremy was taken out of the way at the time when my mum passed away.

I don’t think that my brother has ever quite got over the fact that he was not there but I think there is a reason for everything and for some reason he was not meant to be present.

At about this time my aunt Pam – mum’ s sister – arrived at the hospital. She had only recently lost her second husband who had died in bed alongside her. She was, at the time the best person I could have had alongside me to help my mother make the transition from her body.

I remember her talking to my mother, saying it was all right.

It was about four in the afternoon when mum passed away.

It’s funny what we remember, what stays in in our memories. I remember Peter, in his eulogy saying that dad

I remember that assist in the hospital was present – she must have been used to working in the cancer ward for she was able to talk us through it. Again all I remember was the infrequent breaths and then finally the “death rattle” – sister was able to tell us that mum had passed on.

What happened after that is a complete haze.

I remember family being present, feeling very numb and disconnected – and suddenly, very lonely. I did not feel at all supported, altogether with the rest of the family, whoever was present and was just alone with my own feelings, something that I was not very adept at.

Whatever happened between Mum's passing and the funeral is a complete blur.

I remember that once she passed on I did not spend any time with the body – perhaps I was afraid.

The funeral happened at a crematorium on ferry road between Sumner and the city, again I remember very little – it’s all haze – I remember people that I knew filing past, I think to shake hands – people like Mr and Mrs Stace, Mrs Cottrell and others. Even now, when I look back I am confusing things that were said and done at the time of my father’s funeral.

After the funeral and the committal of my mothers body to be cremated everyone went back for the “after match function” which was as usual a very boozy function. I don’t think that anyone had much to say to me, much less take me aside or talk directly to me.

I just remember a terrible feeling of emptiness and being alone in the world, so much so that I left the house and went for a solitary walk just to be alone with my feelings. I could not stand to be in the house with all the boozing, loud conversation and laughter when I was feeling so destitute alone.

Life back in Wellington

The next thing I recall is coming back to work in Wellington at the Department of trade and industry. I don’t think that I ever got much work done – I was trapped in my own private world. What I do recall is that choose one a colleague and a friend Arina Mudryj who was working alongside me. She was quite open to simply listening to me as I talked about my mother. That was so therapeutic, just what I needed at the time, to be listened to without intervention.

I don’t recall was anybody else that I could open my heart to, not least my own family. I did not feel estranged but simply very alone.

I remember the visit to my Aunt Sylvia not long after mum died. She looked at me with that intense look that I remember so well and said “well your mother’s gone now – it’s time for you to grow up now!”From that time onwards I don’t recall aunt Sylvia even so much as mentioning my mother’s name even once.

That was my family, disconnected from their own feelings, from their own grief and was little understanding of my sensitivities.

On returning to Wellington I had no choice but just to get on with life without anything really to hold on to, without a real refuge. I was essentially lonely my new little house in Broadmeadows, just taking were train in every day to work that I was neither connected to, nor interested in.

I made a connection with the Cambodian colleague at work who I think, was just as lonely and disconnected as I was. He invited me back to his place – I remember he had ancient old sports car which he used to drive quite fast from the beginning of the newly built motorway, through the tunnel and off the exit onto Glenmore Street.

I seem to remember he had quite a taste, as I did for beer and we used to go to pubs – in particular I remember we used to frequent in the Oaks complex. I remember a local band that played in the style of Django Reinhardt which I loved, and which reminded me of my time with my German friends, and my time in Germany.

The other thing I did was to immerse myself in German and went to advanced conversation classes at the Goethe Institute which I really enjoyed.

One person I remember meeting at the time was Alistair, who apart from learning German spoke Russian with a strong Glasgow accent. He later went on to take over capital music and to open his own shop Alistair’s music in Cuba Street.

I’m getting a bit ahead of myself but I remember another Scotsman Peter. I don’t remember how we met – he was another musician and played on electric guitar and was a friend of someone I didn’t know at the time, Maurice Tuckwell – who finally who later on became a flatmate.

Before that, my Cambodian friend Sokha Duong gave up his flat in Nairn Street and came to live with me as a flatmate in Broadmeadows.

At about this time I started to seek out the company of Russians. That meant meeting with new arrivals of the fourth wave of emigration from the Soviet Union, Jewish refugees.

Among the first that I met were Bella and Leon Nodelman who hailed from Baku in Azerbaidjan. They met my need for Russian conversation and I remember them visiting me in teaching me how to cook rice in the Caucasian fashion. I also remember a trip with them and another very lively friend whose name I forget up to Napier where I found, in a secondhand shop very passable balalaika which I bought with their help.

I know I’m getting ahead of myself because many of these events happened when I first arrived in Wellington before mum died. I know this because I remember that my new girlfriend Elena actually met my mother before she died.

Elena

I met Elena Shmukler on a blind date recommended by Leon and Bella. I recall that we might have gone to the movies and had something to drink afterwards. In any case Elena was quite happy to meet me again and we quite quickly became good friends.

She had arrived as an immigrant in 1979 from Kiev with her parents and younger sister, Svetlana. As a testament to the quality of the Soviet education system she passed all her subjects in school certificate with the exception of English. Quite a bright girl! She went on to university and when I met her was studying for a chemistry major at Victoria Uni.

