From a Refugee to a Retiree: Chronicle of an Adventurous Life

By Steven Fazekas

As the title implies this book is indeed a chronicle of an adventurous life. Told in a narrative fashion, this biographical book takes the reader on a five-decade journey from communist Hungary to a Miami Beach retirement.
Stephan, the book's main subject, had experienced various incidents, events, affairs, romantic entanglement and dangerous episodes throughout three continents. Luck and providence may have saved him from the not so safe parts of these occurrences.
Stephan's eventful life provided him with ample joy and sadness, and of course with enough happiness and disappointments. His less than flawless character may have been the quintessential 'good, bad and ugly' in most of the circumstances, but was never boring and never felt sorry for himself.
Stephan's intrepid approach to life is often reckless and heedless yet it is always confident and resilient. The reader might find his life story riveting and perhaps entertaining as well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781728372488

Steven Fazekas

Steven Fazekas immigrated in the United States of America on 1986. Prior to coming to America, he already lived as an immigrant in Italy, Britain and South Africa. They each had good and bad to offer, but generally they all have his thanks and compliments. Nevertheless, America is the only country that made him feel at home right from the start, perhaps because in here, everyone else is an immigrant. Most came long before he had arrived, but none have more rights or duties than him.

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© 2020 Steven Fazekas. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/14/2020

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7125-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7248-8 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916585

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Dedicated to those of my children and grandchildren

who have the courage and curiosity to read it.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     The Postcard

Chapter 2     The Crossing

Chapter 3     Italy Encountered

Chapter 4     The Camps

Chapter 5     South Africa At First Sight

Chapter 6     Rhodesia (and Botswana)

Chapter 7     Mi Casa Not Your Casa

Chapter 8     Durban

Chapter 9     Rule Britannia

Chapter 10   South Africa Again

Chapter 11   America The Challenge

Chapter 12   The Renaissance Man

Chapter 13   Que Loca Vida

Chapter 14   Retirement. What Retirement?

Chapter 15   Adventure Of A Different Kind.

CHAPTER 1

THE POSTCARD

W alking through the lobby barely noticing the sign on the elevator door Lift out of order Stephan automatically headed to the stairways. He was young, energetic who seldom bothered with the decrepit elevators in these decrepit buildings. He was taking the stairs two at a time when he caught up with an old lady on the second floor. Dressed in a winter coat despite the mild spring weather the old lady was mumbling to herself cursing out the elevator and the superintendent. She was hauling up her weekly groceries to the sixth floor with two shopping bags in each hand. Stephan’s destination was the fourth floor nevertheless he offered his help that the old lady grudgingly accepted. She was miserable yet talkative; perhaps in her late sixties or early seventies. While unlocking her door she informed Stephan that Mrs. Z on the fourth floor whom Stephan had an appointment with might not be at home. I just saw her at the fish market an hour ago, she was buying shrimps and lobsters, I wonder, how can she afford them.

Down on the fourth floor – as the old lady predicted – Mrs. Z was indeed not home. There was nothing unusual about this, housewives often ignored the appointment time that was allocated to them by the City Gas Works’ maintenance department. Stephan duly noted her absence and penciled in a new appointment date in his work logbook. He had come out on a follow up inspection wherein he supposed to verify a technician’s recommendation that the apartment’s gas stove was indeed beyond repair hence it should be replaced with a new one.

This was Budapest in 1971 where city dwellers did not own their apartments neither the appliances within them. Most of the apartments were owned by the City Council or the government. Stoves, water heaters, radiators and in some cases even the refrigerators ran on city or natural gas and as such were all owned and rented out by the City Gas Works of Budapest.

While inserting a notification between the door and the doorjamb, Stephan saw a colorful postcard previously stuck there, presumably, by the postman. Stephan took the postcard and immediately got impressed by the scenery it had depicted. It was an aerial view of the city of Johannesburg. Intrigued by the postcard Stephan took it and clipped it to the pages of the logbook over the new appointment date with Mrs. Z.

