Rainer Maria Rilke

Adjoining the inside walls and running the
whole width of the house was a dirty-white
expanse of wall across which crawled in
unutterably disgusting, wormsmooth,
bowel-like form the open rust-flecked
groove for the toilet pipe. There were
grey dusty marks at the edge of the
ceiling where the gas pipe had been,
and they went this way and that before
they suddenly turned right round, ran
to the painted wall and into a dark hole
that had been ruthlessly torn open there.

Rainer Maria Rilke:
The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge.

Heino

That wasn't a good omen. There at the German
Austrian border near Salzburg. While we fueled
the car with the last German petrol and had
exchanged some money in Schilling, a big BMW
stopped next to us, with two men and one of
them looked like Heino, the Schlager singer.
But when he got out the car we saw that it
was actually him. He took the wheel from
someone shaped like a muscular bodyguard.
We were on our way to Israel. Driving at night
in order to take the Autoput, the dangerous
Yugoslav highway, during daytime. A friend of
mine, Wolfgang, had asked me if I fancied a
holiday trip. He knew a Palestinian, called
Hassan, with a Peugeot estate, filled with
merchandise, mostly electronics, who went to
the Middle East. He would sell the car and
make enough profit to fly back.



Wolfgang had no driving license and Hassan
needed a co-driver, so they asked me. Before
I had agreed, I wanted to see that Hassan.
Wolfgang had invited him and we watched
a soccer game, listened to reggae music,
smoked a joint ... he seemed okay. Only I
didn't like that baseball cap and dark glasses.

Turkey

We were still giggling about Heino, and we
sang: fährt ein weisses Schiff nach Hong Kong
(sails a white ship to Hong Kong), and then
Wolfgang proposes to put money together
for the gas. But it wasn't decided who would
manage it. The driver probably. Not me,
innocent as I was. Life threatening that
Autoput, the route through Yugoslavia.
We had to wait a very long time at the
Bulgarian border, that we, like more
drivers did, toke a nap somewhere on a
grass strip. Even while sleeping Hassan
still wore his cap and sunglasses. Just
before the Turkish border, he wanted me
to take over the wheel. We had to unload
the whole car, but I wasn't worried. The
car finally was in his name and we had
sworn each other not to bring any dope.



Once arrived in Istanbul, Hassan right away
bought some hash. He knew the place, even
more he had a girlfriend who lived over there,
whom he hadn't mentioned before. Yes I did.
No you didn't, Hassan, really not. He would
stay with her for one day and we better find
a hotel. He knew a cheap one. The next day
he wanted more money to buy gas. According
to us there still was. Yeah, but his girlfriend
had had medical expenses and ... Bullshit
Hassan, when you're like this we won't go
to Israel with you. However, the main reason
we didn't trust him anymore, was that we
hadn't been to that lodge, but slept in the
Peugeot and Wolfgang had seen that the car
was partially painted with a brush. I took
a more accurate look and discovered that
the front and the back were welded together.
VIN switched. Fuck Hassan. So stuck in Istanbul.

Istanbul

So we looked for a cheap hotel room and even
tried a few restaurants. Wolfgang was really
up to it, he was in fact a walking stomach.
Along the way we had mainly lived on bread
and fruits. And I now I didn't have to drive
anymore, I could give myself over to drinking
wine. Also we visited the soccer stadium of
Fenerbahce.



We were at a concert by the punk group Utang,
which was suddenly interrupted by an excited
man who climbed onto the stage. But we couldn't
understand a word. From people next to us we
understood that in El Salvador Bishop Romero
was assassinated. Many Turks spoke some German.
Everyone paused, But then the music went on.



We had a great time in Istanbul and stayed
almost a week. The next destination we chose
randomly. In a department store we bought a
map, closed our eyes and picked a spot.

Lake Iznik

We had picked Lake Iznik. First by train to
Körfez and then by bus. On the shore of the
big lake we found a kind of eco-campsite.
Started off from an old coach, that still was
there, there now was built a small canteen,
where the wife of the owner made delicious
meals.



There camped a few Turkish families, some
Germans, but a lot of Dutch people, who had
occupied the terrace of the cafeteria. Being
habitual drinkers and the next village miles
away, we were stuck with them Dutch. And
Dutch women. One of them with beautiful
green eyes, made me think of Lisa, a girl who
sometimes visited our Wohngemeinschaft.

Neu-Ulm

Wohngemeinschaft? A commune? Well no,
more a shared apartment. Because having
reached your thirties, you didn't want to
continue living in a student dorm. Although,
not many were still studying, except a few
new youngsters. Many had graduated or
were living like me, as a drop-out (aussteiger).
So night owl Sophie, art connoisseur Kuno,
barfly Branko and me, Drückeberger  Jupp,
had responded to an ad for a four bedroom
apartment in Neu-Ulm.



Although it wasn't cheap we rented the house,
especially since there was a bathtub and we
were used to share two showers with fourteen
residents. In the first week we lived there,
we immediately had a fight with the neighbors
below, about the volume of our music. So we
ended up with a star in one of our windows
because they shot with an air rifle at us.