During the time we knew each other we did lots of fun things together, I met lots of Russians which I enjoyed, drank lots, shared lots of music participated in the life that suited me at the time.

One thing it stands out in mind is that quite early on in the piece, in July 1984, just a few short months after mum died Jeremy and his new fiance June got married in Dunedin.

Elena came down with me to attend the wedding. We flew first to Christchurch and then made the long car journey down to Dunedin (which had never been to before) with Jeremy and Dad. I remember nothing about the wedding but I remember seeing the wonderful old buildings of Dunedin for the first time and I remember meeting June’s mother Florence for the first time and watching the Los Angeles Olympics on the TV the next morning. I’ve got no idea what a Jewish girl from Kiev thought about the whole affair.

Which brings me to the fact that June’s father, Mr Phillips was Jewish so that Jeremy’s entire family in law was Jewish.

When I look back at this time it seems to me that I was really wedded to things Russian – it was as if I needed to play out some form of Karma that was unconscious. I persuaded myself at the time that I was in love basically because I was lonely and hadn’t yet really found myself.

I have met Elena again since and found, not only that there was nothing in common but that I was also horrified. I could not have lived with those close minded prejudices of the Russian Jewish community for long.

Early in 1986 Elena decided that she needed a bigger world than working for ICA in Wellington so moved to Melbourne to find a bigger world.

Discovering yoga and meditation

That was really the best thing that could happen for me for I quickly found my own resources and discovered through reading the novel (in German) of Herman Hesse’ s Siddhartha discovered the world of yoga.

It was one of those days when I once again through a sicky from work as I went down to the bookshop in Johnsonville and discovered a book on yoga from the Sivananda ashram. I devoured the book and was so taken that I looked up yoga in the Yellow Pages and found the Lotus yoga centre and made an immediate enquiry about yoga classes. It turned out that there was a yoga course starting in a week or two.

I was too impatient to wait so started teaching myself from the book.

The course taught by Eric Doornekamp was a revelation. I felt that I had found my niche at last. After doing Eric’s course I went on to classes by Tanja Dyett which opened up a whole new world of fantastical stories told by… And regular yoga classes. After a while Tanya's classes ceased to give me what I wanted and it was then that I discovered the Monday classes by Gwendoline Hunt and I became an instant fan. In the year or so that I attended Gwendoline’s classes I don’t think that I missed a single time.

These were a real revelation! I had never enjoyed myself so much or been so open to such knowledge and I lapped everything up voraciously.

It was a period when I met new people and had new experiences that took my life to a whole new level.

I remember the wonderful visits to the Lotus yoga centre in Paraparaumu, the wonderful people that I’ve met there through the Wwoof scheme, a trip up to a gathering in the central North Island. Wow! It was as if I was discovering the alternative movement, the hippie movement for the first time in my early 30s.

The feeling I had was that my mother was guiding me and I was finally finding my spiritual self.

It was some time before this, while I was still with Elena that my wonderful companion, Sammy the dog turned up on the scene. I was in Karori visiting the home of Elena that we both encountered Sammy on the road. He refused to leave our company and it was obvious that he’d been visiting a girlfriend but he seemed to have no home to go back to and was quite happy in our company. We looked to anyone who knew who he was and where he lived but could find nobody. After a while it was obvious that his owners were not going to turn up so young Samuel became my dog.

Samuel got me out full wonderful walks and outings – I discovered the delights of walking Mt Kaukau with him and he became my best and most wonderful companion. While I went from these wonderful Sunday afternoon walks Elena chose to stay behind and do the house work or watch TV – walking was not for her. I quickly discovered that this was something that we didn’t share in common along with so many other things.

Perhaps the fact that I have not mentioned my work indicates the level to which it played a role in my life. Basically, I tried to be interested but was essentially completely disinterested in that realm.

It was through work though that I was introduced to the next new, important phase in

A Sri Lankan colleague at work, Sheila Gunasekera, invited me back home to sample (very salty) Sri Lankan food. She mentioned that she was going to a Buddhist ceremony led by the monks of the monastery in Stokes Valley. Would I like to come along?

I had studied a little bit of religion at university but knew nothing about Eastern religions, let alone Buddhism.

So I accepted the invitation which I seem to remember was Kathina, which is held at the end of the rains retreat. It was the first time that I had seen Buddhist monks in their brown robes and heard Pali chanting. I was able to sample the delectable Asian food that was given to the monks and then heard the talk given by the senior monk,Ajahn Viradhammo.

When I heard what he had to say – and I don’t remember exactly what it was - something about the craving, grasping mind – it felt as if I had been waiting my whole life long to hear this message.

Very soon I visited the monastery in Stokes Valley, and started to read all I could about Buddhism.

I was made very welcome out there and I can remember long talks with Ajahn Thanavaro, an Italian monk who established the monastery Bodhinyanarama alongside Ajahn Viradhammo as he pasted wallpaper in the new meditation hall (called the sala).

I started to learn to meditate as I was taught, following the breath - and began to visit the monastery regularly.

On the first attendance at the evening puja I took a seat and leant against the wall. When Ajahn Viradhammo and the monks into the room they found that I taken up their position. Ajahn quipped that "you'd better shave your head".

