Destiny

By Heinz Ebser

A down to earth and humble account of the author's experiences from simple beginnings to extraordinary outcomes. These are not pretentious stories of adrenaline fueled adventure but candid reflections on life's unexpected twists and turns including many very honest and personal insights. There are moments of enviable good fortune and there are moments of frustration and disappointment. In recounting his travels, Heinz Ebser provides interesting cultural anecdotes and delightful tales of exotic places I'd love to visit. Along the way it also describes some destinations I'd perhaps now prefer to avoid. As an Australian it was enlightening to catch some glimpses from the perspective of an immigrant arriving in my country. The pace is good without getting too carried away with any particular detail and there's always another interesting yarn around the corner. Most of all I find it an intriguing window into the past and a fascinating snapshot of social history. I recommend it highly.

Rob, South Australia October 2019

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heinz Ebser
• Release date: Mar 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215717707

Book preview

Destiny

By Heinz Ebser Copyright 2013

ISBN: 9798215717707

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The early years

Good times, Bad times

Dreams can come true

South Africa

Iran

Saudi

Back in the Fatherland

Australia

New Zealand

The Philippines

A new Beginning

Thailand

Foreword

When my little sister began to study astrology I saw in this whole study not much else than humbug. But now that my second life phase is completed I know that there is a great deal of truth in this theory. At the age of 29 I migrated to Australia. Now at the age of 59 years a major change is happening again. As I am preparing for the last stage of my life there are still too many unanswered questions. Is our life a series of events that will lead us to our ultimate destiny? I am convinced that each of us is born to fulfill a certain purpose where the outcome is more or less predetermined. We all have our limitations and restriction which lets me believe that I was born to lead an ordinary life of work until retirement. Soon I discovered that a bit of travel could enhance this fate. To combine work with travel seemed the logical conclusion. The following pages began as a collection of travel stories that will take the reader to several parts of the world. The idea to write a book came much later. Never having maintained a diary required the necessity me to rely on my memory. Some of the events I only remember vaguely while others are still clearly in front of me and I can remember some of the thoughts, feelings and emotions. This book is for everyone who cares about locations, geography and historical happenings of the world. .

The early years

It was a Friday morning at 10.50am when I came to this world. Born as the fourth child to farmer’s family in a small village in southern Germany, I was just another child to follow the other three. My mother had been through this ordeal before and I was told that this was not a big deal as it is nowadays. The were even stories of some mothers having their babies while working in the fields. I was told that I was a happy kid who never complained about anything, not that I can remember. Another six years later we had a late comer. My little sister Ute completed the family. The eldest, my brother Richard was born in the last days of the War. Why people decided to have children during that time still puzzles me. I guess he was an accident just like so many others during that time. Richard, half a generation older than me appeared conservative in my opinion. Even as a young person he displayed an interest in Community Elections. Later he even joined the Christian Democrat Party. I was always wondering what could be Christian about a political party. While Richard was interested in local politics, I saw things more globally when I was at his age. Our personalities were quite different. I cannot remember his ambitions back then but whatever I was dreaming of doing, Richard encouraged me to do. My sister Irmgard was born two years later. She learned a trade at a Pharmacy and later became the wife of a banker. I was never close to her and her banker husband. I was much closer to my second sister Annerose, most likely because I was closer to her age. As a kid I could never pronounce her name and preferred to call her Anda. This name became her trade mark and stuck with her until she died. Anda, four years older than me was always hanging around with boys of her own age. Many men but not a single one to get married to mum was always complaining. She finally got married to Klaus. We got along very well and I remember the odd jug of wine that we enjoyed together. My youngest sister Ute was born six years after me. As teenager she had more arguments with dad than the rest of us together. Responsible was obviously the generation gap. After she moved out, the relationship finally improved. Ute and I got on well until she got involved with this infamous drug addict in town. This guy had never worked a day in his life, he had a stupid mother who slaved for him. Ute’s relationship with this guy hurt me more than she ever realised and I did not forgive her for a very long time. What was wrong with those guys who could not think past smoking dope and pushing drugs? Sure I tried a bit of hashish but never became a regular user. Because of that they treated me as an outcast, a fact that I observed throughout my life. There was surely more to life than that. Committing suicide was the answer for some of these guys and this dude was no exception. I cannot remember details of her relationship with this loser but after this episode she must have decided to travel through Europe. She hitch hiked to places as far as Morocco. Ute grew up very independently and even spent some time living in an occupied house in Berlin Kreuzberg while studying there. Ute got married after I moved to Australia and I never had the pleasure meeting her husband.