For the next two weeks the postcard became more than a book marker. It rekindled a dormant but never extinguished feeling that Stephan had nurtured for some times. Back in his army days him and his army buddy Albert – prompted by a letter from New York – often fantasized about leaving Hungary. Leaving Hungary however, at the height of the Cold War was neither simple nor easy. The dual passport system that existed would prohibit Stephan to travel to a Western i.e. capitalist country. There were red passport and blue passport holders. Blue passports were valid to travel to Western countries and were issued only to ‘trusted’ citizens; matured, older, propertied people usually with children or some other forms of tangible ties to the system. With the red passport one could travel to a communist country only. The red passport holders generally were younger with fewer ties to the communist system. Stephan fell into this latter category. He was young, loose footed, no property, no wife, no children. Suddenly the postcard motivated him to obtain some kind of a travel document. He looked at it every day savoring the description on the reverse side. The caption on the back of the card referred to Johannesburg as the ‘City of Gold’. With its skyscrapers and modern communication towers, Stephan imagined not a material El Dorado but a utopian metropolis in the African jungle. Communist governments that included the Hungarian one as well did their best to hide, camouflage or ignore certain information from the West, this was especially true about the Capitalist countries’ material, technical or technological achievements. South Africa got a pariah treatment due to its system of apartheid. Hungarian textbooks usually covered it in less than three sentences. So, no wonder that Stephan got an eye opener during his next visit to Mrs. Z’s apartment. He handed the postcard over to her with an apology while Mrs. Z in turn apologized for missing the previous appointment. Concluding the City Gas Works’ business Stephan approved the technician’s recommendation for a new gas stove. Rewarded with a hefty tip, a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake, Stephan sat comfortably at the kitchen table listening intently to Mrs. Z.

Showing photo albums one after another Mrs. Z proudly explained to Stephan that her son was living in South Africa. He left in 1969 she explained, he went to Austria with a trade delegation and never came back. In other words, in the Hungarian parlance of the day he was a dissident, he simply defected to the West or more specifically to South Africa. He is a good boy said Mrs. Z he sends me money regularly. $200 for Christmas, last year. A freaking fortune thought Stephan it was more than three times his monthly salary. Now he understood how Mrs. Z could afford shrimps and lobsters.

The photos in the album depicted life in a different universe. There were skyscrapers, sleek cars, wide roads, nice furniture, fashionable clothes and spacious apartments. Stephan was amazed, always knew that the West i.e. the capitalist countries were more advanced than Hungary or any other Eastern European countries for that matter. Yet it was hard to imagine that a modern prosperous city like Johannesburg in Africa existed. He was even more impressed with the wildlife, the fauna, the beaches, rivers and mountains that were used as a backdrop in some of the pictures. He lives well Mrs. Z concluded. He will pay for my trip to visit him if I can ever get a passport to travel. The interior ministry already refused me twice. she added.

From that day on Stephan was on a quest to learn more and more about South Africa. He read all the scantily available information on the subject. Yet his knowledge about South Africa remained rudimentary at best. His yearning for more information took him to the city’s main public library where he befriended a female library assistant who after a few dates allowed him to browse around in the ‘forbidden literature’ department. There was a section in every major library in the country where undesirable, banned, counter-revolutionary, contradictory and politically sensitive publications were housed and collected. One had to be a scholar, a historian, a trusted journalist or a writer in order to access this material. Trusted persons could read them, study them, but only on the premises, checking them out of the library was strictly prohibited. While on paper no censorship existed, nevertheless communist governments were experts in keeping ‘subversive, harmful’ information away from the masses. Coupling usefulness with pleasure Stephan dated the library assistant throughout the summer.