Work was actually reasonably interesting, as it coincided with the early Rogernomics reforms as the government tore apart "Fortress New Zealand"

And any ability of the country to be at all self-sufficient. Working in the industry section of trade and industry I saw for myself that you there was no future for me in this environment and I started making preparations for what was most important for me – the preparation for the next stage of my life.

I didn't even try to take leave but took the rash step of resigning from the Department of Trade and Industry, and from the public service. I never looked back.

Early 1980's

The early 1980’s

After Natasha left in August 1981 I was able to start rebuilding my life.

I was living at home in Sumner with my parents. In some ways this was a happy time of my life; was very settled and I enjoyed life with Mum and Dad.

Needing something to get absorbed into other than work, which wasn’t very stimulating or interesting, I started to learn German. I absorbed right into it, learning some conversational German, absorbing books which I used to read, lying on my mothers chaise longue in the sunroom, which had wonderful views out towards Christchurch and the Southern Alps. I used to read whole books, starting off looking up many words in the dictionary, and finally getting on better as I went on.

At around this time I discovered the Goethe Society and wonderful Elsie Walker who ran it. There were regular meetings held in the Arts Centre. We used to have singsongs and I met some wonderful German friends at this time and extended my ability in speaking German.

Joachim was in the country at the time studying at Lincoln Colleg. Horst was here, working as a glazier and met Kate from Timaru whom he went on to marry later. The Giessen brothers - Alexander and Theo - arrived to set up a winery at Burnham, just outside Christchurch, which was something quite new at the time.

With Gerti, Arthurs Pass, witner, 1981

Not east I met Gerti Bayer and her friend Inge Hoefer, who were both in New Zealand doing practical work towards their diploma in social work at Bamberg University. I remember clearly the evening at the Goethe Society when Gerti and I first met. It was one of those magical moments when we noticed each other from opposite ends of the small room, through a crowd of people, and gravitated towards each other.

My mother at this time had just been diagnosed with breast cancer, had had a radical mastectomy, and needed help while she recovered. Gerti, who was staying at the YMCA needed somewhere to live so I mentioned this to her and she agreed without hesitation and came to live with me and my parents.

My parents and Gerti hit it off immediately. Gerti, coming from a large family knew how to fit in and to work. My parents, especially my Mum, loved her and I know the feeling was mutual. Amongst other things she spent many hours darning my father’s socks and even his underwear.

Gerti and I developed a close friendship, we did many things together, including a memorable trip to Arthur’s Pass in my mother's Morris Minor with her friend Inge. I was also introduced by them to the wonderful Jazz Cellar in Arts Centre in the site of the old University. I remember seeing all the young people dancing, bobbing up and down, something that reminded me of the Muppets.

Through Gerti I learn the art of keeping a diary and journaling, recornding thoughts and feelings, rather than just what I had done that day.

It opened up new horizons, new discoveries that felt much more wholesome than the very fraught relationship with my ex-wife.

Eventually Gerti and Inge left to go home to Germany and I started to plot an overseas trip to Europe. Although many prices were high, including phone calls and plane trips everything seem possible, and within a few months, even on my meagre salary, I earned enough for the trip, helped to a great degree by the fact that my brother Jeremy, through his job at Air New Zealand was able to secure very cheap trips to Europe, although, as recorded elsewhere there is bit of a back story to this.

European travels

I flew to London with my brother Jeremy via a short transit in Singapore at a brand-new Changi airport had not even yet been officially opened.

London was cold and slushy and I was not at all impressed and apart from the initial day or so, I was really anxious to get underway and to cross to the continent.

It’s fascinating now look back on my diaries from the period. Throughout there are entries such as: “don’t really feel like the social contacts like a dinner in London, would rather be on the continent for a real New Year”… “Didn’t feel, in part festive spirit and a little out of my element – would rather be with my own people – nothing quite like a Russian New Year”… “Felt quite relieved really to get away from Birling – don’t quite fit into that seemed somehow”.

It was all quite self-absorbed and full of feeling somehow out of sorts and not fitting in, wherever I was.

I travelled up to London and took the train and ferry to Belgium where I was met “by a stony faced Natasha”. We spent a day or so together in Brussels. I stayed in a separate flat that she had found for me and which I had to myself.

I then hitched ((for the first time) from Brussels to Paris and spent a couple of days “doing” Paris, revisiting some of the places that were familiar to me from a 1978 trip.

After a couple of days it was upwards and onwards, by fast train to Strasbourg.

By joining an organisation called SERVUS I was able to be hosted people in various places and I stayed with a family in Strasbourg. I found it quite magical, with lots of snow and beautiful old city. I climbed up the icy steps of the spire of the famous cathedral.

Strasbourg, January, 1982

For a colonial from Down-Under, it was fascinating to cross the border. I crossed the border by suburban bus (recorded as costing 2F 50 ), to Kehl in Germany,which is 500 m from Strasbpurg across the Rhine. I changed money and bought a 22 DM ticket to Neustadt In the Rheinland Pfalz).

I realised I had forgotten to post a letter home I had written while in France, so crossed back across the Rhine, a 10 minute walk, and posted my letter. It gave me a real buzz to cross a border on foot and hear two totally different languages like French and German spoken!