The Turkish neighbor on the left meant to
protect us with a large knife from Branko's
compatriots who came for a late night drink.
We could hardly stop him. That was the time
that Wolfgang came up with that trip to Israel.
Wolfgang was a friend of Kuno and now the
boyfriend of Kuno's ex-girlfriend Monica,
an art historian. The three of them were
planning to start a travelling agency
specialized in art trips.

Camping

So we didn't make it to Israel. But it was a
nice place in the sun, that is to say, sitting
under the porch roof. Talking to the Dutch,
a group of some ten people, learned us that
they also formed, a kind of Wohngemeinschaft.
But different. Two or three were supervisors.
And why rest was supervised, wasn't quite
clear. A nice surprise was that a gypsy with
some marijuana showed up. What else did
we do? Make music, play chess, go for a swim,
translate what the other had said. In many
languages​​: German, Dutch, English, Turkish
and Hebrew. One of the Dutch was completely
into Israel and wanted to emigrate. He was
hassled by a very outspoken anti-Semitic
Dutch guy, who was washing his car and
canoe. In the end we succeeded in getting
him expelled from the campsite.



The gypsy was interested in one of the Dutch
supervisors and I had to translate: I'll have
it snow in your cave. All these conversations
made clear what kind of community they lived in.
Essentially, they were outcasts and runaways
who were being prepared to eventually go live
on their own.

Return

We had recorded some music on cassette
for in the car. Wolfgang loved jazz. Dexter
Gordon, Sonny Rollins and others. I had
tapes with reggae music, varying from
loud dub to melodic Dadawah, very
suitable on the waterfront at night.
The music often played in the canteen,
made ​​us realize that we had to move on.
The favorite music of the camping owner:
Billie Holiday. An overdose of sadness.



And instead of traveling on, we better
start the return, especially given the
finances. Back to Istanbul by bus, then
to Plovdiv by train. From there on we
would try to hitchhike. Unexpectedly
that went very well, only in Yugoslavia
we had gotten off the Autoput and ended
up in Kraljevo. To save money we slept
in the waiting room of the train station.
Myself on three chairs. Wolfgang on four.
He was almost six-foot five. In Turkey,
a sensation, but in Yugoslavia you saw
basketball player types more frequently.

A confession

Sutomore

On a railway map on the wall, I saw that we
weren't very far from the port of Bar, where
you could cross to Bari or Ancona. Wolfgang
immediately got enthusiastic. On to Bari, which
wasn't far from Matera, a possible destination
of their travel agency. Near Bar, in Sutomore
we swam in the Adriatic Sea. Ate tasty mackerel
in a restaurant and although someone started
waving his shooting iron, after all it was more
picturesque than threatening.


Matera

In Italy we hitched again. Matera was really
something. Then Sulmona. When we were
somewhere near Bologna we had to decide
whether we should aim at the Gotthard or
Brenner Pass, Wolfgang made a confession.
Every time he had a phone call, he hadn't
talked to Monica, but to Sophie. He had
fallen in love with Sophie and she with
him, but they hadn't told no one yet.

Austria

John Lennon: I do

Monica was at that time in Vienna, in a
gallery where she was trying to sell John
Lennon drawings. So if we could take the
Brenner and the Austria route ... we could ...
In short, he now felt that he had to tell
Monica about Sophie. All right ... but then
we'd better go via Udine and Klagenfurt.
How he excused himself with Monica in Vienna,
I don't know, because he didn't want me in
the neighborhood. He generally was a smooth
talker. He even had been able to borrow some
money of her. Meanwhile I was having dinner
somewhere ... dumplings with beef stew.



At the bar I met a sales agent, who offered
us a ride to Salzburg. There we took a taxi
to the border, to go hitching again. In the
pouring rain, but we were lucky. A Yugoslav,
whose driving license was taken away by the
customs, was looking for a driver. The car
had a hefty trailer and he was on his way to
Bremerhaven. Customs would let ​​him through
only if he found a driver. From Ulm on, he
would risk to drive without a license. He
had to, because he had to work the next day.

The Doors of Perception

In the Wohngemeinschaft we had to do with
two couples of lovebirds. Sophie and Wolfgang ...
but also Kuno ... and Monica. Monica had come
back to Kuno. And Branko came up with some
LSD trips. I had taken a trip before, living in the
dorm. Together with Sophie and Branko. One with
a Donald Duck print on some mini blotter paper.



And it had been a really great trip. First we had
been for a swim, then a game of miniature golf,
had a few beers and then we swallowed it.
Unlike Branko and Sophie and I had prepared
myself a bit. Like reading Doors of Perception
and Heaven and Hell by Aldous Huxley.



After about half an hour, everything became
a bit strange, much more newer. I was sweating
enormously, and laughing uncontrollably. Nothing
compared to hash. Even the most natural and
obvious things were seen in a different light.
Music was unbearable, so intense. For hours
Sophie only had attention for an empty scaffold
next to the window. Branko and I started preparing
some food. Well, it wasn't easy. We lost ourselves
completely in shapes. To peel a potato would reveal
some shape, that one way or another had to come out.