By the end of August 1971, he had a pretty good idea of South African history, geography and economy. He was especially intrigued by its beaches, its people, its wildlife and topography. From early childhood on he was fascinated by the African continent, he was drawn to its mystic and exoticness. Subconsciously perhaps, his adventurous spirit got subordinated to the opportunity for economic betterment. He was like a bird in a cage, well fed and safe, he had lots of friends and girlfriends, a relatively good job by Hungarian standards, yet he yearned for freedom, but not in a political sense. He was a typical apolitical youngster who partied a lot and saved nothing. He yearned for a freedom to explore, a freedom to discover the outside world. The postcard had a profound effect on him. Now more than ever, he was determined to experience Western countries, but first and foremost the African continent. His intention however, had to be kept secret. He would never get a passport if the authorities would get a wind of his plan. Envious people, family members, jealous coworkers, jilted lovers, spies and snitches were dime a dozen. His latest girlfriend Ibi was a daughter of an air force colonel, she was staunchly pro government. Stephan had to be real careful in her presence. Stephan initially toyed with the idea to include her, convert her to his plan, but discovering that she cheated on him with another guy Stephan broke up with her. Although heartbroken Stephan was relieved, now he was free to pursue his plan. He however, had to have a partner; somehow he felt he needed someone to share the burden, to help with this monumental step.

His army buddy, Albert, declined to participate in the adventure. He just got admitted to a culinary school where he was studying to become a chef and a hospitality manager. Stephan had another trusted man, Diffy, a childhood friend from his hometown, who always looked upon him and was willing to follow Stephan to hell and back. Diffy was a well-built muscular guy, a kind of a rabble rouser and troublemaker.

Decision made; the plan was a go-ahead. Most importantly a list of bureaucratic obstacles had to be conquered. The first step was to get a recommendation from the employer which would say that Stephan was a good worker and an exemplary citizen, someone that could be trusted to have a travel document. This process consisted of an application form of multiple pages and a face to face interview with Stephan’s boss, the branch manager. This meeting had to take place in the presence of a designated communist party member who kept an eye on the ideological commitment of the company. This particular gentleman expressed his misgivings openly, citing Stephan’s long hair, hippy demeanor and outward appearance. He claimed to have a hunch that Stephan may not return from his trip. Hence, he refused to recommend him for a passport. Luckily, Stephan’s boss who liked him a lot emphasized that Stephan was an excellent employee and a trustworthy young man who never gave him any trouble. He approved and initialed every pages of the application form which eventually the party’s representative reluctantly endorsed as well. This package had to be taken to the district police station for a review and a background check. About three weeks later to Stephan’s big surprise the package came back with the Police Department’s stamp of approval.

The next step was the submittal of the package to the Department of the Interior that had jurisdiction over the issuance of the passport. This took another six weeks. Finally, passport in hand (red passport only) Stephan had to apply for foreign currency at the National Reserve Bank. It must be noted, that only blue passport holders could obtain convertible currency (like US Dollars, Deutsch Marks, Swiss Francs, etc.) for their trip. In 1972 a blue passport holder — regardless of the duration of his/her trip – was entitled to $100 US dollars only, or its equivalent hard currency. That’s why Hungarians traveling abroad in those days ate at the side of the road from a food basket which they took with themselves. Red passport holders had to do only with non-convertible i.e. communist currencies specific to their destinations, which were naturally communist countries only.

As part of the preparation, Stephan read the letter over and over, which Albert still guarded, that was sent from New York some years earlier by a mutual friend. He memorized the section where this friend described his own escape route from Yugoslavia to Italy. The little town where this friend crossed over was called Kozina. It lay on the Yugoslavian side of the border a mere twelve miles from the City of Trieste in Italy. The only obstacle was a strictly guarded international border between them; an ideological divide and a physical barrier between East and West.

CHAPTER 2

This particular chapter is adopted from another book by Steven Fazekas titled: Memoirs of a Male Chauvinist Pig and Related Short Stories. Published in 2013 by AuthorHouse™ LLC.

THE CROSSING

T he sudden deceleration of the train jolted the passengers out of their slumber. With the exception of two they were all students from the Medical University of Budapest. Other than with students every compartment of this coach was bulging with clothes, luggage, and backpacks. This last wagon was reserved for them. They were part of an inter-country student program heading for the Dalmatian coast for the summer. Since it was a university sponsored excursion it was questionable how two scruffy characters managed to mingle in with them.