From there it was off to visit my friend Joachim, in the Rheinland-Pfalz. He had only just a few days before, arrived back home from New Zealand and was staying with his parents in the small and pictureesque winegrowing village of St Martin.

From there it was off per autostop (hitching) to Bamberg, arriving in the fabulous mediaeval town in snow beautiful conditions.

I stayed with the three girls – Gerti, Inge and Ute in their wonderful student flat on the second floor of #3 Fischstrasse, sharing a room with Gert (“we have one room to ourselves”), which, looking back was a pretty hard ask. I'm sure that Gerti quickly got quite irritated by having me in her space.

It’s interesting looking back at my diaries. They are so self obsessed and I am constantly worried by the relationship in between bottles of German beer.

“Our relationship, I find, is not as close as it was – Gerti said that she felt’getrennt’ – but I find still that we have a good relationship – quieter and much less tense” On hindsight sounds like wishful thinking. The other things that obscessed me and which I wrote about constantly, was the cost of things – how much this cost and how much that cost. It was all recorded in great detail.

More… “Gerti and I are finally able to communicate and the result is that it turns out that Gerti feels hemmed in by me, by my constant attention and pressure, that I have a “fixation”” I then thougth about the three possibilities, a) continue the same, b) moved to Inge’s room (!) or c) move away. I decide that moving away would be “opting out”.

In general, a lot of “analysis”, self obsession and wishful thinking.

Finally things eased up a little but when I found a little bit of independence, going out to teach English to a few clients, visiting my friends in Denmark, visiting my friend Joachim for the Fasching Festival – and then meeting someone else, Gabi, whom I naturally fell in love with straight away.

She was more straightforward than Gerti … “I find it wonderful to have somewhat one who obviously finds something in me, and who trusts me, and finds it pleasant to be in my company. I find Gabi Gentle, unassuming, quiet un-nervous but enthusiastic and fully delightful”.

I’m sure a relationship with some steamy sex helped things and to make me feel better about myself for a while.

Shortly afterwards as spring was approaching I decided to set off on my own travel to Munich were found a Russian I could stay with and helped me to buy a beaten old (and rusty) VW, so I was able to drive back to Bamberg for a visit and to arrange for Gabi to travel down to Munich.

When she arrived I was soon pretty devastated to find that Gabi had called off the relationship and that, “our relationship brought back memories of her ex-boyfriend Herbert” with whom she had previously broken up.

Off to Greece, and Israel

After an interesting time with the German woman Birgit and her Russian- Polish friends, I set off with a friend of Gabi's, Elfi, for Greece on a memorable trip through Austria to Ljubljana in Slovenia and then through the heartland of Bosnia, wonderful places which later were destroyed in the Bosnian war in the 1990s.

Yugoslavia, at this time was still intact. Tito had not died long ago and everything looked pretty good.

The bridge at Mostar, Bosnia-Herzogovina. This was later bombed during the war in the early 90's

We had great adventures in the VW. I remember us being out of money, and almost out of petrol in Ivangrad, in the moutains of Montenegro, borrowing money to ill up. ,

We rushed around Skopje trying to change money before the banks closed, ended up at a bar where we met some Macedonians were invited us back to their flat for the night. I rememeber finding our way up the stairs of the multistoried apartment block in the pitch dark to their flat. Eli was fearful that something was going to befall us. Nothing did and we got up early the next mornng to get onto the road to Greece. After a while it started to rain heavily and the windscreen wipers seized up from rust. I recall steering the car in driving rain with a rolled up newspaper in the other and, acting as a wiper, so I could see the road ahead,

Crossing over to Greece we had the windscreen wipers fixed, the workman burning the rust off. Crossing over the mountains of northern Greece and then down the east coast we crossed over by ferry to the Pelopennese peninsula and arrived in Olympia where Elfi met her friends and we parted company.

I drove on to new adventures, arriving in Athens and staying with a young man and his family. Finally I left by ship for Israel I had prearranged in New Zealand to work on a kibbutz near Haifa.

I hated the work on the kibbutz and the lifestyle of the volunters and disliked the Israelis (not without reason) but had a fascinating time staying in the old city of Jerusalem and meeting with Palestinians in the hotel where I was staying.

Looking back on my old diary entries 1982 is instructive for it gives my first impression of the Israeli state

Here is my diary entry:

Arrival in Haifa in the evening. As we approach Haifa a patrol boat approached, and then a second, searchlights. Lights on patrol boat went off and for approximately 15 minutes circled around and then Customs came onboard and police landed several plainclothes on the boat.

We were then asked to go below deck for passport control which took place in the dining room and we waited in the heat for each group of 6 to 7 people to be let through. A plainclothes policeman was outside in the vestibule and there was one controlling the numbers coming through. Both had pistols. After a half hour's waiting I finally got through and was seated at a desk with an immigration officer who asked how much money I had, how long I intend to stay and then stamped the entry form open (I had asked for passport not to be stamped).