Here comes the sun

Hours later, everything seemed really hours
later, or rather not ... time didn't matter any
more ... hours later, there was no food on
the table, but food sculptures, all in a raw
state. A potato wooden shoe, a cucumber
phallus, a chives braided mat. We weren't
hungry anymore, but thirsty. Because of the
sweating. But not too much alcohol. Wanted
to keep your senses sharp. Conversation was
almost impossible. When you picked up an
occasional word, fantasizing began. At a
certain moment I went outside. Found myself
on a bicycle at speed of three hundred miles
per hour down a slope, when I noticed that
it was dark, or rather almost not anymore.
The sun was rising in the most amazing colors.
I burst into loud ooh's and ah's and started
singing Here Comes the Sun.



Every blade of grass along the road I could
observe, despite the dizzying speed. They
all had a different color green, billions
of colors green.

Yin Yang

Of course afterwards I started reading more about
psychedelics and related matters. Like Castaneda,
Gurdiëff and Ouspensky. The fourth dimension by
Rudy Rucker brought me back to my senses. The
mathematics of it outstripped that Ouspensky
juggling. The second trip was on a same kind of
blotter paper, but now with a yin yang imprint.
Sophie, Branko and Kuno also gave it a try. Kuno
took a half, but felt nothing. Sophie got up to
visit a girlfriend. Branko looked like a devil
to me and I told him that. I looked like a monkey,
he thought, and then he was off to the pub. That
night there was a soccer match of our German team,
the Mannschaft. And our TV gave up the ghost
yesterday. I had tried to fix it but only had blown
the fuses. Kuno decided to go and watch the game
at Wolfgang's and asked if I went along. Yeah later ...
as soon as I would be able to move myself again ...
ay ay ay ... This was probably a bad trip ... right?
Everything was like in a dream, but with a sense
of reality that I experienced as overwhelming.

Aliens

With great effort I was able move my hand.
I put my hand on the seat cushion of the sofa
in order to stand up, but my hand sank into it
for about two feet. Whew. The walls were no
longer in ninety-degree angles. At least the
ones that I could see. Because I wasn't able
to turn my head. Through the window I saw
that aliens had landed on the roof of the
bakery across.



I now remembered also Huxley's advice to have
someone nearby, who wasn't using. There I sat,
paralyzed, alone. Since the confusion about the
passage of time on the previous trip, I had
planned to regularly take a look at the clock.
But now that seemed just a pathetic way to
keep track of a thing called 'time'. I had to
learn myself everything all over again. First,
suppress the emerging panic. Give myself very
simple instructions, and then check. My neck ...
Carefully turn it ... turn! Again ... Now my hand
sank only one foot into the seat cushion. Stand
up. And I stood. But the room tilted at least
ten degrees. I was able to walk. Would I dare
to go outside? Then I had to try going down
the stairs. But I couldn't even get my coat on.
Which wasn't necessary by the way, cause I was
sweating again.

Bootstrapping

Now I began to understand what Schopenhauer
and Nietzsche meant with die Welt as Wille
(the world as will). I wanted down the stairs.
I wanted to see the soccer game. I had to want
to do things, else I would have been stuck in
the domain of my senses, the Vorstellung
(representation). It was like bootstrapping
a computer, to pull myself up by the bootstraps,
instead of continue wandering in the BIOS
(Basic Input Output System). No, even deeper.
Not just system level, I had gotten down the
processor level. Instruction Counter becomes
Counter plus address length. Without that
loop, everything would come to a halt.
Simple instructions.

Dimensions

But then getting on the bicycle. First I had to
find out the working of a lock and a key. About
half an hour. The road was so gigantic uphill
that I didn't make enough speed to get on the
bike. Nothing else than to walk along the bike.
Cars coming up behind me gave the feeling to
be haunted by ferocious beasts. Then crossing
a busy road at a traffic light. First I had to wait
a number of cycles and find out at what color
the cars stopped. Things that normally seemed
obvious, now had to be tested through the trial
and error method. Not as often as during the
first learning, but still ... Across the road went
downhill. Cycling seemed possible. Every
millimeter that I progressed, I seemed like
I fell through some kind of aperture to the
next millimeter. Physical I experienced how
'time' was a dimension, not unlike 'space'.

Volle Kanne (Right On)

Ten years later I arrived at Wolfgang's.
The soccer game already had begun.
On the couch I sank about four thirty-four
light years into the seat cushions.
I totally couldn't figure out the soccer,
because the image had disintegrated in
moving colored squares, like when they
try to make a face unrecognizable.
Almost closing my eyes and looking
through the lashes didn't help either.
Looking at Kuno, I saw his skull shining
through his skin. The others seemed to
wear a kind of masks that were constantly
changing. And Wolfgang showed a kind
of speech balloons, as he talked. Like
in comics. Suddenly everyone except
me raised the arms in the air.
Rudi Völler had scored.