Backpacking through Europe and meeting a soulmate who opened a door – Chapter 14 – By Rubin van Niekerk

Solo soul-searching odysseys in nature expanded my mind. The high dunes of Sandy Bay offer unforgettable views of the pale golden sea sand contrasting with the bright, crystal-clear turquoise ocean at times, framed by huge boulders and rocky sections.

I hesitated to leave my own little golden paradise in Driftsands Drive. Intuitively, I sensed that this surreal, magical time with my friends was coming to an end. My last academic year awaited me here. Expanding my education required me to continue my studies overseas. 

Leaving my comfortable cocoon of caring mentors seemed insane. My rainbow with the pot of gold at the end had an ominous shadow lurking. Hesitantly I headed to Cape Town for my regular summer vacation work. 

Cape Town sprinkles with surprises. Travelling there by train with my bike in the carriage revived beautiful memories of my childhood vacations. An ordinary sandwich from a picnic basket tasted as good as fresh oysters with a touch of lemon at a perfect Atlantic Ocean sunset.

Staying in Camps Bay and getting to Clifton on my Yamaha DT 125 took a few minutes. Zipping through traffic jams wearing only a Speedo and helmet with roads crammed with expensive sports cars on idyllic summer days was bliss.

I worked as a barman at La Med restaurant in Clifton where many of these rich super car owners were heading. I would wear smart black trousers with a white linen shirt when working. My Port Elizabeth registration plate stood out like a sore thumb. The little white-and-red bike parked cheekily right at the entrance irritated most of the clientele with super cars. They failed to find parking close to the entrance where they could show off. 

They spotted the sinner, so I had to be extra humble when serving them. Some confessed after a few drinks that seeing me zip through traffic while they were stuck irritated them like hell.

Being invisible on their daily stomping grounds was impossible. Mere barman or not. As a fast barman I got away with teasing them. Some smugly “forgot” to tip me. Their short-lived lemon-meringue revenge boomeranged when I served others first in a busy bar. They grasped my simple game fast.

Generosity was twinned with lightning-fast service, as I remembered how their predictable preferences changed as the long days progressed late into the night.

Patrons were loyal because the cocktails and food, whether simple tapas or extravagant seafood platters, were fantastic and affordable. Bernard, the French owner, and Bruno the Swiss chef, typically clashed in the kitchen and the flying pots and pans added to the theatrical backdrop! 

The ocean setting was the best by far as brave hang – gliders from Lion’s Head added adrenaline to our cocktails. Everybody held their breath as the hang-gliders tried to land on a small field in front of the bar.

Earning as much money as possible during this vacation was crucial as I needed cash for Europe in five months. No entitled spenders could sneak away with stinginess!

Exploring nature on an off-road bike without a helmet was amazing. Cold Atlantic Ocean wind blowing through your hair in over 35-degree Celsius temperatures is one of those “must-have” tactile experiences.

Soon my exhausting summer working holiday was over again, and I made more money than before. I learned a hell of a lot from my daredevil experiences, which had taught me to face bullies. These were just much richer, older, balder and with bigger pot bellies! Psychologically they were as transparent as Rogerian psychotherapy.

I missed my friends and the Friendly City, so I was pleased to drive my bike onto the train and spend the night on the train back to Port Elizabeth. Every train journey since I was a toddler was special, so I packed some snacks that would have made my mother proud. Listening to the lullaby of the train wheels clicking and clacking along the tracks, I fell into a deep sleep, dreaming about Europe. 

Back home Stuart bounced around me like an excited Labrador puppy. I think he missed me! He would never admit that, but I think he was relieved to see me walking without crutches. This time I no longer looked like a pale vampire with my all-over Sandy Bay bronze tan.

Returning to my classes felt great. My hair was lighter from the sun and sea, and I had an all-over bronze tan. My warm welcome from the students was sweet. It felt liberating to present a class without having to prove your ability. Without intending to, we drifted into the impact of injury on social interaction in the first class. 

I threw every ounce of energy into my studies as I needed to get the highest possible grades to secure postgraduate admission. Admission requirements varied widely, but I just knew I would adapt to Europe more easily than anywhere else. 

