When I Went Out One Summer's Morn

When I Went Out One Summer's Morn

.

Contents

.

New York harbour after 15 days at sea

Romania under Ceausescu

Out of work, broke and seven thousand miles from home

Ersatz Bond

Mr Mouse’s 50th Birthday

Down and out in Paris and Rotterdam

The Commissar of Calgary

Hookers and Hustlers in Marrakesh

Dying Poets in the Desert

Calgary, 12 years later

The Great Railway Bazaar

Dance in the Old Fashioned Way

Jamie the Love Doll

Everyone has an Aeroflot story

Four Dollar Gallon of Wine

A Mid-Atlantic Barbecue and Boat Drill

Drug smugglers on the Tangier ferry

The northernmost truck stop in the world

An incident at Friedrichstrasse Station

Filthy Lucre

Hitchhiking and the Polish Princess

Luck be a lady tonight

.

.

. When I Went Out One Summer's Morn

By Rob Godfrey

Copyright 2012 Rob Godfrey

Smashwords Edition

_____________________________

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

____________________________________

Foreward

This book runs to approx. 60,000 words. These tales took place between 1980 and 1999. I was aged between sixteen and thirty six. The world was a different place then. There weren’t many mobile phones, no widespread internet and accessing money while you were abroad was difficult. Many people took traveller’s cheques with them. We always used to carry cash and often ran out of money. Back then no one had heard of political correctness. Smokers were still a big majority. People thought nothing about getting drunk at lunchtime. Health and safety was an unknown phrase. This was also in the days before budget airlines, and before 9/11. The first story in this book, New York harbour after 15 days at sea, mentions the twin towers of the World Trade Center as the first visible landmark when approaching New York from the Atlantic Ocean. Two years after I made that ocean voyage the twin towers were destroyed. The world was no less a dangerous place back then. In fact many of these stories are set during the worst days of the Cold War. This book is not about politics, yet there is a political backdrop to many of these tales.

I suppose this book is the first volume of my memoirs. I should also add that some of these stories are of an adult nature and are not suitable for children.

Rob Godfrey, Charente, France, 2011

New York harbour after 15 days at sea

(From I’ve just had a brilliant idea! Available on Smashwords)

For more than a week the radio bands had been awash with static. On the morning of 14th July they came alive again: Dunkin Donuts, Dodge dealerships and Dolly Parton announced the lurking presence of America. Small, colourful fishing boats began to dot the ocean and jet planes arcing high up into the sky left vapour trails that looked like giant party streamers. The loneliness of the open ocean was coming to an end. Civilisation called out to us… Hilary Clinton was on Long Island, canvassing support against the gun lobby, and Whitney Houstin was singing in Madison Square Garden that evening. God bless America.

Late on the afternoon of the 14th we sighted land, the eastern end of Long Island, which points like a giant finger towards New York City. The last land I’d seen was Lizard Point, in Cornwall, England. That was eight days previously as we were making our way down the English Channel. Once out on the Atlantic Ocean it felt like you were in another world, another time, another dimension. Sighting land again produced a peculiar surge of both excitement and depression. The distant coastline of Long Island looked unreal, almost like an alien planet.

The ship followed that coastline for a few hours before the twin towers of the World Trade Centre peeped at us from over the horizon. During the next hour the rest of the New York skyline slid coyly into view. The depression now went and a wave of excitement ran through the ship. Even far out at sea you could still sense the energy and vibrancy of New York City. I planned to check into the Waldorf Hotel. I planned to soak in a hot bath for two hours. I planned to have cocktails in Manhattan. It was all there for the taking. The Big Apple shimmered on the horizon and the Marie Anne strained to reach it before sunset.

Ah, the romance, the adventure, the telex that came from the shipping company… Captain Markiewicz was ordered to heave to. The Marie Anne was to stay for four days at open anchorage off Ocean Beach, Long Island. You could almost hear a groan run through the ship. How could the shipping line guys back in Germany be so cruel?

We were the victims of world trade. The Marie Anne carried kaolin, a valuable commodity. The commodity markets change hourly. The trading never stops. The London Stock Exchange takes over from Tokyo, then Wall Street takes over from London, and so it goes on, 24 hours a day. When the Marie Anne left Rotterdam her cargo was going to be sold for X amount of money in Y place. But during the nine days of her voyage the markets were constantly fluctuating. This meant that at any time the ship could be diverted or deliberately delayed in order to gain maximum profit from her cargo. For example, when we were one third of the way across the Atlantic the Captain received a telex on the satellite link saying that our first port of call might be Searsport, in Maine. The shipping line guys eventually dropped this idea and we continued on to New York. This glorious uncertainty is a part of cargo ship travel. If you need to get somewhere by a certain date, or are in a hurry, don’t take a cargo ship. Kurt told me that on one of his previous trips from Rotterdam to Savannah the ship was diverted mid ocean and they went down to South America. They finally got to Savannah six weeks after leaving Rotterdam.