I went through with Karsten. Then the problems began. He said Alphonso was having problems – being a holder of a Spanish passport he required a visa which he didn’t have. And then he admitted not having any money to support himself so could not get a visa. Karsten offered to give his money so were told the authorities would have to be consulted so we should wait in the customs area and we would be told of the decisions. We were already last off the boat and when we came to X stood a policeman collecting passport receipt forms. I couldn’t find mine I’m sure it was not given back to me in passport control – I had it before that. Policeman was rude and would not let me off the boat without it. I went back, the immigration process ahd already finished, given another from by a ship’s crew member unstamped. This was not accepted. I went back again and had to wait while immigration man went about getting a new card for me – strictly responsibility of the policeman.

By this time we were the very last off the boat and had to hurry to the customs area and change money and take a taxi to the youth hostel taxi, which cost 100 shekels – there was no meter and drivers set their own price. I was very lucky to be able to get a place on the floor as the hostel which was very full. Everyone on the ship had got there before us. Alphonso had been refused permission to remain in Israel and had to remain on board ship until the Monday sailing and returned to Greece. Poor naive 18-year-old was not told by anyone that he needed a visa – and thought that being resident of Switzerland would be taken into account. Impossible to come to a country without money – especially if one attacts attention to oneself.

So this was Israel. I wondered where I had come to. The first impression of rude, unfriendly Israelis (not altogether without basis), and a police state obsessed by red tape and with fear of terrorism and security. Jews were making problems for the rest of the world.

About life in the kibbutz I wrote “since being here have withdrawn in many ways into myself. I do not find that there are many people to whom I can relate.” Mostly, I remember people there just to have a good time, working during the morning, swimming etc in the afternoon and drinking lots of beer.

One of the characters was Bob, an English guy from Yorkshire “who is mostly drinking beer, West chat rooms on his arms and long moustache, is a Royal Marine and has the political views to go with it.” There were a couple of New Zealanders, from Wellington – “Tony Adams, a little snobbish and about as interesting as most New Zealanders!”

The daily routine at the kibbutz consisted of being woken up at 4:30 a.m, dragging myself to the bathroom to splash water over my face and then over to the dining room for a few bits of bread and coffee - (“thank God for Turkish coffee!!”) We were then transported down to work, usually picking oranges or grapefruit, between 5.30 and 8. 00 - and then back for breakfast of egg and coffee, and then back to picking until about 11 a.m. it was very hot from about 11. 00 onwards and so I was very tired at the time I finished.

The rest of the day is free just to hang about, swim in the swimming pool, visit Haifa etc.

After about three weeks at the kibbutz I left suddenly and without telling anybody.

“I’ve left the kibbutz! I felt in the end they now had to leave because I could feel constantly rising feeling of hatred and aggression against Israel. This comes from various things:

a the way of life of the kibbutz does not appeal to me, or although perhaps a different cultural setting it would;

b) the heat and climate I find hard to take. By breakfast time I would be breaking into a sweat and feel the heat terribly I am not cut out for this type of work;

c) I am an individualist and can get on only with a limited number of people at any one time I like to be ‘getrennt’ to some extent;

d) and this is the most important. I do not like Israel and I do not like the Israelis.

Cannot but feel antipathy towards this arrogant people that, having been oppressed in the past, have now come to Palestine and themselves become oppressors stop the relationship of the kibbutzniks to volunteers is unfriendly and arrogant – “do this, do that”– and some of the faces remind me of military people. In fact military is everywhere, even on the kibbutz one sees people with guns. Soldiers are omnipresent. Had the impression from the start of arriving in a “Fortress State” – I cannot sympathise with Jewish hegemony”

Inmy diary I describe people on the kibbutz – such as the unsmiling face of the foreman, “ the military man in charge of haymaking on my last day, who rented and raved and dealt with everyone as an army sergeant would with his private”

The friendly people have all been Arabs – they are the ones who wish to talk and will approach you on the street and say hello. “The Israelis are all stony faced people who never smile and dislike having anything to do with people different from themselves”… “The ‘unfriendly’Germans are much easier to get on with”.

I rationalised that seeing I was working as a volunteer implied that I was a supporter of the state of Israel and felt that I did not want to work for nothing, nor to support of militarist state by giving my labour free.

Also present was my constant restlessness and desire to “get on the road” and back to Europe.

I have a memory of the only holiday when I was there – April 28, Independence Day. Everything reminded me of celebrations like May Day in the Soviet Union – the only difference was the flags weren’t white but of a different colour.

I have since learnt that while the Bolsheviks went on to rule Russia the Mensheviks moved to Palestine and founded the kibbutz movement. Russian influence is everywhere.

Easily my peak experience in Israel (and possibly on the whole trip) was the short time that I spent in Jerusalem. I took a room in an Arab hotel by the Jaffa Gate.

Spent the whole day exploring the Old City and Gethsemane but felt myself feeling lonely. In the evening I went looking for somewhere to eat but it was the start of the Sabbath and eating places were, at least in theory closed. To eat in the restaurant there was no exchange of money but one had to buy coupons at the back of the restaurant and these were exchanged for food and drink – all this to avoid the rules about not exchanging money on the Sabbath.

I met a couple of friendly Germans who adopted me and we made an arrangement to meet the next day so I could join them on their drive out to Bethlehem.

