Migrant Birds on Wheels E-Book

Marianne E. Meyer

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Seitenzahl: 236

Beschreibung

Through a friend in Topanga, the hippie community west of Los Angeles, the author came into contact with Uschi Obermaier, the mother of all supermodels. The female icon of the 68s already toured in the mid-70s in a luxury RV India, USA and Mexico. When in a picture story Marianne Meyer saw the sex symbol and her partner Dieter Bockhorn in their camping bus, the wish for such a house on wheels was born. But with the emigration to the USA everything came quite different. But after a 10-year life of luxury in LA, the conversation with the Bavarian caused butterflies in the stomach of the Ph.D. nutritionist and woke again her desire to travel. She longed for a change. An ever-changing view from the window of an apartment on wheels is exactly what her gypsies blood desires. Her mother's father was a boatmen and always on the Neckar, Rhine and Waal on the go to Rotterdam. Her first six months tour through Morocco with her husband Peter was in 1998/99. On the contrary to her famous relative Doris Day, who visited Morocco only once when she filmed the Hitchcock movie "The Man Who Knew Too Much", the author is one of the returnees. There are only two statements of tourists: Morocco once and never again and Morocco again and again.

Leseprobe

The information introduced in this book was carefully researched and imparted in all conscience. However author and publisher don’t take any liability for damages of any nature that could emerge directly or indirectly from the usage or application of the data in this book. The information is intended for interested parties and to share.

Some more books by M. E. Meyer:

Thus, water connects our worlds Doris Day and My Search for Relatives Spirulina, Survival Food for a New Age Psyllium - So bekommen Sie Ihr Fett weg Cranberry Power Frucht

Wunderwesen Wasser: Clusterwasser stoppt Allergie, Alzheimer, Krebs… Spirulina, das blaugrüne Wunder

Marianne Meyer, Apardado 320 P-8801 Tavira

M. Meyer has traveled four continents. For her, it is always more important to understand the country and the people than to collect attractions.

Professionally, she has passed through many stages of life with the focus on self-help and learning: We are our own best teachers, healers, and spiritual leaders.

Formerly a Doctor’s assistant, she later studied at FHS and Johann-W.-Goethe University in Frankfurt, laying emphasis on family therapy and gerontology, followed by a PhD study in gerontology and a study in nutrition, focusing on immune defense and Spirulina. After earning her PhD in nutrition and living more than ten years in the US, the author went back to the Frankfurt/Heidelberg area and introduced Spirulina to her European and Russian readers. Ms. Meyer currently lives in Portugal and works at times with juveniles, who are displaying behavioral problems.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

D

ry,

stuffy air of central heating, goodbye

Visiting Bursins: Sandy & Sir Peter Ustinov

Sour is not funny

Hookers and the karmic law

Gibraltar, small country and

small-world phenomenon

Ferry ride and entry

Déjà vu

in Marrakesh

Second home

Banana Village

Social contacts, helpers and social reforms

As chaff in the wind

-

daily routine on

The Plate

Fetes, sand storms and other challenges

Approach to the past

Sexology & wishes under the moon atrial

Kafkaesque in Marrakesh

Water traps at Ouzoud waterfall

Two royal cities and a stormy ferry crossing

Sleepless in La Linea

New acquisition for the coincidence album

Saddish journey home

Postscript for the not quite confident

Acknowledgments

Choice of pitches ~ Camper peculiarities

Tips for the start of the tour

Addresses

Literature

Favorite recipes on tour

Plans for a wellness tour on wheels

Foreword

Dear relatives, friends and interested parties, with this travel account I want to show you how Peter and I tend to outwit the winter. Also, I want to get to the bottom of my family's secret. It has already caused me to write two books, in the hope that one would fall into the right hands. Don't you think it is mega strange that not only the prominent relative of my mother lives in Carmel, but also the grandfather of my father is said to have settled there? Famous or unknown, I do not care. However, I am flirting with the idea of Henry Miller being related to my ancestor since his father was a tailor from Bavaria and his mother grew up in Hesse. Michelstadt is in Shanks' pony distance from the three-country triangle Baden-Württemberg, Bavaria and Hesse. Grandmother Maria's published poems and my father's writing ambitions speak for it. Henry Miller lived for ten years in the vicinity of Carmel. Although soaring in higher regions, he continually catches my attention. My friend Celeste was half a year his companion, and she told me some secrets. Somewhere I read Sagittariuses could not keep to themselves. I can! Too bad for you.