Economics also came into the order to heave to in open anchorage. There was no reason why the Marie Anne could not have docked in New York harbour and then delay unloading her cargo until the price was right, except that the shipping line would have to pay port charges. Open anchorage was free; and so we came to a grinding halt five miles off Long Island.

Time hung heavy during this period. The crew were ready for port cargo operations. Most of the ships maintenance work had been carried out during the Atlantic crossing and there wasn’t much left to do; but a Captain can always find something to occupy his crew and he had them painting the decks. To make matters worse, New York was suffering from a heat wave and the temperature rose above 100F. Kurt couldn’t handle this heat and stayed in his cabin most of the time. I wandered around the sweltering ship, my eyes forever drawn to the distant New York skyline. On the second day at open anchorage I went up to the Bridge. Zelko the Second Mate was on watch. He showed me the chart for the approaches to New York and pointed at our position. We were in a hatched area that said: ‘DANGER, MINES’ in big red letters (the approaches to New York harbour were heavily mined during World War Two and even today large areas remain uncleared). I expressed my concern but Zelko did not seem worried about high explosives. There were three other cargo ships anchored nearby us, and they hadn’t blown up yet, so I carried on as though mines were nothing unusual.

By the third day at open anchorage there still appeared to be no sign that we would be moving anytime soon. You could no longer see the NY skyline because of a heat haze. The humidity was very high and everyone dripped with sweat. The Captain gave the crew a break and they were relieved of deck painting duty. Most of them stayed in their cabins and turned the air conditioning up full blast. Everything was still. The sea was dead calm and a pea soup colour. Whisps of vapour rose from it. Due to the bizarre movements of world trade we had to languish out here, on this sweating, heaving sea. Oh how I wished I was a fish, and during the blistering heat of the day I dreamed of a cold beer while at night, Gotham City twinkled in the distance with the lights of aircraft buzzing like fireflies in the sky.

Cold beer was needed in these circumstances. Problem was, we were in US territorial waters and strictly speaking duty free could not be sold. Barry told me of a similar situation, when his ship had run out of booze in the South China Sea. The Third Engineer was a roaring alcoholic and had resorted to drinking acid from the ships batteries. He died writhing in agony on the floor of his cabin.

By the end of that third day at open anchorage it appeared that we might be there for some time. Captain Markiewicz made a wise decision and with a wink and a nod sanctioned the duty free to be opened for essential items only. The essential items were beer and cigarettes. I managed to get a crate of Grolsch and 200 Marlboro. Everyone else on board was granted a similar amount. In temperatures of 100F, and with nothing much else to do, the beer was consumed fast. The empty bottles were thrown out of the ship’s portholes and because the sea was so calm these bottles lingered and congregated at the ship’s stern. After a while Captain Markiewicz ordered the engines to be turned on for a short time so that the wash from the propellers would drive the bottles away.

On the evening of Monday 19th July, our fifth day at open anchorage, the Marie Anne started shaking and vibrating. Another bottle clearing operation? No, a boat came alongside and the New York Harbour Pilot jumped on board. For five days it had felt like we were living in a pot of boiling glue. Now this feeling dispelled itself. It was still hot, but we were on the move again. We had purpose.

The ship slowly made its way down the Ambrose Channel. It was dusk and the pearly necklace of the Verazzono Narrows Bridge passed overhead. We were now in New York Harbour after 15 days at sea. To the left was the Statue of Liberty, but this was dwarfed by the buildings of Manhattan on the right, a gigantum wall of glowing, twinkling lights that reached for the sky. It looked unreal, like something out of Star Wars, but it confirmed that we really were in New York, at long last.

In 1624 the Dutch West India Company established the settlement of New Amsterdam on Manhattan Island. They bought Manhattan from the Indians for $24 worth of beads and trinkets. The British kicked the Dutch out in 1664 and renamed the town in honor of the Duke of York, thereby giving the world a legend: New Amsterdam, New Amsterdam, it’s a wonderful town, the Bronx is up and the Battery’s down… doesn’t work, does it. The entire crew came out on deck as we sailed into New York harbour. Even these hardened sailors were filled with awe every time they arrived in New York. The sheer scale of the place left you breathless. We were even more breathless when we realised the ship’s engines were still driving her along. What was going on..? another telex from the shipping company was going on. The Captain had been ordered to dock not in New York, but in Ravena, 150 miles further up the Hudson River. Our mouths hung open as NY City was left glittering in the ships wake.