The scruffy characters were no students; in fact they were defectors to be, with the intent of escaping from Hungary forever. Outwardly they could have passed for the title characters of The Easy Rider with their long hair and style of clothes they had projected the hippie aura about themselves.

The train departed from Budapest’s Southern Rail Terminal at 5:00 p.m. Now at 11:00 p.m. it was pulling to a stop at the Yugoslavian border. Real slowly like a pregnant woman the train was inching its way to a dead end. Actually it was shunted to a sliding where the rails ended. This maneuver served two purposes: first, to de-couple the train from its Hungarian engine and hook it to a Yugoslavian locomotive. Now, the last coach had become the first with the students and the two hippie characters.

The second part of the maneuver however was the more important one, the searching and inspecting of the train and its passengers while idling at the dead end. Officially both countries were communist, hence fraternal ones. In practice however Hungary trusted Yugoslavia no more than trusted the Austrians. This perhaps was the leftover of the Stalinist era, when Marshall Tito defied the Soviet Union. Stalin long gone but some of his legacy remained to the extent that the Hungarian border guards and custom agents still searched and inspected the train from its beginning to its end.

However, in the summer of 1972 they were not looking for contraband, they were rather searching for stowaways, defectors who might want to leave the communist paradise behind. By the early 70s Yugoslavia with its laid back communist system became the second gateway for Hungarians wishing to escape to the West. The two scruffy characters hiding amongst the students had belonged to these dissident elements. They were both twenty-two years of age, friends since childhood, natives of the same eastern Hungarian village. Despite his look Stephan, the taller one, had an engineering diploma from a well-respected technical institution, the other one with the beard answered to the name of Diffy was a stone mason, a brick layer by trade. They both worked for major Hungarian companies; Stephan for the City Gas Works of Budapest and Diffy for a large construction company. Diffy was a well-built muscle bound youngster, while Stephan was the lanky, smooth talking, gift of the gab character. He was the one who planned the operation and made sure they both had the necessary documents for this once in a lifetime adventure. So by the time the border guards and custom agents reached their compartment they were both ready with their documents. Since they were not part of the students group they were scrutinized longer and searched more thoroughly. The border guards ordered everybody else out of the compartment and physically searched Stephan and Diffy while questioning them in length. Thanks to Stephan’s research on the subject all their documents were in order. They were traveling on a valid red passport, which entitled them to visit any communist country. (During the cold war Hungarians had a dual passport system: a blue passport holder could visit Western i.e. capitalist countries, while a red passport holder had to be satisfied by visiting only communist countries.) Stephan and Diffy due to their age and unmarried status could obtain only a red passport. The issuance of passports even the red ones hinged on recommendation of the employer and the national police. In addition to these the limited amount of Yugoslavian currency what they were allowed to have had to be obtained from the Hungarian Reserve Bank. This had to be proven by a bank issued certificate. The carrying of Hungarian currency to go abroad was prohibited. This was the only item which worried Stephan; he and Diffy had some Hungarian banknotes hidden in their shoes. Luckily the custom officer did his work first and in order to hand Stephan and Diffy quickly over to the border guards he did not search their shoes. The border guard however, who was accompanied by an AK-47 toting soldier had taken his sweet time and asked Stephan: how come and why were they traveling in the same coach as the students? Although there were no rules, nor laws against that he somehow sensed that these two scruffy looking SOBs cannot be trusted.

He questioned them why would they want to tour Yugoslavia when Hungary had so many beautiful places? Well, they were yearning to see the Adriatic Sea was the answer. And the reason they were traveling with the students because Stephan’s girlfriend was one of the students. That little blonde one standing at the windows pointed Stephan out to the corridor then he waived at the blonde who had waived back. In truth Stephan only just met the girl back in Budapest at the railway station.