The way Henry presented himself in Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch, he reminded me strongly of my brother Heinrich, who was also born on December 26. Could so many coincidences happen by chance? In our first apartment in California, my great-grandfather appeared to me as a ghost. I only know this much about him: The most likely New Apostolic emigrated from the Rhine-Main area to America after fathering the child of love on Christmas 1901. Searching for honor, Wilhelmina Meckes married in a hurry, and on October 5, 1902 Maria saw the light of the day as a 7-month child.

My great-grandfather took on the name Dieter Victor and used to live in the Carmel area.

Many, whom I informed about my ghost experience, believe in a dream. It does not matter since I saw my lean ancester with beetle brows and burn sides in a light blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and dark gray trousers. Could I leaf through the albums of all Northern California Victors, I would probably recognize him. Certainly, I was not 100% sure any longer, if I had understood the name correctly. German children are seldom brought up that they feel very sure about anything. However, since two months later, my mother told me this family secret of all things on a stroll through Carmel (!), I took that as confirmation. After all, all my maternal relatives have the so-called second sight. So, for Doris's 90th birthday, I wrote an autobiographical novel DORIS DAY AND MY SEARCH FOR RELATIVES. An oversized promotional postcard, explaining this Carmel Family Mystery, I sent to 15 Californian Victors. So far, a single feedback of a Mr. Victor from Odessa, via Facebook.

Dry, stuffy air of central heating, goodbye

The icy season had spread out its morbid cape, and crisp freeze had already eaten its way through all cracks. Our trend indicator fell every hour, especially that of Peter. We used to trim Father Frost's wings and eloped to the Canaries until we settled in the Pacific Ocean's most beautiful state. Which the Americans had been able to reap in the Mexican War in 1848. Currently, California is threatened by the Fukushima fallout. The karma strikes back!

We enjoyed living in the sunny paradise for ten years. Seven fat years we lived in our domicile, embedded in the Santa Monica Mountains, along with deer, raccoons, owls coyotes, and wild geese. However, because of the continual flow of guests from abroad, we hardly ever traveled. My pent-up demand for freedom and change was immense, especially after Thanksgiving with Celeste. The Ex-MGM-manager lived in Topanga, the hippie town west of L.A. There, we met Pia. The Swede had formerly modeled in Munich. We also talked of her famous colleague Uschi Obermaier. Pia raved about Uschi's luxury bus, with which the mother of all supermodels and her life mate Dieter Bockhorn traveled through Asia, USA and Mexico. I was on fire when Pia established the contact to the Bavarian.

The interview with Uschi caused me to have butterflies in the stomach and awakened my desire to travel. For me as a Saggy with Gemini Ascendant, this requires not much. I longed for diversification. I would have liked to have replaced our house with Uschi's bus for a year. My half-jokingly uttered offer she ignored and reported on her planned photo book through which she then managed a kind of comeback and was able to afford a house in Topanga. About their travels, I was not able to get out much from her. On the last common tour, her partner had bled to death in a motorcycle accident. We globetrotter must all reckon with losing our partners at the other end of the world. Luckily it does not discourage us.