My fascination with history, theatre and music made it an easy fit. My dream was to study psychoanalysis in Vienna, where Sigmund Freud became world famous. Having a basic grasp of German helped. 

The UK, Netherlands or Germany were all on my radar for linguistic and cultural reasons. I did not want to go to countries with what I then saw as an island syndrome of monistic culturalism. Retrospectively, I think my perception of them may have been myopic. I loved Europe and only knew Europe as I had not been to any other country overseas yet.

Planning my trip to Europe was basic. I would start in Vienna, then buy a Eurail Pass to explore Europe by train from top to bottom, ending in Athens from where I would go to several Greek islands. From Athens I would return home. There were no other fixed arrangements. Going with the flow was typical of me. 

A Eurail Pass solves accommodation problems and wherever you are, just hop onto a train to the next place on the map. Calculate how much time you needed to rest and how long it would take to get there. And voilà—Bob’s your auntie! My gypsy attitude suited this haphazard approach, as there were too many variables logistically to plan anything well anyway.

Surprisingly, my greatest supporter for this trip was my mother who said that this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fly overseas at only 10% of the cost, which made this trip affordable and desirable. I had five months to take or lose this overseas trip.

My mother started working at a boarding school as a house mother and earned a small salary, so she insisted on contributing to the cost of my ticket. I had a minuscule amount of money and had to plan how to live on that for a month as this was not a working holiday. Stuart surprised me when he told me how he survived almost nothing on his first trips to Europe. Well, that was it! Anything he could do, I could do as well. 

My survival strategy consisted of fourteen packets of Provita biscuits. I would then buy something cheap, like cheese, yoghurt, hummus or whatever was available, to supplement them. The biscuits were a backup in case I ran out of money. I had read survival basics in books from a young age but had never tried it. A bit later I learned more about how modern armies use this simple technique of nutritionally dried food with available supplements. Stuart worried about me being so thin and was determined to fatten me up like a Christmas turkey! My metabolism was too fast, and it failed. 

Everybody panicked about me traveling with so little money. I reminded them that I survived well on little for many years. I saw no reason why I would starve in Europe.

Secretly wondering if Europeans would be kind to just another backpacking bum and feed him if he was starving! Europe was overrun by hungry backpackers, so I guess probably not! 

Stuart was suddenly overwhelmed by mirth when he said, “Oh just be gay for pay doll! Flap less and tell them you are straight.” “I don’t flap and look straight anyway, so no need to pretend!” I replied indignantly. “Don’t be so bloody Nora, Rubin. You should know how gay men love to drag cute straight men to bed!”

“Well forget it, I don’t want to be gay for pay. I only sleep with guys I like,” I bitched. He teased, “Well, you do all these butch things with almost-naked guys and then happily seduce some of them. I mean, stop pretending to be so prissy.” 

I was getting flushed in the face and he loved how easy it was to annoy me. “I don’t drag every guy up to my slab, as I’m rarely that lucky,” I lashed back. “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Stuart howled with laughter. Starving on some pavement was not funny with my wild imagination. “Take it as it comes and there will always be someone desperate enough to feed you! Or they will just kidnap you and tie you up.” he said, now crying with laughter. 

At this stage, I decided to ignore him. He was simply too good at pressing my sensitive buttons. Vanity was my Achilles heel, which he attacked whenever he could not resist the temptation. Thankfully he backed off and said, “If I take my glasses off, you’re quite good-looking…” I silently ignored him. He bribed me with a sundowner and vanilla ice cream, and all was forgiven. 

A few days later, I was on my first trip overseas alone. It worried me because I had always been surrounded by a circle of people who loved and cared for me in every way they could.

Even when I went to Cape Town, I always stayed with good friends and if something happened, they were there for me. Like when Marc and I crashed and I had no ID on me, but friends still found me. Being a stranger in Europe with no safety net, I would just be John Doe. I felt emotional when I took stock of my life at that point, high up in the sky, being served my last supper for a long time.