We grew up in what I considered a large house at the time. It was built in by my grandfather in 1902 and was constructed of red bricks and trusses. Under the house was a cellar with four barrels containing the annual harvest of wine and cider. The darker corner of this barely lit place was storage for potatoes und turnips. My parents told me how this was their shelter during the days of the war. The kitchen had a wood fired stove that my mother fired up at five in the morning. Then we had a family room and another room that was only used for special occasions. The bathroom received an oil fired boiler only later in the sixties. One floor up was the bedrooms. Apart from my auntie’s Frida's rooms we had one bedroom that was shared by the girls. I had to share my room with my brother in the early days. This room had a small window overlooking the flat roof outside. On a warm day I could climb outside and soak up a bit of sun. During the winter month, the window and some of the walls were covered in frost. The only heat source was the chimney that was going through my room. It was made of plastered bricks and covered in wallpaper. Between the chimney and the wall was just enough room for my new stereo equipment. With six month of savings from my apprentice wages I could afford to buy a receiver and a record player. I made it a habit to buy an album every month and my room became something my cave where I could spend hours alone listening to music. Many of my friends were more outgoing, spending their time in pubs and roaming the streets. - Halfway up the first set of stairs was our toilet. It was only tiny and it needed an electric heater during winter to stop water in the galvanised pipes from freezing. Then there was this mysterious ladder leading up to the attic. Hardly ever it was used but my curiosity could not stop me from going up there occasionally. This place was covered on cobwebs and dust. Only a couple of old wardrobes and book cases were standing there. Also cartons containing books and magazines were scattered around. Once I found an old bayonet and an air rifle without stock. Inside the wardrobes you could also find old coins and notes from the time of the inflation. We also had a barn with five cows and a few pigs at the time. The cows were standing there all year around and never saw light of day. Now all of this appears to me like the dark ages but we did have a modern device called a milking machine. It was my job to take the milk down to the milk collecting station where was it was pasteurised and sold again. There was very little traffic at the time that we kids could play badminton in the streets. On average you would see a police car once a month, which were Volkswagen Beetles at the time. Yes these good old days had its advantages. You could drive the tractor at the age of ten and no one bothered you. One hundred meters down the road was the church. It was a big event when a new bell was installed in the early sixties. The bells were ringing at eleven in the morning and again at three in the afternoon. A single hit indicated quarter past the hour, two hit half past and so on. The full hour got four bangs by one bell and then the number of the hour by another bell. This sequence of bell banging went on day and night. Opposite the main entrance of the church was the blacksmith. I still remember the unique smell when he applied the glowing horseshoes. We had a big vegetable garden and a backyard with many apple trees. We always had plenty of chickens running around. Their poop always bothered me when we played cowboy and Indians. We often roamed the nearby forests between the town and the vineyard. There was a natural lake and two fishing ponds that were off limits to the public because they were leased by somebody who thought fishing was the best hobby on earth. After rainy days you could hear the frog concert coming from these ponds. The forest was mixed with oak trees on one side and a dense pine plantation on the other. I also remember the Roman Road with its ancient marking stones. We had never realised how historic this area was. Just before the grape picking season we went up to the vineyards to steal the riping grapes. You had to be careful not to be caught because there was always a guard whose job it was to chase away the birds. Driving up the vineyard via bitumen road, there was a turnoff to the left leading into a dark pine forest. This is where it goes to Russia I remember my father saying. Here was that bad word again, Russia. Everybody seemed to have a phobia about these Russians. Only later I found out that it was mainly Moroccans that were fighting the local population in the war. Everybody seemed to have forgotten that it was the Germans who were the aggressors in this war.

Now back to my family. There was the before mentioned Aunty Frida. According to my Grandfathers will she had the right to live in the old family house together with us. She had never been married and was a very religious. Mum reckoned that she was married to Jesus. She belonged to the Methodists Church which she attended every Sunday morning. I never found out why our Lutheran church was not good enough for her. Coming home after the church service she always found a reason to argue with my mum. Dad had to stop the fighting parties and ended up sending my aunty upstairs where she had two rooms for herself. These experiences told me a lot about church goers at an early age. Many times she tried to explain the concept of salvation to me but I could never get the logic behind it. For me religion was very simple. Be good, don’t do anything wrong and hopefully you will be rewarded one day. About the question if there was a God or not I could not make up my mind for a very long time. Then there was a time when Jehovah Witnesses knocked on our door every Sunday morning. If dad was in the mood he would invite them in for an hour long discussion but they never managed to come to a common ground.

Apart from my siblings I had a cousin who I hardly knew. Dieter lived with my family after the war and before my time. I knew that he started his career with the German Border Control. He later worked for the European Space Agency in Kourou in French Guyana. Returning to a Government job he spent a large part of his life at German Embassies in South East Asia. From Laos to Bangkok, from Kathmandu to Mali in Africa, Dieter got around and I admired him for that. Being a bachelor until his forties he eventually got married to a Thai woman. After his overseas stints he moved back to Germany. His sister Ingeborg got married to an Indian man. Earlier generations of our family had migrated to America in the 19th century. Here was an indication that an adventurer gene had its place in our family.