Why we again landed in the German bad weather, I have explained in the Doris Day book extensively. So many things happened at once. Afterward, we were annoyed that we did not go to Bacha California or Belize, where life was much cheaper. However, the gaffe could not permanently ruin our mood because we did it like the migrant birds. We let ourselves grow wings in the form of an apartment on wheels. Since Peter was afraid it might not be our thing, we practiced first with an antiquated caravan of the exclusive brand Concorde. However, we got to a model with which even the manufacturer did not want to identify. Had it been up to me, we would have gotten a new camper at once. Gypsy blood may be running through my veins. After all, my grandfather was boatmen and constantly on the go on Neckar, Rhine and Waal to Rotterdam. Luckily we switched to a 1½ year old motor home.

When, on early January 2002 in Algeciras, we dashed with our Hymer as the last vehicle onto the ferry, we were hailed by Erika from Varel. She thought it was super cool as we got the tickets within half an hour, were buying the food for the journey and at the last minute reached the ship. She told some colleagues about it. Some time later the report on Radio Camping came back to us changed dramatically: the men had lowered down the ramp again when they saw us roaring through the harbor with 75 miles per hour…

Our first tour, we took 1998/99 and lasted six months in Spain, Portugal and Morocco. Then we went only three months, since Peter like me turned his hobby into a profession. However, he was not able to work everywhere. It happened like this: When the stock market crashed in 2000, we lost almost all of our assets again. This happened to us three times by the way. I'd like to see anyone else do that! Being a millionaire three times, each time losing almost everything and start all again. In my astrological chart, it says that I'd have to learn to experience losses. Since I was raised to economy, I always got to partners who helped me to learn about losing. Edi hit my car, and Günther persuaded me to vouch for Edi's sister. Although, Peter had made me retract the money over the court, but with him I learned to let go big time.

My quest for safe investments answered my soldier of fortune with a weary smile. However, this time, the whining was exceptionally heavy: What am I going to do? At my age, I can only be a garbage man. I pattered the encouraging saying I had often heard in California: Do what you love to do, and the money will follow. Alternatively, live your talents, and you are rich and happy. For me, this motto fell on fertile ground. My American friends say: We must act as if we have what we want already. Since reading and writing have always been my hobbies, I introduced myself as a writer and began writing travel reports about California, especially about how you can have fun without money. If you would like to explore the United States by car or RV, try my favorites:

1. On working days, we can enjoy a catchy tune in a box at the Hollywood Bowl. The musicians rehearse almost every day for a weekend concert and are much more relaxed than at their performances. Many members of the audience enjoy their picnic in the morning sun.

2. Lovers of rare art treasures can pass the time in the Paul Getty Museum. In 1976, the oil billionaire bequeathed $700 million to the Getty Trust on condition to expand the collection and show it to the public free of charge. The charming layout of the area with stunning views all the way to the Pacific soothes ones stay. The museum is located on the left side of Freeway 405 shortly before it joins Fwy 101.

The 3rd Freebee is the physical training that is as essential for maintaining a functioning body defense as the relaxation: We can play tennis for free. Each community provides its citizens with some hard courts at leisure. Also, who can not find a suitable sleeping place, goes to Denny's. Denny's the American Diner is always open.

These records were among my first literary outpouring in the form of a California trip report. As the first proof of performance it wandered, turning yellowing from drawer to drawer. My first book Spirulina, das blaugrüne Wunder based on my thesis about the microalga Spirulina and immune defense. Since then, I am enjoying the blissful process of writing and the good fortune to earn money with my hobby.

To Peter I said: Don't squander your talents live them! We create our reality. Imagine just what you do best. For me, it has worked. Mentally, I have organized readings and presented my books at the book fair. Peter grumbled: You can talk. You can write at any age. I'd have only fun, all day to buzz around the Nordschleife. Do you think anyone would give me old fart a dime to drive around The Ring? I replied, just imagine it every day! Unbelievable but true: A few months after I told my best friend to give his gray cells the creative training, he was offered a job as a test driver at Mercedes-AMG. For years, he had the opportunity to race through the Green Hell!

This principle of creating our reality makes us truly happy. A hobby can be a side job at first. I am in favor of trying everything that brings joy. Ultimately, our experience, is a true science. If, e. g., you want to spend the winter like us in North Africa, visualize the journey daily. Even if you are renting an RV first time and it is just a long holiday of four or five weeks.