Once we landed, I scolded myself for being such a drama queen. I mean really, we are talking about Europe here! Not the Amazon jungle. I got off the plane and followed the confusing directions on my map. I saw a guy rushing in the same direction and asked him if he knew where this Youth Hostel was located. He said, “Sure, it’s just a few blocks from here and I’ll show you, as it’s on my way.” “That would be great, thanks. My name is Rubin and where are you from?” I asked, finding him attractive.

“I’m a local,” he said in perfect English. My name is Wolfgang but just call me Wolfe or Wolfie.” Not the English Wolf! “You don’t sound like an Austrian,” I said. “How do Austrians sound?” he asked with a Roger Moore-like raised eyebrow and almost the same accent. At this point my sense of humour took over and straight faced said, well I don’t know any Austrians, so I guess a bit like Adolf Hitler blended with Mozart!” He burst out laughing and asked, “Where are you from?” I replied, “I’m from Port Elizabeth, South Africa.” “Why are you white and look like an Aryan” he asked. Clearly, he was now taking the mickey out of me, but I enjoyed our exchange. “Not all South Africans are black, and some look Scandinavian like me and probably would have been considered sufficiently Aryan to serve in the SS,” I sighed.

“You sound a little Australian?” he questioningly said. “Thankfully I’m not Australian and I think some murder English whenever they speak.” “I was just kidding about the Aussie accent, but your accent is hard to place.” He said “Well clearly you spent some time in Southern England as your accent is marvelous, old chap.” I replied. Once again, he burst out laughing and said, “you have such a dry sense of humour…Have you spent time in the UK?” “No, unfortunately not yet.” 

He asked, “Do you know that youth hostels do not allow you to leave anything there overnight?” I asked if that meant I would have to carry my heavy backpack around all day. Wolfgang said you can leave your stuff at my place which is next to the youth hostel. It sounded like a good idea, but what if he ran off with it? I wondered. He seemed to read my mind and said, “No offence please, but I’m sure that I would not want to steal an old tacky backpack with dirty laundry!” At this comment it was my turn to laugh and say, “Wolfe, it has almost no clothing in it but is full of dry energy biscuits to keep me alive if I run out of food or money.”

“I’m sorry to hear that you must experience the most cultured city in the world in my not so humble opinion with no money. I have a small but charming cottage on top of a cathedral, close to the youth hostel. You are welcome to crash on my comfortable couch for a night or two.” 

 “That sounds like a great idea and what do I have to pay or do in exchange?” I asked angelically. “Don’t be silly, nothing of course. Just allow me to give you a crash course on the incredible cultural treasures of Vienna. I’m a lecturer in cultural studies at the University of Vienna, so I get daily invitations to attend anything from opera to beer festivals. If you are interested, I guarantee you an unforgettable experience,” he said.

“Wolfgang, that sounds amazing and I would love to take you up on your offer and be a good respectful guest. However, I doubt if my pauper dress code will go down well.” I quipped. Well, Wolfe replied, “You are a little thinner than me but, I’m sure we can make something fit.”

We have arrived so please follow me up the stairs as we have no lift. Few 700-year-old Gothic churches have lifts!” He offered to help me with my backpack but regretfully I said, “I’m okay.” We eventually arrived, totally out of breath, at the most magnificent setting imaginable: a cottage on the roof of the cathedral with an incredible view of the city. 

The gorgeous cottage had tons of atmosphere and was probably also a few centuries old but in immaculate condition. Wolfgang was the perfect host and immediately realized I must be exhausted after the long flight in cattle class. After a shower and a change of clothes I felt better and fell asleep on the couch. After about an hour I woke up in the most magically lit cottage with about a hundred lit candles. He decided to surprise me with the most enchanting setting and a faint scent of Sandalwood.

There was something almost surreal about it: medieval stone, hundreds of flickering flames and the most technologically experimental music I had ever heard. The ancient world and the future seemed to have collided in one extraordinary moment. We spoke about our lives and all the interesting things we did. He asked me about my musical taste and was impressed that I had such broad knowledge of classical music, and particularly Mozart. Then he asked me about other music that I may like, Jean-Michel Jarre. 