When I got back to my hotel I had a lovely interaction with one of the young Palestinians there who invited me back for the weekend to visit his parents on the West Bank. This, no doubt would have been a peak (and educational) experience but I decided that rather than let my two tipsy German friends down – I could easily have reneged on the deal – I would stick to the original plan.

This is proved to be one of the greatest regrets of my life.

Leaving Israel proved as difficult as getting in.

"Walk to the dock where I found a mass of young people waiting and waited half an hour to have tickets checked, then moved around immigration which was locked and had to wait again in the sun before being let in to queue for greater end passport control – sheer bloody mindedness and quite on purpose. Overall it took 1 1/2 to 2 hours – the whole operation. Never known a country more difficult to get out of open (on par with USSR cremation Mark) emigration people checked their lists of people before stamping passport – to see if I was a “terrorist”?!

A foretaste of the post 911 world.

I instantly founded a relief to be on the boat back to Greece that record the Greeks, apart from being first-rate people, “very intense, too much so for me, very loud and rowdy”.

Balkan adventures - and back to Germany

On returning to Athens I stayed again with my SERVAS host Andonis and recall him and phone (as well is with his mother close) range from a quiet whisper one second to a high-pitched scream the next.

I spent some more time in Athens, meeting some new people through and Andonis, including Kostas with whom I became on friendly terms. I recall he moved to Los Angeles not long after I got home to New Zealand.

Looking back now, I can see that 5 to 6 months into my trip the tide had changed and I started to feel less well less comfortable within myself.

I left Athens to go back to a previous New Zealand contact in Evia, found myself cold shouldered, so my approach was just to drive on right up the east coast of Greece, until I reached Thessaloniki.

I was offered the chance to visit a special religious festival by meeting a Greek hitchhiker but left because I was feeling sick, I thought affected by heat, with a headache and aching limbs. Panicking over whether I had enough money to get myself back to Germany I decided to leave, with the local thinking I was mad to leave the festivities and drove onwards to a Bulgarian border which I crossed in the dark. I slept in the car somewhere for the night, anxious about the police turning up, but nothing happened and I drove onto Sofia the next morning. I always picked up hitchhikers and often learnt a lot from them.

I found Sofia to be a fascinating city once again I felt headachey and weak so once again I left and drove across the Yugoslav border to Belgrade. Finding the youth hostel full I went to a pub across the road and got drinking with an old guy who said “next time you come back and stay with me” so I replied I don’t have any with stay tonight – so for the price of one cognac invited me home- his name was Mirka - for the night.

He woke me up at 3.30 and again at 6.00 and after a breakfast of bread-and-butter “left with the old man driving (heaven help me!) – Very impulsive driver using one hand, the other to nudge me, squeeze my size et cetera stopped about three times the cognac’s, something to drink et cetera”

This next story is fascinating so I will let my diary tell it in full.

“Picked up hitchhiker, Steve, along the way, a young chap from Liverpool,

travelling to Holland from Greece after spending eight months on Crete. We were to stay together for two days. Then picked up the Yugoslav man who wanted to travel to Banska Luka, who turned out was working for passport office of Interior Ministry and was a rather nasty type stop at her suggestion we stopped for a woman, a Yugoslav from Belgrade, travelling to Zagreb. She started talking of shortages of goods, toilet paper, Coffey etc., And said she wanted to leave Yugoslavia because she had personal difficulties with her parents and couldn’t travel because the authorities wouldn’t give her a passport for political reasons.

The man on the back kissed her a few times and through a pass at her – as it turned out. He said that he would be able to get her a passport for the cost of 15,000 dinars bribe plus her body. When at last the man got out she told us the whole story. She was well travelled, had been to England, America except now, for certain reasons she was being denied a passport and was desperate to leave the country. She proposed marriage to Steve – she would pay $200 Canadian and they could divorce immediately. Poor Steve, I think had never quite come up against this sort of thing and was embarrassed said he had “no time” to get married he asked me a little later what he should do!

We arrived in Zagreb and after having a pork chop with and read went for a beer and coffee and then into the central square ….which was done up for a carnival which turned out to be Tito’s birthday. After watching some of the carnival Steve and I drove onto a village halfway between Zagreb and Maribor. We found nowhere to stay the night stopped to watch a rock concert for a while. Being very tired, both of us, we decided to leave and found a side road where we parked the car for the night both sleeping inside.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by Steve who said he was sure there were people outside but went back to sleep, at approximately 5 a.m. awoken again and this time we definitely were disturbed. For young men in a Zastava Bambina , all very drunk, one, the driver aggressive – asked for our documents. We refused. I answered in Russian which may have been a mistake. They answered sometimes on German or then on Croatian. They said they would call the militia. When I wouldn’t take the bait they became aggressive and at one time I thought they would turn the car over, threaten to beta sub, one struggled with Steve to get side window open, then round the back with a took sticker off and also (as I discovered later), tampered with the motor. Demanded documents again so I presented them with my youth hostel card which seemed to satisfy them for they went back to the car that quickly returned and demanded Steve’s passport. The second guy quietened the driver down. We gave them a cigarette and then after a while I drove off, and so did we. We were chased by them for several kilometres, tried to overtake us but naturally these start Zastava was no match for a Beetle, so we lost them.