A few years ago, Uschi Lenz generated a desire in me. She and her husband Jürgen, known among the campers as captain, explore South America for years with their SUV. That would also suit me. We know only Mexico, where we were on the lookout for rust-free vintage autos in the late 1980s. Now I dream to travel around Central and South America. But instead embarking with the campers in Hamburg, trudge round European ports for four weeks and heading for Dakhla south of the Panama Canal, I imagine it to be like this:

We fly to California and buy a vehicle. With it, we drive to the Mexican border, take out additional insurance and look around in Central and South America. If we have enough, we sell the car or leave it at friends.

The two Franks leave their auctioned, self-developed Mercedes 911, a former radio car of the GSG 9, also in South America.

With us, it first evolved quite different. We ended up in Portugal. However, in my first year of retirement, we should be ready if no other life goal comes along. Everything constantly changes. Change is the only constant.

Visiting Bursins: Sandy & Sir Peter Ustinov

When leaving Michelstadt towards the Neckar valley we prepare ourselves mentally for the Christmas celebration with the Swabian children and grandchildren. We quickly pass Erbach, the community, which by the desire of many citizens and tourists would better unite with Michelstadt. When I completed my training as a medical assistant in Erbach, jokes about the warring cities were on the agenda:

Two women from Erbach talk about their evil neighbor who constantly beats up his wife. I would not put up with this. Do you know, from where she is? Well, from Michelstadt. Oh! Well, then she deserves it.

Down there in the paper mill, my father had worked in his youth as an electrician.

So he had a short circuit current in his pants.

Ha, ha! So you are telling lame jokes! A last glance wanders over the crest of Schönnen's willow slopes. In front of the sharply defined mixed forest sits enthroned the line keeper’s house. The light brown-stone beams in the bright sunshine. The barren limbs of the flanking trees are frostily breathed on. In the warm period, the brownstone walls one can suspect at best behind a symphony of bushes and exuberant trees. That is probably one reason Günter Wallraff always rented it from my parents when he stopped in the Odenwald, talking about his investigative journalism. The brownstone house post 19 has a lot to tell!

During the war, there was a burlesque community of bombed-out relatives and friends. Until almost seventy years ago, when in the spring night with a grinding noise and a jolting clangor a tank of the U.S. Army rolled on. With its vibrating mass, it broke through the railroad gate and shook the house. Grandma hid the army coat of her still underage son, who had never come to serve due to illness and marriage leave. 50 years later, twelve Bosnians found here a new home. Why are thinking people always making war?

Silently we pass the magnificent stone railway bridge before Hetzbach. On the snowy height in Beerfelden, I sink deep into the seat. My face relaxes, and the eyes sink deeply into their sockets, the arms hanging limply. Whenever we leave, I feel completely detached and find the absolute peace in the movement. Peter teases me by saying, you forgot to mention that your grandmother has saved the viaduct. More than once I had reminded him in passing about how at the end of the war she could prevent blasting the imposing building:

When the soldiers were approaching, the resolute gate tender asked after their intent. The commander said; we have orders to blow up the viaduct. Are ye mad? The war is almost over yet. It is enough destroyed already. The Americans will certainly not come by train. If you want to blow something, you may as well blow up the small Marbach bridge. The convinced man just did the latter.

In the past, almost every Sunday we visited Mother's sisters in Eberbach. Almost every time we passed the beautiful viaduct, Pa reminded us that it would not be there without Grandma and that she would deserve a medal. In the spirit, I looked out the split windows of our VW Beetle on the colorful magnificent brownstone building. Uphill to Beerfelden driving, Pa intoned the song "If we climb to dizzying heights…" and all together singing we drove to the summit cross.

The hills with their cobweb fine ice crust glisten in the sun and make me tired.