He was delighted to discover a fellow fan and asked if I had ever heard Zoolook, which I had not. “Have you ever had hashish? I honestly think you need to experience Zoolook that way to hear it properly.” “I have travelled a long way to experience Europe, and ending up on top of a cathedral surrounded by a hundred candles is already unforgettable. I have never used it. I would love to try hashish, even though I don’t smoke, so please excuse me if I cough. As a nonsmoker I will probably cough.” I replied.”

“No problem just take small puffs and remember it’s not a race.” He then proceeded to take a little block, heated it up and continued to make what looked like a joint. I managed to take little puffs almost cough-free. The experience was incredible in that setting as hash alters your sensory perception and with strange avant-garde trance-like music it felt as though it impacted on far more than just my auditory senses. 

Zoolook was the first of its kind in 1984 and Jean-Michel Jarre used fragments of 25 different languages, which on hash or not, is a mind-altering experience. I still listen to it often and am amazed that it can transport me straight back into that candlelit cottage. It became another memory of music in a romantic setting and ironically this time it was also Jean-Michel Jarre.

Wolfgang bought Jean-Michel Jarre’s Zoolook LP two months before I arrived in June 1985, so it was as still a relatively new experience for him. I had never heard anything remotely like it. Using voices from twenty-five languages and synthesizing them into something that was neither speech nor conventional singing.

To me Zoolook still seems ideal for an altered state of perception, whether chemically enhanced or not. The music and the mind appeared to amplify one another. Whether Jarre had intended that or not, I couldn’t have cared less. I was experiencing something entirely new. Looking back nothing has ever been created in that unique genre and it remains mindboggling every time I listen to it. As I am writing this, I’m playing Zoolook repeatedly. It keeps me in that altered state of perception which envelops you. 

A door to Jean-Michel Jarre’s world opened my mind to other unusual music from Jarre’s extraordinary experiments with sampled human voices to the trance and electronic music that emerged in the 1990s and continued evolving thereafter. 

Some music is something you listen to. 

Other music changes the way you listen. 

Wolfgang was the most fascinating person I had ever encountered. It felt like I encountered an extraterrestrial being in human form. He saw everything from a different perspective and knew so much about art, music, architecture and more without any chains of convention. We connected and I was ready to go to Alpha Centauri. 

My four- day crash course in Viennese history, music, theatre, art and the art of enjoying beer in a jovial atmosphere was mind altering. Our masks came off. 

The hospitable Viennese was incredible. They offered to help me find abundant part- time work once I returned to Vienna to continue studying psychology. Totally overwhelming. I was creating new neural pathways like never before when pushed to the far corners of my comfort zones. Sheer euphoria followed while learning so much at speeds never experienced before. ET found home. 

It was with deep regret that I had to remind myself that the rest of Europe awaited to be explored. Salzburg was next and I looked forward to seeing the town I fantasized about so much since I saw the Sound of Music. Wolfgang truly struck a chord in me as I had never met anybody who could leapfrog laterally between unrelated topics that he was so highly knowledgeable about.

Wolfgang opened a door I did not even know existed. 

For the first time, Europe was no longer a place I had read about in books. I was inside it, surrounded by people who seemed to regard curiosity as a virtue rather than a strange personality defect. 

Wolfgang’s nature was hard to define as it flowed intellectually as much as emotionally. His passion, incredible knowledge and boundless curiosity attracted me. He inspired me to wander down many paths with new eyes. 

Perhaps I was falling for him. Perhaps I was simply intoxicated by the extraordinary world he had opened. I was infatuated and he ran circles around me. A first for me! 

At that age, I did not need to know the difference. 

ET FOUND HOME but Salzburg was waiting. 

And so was the rest of Europe. 

This is a brief excerpt from Rubin van Niekerk’s upcoming Memoir/Autobiography, titled Mentors, Family and Friends Matter, chronicling the people, places and experiences that shaped his life from early childhood to later adulthood. We all relate to this universal experience.

New chapters will be published regularly in the Magazine section of the landing page of Gay Pages website, alongside our favourite archived articles, as the journey unfolds. Chapter 15, “Discovering Europe by train and sleeping on a beach in Mykonos” follows.