Another family member was our dog called Nelly. I don’t know who came up with that name because Nelly was male. He was a white Spitz cross breed and he never saw a vet in his life. He lived exclusively from our leftovers. Every now and then a rat or mouse became his diet. Normally a quiet dog there were a few occasions that got him mad like this particular farmer and his horse drawn cart. Nelly did not have to see him, the sound of the horses hoofs would set him off. The same happened when the Americans drove through the town with their trucks and Jeeps. West Germany was still occupied by the Americans, the French and the English who were conducting manoeuvres on a regular basis. Starfighters and Phantom jets were always flying low and fast and sometimes even broke the sound barrier which resulted in a loud boom. I still remember when a NATO Phantom crashed into a nearby forest. The memories of the war were still fresh and I remember many documentaries on television. My uncle was one of the first to have a colour TV. Proud of his new toy he invited us for Sunday afternoon viewing sessions. Most of the time for football matches but also documentaries about the war. Uncle Hermann always enjoyed telling his stories about the war and his wish was to be a pilot. My father on the other hand kept rather quiet on the subject of war. I figured that his experiences during the war were not so pleasant and that he would rather forget. I never asked him any question about it and I wished that I never had to go through what my parents went through. The time came when the Berlin Wall was built and the world was on the brink of another war. My parents always talked about the possibility of it. There gloomy outlook did not help my upbringing at all. I still remember the morning when my mum came into the bedroom that I shared with my brother to tell us that John F Kennedy had been shot dead. I did not know what it meant to the world but I understood that he was very popular and that the world would miss him. Now fifty years later I realise that the good America died with JFK. Five years later his brother Robert Kennedy as well as Martin Luther King got met the same fate. The Vietnam War seemed to drag on forever. Places like Saigon, Hanoi and the Mekong delta filled the news every day. Yes, there was a lot going on in the sixties, and everything seemed to involve the Americans at the time. To us kids, Americans were portrayed as the heroes who could do no wrong. JFK had announced that he would take his nation to the moon before the end of the decade and he kept his promise. Glued to our black and white TV set we witnessed the landings live. The Russians had some unmanned successes in space too, but this was much less publicised. Although Germany had been defeated by America and Russia together it was the Americans who were the good guys and the Russians were the nasty ones. Twenty years later I realised how effective this brain manipulation was. Everything on TV was American and this sort of brainwashing was going on day after day. I was just a kid but even my parents fell for this America heroism. Thinking about it now, America got a lot of admiration but also a lot of undeserved credit for things that were actually British or Canadian. My father still thought that Rolls Royce was an American car brand. Many actors we thought were American where in fact English. But for some reason he hated the English. I found out later in life that the English thought the same about the Germans. Now I have the impression that the two nations always had a love/hate relationship.

On rainy days we played cards, Monopoly and other board games. During the winter month when we the ground was covered in snow, we grabbed our skies and made it to the nearest mole hill. I never mastered the skills of skiing, fell on my face a few times and lost interest quickly. I could never understand why this sport became a passion for others. When the ground was frozen long enough we clamped on our rusty old ice skates and went to the nearest lake to have a go at skating. Nobody in our family ever had fancy sports gear. Ice skates had to be clamped onto the boots with a weird clamping mechanism. Too often the skates came off and as a result you landed on your backside. It all became a frustrating struggle for me while others insisted it was great fun. While others got excited by the falling snow and the forming of ice on the lake I found this whole winter thing was a pain in the ass. Often I stood at the window watching the horses with blankets on their backs and steam coming from their nostrils. During winter the world looked like a black and white movie. There was no wild life apart from a couple of sparrows looking for food. The sky was inhabited by more contrails than migrating birds. Now I identified with that Swedish woman in the book that I was reading. She had to endure three month of darkness and was dreaming for the warmth of Spain. A few more month to go until life began on the first of May.

Next to the horse paddock was the cemetery that was surrounded by a stone wall. This wall was big enough to walk on. Whenever there was a funeral my mother would watch the marches from the anonymity of the closed window. She always gossiped about somebody who wore an inappropriate outfit. At full moon I could see the shining headstones at the cemetery. After reading Tom Sawyers Adventures I dared my sisters to go over to the cemetery with me at midnight. The girls were much too scared and never agreed to it. Tom’s reason to do this was to fight off warts but this never came into my equation. We all were fascinated by ghost stories at the time and superstition was just normal. Dad had told us the story about a clock that had stopped working, the very same time his brother got shot and killed in the last days of the war. Looking out of the window on a Sunday morning was exciting as well when the volunteers from the local fire brigade held their weekly exercises. After rolling out their pressure hoses they connected them to the water hydrant in front of our house. This drill was repeated every weekend. These exercises always ended with a visit to the pub down the road.

School was something that I hated with a passion but according to my parents it had to be done. There was no negotiating with mum to write a sick note. After nine years of this torture I was looking forward to leave this place. My teacher was an ex-Nazi who had a strong sense of discipline. He seemed to have forgotten that the war