Soon we'll come to the Malibu of the Odenwald. Yes, Peter and to my red house. Just before reaching the underpass towards the river of Neckar, it appears. As a child, I wanted us to move to Eberbach. In my mind, I hear my mother call. Your red house, Marianne, we are almost there! House was an understatement. The gelatin factory is the largest in the world. Every fourth ton of animal protein comes from this family operation.

Was it my mother's prophetic ability that she called it my red house? Well, I have nothing to do with it, but the great-granddaughter of the plant’s founder Heinrich Koepff is my beautiful daughter-in-law. Michaela's relatives as well as my mother's live in Eberbach. Even she celebrates her birthday together with Doris Day and her daughter Marika celebrates on my father's birthday!

Brown dazzles the gentle waters of the stream. From fine rising mist, the sun conjures silky angel hair. The shrouded black-green hills of the Neckar valley and the hazy horizon seem to belong to another time. A feeling of infinity carried me away. Only when Peter asks about the passports I leave the island of the blessed. For the first time since the accident of our dog, we stay again at the service area of La Côte, just a few hundred meters away from Sir Peter Ustinov's grave. The entire film is unspooling again:

Peter wakes me shortly after 7:00 o' clock. In an angry tone, he says, you have to take care of your dog… the bitch doesn't come when I call. As in a trance I put on my jeans and say: Why did you let her off the leash? In a remorse-tempered voice Peter answered, there was a guy with a boxer. He had let him walk back to the meadow. I detached Sandy, and the two have played with each other. Then the guy called his dog. I've also called Sandy, but she showed me this. He raises his middle finger.

I run around shouting. No curly white dog with black spots in sight. I cut cross country in the direction of the nearby village Bursins. In the distance, I spot… It is taking a load of my mind. I get a wiggle on. Sandy, Sandy! As I get closer to the cemetery wall, I meet a tall black-haired woman. My delicate bitch turns out to be a well-fed Boxer mix. The warmhearted French woman who leads another dark-brown four-legged friend on a leash seems to sense my sorrow. Her face expresses painful regret, when I ask after a border collie mix, le chien blanc-noire, and keep a hand on the height of my mid-thigh. While I caress her pets, she patters some opportunities where I could look for Sandy. When parting, she wishes me "Bonne chance."

In Bursins, I speak to an auto mechanic who is trying to start an old R4. He says, on the other side of the service area is a police station and offers to drive me. I hope to be able to reassure me through jogging and reject, but am pleased with the kind offer.

I get into the elevator, cross the car-track, go down on the other side and walk past the petrol station to the police-building. What follows, I had dreamed of 1½ years before. At that time I advised my mother not to bind emotionally too attached to Sandy, she will be not getting much older than two years. Sandy lived from 27.11.1998 to 1.12.2000.

I ring, and a civilian officer comes to the door. I ask for Sandy. The man nodding says something in French, which I do not understand. However, the hand movement to the neck artery was too clear. He goes into the building and comes back with another officer. Sandy's red leather neckband in the hand, he looks at the tax stamp and asks, où est-ce que vons habitez? Half suffocated I breathe, Michelstadt. Saying oui he hands me Sandy's red, lined with ivory leather collar. Burning tears well in my eyes. I turn around and walk back to the camper. I quietly say; Sandy has been run over. She died instantly… the head looks bad. The policeman asked if we want to have her. In minutes long solidification we sit there. Then Peter just takes off. I say nothing. A little later I mumble; we would have rather buried her somewhere in the forest. Now her body is in a black bag, and her soul body is with us. She will not understand why we do not notice her. We often only learn the hard way. However, this rule we have downed: On a roadhouse,

under N O circumstances have your four-legged friends unleashed.

Doris Day had a similar experience as a teenager with her dog Tiny. Again, teardrops trickle down cheeks. Once more lumps choke in throats. We find no gas station, because it is Sunday. Contritely, Peter says; the spare can is empty. I say: As always well prepared! In Annecy, we finally find a gas station.

On weekdays, you can fill up at the lowest cost at supermarkets.