My next drama arose from the fact that my car only had temporary registration for Germany. I had kept up insurance that the registration had expired. When we got to the Austrian border by Maribor we were turned back because the car’s papers were not valid.

After paying for another temporary Yugoslav visa we decided to have another go, this time travelling hundred and 80 km to the Italian frontier. This time the Italian border guards did not like Steve’s long here, asked where we were going, why we turned back at the other frontier, how much money we had and finally asked for papers. “Tired and frustrated, I objected – ‘why?! The answer was a very definitive one – the border guard showed me his handcuffs and pointed towards Yugoslavia. So back we headed (that back by Yugoslavs without another Visa, thank God) to Ljubljana, absolutely exhausted, hungry and badtempered, frustrated and wondering what to do next, took Steve to the railway station where he bought a ticket to Villach. I then went to have a meal of sausage chips and salad – could hardly eat it up. Said farewell Steve, who was heading towards Amsterdam”

Again having nowhere to stay I decided to have another attempt at the Austrian border. “Very tired, frustrated and nervous and the car going badly to boot, on regular Yugoslav petrol. Hardly made it up the mountainside… Through Yugoslav control… to the Austrian frontier. ‘Autopapiere bitte’ (‘ your papers please’). A desperate feeling of despair as I handed them over but was surprised as he said ‘bitte’ (‘please’). Could not believe it, could have cried for joy as I made my way over to bank to change my last dinars and Austrian schillings. Made my way down to Villach, where I found a near empty youth hostel and a normal bed at last! A most frustrating Sunday was last over!”

My frustrations were not over however, as I found the car wouldn’t start and so had to get it towed away to be fixed. This used up the last of my remaining money so I had to ring my sister Kathy in England who said some money over by telex.

After leaving Villach and again sleeping in the car for the night I made my way to Salzburg where I can remember buying tickets for a movie on a brilliant day – as I was the only person they cancelled the showing.

I tried crossing over the border into Germany the German border control would not let me go forward or back so I had to spend the night in my car again on a busy border crossing and take a taxi to the closest town to get my papers put in order.

I drove onto Munich and finding nobody at home, drove on to Bamberg,

now essentially doing my journey in reverse. In Bamberg I went straight to see my friend Gabi we did not look the slightest surprised to see me.

Back to drinking German beer and relationships…

“After eating something we went out, up to Spezi keller (and outdoor pub) for a beer and met up with Elfi (with whom I had travelled down to Greece) and some of her friends.Gabi somewhat distant and didn’t want to be too close, difficulty in expressing her feelings, but deathly felt that our relationship had been on a false footing from the start – never really got round to discovering how we stand in relationship to one another”

As she was off the next morning I went straight to the Fischstrasse to see Gerti and to spend a few days with her with her parents in a village nearby.

From here it was just like a journey in reverse. With the onset of the hot weather I started to feel unwell and my last diary entry of my trip was on 3 June.

Tthe weather has been very hot for the last few days and seems to have an effect on my constitution – feel weak, sleepy and generally very lazy, also depression has come on – feel sad without any basis, is this anything to do with the weather?”

I basically drove, with a brief stop in Essen to see the two men I had met in Jerusalem, straight through, without even stopping in Holland, through Belgium to the ferry to England.

England and travels with my parents

Travelling with my mother - outside the Sorbonne, Paris - August, 1982

I think I was relieved to be back in the embrace family again and to enjoy home comforts with my sister Kathy. I briefly tried a job picking strawberries in East Malling nearby (I cycled). I could never take the strawberries quickly enough nor in a way to hide the poorer fruit underneath the largest and most delectable strawberries (these were bound for Covent Garden), also it started raining towards lunchtime so I would go home, by which time it had cleared. So I didn’t make much money but I did spend a lot of time placing on my bed reading Herman Hesse and other books.

I did my one and only trip in Britain when I went to pick up my friend Joachim in Poole, Dorset. Together we travelled in my beaten up old VW down to Devon. I remember a place called Beer, that ironically had no beer and only served steak and chips, or steak and Pomme frittes, or steak and French fries.

My mum and dad came over for a month or so. The things that stand in my memory is driving down as a family to see my cousin Rosy (the one that had travelled with Cathy and I to my wedding in Leningrad).Rosy had organised for a healer to see my Mum who was obviously anxious about a return of her breast cancer. I wasn’t privy to the proceedings but I remember the woman told Mum that if she drank a glass of vodka a day she would be all right.

My parents, probably rather inadvisedly, agreed to a trip to Germany and France with me in my beaten-up old VW - my Mum in the passenger seat and my Dad on the back. After another drama crossing the border into Germany we travelled on down the Rhine, staying in the B & B of my friend Joachim’s parents for a night and then to Heidelberg and then travelling the beautiful road from there to Würzburg and on to my beloved Bamberg.

I remember my father looking rather puzzled as he asked where this place Ausfahrt (‘Exit’) was that he kept on seeing.

Gerti met my parents with open arms. After a tour of my favourite town in Europe we travelled up to Kerbfeld to stay with Gerti’s parents. With one side having no English and the other side (practically) no German there was never the less a lot of warmth as to old foes met and compared notes through an interpreter.