When I awoke the next morning I noticed something different: the ship was no longer rolling and pitching. This motion, produced by the waves and tide, had become a familiar sensation. Now we were on the Hudson River, which comparatively speaking was as flat as a mill pond.

The cruise up the Hudson from New York to Ravena took 14 hours. Ravena is ten miles south of Albany, in upstate New York. I was surprised that we could travel that far inland. The Hudson is a big river but we were on an equally big ship and it seemed like we were making our way up a small stream. The New York Pilot had been replaced by the Hudson Pilots. Yes, there were two of them, such was the difficulty of navigating large oceangoing vessels that far up the river. The Pilots were immaculately dressed in casual ware. They both wore dark shades. Their skin and teeth were perfect. They looked like they were made of plastic. Captain Markiewicz did not like the Pilots. No Captain likes having his Bridge invaded by complete strangers, especially strangers who are giving orders.

The heat eased-up and things became a bit more bearable. Kurt came out of his cabin.

We stood on deck and watched the beautiful scenery of Hudson valley go slowly by. Kurt had been nearly everywhere and seen just about everything. However, this was the first time he’d been up the Hudson River on a huge cargo ship. He was excited by it all. So was I. We passed places called Bear Mountain, Cornwall, Fishkill and Poughkeepsie. There were eccentric houses built on tiny river islands, pretty little farms with white picket fences, mansions built by New York’s wealthy, and in the distance the Catskill Mountains.

______________________________

Romania under Ceausescu

The Hungarian border guards said we were mad to go to Romania: It is atrocious country. Mind you, at that time relations between Hungary and Romania were bad. This was due to the persecution of Hungarians living in Transylvania. Eighteen months previously the border between the two countries had been closed and troops were mobilised. War looked ominously close. Fortunately, saner heads prevailed and the border was now open again.

It was Spring 1989. Andre and I had been in Budapest for five days. Out of curiosity we decided to visit neighbouring Romania, and so hopped on the Balt-Orient Express, heading east. Previously it had been very difficult to visit communist Romania as a tourist. However, the country was desperate for hard currency and things had opened-up somewhat. This was more with an eye to filling up the Black Sea resorts and Transylvanian ski slopes, than for independent travellers. But it did mean that you could now obtain a tourist visa at the border.

At 10.30pm the Balt-Orient Express pulled into the border town of Biharkeresztes, which as well as being very difficult to pronounce is also the last stop in Hungary. Just about everyone got off the train. This enabled the customs and immigration men to get through their job quickly. Although Hungary was behind the Iron Curtain it was the most laid-back of the eastern bloc countries. Its border controls were not as authoritarian as those that you’d find in Romania, where the train was held up for a couple of hours, amidst reams of barbed wire, watchtowers, searchlights and snarling dogs. Every inch of the train was searched, including underneath the carriages. The severity of the search surprised us somewhat; after all, who would want to smuggle themselves into Romania? In actual fact the border guards were looking for illegal weapons and ammunition that were being smuggled into the country.

After fifteen minutes of questions and form filling we were given our visas. It cost us £36 each for the privilege. At half past midnight the mostly empty train was allowed to continue and shortly afterwards arrived in the industrial town of Oradea. Hoards of people got on and our compartment became completely full. The Balt-Orient Express was the overnight train to Bucharest, the capital of Romania and our intended destination. In stark contrast to the Hungarians who had left the train at Biharkeresztes, our fellow passengers looked poor and undernourished. Their faces were a mix of fear, suspicion and exhaustion. It was the exhaustion that struck me most.

We were travelling through a black landscape. Very occasionally you’d see a light in the distance. The train stopped many times during the night. The stations had only a small number of dimly lit bulbs. Despite it being the wee hours of the morning at every station there were crowds of people on the platform. Most of them were not waiting to board the train. A forest of outstretched arms waved bank notes. They were trying to buy Kent cigarettes, razor blades, soap and other items that had been brought across the border from Hungary. Heart-rending cries pierced the night as they fought and jostled to get hold of the stuff that was being passed through the open windows of the train. The authorities turned a blind eye to this black market activity. Without these smuggled goods the economy of Romania could have collapsed. Kent cigarettes were the main form of currency in Romania at that time.

Andre and I tried to find the