We supply ourselves with some energy and joke during brunch on the great ski area with bare-branched sad-looking forests. In Beerfelden was snow, here no single flake. We regret our friend, who nearby suppose to enjoy her skiing holiday together with her children and friends. I say, 15km from Chambéry and not a scrap of snow in sight. Poor Csöpi, this will be a New Year's Eve. We pack up and get the Hymer in gear. It goes steadily upward. Suddenly dies the day. Above us, fades shower thick gray. Leaden heavy snow falls on the windshield. The road has turned into rinse water. The wiper pushes the sticky wet in snail pace. Even at 15 miles per hour, Peter fears to slip at any moment. He says; if we get stuck here, then good night New Year's Eve in Marbella.

I say we could call Csöpi; she is only 20km away from us, or a tower from Rumilly may have mercy with a member of the sister city. For more than forty years, Michelstadt builds bonds of friendship to the Savoy town.

Luckily we manage without a girlfriend and rescue service. However, I make a big memory knot in my gray matter: In the future, we skip the sneer and rest only after defeating a mountain range or after the descent.

Sour is not funny

On the circumvention of Narbonne, there are resting run-down 2CVs two steam horses on a giant junkyard. If Citroën 2CV owners lack parts, they can find them here. Wind turbines rotate at the exit of Port Novelle, also not far from the formerly Spanish city Perpignan in front of the background of the snow-covered massif of the Pyrenees. Environment and the economy are not contradictory. At the sight of the exquisite peak, I make a mental note:

Fill up with plenty of drinking water. One of the best is Montcalm, the tasty light mountain spring water from the Pyrenees.

Therefore, the first way in Spain leads us to Mercadonna supermarket. We supply us with plenty of Montcalm bottles (pH 6,7–6,9). The Moroccan spring waters, Sidi Ali and Sidi Harazem, are more expensive and contain many more minerals. The fewer inorganic salts are in the water, the better it cleans our body and the fewer deposition problems we have: such as Alzheimer's, arthritis, arteriosclerosis and stone formations. Minerals are best absorbed by the body if plants metabolized them through photosynthesis. We best obtain them from fruit, salad and vegetables!

In Portugal, we use Cruzeiro mountain spring water though it is not as light as Montcalm. It has a pH count of 6.9. Most spring waters worldwide are in the acidic range. The Portuguese Monchique mountain spring water is one of the rare alkaline waters with a pH of 9.5. However, it contains 1.2 mg fluoride, so I only mix it with the more acidic fluids. Recommended: after drinking cola (pH 2.5)!

Write to your elected representatives so we can inform us about the waters' pH-value!

The hissing and the smell in the chemistry classroom are vivid in my memory. However, from the teachings I have retained little more than acids color litmus paper red, bases dye it blue. Decades later, I learned during my studies in nutrition science, the importance of a neutral mixture of humors for our well being. Acidic food has to be neutralized with basic buffer so that the pH of the blood does not come too much in the acidic range. Who eats bread, pizza, hamburgers, hot dogs, chips, pastries and sweets, needs green stuff or soon no more comb! 70–80% of our food is better basic: cucumbers, zucchini, green leafy vegetables, dandelions, plantain and other things you need to find on flowering meadows away from traffic.

You wonder about my commitment? After the numerological point of view, I am a basic type 7 (cross total from birth, month and year). The sun is assigned as a planet, and it is to the manner born. Helmut Kritzinger writes in his book Numerology and partnership: With 7/34, the discipline (Sun-Saturn) brings a sense of responsibility for one's behalf and all fellow humans. Their ideas about life (Uranus) are made readily available to others. This function can be as a medium or channel. The helpfulness connected with a heart for the problems of all fellow men predestine this type 7 early on for the role of a life consultant.

Own knowledge I acquired through acid-forming foods, chemical drugs and X-rays. It weakened my Immune system. At age 10, I suffered senile cataract in both eyes, as I had already accumulated so many toxins and slag as with age 70.