On returning to Bamberg, the farewell was tearful on Gerti’s the part (I think you might have felt she would never see them again).

We set off an update on what was amazing journey home, looking back – the last trip to do with my mother and father. We travelled up the Main valley to Heidelberg where we met my friend Joachim. Not sure what my father thought - he was probably a little lost - my mother was in her element. She found that the German she'd learnt 20 years before was not forgotten and thoroughly enjoyed exploring the streets of Heidelberg. I still have a photograph of her in Heidelberg

I do not remember what we did next but recall that we must have driven from there to the French border. I recall have great fun with the French bodyguard who kept asking "where are your papers"? I would reply "these are the papers" and he would repeat the same question, and I would repeat the same answer until, and in his very Gallic Manner he shrugged his shoulders and waved us through.

I remember entering one or other French town, trying to find our way north. It was no easy matter getting out of town for all signs pointed towards Paris.

I remember us are stopping in one particular northern town after passing through towns whose names recalled battles from World War I.

We were walking through a square in Arras and my father must have felt insecure for he held my mother's hand. It was an unusual moment of tenderness; it was the first, and last time I recall my parents holding hands. It has remained in my memory ever since.

When we arrived in Calais my father was convinced that Kathy was coming over with the children to collect him. Nothing we can say could convince him otherwise. We put them on the ferry to England where he was met by Kathy and joined the family for a holiday to Scotland.

My mother in Paris - August, 1982

My mother and I started a holiday together in France. I remember I stay in a hotel room In Calais where I recall nothing the bathroom worked properly however there was a beautiful statue – so very French?

We set off together for Paris and I recall we stayed in the same hotel in St. Georges where we had earlier, in 1978. We spent a pleasant day wandering around Paris seeing many places that we had four years earlier.

The most amazing thing was that I drove my beaten -up old green VW through Paris. We would plot our journey on the map and then find that we were stuck in the one-way system., I would ask my mother who was incapable of following any directions or read a map to navigate in Paris!

I have recollections of getting a parking ticket in Paris that was a message from the police saying " you are in violation of the law. Seeing you are a visitor in our city we will overlook this".

I could not imagine anything similar in this country!

We have made plans for a holiday together in the Dordogne. We headed off together and I recall that we made it at least as far as Orleans. We stayed someone nearby – I can't remember where it was – in a small town. I remember it being very noisy – that was always a lot of traffic, and I compared it unfavourably with Germany which was always much quieter even in the bigger towns.

Without explanation I felt symptoms of bearable sadness without explanation come on and feeling of not being able to cope any more. With a shoulder to lean on I simply collapsed emotionally and explained that I simply couldn't go on. My dear mother was amazingly understanding and gave up on her plans for a holiday in the Dordogne and we started our trip north to Paris, stopping for a brief halt.in Ramboullet and returning to Paris.

We went to the Gare de Nord to buy a real ticket for Mum to return to England. When we returned we found that the car had been broken into and all my mother's luggage was missing . It was a terrible setback for her but I remember that the Parisians were very kind to her. She would always find contact with people through talking to their dogs and people would usually open up.

I remember being in a pharmacy- when my mother told her story the shopkeeper explained how she herself had been locked out of her flat without keys or documents, and she gave my mother free samples of French perfume, which kept her going until she was able to find replacements with her insurance. The women of Paris were not going to let my mother go without her makeup!

We parted ways in Paris, my mother taking the train north back to England and me driving east, through Luxenbourg and then to Germany and Saarburg where my friend Joachim was a thing his first teaching job.

I stayed a day or so before continuing my journey back to Bamberg where I finally parted company with my faithful green VW which was sent "Zum Schrott" - to the wreckers.

Homeward Bound

I bade farewell to my friends there and hitched northwards to Belgium to catch the ferry. I was unable to get any response from Natasha – I thought that she had disappeared – it turned out that she and her family had gone on an extended holiday over the summer period.

I arrived in Dover early in the morning, had to wait quite some time for a lift but when I did I was picked up by a young man who was going in the same direction and dropped me off in Birling village and I was able to walk the short distance in time for breakfast.

I hunkered down at Birling Place once again and flew back home to New Zealand – 10 months after I had first set off – with my mother.

My father had already returned home before this. We flew home fire LA – it was the first and last time I have flown over the USA – I recall short period of time we had at the LA airport and always being exported to " have a good day"

Arriving back in New Zealand I was, as I recall, very depressed and I am sure that I would rather have gone back to Europe for all the challenges that provided. I remember staying with my mother at my brother's place in Auckland and feeling thoroughly miserable.

It was, as usual, a relief to return to the refuge of my parents home in Sumner and to reading books once more, on my mother's. chaise longue in the sunroom.

I had been away from work at the Department of Trade and

Industry on unpaid leave and eventually I had to return to reality. However, there it was made clear there was no job in the Christchurch office. The expectation was that I would take up a position in head office to further my career in the public service.

Meantime I had plenty of time to get up to mischief – I was introduced to another (this time young) Russian girl, Ali. by my friend and Russian lecturer,

Henry Wrassky - he was the one who had introduced me to Natasha. What's again I became obsessed and started a new liaison which followed me up to Wellington where I moved from my new job in the head office of trade and industry at the end of 1982.